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diff --git a/old/54377-0.txt b/old/54377-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f52fbdf..0000000 --- a/old/54377-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,48450 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Catholic World, Vol. 21, April, 1875, -to September, 1875, 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: The Catholic World, Vol. 21, April, 1875, to September, 1875 - A Monthly Magazine of General Literature and Science - -Author: Various - -Release Date: March 17, 2017 [EBook #54377] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CATHOLIC WORLD, VOL. 21 *** - - - - -Produced by 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) - - - - - - - - - - - THE - CATHOLIC WORLD. - - A - MONTHLY MAGAZINE - OF - GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE. - - VOL. XXI. - APRIL, 1875, TO SEPTEMBER, 1875. - - NEW YORK: - THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE, - 9 Warren Street. - - 1875. - - Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by - THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY, - in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. - - JOHN ROSS & CO., PRINTERS, 27 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - Anne of Cleves, 403. - Are You My Wife? 41, 162, 306, 451, 590, 742. - - Blessed Nicholas von der Flüe, 836. - Blumisalpe, Legend of the, 285. - Brother Philip, 384, 509. - - Calderon’s Autos Sacramentales, 32, 213. - Cardinalate, The, 359, 472. - Charities, Specimen, 289. - “Chiefly Among Women,” 324. - Craven’s The Veil Withdrawn, 18. - Cross in the Desert, 813. - - Daniel O’Connell, 652. - Dr. Draper, 651. - Dom Guéranger and Solesmes, 279. - Dominique de Gourges, 701. - Draper’s Conflict between Religion and Science, 178. - - Early Annals of Catholicity in New Jersey, 565. - Education, The Rights of the Church over, 721. - Episode, An, 805. - Exposition of the Church in View of Recent Difficulties and - Controversies, and the Present Needs of the Age, 117. - - First Jubilee, The, 258. - Flüe, Blessed Nicholas von der, 836. - Fragment, A, 628. - Future of the Russian Church, The, 61. - - German Reichstag, The Leader of the Centrum in the, 112. - Gladstone’s Misrepresentations, 145. - Greville and Saint-Simon, 266. - Guéranger and Solesmes, 279. - - House of Joan of Arc, The, 697. - - Ireland in 1874, A Visit to, 765. - Irish Tour, 497. - - Joan of Arc, The House of, 697. - Jubilee, The First, 258. - - Kentucky Mission, Origin and Progress of the, 825. - - Ladder of Life, The, 715. - Lady Anne of Cleves, 403. - Leader of the Centrum in the German Reichstag, The, 112. - Legend of Friar’s Rock, The, 780. - Legend of the Blumisalpe, 285. - Legend of the Rhine, A, 541. - Lourdes, Notre Dame de, 682. - Lourdes, On the Way to, 368, 549. - - Maria Immacolata of Bourbon, 670. - Modern Literature of Russia, The, 250. - - New Jersey, Early Annals of Catholicity in, 565. - Notre Dame de Lourdes, 682. - - Odd Stories--Kurdig, 139. - O’Connell, Daniel, 652. - Old Irish Tour, An, 497. - On the Way to Lourdes, 368, 549. - Origin and Progress of the Kentucky Mission, 825. - - Persecution in Switzerland, The, 577. - Philip, Brother, 384, 509. - Pius IX. and Mr. Gladstone’s Misrepresentations, 145. - - Religion and Science, 178. - Religion in Our State Institutions, 1. - Rhine, A Legend of the, 541. - Rights of the Church over Education, The, 721. - Roman Ritual, The, and its Chant, 415, 527, 638. - Russia, The Modern Literature of, 250. - - Saint-Simon and Greville, 266. - Scientific Goblin, The, 849. - Space, 433, 614, 790. - Specimen Charities, 289. - Stray Leaves from a Passing Life, 68, 200, 341, 486. - Substantial Generations, 97, 234. - Switzerland, The Persecution in, 577. - - Tondini’s Russian Church, 61. - Tragedy of the Temple, The, 84, 223. - - Ultraism, 669. - - Veil Withdrawn, The, 18. - Visit to Ireland in 1874, A, 765. - - “Women, Chiefly Among,” 324. - - -POETRY. - - Art and Science, 637. - Assumption, The, 848. - - Bath of the Golden Robin, The, 159. - Blind Beggar, The, 305. - - Coffin Flowers, 589. - Corpus Christi, 450. - - Dunluce Castle, 789. - - Happy Islands, The, 852. - Horn Head, 485. - - I am the Door, 222. - In Memoriam, 83. - In Memory of Harriet Ryan Albee, 414. - - Little Bird, A, 564. - - March, 31. - - On a Charge Made after the Publication of a Volume of Poetry, 340. - - Sonnet, 700. - Spring, 96. - Submission, 526. - - Why Not? 548. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - Adhemar de Belcastel, 428. - Archbishop, The, of Westminster’s Reply to Mr. Gladstone, 142. - - Balmes’ Criterion, 428. - Be not Hasty in Judging, 428. - Biographical Readings, 859. - Boone’s Manual of the Blessed Sacrament, 570. - Brann’s Politico-Historical Essay, etc., 859. - Breakfast, Lunch, and Tea. 719. - Bridgett’s Our Lady’s Dowry, 288. - Bulla Jubilæi, 1875, 288. - - Catholic Premium-Book Library, 720. - Child, The, 573. - Classens’ Life of Father Bernard, 429. - Coffin’s Caleb Krinkle, 144. - Coleridge’s The Ministry of S. John Baptist, 143. - Cortes’ Essays, 431. - Craven’s The Veil Withdrawn, 143. - - Deharbe’s A Full Catechism of the Catholic Religion, 576. - De Mille’s The Lily and the Cross, 143. - Donnelly’s Domus Dei, 431. - Droits de Dieu, Les, et les Idées Modernes, 855. - Dunne’s Our Public Schools, etc., 429. - Dupanloup’s The Child, 573. - - Eggleston’s How to make a Living, 430. - Essays on Catholicism, Liberalism, and Socialism, 431. - - Fessler’s True and False Infallibility, 141, 428. - First Christmas, The, 859. - Full Catechism of the Catholic Religion, A, 576. - Fullerton’s Life of Father Henry Young, 143. - Fullerton’s Seven Stories, 288. - Fullerton’s The Straw-Cutter’s Daughter, etc., 430. - - Gahan’s Sermons for Every Day in the Year, etc., 576. - Gross’ Tract on Baptism, 428. - - Hedley’s (Bishop) The Spirit of Faith, 576, 716. - Herbert’s Wife, 719. - Higginson’s Brief Biographies, 429. - History of England, Abridged, 720. - - Internal Mission of the Holy Ghost, The, 426. - Irish World, The, 421. - - Kostka, S. Stanislaus, The Story of, 859. - - Lambing’s The Orphan’s Friend, 430. - Life of Father Henry Young, 143. - Life of Father Bernard, 429. - Life of Our Lord Jesus Christ, 571. - Lingard’s History of England, Abridged. 720. - - McQuaid’s (Bishop) Lecture on the School Question, etc., 429. - Madame de Lavalle’s Bequest, 719. - Manning’s (Archbishop) Reply to Mr. Gladstone, 142, 428. - Manning’s (Archbishop) The Internal Mission of the Holy Ghost, 426. - Manual of the Blessed Sacrament, 570. - Mary, Star of the Sea, 427. - Memoirs of General William T. Sherman, 856. - Ministry of S. John Baptist, 143. - Montagu’s (Lord Robert) Reply to Mr. Gladstone, 142. - Moore’s and Jerdan’s Personal Reminiscences, 287. - - Newman’s Postscript to a Letter to the Duke of Norfolk, 287. - - Old Chest, The, 430. - O’Reilly’s The Victims of the Mamertine, 576. - Orphan’s Friend, The, 430. - Our Lady’s Dowry, 288. - Our Public Schools, etc., 429. - Ozanam’s Land of the Cid, 576. - - Postscript to a Letter to the Duke of Norfolk, 287. - - Readings from the Old Testament, 288. - - Sherman, General William T., Memoirs of, 856. - Shields’ Religion and Science, 716. - Spalding’s Young Catholic’s Sixth Reader, 286. - Spirit of Faith, The, 576, 716. - Stewart’s Biographical Readings, 859. - Story of a Convert, The, 430. - Story of S. Stanislaus Kostka, 859. - Straw-Cutter’s Daughter, etc., 430. - Syllabus for the People, The, 286. - - Thiéblin’s Spain and the Spaniards, 574. - Thompson’s Paparchy and Nationality, 428. - Tract for the Missions, on Baptism, 428. - True, The, and the False Infallibility of the Popes, 141, 428. - Tyler’s Discourse on Williston, 572. - - Ullathorne’s (Bishop) Reply to Mr. Gladstone, 142. - - Vatican Decrees, The, and Civil Allegiance, 428. - Vaughan’s (Bishop) Reply to Mr. Gladstone, 142. - Veil Withdrawn, The, 143. - Vercruysses’ New Practical Meditations, 718. - Veuillot’s The Life of Our Lord Jesus Christ, 571. - Victims of the Mamertine, The, 576. - - Wann spricht die Kirche unfehlbar? etc., 720. - Warren’s Physical Geography, 718. - Wenham’s Readings from the Old Testament, 288. - Wilson’s Poems, 144. - Whitcher’s The Story of a Convert, 430. - - Young Catholic’s Fifth and Sixth Readers, 286. - Young Ladies’ Illustrated Reader, The, 860. - - - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XXI., No. 121.--APRIL, 1875. - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by Rev. I. T. -HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. - - -RELIGION IN OUR STATE INSTITUTIONS. - - “No member of this State shall be disfranchised or deprived - of any of the rights or privileges secured to any citizens - thereof, unless by the law of the land or the judgment of his - peers.” - - “The free exercise and enjoyment of religious profession and - worship, without discrimination or preference, shall for ever - be allowed in this State to all mankind.”--_Constitution of the - State of New York_, Art. i. Sects. 1 and 3. - -The first article of all the old English charters which were embodied in, -and confirmed by, the Great Charter wrung from King John, was, “First -of all, we wish the church of God to be free.” In the days when those -charters were drawn up there was no dispute as to which was “the church -of God.” The religious unity of Christendom had not yet been reformed -into a thousand contending sects, each of which was a claimant to the -title of “the church of God.” The two sections of our own constitution -quoted from above, which establish in their fullest sense the civil and -religious liberty of the individual, are taken from those grand old -charters of Catholic days. The only thing practically new in them is -the substitution, for the “church of God,” of “the free exercise and -enjoyment of religious profession and worship, without discrimination -or preference.” The reason for this alteration is plain. Civil liberty -is impossible without religious liberty. But here the founders of our -constitution were confronted with a great difficulty. To follow out -the old Catholic tradition, and grant freedom to the “church of God,” -was impossible. There were so many “churches of God,” antagonistic to -one another, that to pronounce for one was to pronounce against all -others, and so establish a state religion. This they found themselves -incompetent to do. Accordingly, leaving the title open, complete freedom -of religious profession and worship was proclaimed as being the only -thing commensurate with complete civil liberty and that large, generous, -yet withal safe freedom of the individual which forms the corner-stone of -the republic. - -This really constitutes what is commonly described as the absolute -separation of church and state, on which we are never weary of -congratulating ourselves. It is not that the state ignores the church -(or churches), but that it recognizes it in the deepest sense, as a -power that has a province of its own, in the direction of human life -and thought, where the state may not enter--a province embracing -all that is covered by the word religion. This is set apart by the -state, voluntarily, not blindly; as a sacred, not as an unknown and -unrecognized, ground, which it may invade at any moment. It is set apart -for ever, and as long as the American Constitution remains what it -is, will so remain, sacred and inviolate. Men are free to believe and -worship, not only in conscience, but in person, as pleases them, and no -state official may ever say to them, “Worship thus or thus!” - -Words would be wasted in dwelling on this point. There is not a member -of the state who has not the law, as it were, born in his blood. No man -ever dreams of interfering with the worship of another. Catholic church -and Jewish tabernacle and Methodist meeting-house nestle together side -by side, and their congregations come and go, year in year out, and -worship, each in its own way, without a breath of hindrance. Conversion -or perversion, as it may be called, on any side is not attempted, save -at any particular member’s good-will and pleasure. Each may possibly -entertain the pious conviction that his neighbor is going directly to -perdition, but he never dreams of disputing that neighbor’s right of -way thither. And the thought of a state official or an official of any -character coming in and directly or indirectly ordering the Catholics -to become Methodists, or the Methodists Jews, or the Jews either, is -something so preposterous that the American mind can scarcely entertain -it. Yet, strange as it is painful to confess, just such coercion of -conscience is carried on safely, daily and hourly, under our very noses, -by State or semi-state officials. Ladies and gentlemen to whom the State -has entrusted certain of its wards are in the habit of using the powers -bestowed on them to restrain “the free exercise of religious profession -and worship,” and not simply to restrain it, but to compel numbers -of those under their charge to practise a certain form of religious -profession and worship which, were they free agents, they would never -practise, and against which their conscience must revolt. - -This coercion is more or less generally practised in the prisons, -hospitals, reformatories, asylums, and such like, erected by the State -for such of its members or wards as crime or accident have thrown on -its hands. Besides those mainly supported by the State, there are many -other institutions which volunteer to take some of its work off the hands -of the State, and for which due compensation is given. In short, the -majority of our public institutions will come within the scope of our -observations. And it may be as well to premise here that our observations -are intended chiefly to expose a wrong that we, as Catholics, feel keenly -and suffer from; but the arguments advanced will be of a kind that may -serve for any who suffer under a similar grievance, and who claim for -themselves or their co-religionists “the free exercise of religious -profession and worship, without discrimination or preference.” If the -violation of this article of the constitution to-day favors one side -under our ever-shifting parties and platforms, it may to-morrow favor -the other. What we demand is simply that the constitution be strictly -maintained, and not violated under any cover whatsoever. - -The inmates of our institutions may be divided into two broad classes, -the criminal and the unfortunate. From the very fact of their being -inmates of the institutions both alike suffer certain deprivation of -“the rights and privileges” secured to them as citizens. In the case of -criminals those rights and privileges are forfeited. They are deprived of -personal liberty, because they are a danger instead of a support to the -State and to the commonwealth. The question that meets us here is, does -the restriction of personal involve also that of religious liberty and -worship? - -Happily, there is no need to argue the matter at any length, as it has -already been pronounced upon by the State; and as regards the religious -discipline in prisons, our objection is as much against a non-application -as a misapplication of the law. “The free exercise and enjoyment of -religious profession and worship” is never debarred any man by the State. -On the contrary, it is not only enjoined, but, where possible, provided. -Even the criminal who has fallen under the supreme sentence of the law, -and whose very life is forfeit to the State, is in all cases allowed the -full and free ministry of the pastor of his church, whatever that church -may be. Nothing is allowed to interfere with their communion. Even the -ordinary discipline of the prison is broken into in favor of that power -to which, from the very first, the State set a region apart. And it -is only at the last moment of life that the minister, be he Catholic, -Methodist, or Jew, yields to the hangman. - -Is it possible to think that the State, which, in the exercise of its -last and most painful prerogative, shows itself so wise, just, tender -even, and profoundly religious--so true, above all, to the letter and -the spirit of the constitution--should, when the question concerns not -the taking, but the guarding, of the criminal’s life, and, if possible, -its guidance to a better end, show itself cruel, parsimonious, and a -petty proselytizer? Does it hold that freedom of religious profession -and worship is a privilege to be granted only to that superior grade of -criminal whose deeds have fitted him before his time for another world, -and not to the lesser criminal or the unfortunate, who is condemned to -the burden of life, and who has it still within his power to make that -life a good and useful one? Such a question is its own answer. And yet -the system of religious discipline at present prevailing in many of our -prisons, as in most of our institutions, would seem to indicate that -the State exhausts its good-will over murderers, and leaves all other -inmates, in matters of religion, to the ministry of men in whom they do -not believe and creeds that they reject. A certain form of religious -discipline is provided, which is bound to do duty for all the prisoners, -Jew and Gentile, Catholic and Protestant alike. If that is not good -enough for them, they may not even do without it; for all are bound to -attend religious worship, which, in the case of Catholic prisoners at -least--for we adhere to our main point--is beyond all doubt the severest -coercion of conscience. The worst Catholic in this world would never -willingly take part in the worship of any but his own creed. It is idle -to ask whether some worship is not better for him than none at all. The -fact remains that he does not believe in any other but his own church, in -the sacredness of any other ministry but his own, in the efficacy of any -means of grace save those that come to him through the church of which he -is a member. More than this, he knows that it is a sin not to approach -the sacraments and hear Mass, and that, without frequenting them, he -cannot hope to lead a really good life. The perversion of discipline -prevents him either hearing Mass or frequenting the sacraments, often -even from seeing a priest at all. - -There is no need to dwell on the fact that of all men in this world, -those who are in prison or in confinement stand most in need of constant -spiritual aid and consolation. Indeed, in many cases the term of -imprisonment would be the most favorable time to work upon their souls. -The efficacy of religion in helping to reform criminals is recognized by -the State in establishing prison chaplains, and even making attendance at -worship compulsory. But this compulsion is not intended so much as an act -of coercion of conscience as an opportunity and means of grace. As seen -in the case of murderers, the State is only too happy to grant whatever -spiritual aid it can to the criminal, without restriction of any kind. - -Laying aside, then, as granted, the consideration that spiritual ministry -is of a reforming tendency in the case of those who come freely under -its influence, we pass on at once to show where in our own State we are -lamentably deficient and unjust in failing to supply that ministry. - -In this State there are three State prisons: those of Sing Sing, Auburn, -and Clinton. In no one of them is there proper provision for the -spiritual needs of Catholic prisoners. - -There are also in this State seven penitentiaries: Blackwell’s Island, -New York; Kings County, Staten Island, Albany, Syracuse, Rochester, -and Buffalo. Of these seven, in three only is Mass celebrated and the -sacraments administered, viz., Blackwell’s Island, Kings County, and -Albany. - -The State boasts also of four reformatories: the Catholic Protectory, -Westchester County; House of Refuge, New York; Juvenile Asylum, New York; -Western House of Refuge, Rochester. Of these, at the first named only is -Mass celebrated and the sacraments administered. - -This is a very lamentable state of affairs, and one that ought to -be remedied as speedily as possible. It is being remedied in many -places, for it prevails practically throughout the country. Catholics, -unfortunately, add their quota to the criminal list, as to every grade -and profession in life. But there is no reason why Catholic criminals -alone should be debarred the means which is more likely than the -punishment of the law to turn their minds and hearts to good--the -sacraments and ministry of their church. But the fault, probably, in the -particular case of prisons, consists in the fact that the grievance has -not hitherto been fairly set before the authorities in whose hands the -remedy lies. The application of the remedy, indeed, is chiefly a question -of demand, for it consists in conformity to the constitution. - -The Catholic Union of New York has been at pains to collect testimony on -this subject, and the testimony is unanimous as to the advisability of -allowing Catholic prisoners free access to priests, sacraments, and Mass. -In Great Britain, where there really is a state religion, Catholic as -well as Protestant chaplains are appointed to the various prisons and -reformatories, as also to the army and navy. In answer to an inquiry from -the Catholic Union respecting the system on which British reformatories -are managed in regard to the religious instruction afforded to their -Catholic inmates, the following letter was received: - - “OFFICE OF INSPECTOR OF REFORMATORY AND INDUSTRIAL SCHOOLS, NO. - 3 DELAHAY STREET, December 7, 1874. - - “SIR: In reference to your letter of the 20th ultimo, I beg - to forward you a copy of the last report of the Inspector of - Reformatory and Industrial Schools. - - “You will observe that almost all the schools are - denominational; one reformatory (the Northeastern) and one or - two industrial schools alone receiving both Protestant and - Roman Catholic children. - - “In these cases the children of the latter faith are visited at - stated times by a priest of their own religion, and allowed to - attend service on Sundays in the nearest Catholic chapel. - - “The Catholic schools are solely and entirely for Catholics. - - “I am, sir, your faithful servant, - - “WILLIAM COSTEKER. - - “DR. E. B. O’CALLAGHAN.” - -In the British provinces on this continent the same system prevails. -Equal religious freedom is guaranteed in all reformatories and prisons. -In the Province of Quebec, where the French population and Catholic -religion predominate, the system is the same. Throughout Europe it -is practically the same. Rev. G. C. Wines, D.D., the accredited -representative of our government to the International Penitentiary -Congress at London, in his report to the President, February 12, 1873, -gave most powerful testimony on this point. A few extracts will suffice -for our purpose. - -In England “every convict prison has its staff of ministers of religion. -For the most part, the chaplains are not permitted to have any other -occupations than those pertaining to their office, thus being left free -to devote their whole time to the improvement of the prisoners.” - -In Ireland, in this respect, “the regulations and usages of the convict -prisons are substantially the same.” - -In France, in the smaller departmental prisons, “some parish priest -acts as chaplain.” In the larger, as well as in all central prisons, -“the chaplain is a regular officer of the establishment, and wholely -devoted to its religious service.” “Liberty of conscience is guaranteed -to prisoners of all religions.” If the prisoner, who must declare his -faith on entering, is not a Catholic, “he is transferred, whenever it is -possible, to a prison designed to receive persons of the same religious -faith as himself.” - -In Prussia “chaplains are provided for all prisons and for all religions. -They hold religious service, give religious lessons, inspect the prison -schools,” etc. - -In Saxony “the religious wants of the prisoners are equally regarded and -cared for, whatever their creed may be.” - -In Würtemberg “in all the prisons there are Protestant and Catholic -chaplains. For prisoners of the Jewish faith there is similar provision -for religious instruction.” - -In Baden “chaplains are provided for all prisons and for all religions.” - -In Austria, “in the prisons of all kinds, chaplains and religious -teachers are provided for prisoners of every sect.” - -In Russia “in all the large prisons there are chapels and chaplains. -Prisoners of all the different creeds receive the offices of religion -from ministers of their own faith, even Jews and Mussulmans.” - -In the Netherlands, “in all the central prisons, in all the houses of -detention, and in the greater part of the houses of arrest, the office -of chaplain and religious services are confided to one of the parish -ministers of each religion, who is named by the Minister of Justice.” - -In Switzerland “ministers of the reformed and of the Catholic religion -act as chaplains in the prisons. The rabbi of the nearest locality is -invited to visit such co-religionists as are occasionally found in them.” - -Is it not sad, after testimony of this kind, to come back to our own -country, and, with the law on the point so plain, to find the practice -so wretchedly deficient? In New York State Mass is celebrated in three -penitentiaries and one reformatory only, and that solitary reformatory is -denominational. It was only last year that a Mass was celebrated for the -first time in a Boston prison, and a chaplain appointed to it. In Auburn -prison a priest has only recently been allowed to visit the Catholic -prisoners, hear confessions, and preach on Sunday afternoons. But the -prisoners are compelled to attend the Protestant services also. - -In the State prison at Dannemora, Clinton Co., N. Y., where a Catholic -chaplain has only of late been appointed, the prisoners hear Mass but -once a month. - -In the Western House of Refuge, a branch house of an establishment in -this city, to which attention will be called presently, it was only -after a severe conflict[1] that in December of last year permission was -granted “to Catholic and all ministers” of free access to the asylum “to -conduct religious exercises, etc.,” and that Catholic children be no -longer compelled “to attend what is called ‘non-sectarian’ services.” -Such testimony might be multiplied all over the country. Indeed, as far -as our present knowledge goes, the State of Minnesota is the only State -wherein “liberty of conscience and equal rights in matters of religion to -the inmates of State institutions” have been secured, and they were only -_secured_ by an act approved March 5, 1874. - -Catholics are content to believe that the main difficulty in the way -of affording Catholic instruction to the Catholic inmates of such -institutions has hitherto rested with themselves. Either they have -not sufficiently exposed the grievance they were compelled to endure, -or, more likely, such exposure was useless, inasmuch as the paucity -of priests prevented any being detailed to the special work of the -prisons and public institutions. This, too, is probably the difficulty -in the army and navy of the United States, which boast of two Catholic -chaplains in all, and those two for the army only. But the growth of -our numbers, resources, dioceses, and clergy is rapidly removing any -further obstruction on that score; so that there is no further reason -why Catholic priests should not be allowed to attend to and--always, of -course, at due times--perform the duties of their office for inmates of -institutions who, by reason of their confinement, are prevented from the -free exercise of their religious profession and worship laid down and -guaranteed in the constitution to all mankind for ever. - -But over and above the strictly criminal class of inmates of our State -institutions there is another, a larger and more important class, to be -considered--that already designated as unfortunate. Most of its members, -previous to their admission into the institutions provided for their -keeping, have hovered on that extreme confine where poverty and crime -touch each other. Many of them have just crossed the line into the latter -region. Inmates of hospitals and insane asylums will come, without -further mention, within the scope of our general observations. Our -attention now centres on those inmates of State or public institutions -who, for whatever reasons, in consequence either of having no home or -inadequate protection at home, are thrown absolutely upon the hands of -the State, which is compelled in some way or other to act towards them -_in loco parentis_. In the majority of cases there is hope that they may -by proper culture and care be converted, from a threatened danger to the -State, to society at large, and to themselves, into honest, creditable, -and worthy citizens. - -This class, composed of the youth of both sexes, instead of diminishing, -seems, with the spread of population, to be on the increase. From its -ranks the criminal and pauper classes, which are also on the increase, -are mainly recruited. The criminal, in the eye of the law, who has led -a good life up to manhood or womanhood, is the exception. Crime, as -representative of a class, is a growth, not a sudden aberration. It is, -then, a serious and solemn duty of the State to cut off this criminal -growth by converting the class who feed it to good at the outset. At the -very lowest estimate it is a duty of self-preservation. This being so, -there is no need to dwell on the plain fact that it is the duty of the -State to do all that in it lies to lead the lives of those unfortunates -out of the wrong path into the right. Every means at its disposal ought -to be worked to that end. There is still less reason to dwell on the -fact, acknowledged and recognized by the State and by all men, that, in -leading a life away from evil and up to good, no influence is so powerful -as that of religion. The fear of man, of the power and vengeance of the -law, is undoubtedly of great force; but it is not all, nor is it the -strongest influence that can be brought to bear on the class indicated, -not yet criminal. At the best it represents to their minds little more -than the whip of the slave-driver--something to be feared, but something -also to be hated, and to be defied and broken where defiance may for -the time seem safe. But the moral sense, the sense of right and wrong, -of good and evil, which shows law in its true guise as the benignant -representative of order rather than the terror of disorder, is a higher -guide, a truer teacher, and a more humane and lasting power. - -This sense can only come with religion; and so convinced is the State -of this fact that, as usual, it calls in religion to its aid, and over -its penitentiaries and reformatories sets chaplains. It goes further -even, and, as in prisons, compels the inmates of such institutions to -attend religious services, practise religious observances, and listen to -religious instruction. There is no State reformatory--it is safe to say -no reformatory at all--without such religious worship and instruction. - -This careful provision for the spiritual wants of so extensive and -important a class we of course approve to the full. The idea of a -reformatory where no religious instruction is given the inmates would be -a contradiction. The State empowers those into whose hands it entrusts -the keeping of its wards to impart religious instruction--in short, to do -everything that may tend to the mental, moral, and physical advancement -of those under their charge. All that we concede and admire. But the -State never empowers those who have the control of such institutions to -draw up laws or rules for them which should in any way contravene the law -of the State, least of all that article of the constitution wherein the -free exercise of religious profession and worship, without discrimination -or preference, is allowed to all mankind in this State for ever. But -it is just in this most important point that our public institutions -signally fail. - -Here is our point: In our public institutions there is, in the case of -Catholic inmates, a constant and persistent violation of the constitution -of the State regarding freedom of religious profession and worship. In -those institutions there is a stereotyped system of religious profession -and worship, which all the inmates, of whatever creed, are compelled to -accept and observe. They have no freedom of choice in the matter. They -may not hold any religious intercourse with the pastors of their church, -save, in impossible instances, on that stereotyped plan. Practically, -they may not hold any such intercourse at all. Once they become inmates -of these institutions, the freedom of religious profession and worship -that they enjoyed, or were at liberty to enjoy, before entering, is -completely cut off, and a new form of religious profession and practice, -which, whether they like it or not, whether they believe it or not, they -are compelled to observe and accept as their religion until they leave -the institution, is substituted. No matter what name may be given this -mode of worship and instruction, whether it be called “non-sectarian” -or not, it is a monstrous violation of human conscience, not to speak -of the letter and the spirit of the constitution of this State. Its -proper name would be the “Church Established in Public Institutions.” -From the day when a Catholic child crosses the threshold of such an -institution until he leaves it, in most cases he is not allowed even to -see a Catholic clergyman; he is certainly not allowed to practise his -religion; he is not allowed to read Catholic books of instruction; he is -not allowed to hear Mass or frequent the sacraments. For him his religion -is choked up and dammed off utterly, and his soul left dry and barren. -Nor does the wrong rest even here; for all the while he is exposed -to non-Catholic influences and to a direct system of anti-Catholic -instruction and worship. He is compelled to bow to and believe in the -“Church Established” in the institution. - -There is, unfortunately, a superabundance of evidence to prove all, and -more than all, our assertions. There will be occasion to use it; but -just now we content ourselves with such as is open to any citizen of the -State, and as is given in the _Reports_ of the various institutions. -Of these we select one--the oldest in the State--the Society for the -Reformation of Juvenile Delinquents, which has this year published its -fiftieth _Annual Report_. Within these fifty years of its life 15,791 -children, of ages ranging from five to sixteen, of both sexes, of native -and foreign parentage, of every complexion of color and creed, have -passed through its hands. The society has, on more than one occasion, -come before the public, more especially within the last two or three -years, in anything but an enviable light. But all considerations of that -kind may pass for the present, our main inquiry being, What kind of -religion, of religious discipline, instruction, and worship, is provided -for the hundreds of children who year by year enter this asylum? - -The “Circular to Parents and Guardians,” signed by the president, Mr. -Edgar Ketchum, sets forth the objects of the institution and the manner -in which it is conducted. “For your information,” says Mr. Ketchum to -the parents and guardians, “the managers deem it proper to state that -the institution is not a place of punishment nor a prison, but a reform -school, where the inmates receive such instruction and training as are -best adapted to form and perpetuate a virtuous character.” An excellent -introduction! Nothing could be better calculated to allay any scruples -that an anxious parent or guardian might entertain respecting the -absolute surrender of a child or ward to the institution, “to remain -during minority, or until discharged by the managers, as by due process -of law.” Of course the Catholic parent or guardian who receives such a -circular will have no question as to the “instruction and training best -adapted to form and (above all) _to perpetuate a virtuous character_”! -The training up of “a virtuous character” is, by all concession, mainly -a purely religious work, and the Catholic knows, believes in, and -recognizes only one true religion--that taught by the Catholic Church. -Whether he is right or wrong in that belief is not the question. It is -sufficient to know that the constitution recognizes and respects it. - -A few lines lower the Catholic parent or guardian receives still -more satisfactory information on this crucial point. After a glowing -description of the life of the inmates, he is informed that they, “on the -Sabbath, are furnished with suitable religious and moral instruction.” -Just what is wanted by the child! “Sabbath,” it is true, has come to -have a Protestant sound; but as for “suitable religious and moral -instruction,” there can be no doubt that the only religious instruction -suitable for a Catholic child is that of the Catholic religion, and such -as would be given him outside in the Sunday-school by the Catholic priest -or teacher. He is just as much a Catholic inside that institution as he -was outside; and there is no more right in law or logic to force upon -him a system of non-Catholic and anti-Catholic instruction within than -without its walls. Let us see, then, of what this moral and religious -instruction consists; if Catholic, all our difficulties are over. - -Turning a few pages, we come to the “Report of the Chaplain.” _The_ -chaplain! The chaplain, then, is the gentleman charged with furnishing -“on the Sabbath” the “suitable religious and moral instruction” of the -Catholic child. The chaplain is the Rev. George H. Smyth, evidently -a clergyman of some denomination. His name is not to be found in the -Catholic directory. He is probably, then, not a Catholic priest. However, -his report may enlighten us. - -It occupies five and a half pages, and renders an admirable account -of--the Rev. George H. Smyth, who, to judge of him by his own report, -must be an exceedingly engaging person, and above all a powerful -preacher. No doubt he is. He informs us that the children have shown, -among other good qualities, “an earnest desire to receive instruction, -both secular and religious.” That is cheering news. It is worthy of note, -too, the distinction made between the secular and religious instruction -of the children. That is just the Catholic ground. Children require -both kinds of instruction--instruction in their religion, as well as in -reading, writing, ciphering, and so on. The Catholic parent or guardian -congratulates himself, then, on the fact that his child or ward will -not be deprived of instruction in his religion while an inmate of the -institution. All satisfactory so far; but let us read Mr. Smyth a little -more. - -“Often have the chaplain’s counsel and sympathy been sought by those -striving to lead a better life.” Very natural! “And as often have they -been cordially tendered.” Still more natural. Then follow some pleasing -reminiscences from the boys and girls of the chaplain’s good offices. He -even vouchsafes, almost unnecessarily, to inform us that “the children -have it impressed on them that the object of the preaching they hear is -wholly to benefit them.” It could not well be otherwise. And Mr. Smyth’s -preaching evidently does benefit them, for one of the boys remarked to -him, casually: “Chaplain, you remember that sermon you preached”--neither -the sermon nor its text, unfortunately, is given--“that was the sermon -that led me to the Saviour.” Happy lad! It is to be regretted that he -ever came back. We are farther informed of “the close attention given -by the children to the preaching of the Gospel Sabbath after Sabbath.” -“On one occasion a distinguished military gentleman and statesman--an -ambassador from one of the leading courts of Europe--was present. The -sermon was from the text _Cleanse thou me from secret faults_.” So -powerful was Mr. Smyth’s sermon on that occasion that the reverend -gentleman graciously informs us it so moved the “distinguished military -gentleman and statesman” from Europe that at the close he rose, and, -“taking the chaplain by the hand, said with great warmth of feeling, -‘That sermon was so well suited to these children they must be better for -it. I saw it made a deep impression upon them; but I rose to thank you -for myself--_it just suited me_.’” - -And there the story ends, leaving us in a painful state of conjecture -respecting the state of that “distinguished military gentleman and -statesman’s” conscience. These little incidents are thrown off with a -naïve simplicity almost touching, and are noticed here as they are given, -as establishing beyond all doubt the clear and marked distinction in -nature and grace between the Rev. Mr. Smyth and the dreadful characters, -whether ambassadors or youthful pickpockets, with whom Mr. Smyth is -brought in contact. But the main question for the Catholic parent or -guardian is, What religious and moral instruction is my child to receive? -For it is clear that Mr. Smyth is not a Catholic clergyman. It seems -that Mr. Smyth being “_the_ chaplain,” there is no Catholic chaplain at -all, and no Catholic instruction at all for Catholic children. Are the -Catholic children compelled, then, to attend Mr. Smyth’s preaching and -Mr. Smyth’s worship, and nothing but Mr. Smyth, excellent man though he -be? Mr. Ketchum has already, in the name of the managers, informed us -that the institution is not “a place of punishment.” Far be it from us to -hint, however remotely, that it is a punishment even _to be compelled_ -to listen to the preaching of such a man as Mr. Smyth. With the evidence -before us, how could such a thought be entertained for a moment? But at -least how is this state of things reconcilable with that solemn article -of the constitution already quoted so often? - -However, let us first dismiss Mr. Smyth, after ascertaining, if possible, -what it is he does teach. Here we have it in his own words: “The truths -preached to these children [all the inmates of the institution] have been -those fundamental truths held in common by all Christian communions, and -which are adapted to the wants of the human race, and must ever be the -foundation of pure morals and good citizenship. Studious care has been -taken not to prejudice the minds of the inmates against any particular -form of religious belief.” - -Here lies the essence of what we have called the “Church Established -in Public Institutions.” The favorite term for it is “non-sectarian” -teaching; and on the ground that it is “non-sectarian,” that it favors no -particular church or creed, but is equally available to all, it has thus -far been upheld and maintained in our public institutions. It is well to -expose the cant and humbug of this non-sectarianism once for all. - -In the first place, no such thing exists. Let us adhere to the case in -point. Mr. Smyth, who is styled “reverend,” is the chaplain of the -society we are examining. What is the meaning of the word chaplain? -A clergyman appointed to perform certain clerical duties. Mr. Smyth -is a clergyman of some denomination or other, we care not what. He is -not a self-appointed “reverend.” He must have been brought up in some -denomination and educated in some theological school. There is no such -thing as a “reverend” of no church, of a non-sectarian church. Every -clergyman has been educated in some theological school, or at least -according to some special form of doctrine and belief, and has entered -the ministry as a teacher and preacher of that special form of belief -and doctrine. If he leaves it, he leaves it either for infidelity--in -which case he renounces his title as a clergyman--or for some other -form of doctrine and belief to which he turns, and of which, so long -as he remains in the ministry, he is the teacher, propagator, and -upholder. If he is not this, he is a humbug. To say that he is or can be -non-sectarian--that is, pledged to preach no particular form of doctrine, -or a form of doctrine equally available for all kinds of believers or -non-believers--is to talk the sheerest nonsense. In all cases a clergyman -is, by virtue of his office and profession and belief, pledged to some -form of doctrine and faith, which unless he teaches, he is either a -coward or a humbug. Anything resembling a “non-sectarian” clergyman -would be exactly like a soldier who bound himself by oath to a certain -government, yet held himself free not to defend that government, or, when -he saw it attacked, to be particularly careful not to do anything that -might possibly offend or oppose the foe. The world and his own government -would stamp such a man as the vilest of beings--a traitor. The union of -such diametrically opposite professions is a sheer impossibility. - -Let us test the doctrine Mr. Smyth himself lays down here, or which -the managers of the institution have laid down for him, and show how -sectarianism, which is the one thing to be avoided, or, to use a kinder -term, denominationalism, must inevitably meet the teacher or preacher -at every turn. “The truths preached to these children have been those -fundamental truths held in common by all Christian communions.” Mr. Smyth -has told us already that “the chaplain’s counsel and sympathy are sought -by those striving to lead a better life, and with good results.” There -must, then, be questioning on the part of the children. Indeed, how could -instruction possibly go on without question, explanation, objection, and -answer? Let us begin, then, with the very foundation of his doctrine. -The first question that would occur to any one would be, What are “those -fundamental truths held in common by all _Christian_ communions”? Mr. -Smyth does not mention one. Where shall we find one? A fundamental truth -held in common by all Christian communions might at least be supposed to -be a belief in Christ. Very well. Then who is Christ? Where is Christ? -Is Christ God or man, or both? How do we come to know him? Is Christ not -God, is he not man? What is his history? Where is it found? In the Bible? -What is the Bible? Who wrote the Bible? Why must we accept it as the -Word of God? Is it the Word of God? Why “all Christian communions” are -at war right on this “fundamental truth,” from which they derive their -very name of Christian, and not a single question can be put or answered -without introducing denominationalism of some kind or another, and so at -least prejudicing the minds of the inmates against _some_ particular form -of religious belief. - -Take another supposition. Surely, belief in God would be “a fundamental -truth held in common by all Christian communions.” Here we begin again. -Who is God? What is God? Where is God? Is God a spirit? Is God a trinity -or a unity? Is there only one God? Do all men believe in and worship the -same God? All at sea again at the very mention of God’s name! - -Take the belief in a future. Does man end here? Does he live again -after death? Will the future be happy or miserable? Is there a hell or -a heaven? Is there an everlasting life? What is Mr. Smyth’s own opinion -on such “fundamental truth”? There is not a single “fundamental truth” -“held in common by all Christian communions.” What is truth itself? -What is a fundamental truth? Fundamental to what? Why, there is not a -single religious subject of any kind whatever that can be mentioned to -“Christian communions” of a mixed character which will not on the instant -create as many contentions as there are members of various Christian -communions present. Let Mr. Smyth try it outside, and see. Let him preach -on “fundamental truth” to any mixed congregation in New York; let there -be free discussion after, and what would be the result? It is hard to -say. But in all probability the discussion would end by the State, in -the persons of its representatives, stepping in to eject the fundamental -truths from the building. - -One need not go beyond this to show how necessarily sectarian must -Mr. Smyth’s religious instruction and preaching be. But the very next -sentence bristles with direct antagonism to Catholic teaching: “What -delinquent children need is not the mere memorizing of ecclesiastical -formularies and dogmas, which they can repeat one moment and commit a -theft the next.” In plain English, Catholic children do not need to learn -their catechism, which is the compendium of Christian doctrine. What is -the use of learning it, asks Mr. Smyth, when they can “commit a theft -the next moment”? He had better go higher, and ask Christian members of -Congress how they can address such pious homilies to interesting Young -Men’s Christian Associations, while they know they have been guilty -of stealing. He might even ask the Rev. George H. Smyth how he could -reconcile it with his conscience to take an oath or make a solemn promise -on entering the ministry to preach a certain form of doctrine, and -profess to throw that oath and promise to the winds immediately on being -offered a salary to teach something quite different on Randall’s Island. -“But they do need, and it is the province of the State to teach them -that there are, _independent of any and all forms of religious faith_, -fundamental principles of eternal right, truth, and justice, which, as -members of the human family and citizens of the commonwealth, they must -learn to live by, and which are absolutely essential to their peace and -prosperity. These principles are inseparable from a sound education, and -must underlie any and every system of religion that is not a sham and a -delusion.” - -That sounds very fine, and it is almost painful to be compelled to spoil -its effect. One cannot help wondering in what theological school Mr. -Smyth studied. He will insist on his “fundamental principles,” which, in -the preceding paragraph, are “common to all Christian communions,” but -have now become “independent of any and all forms of religious faith.” Is -there any “fundamental principle of _eternal_ right, truth, and justice” -which, to “members of the human family,” is “independent of any and all -forms of _religious_ faith”? Is there anything breathing of _eternity_ at -all that comes not to us in and through “religious faith”? If there be -such “fundamental principles of eternal right, truth, and justice,” in -God’s name let us know them; for they _are_ religion, and we are ready -to throw “any and all forms of religious faith” that contradict those -eternal principles to the winds. This we know: that there is not a single -“principle of _eternal_ right, truth, and justice” which, according -to Mr. Smyth, “it is the province of the State to teach delinquent -children,” that did not come to the State through some form or another -of religious faith; for in the history of this world religion has always -preceded and, in its “fundamental principles of eternal right, truth, and -justice,” instructed and informed the state. The Rev. George H. Smyth is -either an infidel or he does not know of what he is writing. - -What kind of “moral and religious instruction” is likely to be imparted -to all children, and to Catholic children of all, by the Rev. George H. -Smyth, may be judged from the foregoing. Whether or not his teaching -can approve itself to a Catholic conscience may be left to the judgment -of all fair-minded men. His report is only quoted further to show how -completely subject the consciences of all these children are to him: - -“The regular preaching service each Sabbath morning in the chapel has -been conducted by the chaplain, one or more of the managers usually being -present; also, the Wednesday lecture for the officers. In the supervision -of the Sabbath-schools in the afternoon he has been greatly aided by -managers Ketchum and Herder, whose valuable services have been gratefully -appreciated by the teachers and improved (_sic_) by the inmates. - -“_The course of religious instruction laid down in the by-laws and -pursued in the house for fifty years has been closely adhered to._” That -is to say, for fifty years not a syllable of Catholic instruction has -been imparted to the Catholic inmates of the House of Refuge. The number -of those Catholic inmates will presently appear. - -Among the gentlemen to whom the chaplain records his “obligations” for -their gratuitous services in the way of lectures are found the names of -nine Protestant clergymen and two Protestant laymen. No mention of a -Catholic. The Sabbath-school of the Reformed Church, Harlem, is thanked -for “a handsome supply” of the _Illustrated Christian Weekly_. The -librarian reports that one hundred copies of the _Youth’s Companion_ -are supplied weekly, one hundred copies of the _American Messenger_, -and one hundred and twenty-five copies of the _Child’s Paper_. There is -no mention of a Catholic print of any kind. The chaplain and librarian -are under no obligations for copies of the _Young Catholic_, or the -New York _Tablet_, or the _Catholic Review_, or any one of our many -Catholic journals. They are all forbidden. Yet they are not a whit more -“sectarian” than the _Christian Weekly_. In addition, the Bible Society -is thanked “for a supply of Bibles sufficient to give each child a copy -on his discharge.” - -We turn now to the report of the principal of schools. It is chiefly an -anti-Catholic tirade on the public school question, but that point may -pass for the present. What we are concerned with here is the species -of instruction to which the Catholic children of the institution are -subjected. Mr. G. H. Hallock, the principal, is almost “unco guid.” -A single passage will suffice. “But underneath all this intellectual -awakening there is a grander work to be performed; there is a moral -regeneration that can be achieved. Shall we stand upon the environs of -this moral degradation among our boys, and shrink from the duty we owe -them, because they are hardened in sin and apparently given over to evil -influences? Would He who came to save the ‘lost’ have done this? - -“_Nothing can supply the place of earnest, faithful religious teaching -drawn from the Word of God._ I have the most profound convictions of the -inefficacy of all measures of reformation, except such as are based on -the Gospel and pervaded by its spirit. In vain are all devices, if the -heart and conscience, beyond all power of external restraints, are left -untouched.” - -It were easy to go on quoting from Mr. Hallock, but this is more than -enough for our purpose. Catholics too believe in the efficacy of the -Word of God, but in a different manner, and to a great extent in a -different “Word” from that of Mr. Hallock. It is plain that this man -is imbued with the spirit of a missionary rather than of a principal -of schools, though how Catholic sinners would fare at his hands may be -judged from the tone of his impassioned harangue. The missionary spirit -is an excellent spirit, and we have no quarrel with Mr. Hallock or with -his burning desire to save lost souls; we only venture to intimate that -Mr. Hallock is even less the kind of teacher than Mr. Smyth is the kind -of preacher to whom we should entrust the spiritual education of our -Catholic children. By the bye, this excellent Mr. Hallock’s name occurred -during the trial of Justus Dunn for the killing of Calvert, one of the -keepers of this very institution, in 1872. One of the witnesses in that -eventful trial, a free laborer in the house, testified on oath concerning -the punishment of a certain boy there: - -“_Q._ What was the boy punished for? - -“_A._ For not completing his task and not doing it well. He was reported -for this to the assistant-superintendent, Mr. Hallock. He (Mr. Hallock) -carried him down to the office by his collar, and there punished him -for about fifteen minutes with his cane, so that the blood ran down the -boy’s back; then the assistant-superintendent brought him back into the -shop to his place, and there struck him on the side of the head, telling -him that if he did not do his work right, he would give him more yet. -Then the boy cried out, ‘For God’s sake! I am not able to do it.’ So he -took him by his neck, and carried him to the office, where he caned him -again. After that he brought the boy back to his place in the shop, and -treated him then as he did on the other occasion. The boy could not speak -a word after that. Then the assistant carried him down to the office, -and caned him for the third time. After this caning the boy could not -come upstairs, so they took him to the hospital, where he died in about -four days. After his death a correspondent wrote a letter to the New York -_Tribune_, stating the facts, and asking for an investigation, which took -place. The punishment of Mr. Hallock was his deposition from his office -as assistant superintendent, and installation as teacher of the school. -The eye-witnesses of the occurrence were not examined, but the whole -matter was settled in the office of the institution.” - -This _en passant_. It is pleasing, after having read it, to be able to -testify to Mr. Hallock’s excellent sentiments, as shown in the extract -already given from his report, which concludes in this touching fashion: -“We are left to labor in the vineyard amid scenes sometimes discouraging, -severe, and depressing even. But, amid all, the sincere and earnest -worker may hear the voice of the Great Teacher uttering words of comfort -and consolation: _Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of -these my brethren, ye have done it unto me_.” Those words of consolation -may be read in more senses than one. - -In keeping with all this is the report of the president, Mr. Edgar -Ketchum. He also has the Catholics in his eye. He is strong on the moral -training of the children and “the mild discipline of the house,” of which -the public knows sufficient to warrant our letting Mr. Ketchum’s ironical -expression pass without comment. He is “far from discouraging any effort -to extend Christian sympathy and aid to a class who so deeply need them.” -He believes that “religion, in her benign offices, will here and there -be found to touch some chord of the soul, and make it vibrate for ever -with the power of a new life.” What religion and what offices? He is of -opinion that “the interests of society and the criminal concur; and if -his crimes have banished him from all that makes life desirable, _they -need not carry with them also a sentence of exclusion from whatever a -wise Christian philanthropy can do in his behalf_.” - -We quite agree with Mr. Ketchum. Christian philanthropy, as far as it -extends in this world, with the solitary exception of this country, has, -as already seen, by unanimous action, annulled, if ever it existed, that -“sentence of exclusion” which shut off the criminal, or the one whom Mr. -Ketchum designates as “the victim of society,” from the free profession -and practice of his religion, whether he were Catholic, Protestant, Jew, -or Mahometan. That same “Christian philanthropy,” as Mr. Ketchum is -pleased to call it, never peddled over by-laws, or rules, or regulations, -or “difficulties” whose plain purpose was to hinder Catholic children, -confined as are those in the house of which he is president, from seeing -their priest, hearing their Mass, going to confession, frequenting -the sacraments, and learning their catechism. The same wise Christian -philanthropy framed that section of the constitution, binding alike -on Mr. Ketchum and his charges, that was precisely framed to prevent -the “sentence of exclusion” which Mr. Ketchum so justly and with such -eloquence denounces. Christian philanthropy can do no work more worthy of -itself than allowing these unfortunate children, foremost and above all -things, the practice of that form of Christianity which, were they free -agents, they would undoubtedly follow; nor could it do anything less -worthy of itself than force upon them a system of worship and religious -training which their hearts abhor and their consciences reject. It could -not devise a more heinous offence against God and man, or a more hateful -tyranny, than that very “sentence of exclusion” which, under the “mild -discipline of the house,” prevails in the society of which Mr. Ketchum is -president. - -There is nothing left now but to turn to the superintendent’s report, -in order to ascertain the number of Catholic children who, for the last -fifty years, have suffered this “sentence of exclusion” from their faith, -its duties, and its practices. We are only enabled to form a proximate -idea of their number, but sufficiently accurate to serve our purpose. The -superintendent’s figures are as follows: - - Total number of children committed in fifty years, 15,791 - -Of these, 12,545 were boys and 3,246 girls. The statistics for the first -four decades are more accurate than for the last, and show the relative -percentage of the children of native and foreign parents, as follows: - - 1ST DECADE: - Native, 44 per cent. - Foreign, 56 ” - - 2D DECADE: - Native, 34½ ” - Foreign, 65½ ” - - 3D DECADE: - Native, 22 ” - Foreign, 78 ” - - 4TH DECADE: - Native, 14 ” - Foreign, 86 ” - - 5TH DECADE: - Native, 13⁶/₁₀ ” - Foreign, 86⁴/₁₀ ” - -It will be seen from this that the percentage of the entire number is -enormously in favor of the children born of foreign parents. This is -only natural from a variety of reasons, chief among which is that the -foreign-born population, including their children in the first degree, -has, within the last half-century, been vastly in excess of the native, -in this city particularly. Full statistics of the various nationalities -of the children are only given for the last year (1874). Of the 636 new -inmates received during the year, a little more than half the number -(334) were of Irish parentage; 8 were French; 3 Italian; 1 Cuban. All -of these may be safely set down as Catholics. There were 88 of German -birth, of whom one-third, following the relative statistics of their -nation, might be assumed as of the Catholic faith. The remainder, whom -we are willing to set down in bulk as non-Catholic, were divided as to -nationality as follows: - - American, 96 - African, 35 - English, 26 - Jewish, 3 - Scotch, 6 - Bohemian, 1 - Welsh, 1 - Mixed, 34 - -At all events, figure as we may, it may be taken as indisputable that -more than one-half the children committed during the past year to the -House of Refuge were of Catholic parents. Their average age, according to -the statistics, was thirteen years and eight months. Consequently, the -children were quite of an age to be capable of distinguishing between -creed and creed, and six years beyond the average age set down by the -Catholic Church as a proper time to begin to frequent the sacraments of -Confession and Communion, to prepare for Confirmation, and to hear Mass -on all Sundays and holydays of obligation, under pain of mortal sin. -From the moment of their entering the institution the “wise Christian -philanthropy” of which Mr. Edgar Ketchum is so eloquent an exponent has -pronounced against them a dread “sentence of exclusion” from all these -practices of faith and means of grace, as well as from instruction of any -kind whatever in their religion. And not only has this been the case, -but they have been subjected to the constant instruction of such men as -Mr. Smyth and Mr. Hallock. Multiply these children throughout the last -fifty years, as far as the relative percentage given will allow us to -form an opinion of their creeds, and the picture that presents itself of -these poor little Catholics is one that rends the heart. In the present -article we are only presenting the general features of the case, basing -our argument for the admission of a Catholic chaplain to this and all -similar institutions from which a Catholic chaplain is excluded, on the -law of the land, on the letter and spirit of the constitution, which -we Catholics love, revere, and obey. We simply set the case in its -barest aspect before our fellow-citizens, of whatever creed, and ask -for our children what they would claim for their children--the right of -instruction in the religion in which they were born; the right of the -free practice and profession of the religion in which they believe; the -right to repel all coercion, in whatever form, of conscience, whether -such coercion be called sectarian or non-sectarian. In a word, we ask -now, as at the beginning, what we ask for all, and what Catholics, where -they have the power, as already seen, freely and without compulsion, or -request even, grant to all--that great privilege and right which the -constitution of this State guarantees to all mankind: “the free exercise -and enjoyment of religious profession and worship, without discrimination -or preference.” - - -THE VEIL WITHDRAWN. - -TRANSLATED, BY PERMISSION, FROM THE FRENCH OF MME. CRAVEN, AUTHOR OF “A -SISTER’S STORY,” “FLEURANGE,” ETC. - -CONCLUDED. - - -XLIV. - -This was the spring of the year 1859. In spite of the retirement in -which we lived and Lorenzo’s assiduous labors, which deprived him of the -leisure to read even a newspaper, the rumors of a war between Austria and -Italy had more than once reached us and excited his anxiety--excited him -as every Italian was at that period at the thought of seeing his country -delivered from the yoke of the foreigner. On this point public sentiment -was unanimous, and many people in France will now comprehend better than -they did at that time, perhaps, a cry much more sincere than many that -were uttered at a later day--the only one that came from every heart: -_Fuori i Tedeschi_. But till the time, when the realization of this wish -became possible, it was only expressed by those who labored in secret to -hasten its realization; it seemed dormant among others. Political life -was forbidden or impossible. An aimless, frivolous life was only embraced -with the more ardor, and this state of things had furnished Lorenzo with -more than one excuse at the time when he snatched at a poor one. - -I had often heard him express his national and political opinions, -aspirations, and prejudices, but these points had never interested me. -I loved Italy as it was. I thought it beautiful, rich, and glorious. I -did not imagine anything could add to the charm, past and present, which -nature, poetry, religion, and history had endowed it with. From time to -time I had also heard a cry which excited my horror, and conveyed to my -mind no other idea than a monstrous national and religious crime: _Roma -capitale!_ These words alone roused me sufficiently from my indifference -to excite my indignation, and even awakened in me a feeling bordering on -repugnance to all that was then called the Italian _resorgimento_. - -Stella did not, in this respect, agree with me. It was her nature to be -roused to enthusiasm by everything that gave proof of energy, courage, -and devotedness--traits that patriotism, more or less enlightened, easily -assumes the seductive appearance of, provided it is sincere. No one could -repeat with more expression than she: - - “_Italia! Italia!_ … - De’h fossi tu men bella! O almen piu forte!”[2] - -Or the celebrated apostrophe of Dante: - - “Ahi serva Italia! di dolore ostello!”[3] - -Never did her talent appear to better advantage than in the recitation -of such lines; her face would light up and her whole attitude change. -Lorenzo often smilingly said if he wished to represent the poetical -personification of Italy, he would ask Stella to become his model. As -to what concerned Rome, she did not even seem to comprehend my anxiety. -If a few madmen already began to utter that ominous cry, the most -eminent Italians of the time declared that to infringe on the majesty -of Rome, deprive her of the sovereignty which left her, in a new sense, -her ancient title of queen of the world--in short, to menace the Papacy, -“_l’unique grandeur vivante de l’Italie_,” would be to commit the crime -of treason against the world, and uncrown Italy herself. - -Alas! now that the time approached for realizing some of her dreams -and the bitter deception of others, Stella, absorbed in her grief, was -indifferent to all that was occurring in her country, and did not even -remark the universal excitement around her! As for me, who had always -taken so little interest in such things, I was more unconcerned than -ever, and scarcely listened to what was said on the subject in Mme. -de Kergy’s drawing-room. I was far from suspecting I was about to be -violently roused from my state of indifference. - -It was Easter Sunday. I had been to church with Lorenzo. We had fulfilled -together the sweet, sacred obligations of the day; the union of our souls -was complete, and our hearts were at once full of joy and solemnity--that -is, in complete harmony with the great festival. At our return we found -breakfast awaiting us. Ottavia, who, with a single domestic, had the -care of our house, had adorned the table with flowers, as well as with -a little more silver than usual, in order to render it somewhat more in -accordance with the importance of the day. By means of colored-glass -windows and some old paintings suspended on the dark wainscotting, -Lorenzo had given our little dining-room an aspect at once serious and -smiling, which greatly pleased me, and I still remember the feeling of -happiness and joy with which, on my return from church, I entered the -little room, the open window of which admitted the sun and the odor of -the jasmine twined around it. The three conditions of true happiness we -did not lack--order, peace, and industry--and we were in that cheerful -frame of mind which neither wealth, nor gratified ambition, nor any -earthly prosperity is able to impart. - -We took seats at the table. Lorenzo found before him a pile of letters -and newspapers, but did not attempt to open them. He sat looking at me -with admiration and affection. I, on my part, said to myself that moral -and religious influences had not only a beneficial effect on the soul, -but on the outward appearance. Never had Lorenzo’s face worn such an -expression; never had I been so struck with the manly beauty of his -features. Our eyes met. He smiled. - -“Ginevra mia!” said he, “in truth, you are right. The life we now lead -must suit you, for you grow lovelier every day.” - -“Our life does not suit you less than it does me, Lorenzo,” said I. “We -are both in our element now. God be blessed! His goodness to us has -indeed been great!” - -“Yes,” said he with sudden gravity, “greater a thousand times than I had -any right to expect. I am really too happy!” - -This time I only laughed at his observation, and tried to divert his mind -from the remembrances awakened. - -“Where are your letters from?” - -He tore one open, and his face brightened. - -“That looks well! Nothing could suit me better. Here is an American -who wishes a repetition of my _Sappho_, and gives me another order of -importance. And then what? He wishes to purchase the lovely _Vestal_ he -saw in my studio. Oh! as for that, _par exemple_, no!… The _Vestal_ is -mine, mine alone. No one else shall ever have it. But no matter, Ginevra; -if things go on in this way, I shall soon be swimming in money, and then -look out for the diamonds!” - -He knew now, as well as I, what I thought of such things. He laughed, and -then continued to read his letters. - -“This is from Lando. It is addressed to us both.” - -He glanced over it: - -“Their honeymoon at Paris is still deferred. They cannot leave Donna -Clelia.” - -After reading for some time in silence, he said in an animated tone: - -“This letter has been written some time, and it seems there were rumors -of war on all sides at the time, and poor Mariuccia, though scarcely -married to her German baron, had to set out for her new home much sooner -than she expected.” - -I listened to all this with mingled indifference and distraction, when I -suddenly saw Lorenzo spring from his seat with an exclamation of so much -surprise that I was eager to know what had caused his sudden excitement. - -He had just opened a newspaper, and read the great news of the day: the -Austrians had declared war against Italy. The beginning of the campaign -was at hand. - -Alas! my happy Easter was instantly darkened by a heavy cloud! - -Lorenzo seized his hat, and immediately went out to obtain further -details concerning the affair, leaving me sad and uneasy. Oh! how far I -lived from the agitations of great political disturbances! How incapable -I was of comprehending them! For a year my soul had been filled with -emotions as profound as they were sweet. After great sufferings, joys so -great had been accorded me that I felt a painful shrinking from the least -idea of any change. But though the power of suffering was still alive -in my heart, all anxiety was extinguished. Whatever way a dear hand is -laid on us, we never wish to thrust it away. I remained calm, therefore, -though a painful apprehension had taken possession of my mind; and when -Lorenzo returned, two hours later, I was almost prepared for what he had -to communicate. - -Yes, I knew it; he wished to go. Every one in the province to which his -family belonged was to take part in this war of independence. He could -not remain away from his brothers and the other relatives and friends who -were to enroll themselves in resisting a foreign rule. - -“It is the critical moment. Seconded by France, the issue cannot be -doubtful this time. You know I have abhorred conspiracies all my life, -and my long journeys have served to keep me away from those who would -perhaps have drawn me into them. But now how can you wish me to hesitate? -How can you expect me at such a time to remain inactive and tranquil? -You would be the first, I am sure, to be astonished at such a course, -and I hope to find you now both courageous and prompt to aid me, for I -must start without any delay. You understand, my poor Ginevra, before -to-morrow I must be on my way.” - -He said all this and much more besides. I neither tried to remonstrate -nor reply. I felt he was obeying what he believed to be a call of duty, -and I could use no arguments to dissuade him from it. What could I do, -then? Only aid him, and bear without shrinking the unexpected blow which -had come like a sudden tempest to overthrow the edifice, but just -restored, of my calm and happy life! - -The day passed sadly and rapidly away. I was occupied so busily that I -scarcely had time for reflection. But at last all I could do was done, -and Lorenzo, who had gone out in the afternoon, found, on returning at -nightfall, that everything was ready for his departure, which was to take -place that very night. - -We sat down side by side on a little bench against the garden-wall. -Spring-time at Paris is lovely also, and everything was in bloom that -year on Easter Sunday. The air even in Italy could not have been sweeter -nor the sky clearer. He took my hand, and I leaned my head against his -shoulder. For some minutes my heart swelled with a thousand emotions I -was unable to express. I allowed my tears to flow in silence. Lorenzo -likewise struggled to repress the agitation he did not wish to betray, as -I saw by his trembling lips and the paleness of his face. - -I wiped my eyes and raised my head. - -“Lorenzo,” said I all at once, “why not take me with you, instead of -leaving me here?” - -“To the war?” said he, smiling. - -“No, but to Italy. You could leave me, no matter where. On the other side -of the Alps I should be near you, and … should you have need of me, I -could go to you.” - -He remained thoughtful for a moment, and then said, as if speaking to -himself: - -“Yes, should I be wounded, and have time to see you again, it would be a -consolation, it is true.” - -We became silent again, and I awaited his decision with a beating heart. -Finally he said in a decided tone: - -“No, Ginevra, it cannot be. Remain here. It is my wish. You must.” - -“Why?” asked I, trying to keep back the tears that burst from my eyes at -his reply--“why? Oh! tell me why?” - -“Because,” replied he firmly, “I have no idea what will be the result of -the war in Italy. Very probably it will cause insurrections everywhere, -perhaps revolutions.” - -“O my God!” cried I with terror … “and you expect me not to feel any -horror at this war! Even if it had not come to overturn my poor life, how -can I help shuddering at the thought of all the misery it is about to -produce?” - -“What can you expect, Ginevra? Yes, it is a serious affair. God alone -knows what it will lead to. You see Mario writes Sicily is already -a-flame. No one can tell what will take place at Naples. I should not be -easy about you anywhere but here.… No, Ginevra, you cannot go. You must -remain here. I insist upon it.” - -I knew, from the tone in which he said this, it was useless to insist, -and I bent my head in silence. He gently continued, as he pressed my hand -in his: - -“The war will be short, I hope, Ginevra. If I am spared, I will hasten to -resume the dear life we have led here. But if, on the contrary.…” - -He stopped a moment, then, with a sudden change of manner and an accent I -shall never forget, he continued: - -“But why speak to you as I should to any other woman? Why not trust to -the inward strength you possess, which has as often struck me as your -sweetness of disposition? I know now where your strength comes from, and -will speak to you without any circumlocution.” - -I looked at him with surprise at this preamble, and by the soft evening -light I saw a ray of heaven in his eyes; for they beamed with faith and -humility as he uttered the following words: - -“Why deceive you, Ginevra? Why not tell you I feel this is the last hour -we shall ever pass together in this world?” - -I shuddered. He put his arm around my waist, and drew me towards him. - -“No, do not tremble!… Listen to me.… If I feel I am to die, I have -always thought a life like mine required some other expiation besides -repentance. The happiness you have afforded me is not one, and who knows -if its continuation might not become a source of danger to me? Whereas -to die now would be something; it would be a sacrifice worthy of being -offered … and accepted.” - -My head had again fallen on his shoulder, and my heart beat so rapidly I -was not able to reply. - -“Look upward, Ginevra,” said he in a thrilling tone; “raise your eyes -towards the heaven you have taught me to turn to, to desire, and hope -for. Tell me we shall meet there again, and there find a happiness no -longer attended by danger!” - -Yes, at such language I felt the inward strength he had spoken of assert -itself, after seeming to fail me, and this terrible, painful hour became -truly an hour of benediction. - -“Lorenzo,” said I in a tone which, in spite of my tears, was firm, “yes, -you are right, a thousand times right. Yes, whatever be your fate and -mine, let us bless God!… We are happy without doubt; but our present -life, whatever its duration, is only a short prelude to that true life of -infinite happiness which awaits us. Let God do as he pleases with it and -with us! Whatever be the result, there is no adieu for us.” - -Do I mean to say that the sorrow of parting was extinguished? Oh! no, -assuredly not. We tasted its bitterness to the full, but there is a -mysterious savor which is only revealed to the heart that includes all in -its sacrifice, and refuses nothing. This savor was vouchsafed us at that -supreme hour, and we knew and felt it strengthened our souls. - - -XLV. - -The two weeks that succeeded this last evening seem, as I look back upon -them, like one long day of expectation. Nothing occurred to relieve my -constant uneasiness. A few lines from Lorenzo, written in haste as he was -on the point of starting to join the army, where the post of aide-de-camp -to one of the generals had been reserved for him, were the last direct -news I received. From that day I had no other information but what I -gathered from the newspapers, or what Mme. de Kergy and Diana obtained -from their friends, who, though most of them were unfavorable to the war -in which France was engaged, felt an ardent interest in all who took -part in it. But there were only vague, confused reports, which, far from -calming my agitation, only served to increase it. - -One evening I remained later than usual at church. Prostrate before one -of the altars, which was lit up with a great number of tapers, I could -not tear myself away, though night had come and the church was almost -deserted. It was one of those dark, painful hours when the idea of -suffering fills us with fear and repugnance, and rouses every faculty -of our nature to resist it; one of those hours of mortal anguish that -no human being could support had there not been a day--a day that will -endure as long as the world--when this agony was suffered by Him who -wished us to participate in it in order that he might be for ever near us -when we, in our turn, should have to endure it for him!… - -Oh! in that hour I felt in how short a time I had become attached to the -earthly happiness that had been granted me beyond the realization of my -utmost wishes. What tender, ardent sentiments! What sweet, delightful -communings already constituted a treasure in my memory which furnished -material for the most fearful sacrifice I could be called upon to make! -Alas! the human heart, even that to which God has deigned to reveal -himself, still attaches itself strongly to all it is permitted to love on -earth! But this divine love condescends to be jealous of our affection, -and it is seldom he spares such hearts the extreme sacrifices which lead -them to give themselves to him at last without any reserve! - -When I left the church, I saw a crowd in the street. Several houses were -illuminated, and on all sides I heard people talking of a great victory, -the news of which had just arrived at Paris. - -I returned home agitated and troubled. At what price had this victory -been won? Who had fallen in the battle? What was I to hear? And when -would the anguish that now contracted my heart be relieved … or -justified? Mme. de Kergy, who hastened to participate in my anxiety, -was unable to allay it. But our suspense was not of long duration. The -hour, awaited with the fear of an overpowering presentiment, was soon to -arrive!… - -Two days after I was sitting in the evening on the little bench in the -garden where we held our last conversation, when I received the news for -which he had so strangely prepared me. His fatal prevision was realized. -He was one of the first victims of the opening attack. His name, better -known than many others, had been reported at once, and headed the list of -those who fell in the battle. - - * * * * * - -No preparation, no acceptation of anticipated misfortune, no effort at -submission or courage, was now able to preserve me from a shock similar -to the one I have related the effects of at the beginning of this story. -As on that occasion, I lost all consciousness, and Ottavia carried me -senseless to my chamber. As then, likewise, I was for several days the -prey to a burning fever, which was followed by a weakness and prostration -that rendered my thoughts confused and incoherent for some time. And -finally, as when I was but fifteen years old, it was also a strong, -sudden emotion that helped restore my physical strength and the complete -use of my senses and reason. - -The most profound silence reigned in the chamber where I lay, but I felt -I was surrounded by the tenderest care. At length I vaguely began to -recognize voices around me; first, that of Ottavia, which made me shed -my first tears--tears of emotion, caused by a return to the days of my -childhood. I thought myself there again. I forgot everything that had -happened since. But this partial relief restored lucidness to my mind, -and with it a clear consciousness of the misfortune that had befallen me. -Then I uttered a cry--a cry that alarmed my faithful nurse. But I had the -strength to reassure her at once. - -“Let me weep, Ottavia,” said I in a low tone--“I know, … I recollect. Do -not be alarmed; I am better, Ottavia. God be blessed, I can pray!” - -I said no more, and closed my eyes. But a little while after I reopened -them, and eagerly raised my head. What did I hear? Mme. de Kergy and -Diana were there. I recognized their voices, and now distinguished their -faces. But whose voice was that which had just struck my ear? Whose sweet -face was that so close to mine? Whose hand was that I felt the pressure -of? - -“O my Stella!” I cried, “is it a dream, or are you really here?” … - - -XLVI. - -No, it was not a dream. It was really Stella, who had torn herself from -her retreat, her solitude and her grief, and hastened to me as soon as -she heard of the fresh blow that had befallen me. She had not ceased -to interest herself in all that concerned my new life, and the distant -radiance of my happiness had been the only joy of her wounded heart. -Now this happiness was suddenly destroyed.… I was far away; I was in -trouble; I was alone; the state of affairs, which became more and more -serious, detained my brother in Sicily; but she was free--free, alas! -from every tie, from every duty, and she came to me as fast as the most -rapid travelling could bring her. But when she arrived, I was unable to -recognize her, and, when I now embraced her, she had watched more than a -week at my bedside! - -This was the sweetest consolation--the greatest human assistance heaven -could send me, and it was a benefit to both of us. For each it was -beneficial to have the other to think of. - -My health now began to improve, and my soul recovered its serenity. I -felt a solemn, profound peace, which could not be taken from me, and -which continually increased; but this did not prevent me from feeling and -saying with sincerity that everything in this world was at an end for me. - -Yes, everything was at an end; but I resigned myself to my lot, and when, -after this new affliction, I found myself before the altar where I prayed -that evening with so many gloomy forebodings, I fell prostrate, as, -after some severe combat or long journey, a child falls exhausted on the -threshold of his father’s house, to which he returns never to leave it -again! - -If I had then obeyed my natural impulse, I should have sought some place -of profound seclusion, where I could live, absorbed and lost in the -thought continually present to my mind since the great day of grace which -enabled me to comprehend the words: _God loves me!_ and to which I could -henceforth add: And whom alone I now love! - -But it is seldom the case one’s natural inclinations can be obeyed, -especially when they incline one to a life of inaction and retirement. -There is but little repose on earth, and the more we love God, the less -it is permitted to sigh after it. I was forced to think of others at this -time, and, above all, of the dear, faithful friend who had come so far to -console me. - -It did not require a long time for Mme. de Kergy to discern the heroic -greatness of Stella’s character, and still less for her maternal heart, -that had received so many blows, to sympathize with the broken heart of -Angiolina’s mother. The affection she at once conceived for Stella was so -strong that I might have been almost jealous, had it not exactly realized -one of my strongest desires, and had not Mme. de Kergy been one of those -persons whose affection is the emanation of a higher love which is -bestowed on all, without allowing that which is given to the latest comer -to diminish in the least the part of the others. - -She at once perceived the remedy that would be efficacious to her wounded -heart, and what would be a beneficial effort for mine, and she threw us -both, if I may so express myself, into that ocean of charity where all -personal sufferings, trials, and considerations are forgotten, and where -peace is restored to the soul by means of the very woes one encounters -and succeeds in relieving. - -No fatigue, no fear of contagion, the sight of no misery, affected -Stella’s courage; no labor wearied her patience, no application or effort -was beyond her ability and perseverance. For souls thus constituted it -is a genuine pleasure to exercise their noble faculties and be able to -satisfy the thirst for doing good that devours them. Her eyes, therefore, -soon began to brighten, her face to grow animated, and from time to time, -like a reflection of the past, her lips to expand with the charming smile -of former days. - -There is a real enjoyment, little suspected by those who have not -experienced it, in these long, fatiguing rounds, the endless staircases -ascended and descended, in all these duties at once distressing and -consoling, and it can be truly affirmed that there is more certainty -of cheerfulness awaiting those who return home from these sad visits -than the happiest of those who come from some gay, brilliant assembly. -It is to the former the words of S. Francis de Sales may be addressed: -“Consider the sweetest, liveliest pleasures that ever delighted your -heart, and say if there is one worth the joy you now taste.…” - -Thus peace and a certain joy returned by degrees, seconded by the -sweetest, tenderest, most beneficial sympathy. Notwithstanding the -solitude in which we lived, and the mourning I never intended to lay -aside, and which Stella continued to wear, we spent an hour every evening -at Mme. de Kergy’s, leaving when it was time for her usual circle to -assemble. This hour was a pleasant one, and she depended on seeing us, -for she began to cling to our company. Diana, far from being jealous, -declared we added to the happiness of their life; and one day, in one of -her outbursts of caressing affection, she exclaimed that the good God had -restored to her mother the two daughters she had mourned for so long. - -At these words Mme. de Kergy’s eyes filled with tears, which she hastily -wiped away, and, far from contradicting her daughter, she extended her -arms and held us both in a solemn, tender, maternal embrace! - - -XLVII. - -What Stella felt at that moment I cannot say. As for me, my feelings were -rather painful than pleasant. I comprehended only too well the sadness -that clouded the dear, venerable brow of Gilbert’s mother, and his -prolonged absence weighed on my heart like remorse. Of course I did not -consider myself the direct cause. But I could not forget that he merely -left his country for a few weeks, and it was only after his sojourn at -Naples he had taken the sudden resolution to make almost the tour of the -world--that is, a journey whose duration was prolonged from weeks into -months, and from months into years. I felt that no joy could spring up on -the hearth he had forsaken till the day he should return, and it seemed -to me I should not dare till that day arrived enjoy the peace that had -been restored to my soul. - -Months passed away, however, autumn came for the second time since -Stella’s arrival, and the time fixed for her departure was approaching. -I had made up my mind to accompany her, and pass some time at Naples -with her, in order to be near my sister; but various unforeseen events -modified her plans as well as mine. - -I went one day to the Hôtel de Kergy at a different hour from that I was -in the habit of going. Diana and her mother had gone out. I was told -they would return in an hour. I decided, therefore, to wait, and, as -the weather was fine, I selected a book from one of the tables of the -drawing-room, and took a seat in the garden. - -While I was looking over the books, my attention was attracted to -several letters that lay on the table awaiting Mme. de Kergy’s return, -and, to my great joy, I recognized Gilbert’s writing on one of them. -His long absence had this time been rendered more painful by the -infrequency and irregularity of his letters. Whole months often elapsed -without the arrival of any. I hoped this one had brought his mother the -long-wished-for promise of his return, and cheered by this thought, I -opened my book, which soon absorbed me so completely that I forgot my -anxiety, and hope, and everything else.… - -The book I held in my hand was the _Confessions of S. Augustine_, and, -opening it at hazard, the passage on which my eyes fell was this: - -“What I know, not with doubt, but with certainty; what I know, O my God! -is that I love thee. Thy word penetrated my heart and suddenly caused it -to love thee. The heavens and the earth, and all they contain, do they -not cry without ceasing that all men should love thee? But he on whom it -pleaseth thee to have mercy alone can comprehend this language.”[4] - -O words, ancient but ever new, like the beauty itself that inspired them! -What a flight my soul took as I read them again here in this solitude and -silence. Though centuries had passed since the day they were written, -how exactly they expressed, how faithfully they portrayed, the feelings -of my heart! How profound was the conviction I felt, in my turn, that, -without the mercy and compassion of God, I should never have been able to -understand their meaning! - -I was deeply, deeply plunged in these reflections, I was lost in a world, -not of fancy, but of reality more delightful than a poet’s dreams, -when an unusual noise brought me suddenly to myself. First I heard the -rattling of a carriage which I supposed to be Mme. de Kergy’s. But I -instantly saw two or three servants rush into the court, as if some -unexpected event had occurred. Then the old gardener, at work in the -parterre before me, suddenly threw down his watering-pot and uttered a -cry of surprise and joy: - -“O goodness of God!” exclaimed he in a trembling voice, “there is -Monsieur le Comte!” - -“Monsieur le Comte?” cried I, hastily rising.… - -But I had not time to finish my question. It was really he--Gilbert. -He was there before me, on the upper step of the flight that led to -the drawing-room. I sprang towards him with a joy I did not think of -repressing or concealing, and, extending both hands, I exclaimed: - -“Oh! God be blessed a thousand times. It is you! You have returned! What -a joyful surprise for your mother! For Diana! For me also, I assure you!…” - -I know not what else I was on the point of adding when, seeing him stand -motionless, and gaze at me as if incapable of answering a word, a faint -blush rose to my face. Was he surprised at such a greeting, or too much -agitated? Perchance he was deceived as to its signification. This doubt -caused a sudden embarrassment, and checked the words I was about to utter. - -At length he explained his unexpected arrival. His letter ought to have -arrived before. He supposed his mother was notified.… He wished to spare -her so sudden a surprise.… - -“I knew you were at Paris,” continued he, in a tone of agitation he could -not overcome. “Yes … I knew it, and hoped to see you again. But to find -you here … to see you the first, O madame! that was a happiness too great -for me to anticipate, and I cannot yet realize it is not, after all, a -dream.…” - -While he was thus speaking, and gazing intently at me as if I were some -vision about to vanish from his sight, my joyful greeting and cordiality -were changed into extreme gravity of manner, and I looked away as his -eyes wandered from my face to my mourning attire, and for the first time -it occurred to me he found me free, and perhaps was now thinking of it! - -Free!… Oh! if I have succeeded in describing the state of my soul since -that moment of divine light which marked the most precious day of my -life; if I have clearly expressed the aspect which the past, the present, -the future, and all the joys, all the sufferings, in short, every event -of my life, henceforth took in my eyes; if, I say, I have been able to -make myself understood, those who have read these pages are already aware -what the word _free_ now signified to me. - -Free! Yes, as the bird that cleaves the air is free to return to its -cage; as the captive on his way to the shores of his native land is free -to return and resume his chains; so is the soul that has once tasted the -blessed reality of God’s love free also to return to the vain dreams of -earthly happiness. - -“I would not accept it!” was the exclamation of a soul[5] that had thus -been made free, and it is neither strange nor new. No more than the bird -or the captive could it be tempted to return to the past.… - - * * * * * - -I did not utter a word, however, and the thoughts that came over me like -a flood died away in the midst of the joyful excitement that put an end -to this moment of silence. Mme. de Kergy and Diana, who had been sent -for, arrived pale and agitated. But when I saw Gilbert in his mother’s -arms, I felt so happy that I entirely forgot what had occurred, and was -not even embarrassed when, as I was on the point of leaving, I heard -Diana say to her brother that her mother had two new daughters now, and -he would find three sisters instead of one in the house. - -I returned home in great haste. It was the first time for a long while my -heart had felt light. I searched for Stella. She was neither in the house -nor garden. I then thought of the studio, where, in fact, I found her. -Everything remained in the same way Lorenzo had left it, and Stella, who -had a natural taste for the arts, knew enough of sculpture to devote a -part of her time to it. She had succeeded in making a bust of Angiolina -which was a good likeness, and she was at work upon it when I entered. - -She looked at me with an air of surprise, for she saw something unusual -had taken place. - -“Gilbert has returned!” I exclaimed, without thinking of preparing her -for the news, the effect of which I had not sufficiently foreseen. - -She turned deadly pale, and her face assumed an expression I had never -known it to wear. I was utterly amazed. Rising with an abrupt movement, -she said, in an altered tone: - -“Then I must go, Ginevra!” And, suddenly bursting into tears, she pressed -her lips to the little bust, the successful production of her labor and -grief. - -“O my angel child!” said she, “forgive me. I know it; I ought to love no -one but thee. I have been punished, cruelly punished. And yet I am not -sure of myself, Ginevra. I do not wish to see him again. I must go.” - -It was the first time in her life Stella had thus allowed me to read the -depths of her heart. It was the first time the violence of any emotion -whatever broke down the wall of reserve she knew how to maintain, and -made her rise above her natural repugnance to speak of herself. It was -the first time I was sure of the wound I had so long suspected, but which -I had never ventured to probe. - -God alone knows with what emotion I listened to her. What hopes were -awakened, and what prayers rose from my heart during the moment’s silence -that followed these ardent words. She soon continued, with renewed -agitation: - -“Yes, I must start at once. I had no idea he would arrive in this way -without giving me time to escape!…” - -Then she added, in a hollow tone: - -“Listen, Ginevra. For once I must be frank with you. He loves you, you -well know, and now there is nothing more to separate you; now you are -free.…” - -But she stopped short, surprised, I think, at the way in which I looked -at her. - -“She also! Is it possible?” murmured I, replying to my own thoughts. - -And my eyes, that had been fixed on her, involuntarily looked upward at -the light that came from the only window in the studio. I soon said in a -calm tone: - -“You are mistaken, Stella. I am not free, as you suppose. But let us not -speak of myself, I beg.…” - -She listened without comprehending me, and her train of thought, -interrupted for a moment, resumed its course. I was far from wishing to -check a communicativeness her suffering heart had more need of than she -was aware. I allowed her, therefore, to pour out without hindrance all -that burdened her mind. I suffered her to give way to her unreasonable -remorse. I did not even contradict her when she repeated that her sweet -treasure would not have been ravished from her, had she been worthy of -possessing it, if no other love had been allowed to enter her heart. I -did not oppose this fancy, which was only one of those _perfidies de -l’amour_, as such imaginary wrongs have been happily styled, which, after -the occurrence of misfortune, often add to one’s actual sorrow a burden -still heavier and more difficult to bear. - -On the contrary, I assured her we would start together, and she herself -should fix the day of our departure. - -I only begged her not to hasten the time, and, by leaving Paris so -abruptly, afflict our excellent friend at the very hour of her joy, and -make Diana weep at the moment when she was so pleased at the restoration -of their happiness. At last I induced her to consent that things should -remain for the present as they were. She would return to the Hôtel de -Kergy, and Gilbert’s return should in no way change the way of life we -had both led for a year. - - -XLVIII. - -Nothing, in fact, was changed. Our morning rounds, our occupations in the -afternoon, and our evening reunions, all continued the same as before. -Apparently nothing new had occurred except the satisfaction and joy -which once more brightened the fireside of our friends, and things were -pleasanter than ever, even when Gilbert was present. This time he seemed -decided to put an end to his wandering habits, and settle down with his -mother, never to leave her again. - -Nothing was changed, therefore. And yet before the end of the year I -alone remained the same as the day of Gilbert’s arrival, the day when -Stella was so desirous of going away that she might not meet him again; -the day when (as I must now acknowledge) he thought if he was deceived -by the pleasure I manifested at seeing him again, if my sentiments did -not respond to his, if some new insurmountable barrier had risen in the -place of that which death had removed, then he would once more depart, he -would leave his country again, he would exile himself from his friends -… and--who knows?--perhaps die--yes, really, die of grief with a broken -heart!… - -It was somewhat in these terms he spoke to me some time after his -return, and I looked at him, as I listened, with a strange sensation of -surprise. He was, however, the same he once was, the same Gilbert whose -presence had afforded me so much happiness and been such a source of -danger. There was no change in the charm of his expression, his voice, -his wit, the elevation of his mind and character, and yet … I tried, but -in vain, to recall the emotions of the past I once found so difficult to -hide, so painful to combat, so impossible to overcome. I could not revive -the dreams, the realization of which was now offered me, and convince -myself it was I who had formerly regarded such a destiny as so happy a -one and so worthy of envy--I, who now found it so far below the satisfied -ambition of my heart. Ah! it was a good thing for me to see Gilbert -again; it was well to look this earthly happiness once more in the face, -in order to estimate the extent the divine arrow had penetrated my soul -and opened the only true fountain of happiness and love! - -It was not necessary to give utterance to all these thoughts. There -was something inexpressible in my eyes, my voice, my language, my -tranquillity in his presence, in my friendship itself, so evident and -sincere, which were more expressive than any words or explanation, and -by degrees produced a conviction no man can resist unless he is--which -Gilbert was not--blind, presumptuous, or inflated with pride. - - “Amor, ch’ a null’ amato amar perdona,”[6] - -says our great poet. But he should have added that, if this law is not -obeyed, love dies, and he who loves soon grows weary of loving in vain. - -Gilbert was not an exception to this rule. The time came for its -accomplishment in his case. The day came when he realized it. It was a -slow, gradual, insensible process, but at length I saw the budding, the -progress, the fulfilment of my dearest hopes. - -The “_sang joyeux_” which once enabled my dear Stella to endure the -trials of her earlier life now diffused new joy and hope in her heart, -brought back to her eyes and lips that brilliancy of color and intensity -of expression which always reflected the emotions of her soul, and made -her once more what she was before her great grief!… - - * * * * * - -I saw her at last happy--happy to a degree that had never before been -shed over her life. I should have left her then, as I intended, to see -Livia again; but, while the changes I have just referred to were taking -place around me, the heavy, unmerciful hand of spoliation had been laid -on the loved asylum where my sister hoped to find shelter for life. -Soldiers’ quarters were needed. The monastery was appropriated, the nuns -were expelled. A greater trial than exile was inflicted on their innocent -lives--a trial as severe as death, and, in fact, was death to several -of their number. They were separated from one another; the aged were -received in pious families; some were dispersed in various convents of -their order still spared in Italy by the act of suppression; others, -again, sought refuge in countries not then affected by the tempest which, -from time to time, rises against the church and strikes the religious -orders as lightning always strikes the highest summits, without ever -succeeding in annihilating one, but leaving to the persecutors the stigma -of crime and the shame of defeat! - -My sister Livia was of the number of these holy exiles. A convent of her -order, not far from Paris, was assigned her as a refuge, and it was there -I had the joy of once more seeing her calm, angelic face. How much we -had to say to each other! How truly united we now were! What a pleasure -to again find her attentive ear, her faithful heart, and her courageous, -artless soul! But when, after the long account I had to give her, I -asked her to tell me, in her turn, all she had suffered from the sudden, -violent invasion, the profanation of a place so dear and sacred to her, -and the necessity of bidding farewell to the cloudless heavens, the -beautiful mountains, and all the enchanting scenery of the country she -loved, she smiled: - -“What difference does all that make?” said she. “Only one thing is sad: -that they who have wronged us should have done us this injury. As for us, -the only real privation there is they could not inflict on us; the only -true exile they could not impose. _Domini est terra et plenitudo ejus!_ -No human power can separate us from him!” - - * * * * * - -And now there remains but little to add. - -The happiness of this world, such as it is, in all its fulness and its -insufficiency, Gilbert and Stella possess. Diana also, without being -obliged to leave her mother, has found a husband worthy of her and the -dear sanctuary of all that is noble. Mario makes frequent journeys -to France to visit his sisters, each in her retreat, and his former -asperities seem to grow less and less. Lando and Teresina also come to -see me every time they visit Paris, and I always find in him a sincere -and faithful friend; but it is very difficult to convince him I shall -never marry again, and still more so to make him understand how I can be -happy. - -Happy!… Nevertheless I am, and truly so! I am happier than I ever -imagined I could be on earth; and if life sometimes seems long, I have -never found it sad. Order, peace, activity, salutary friendship, a divine -hope, leave nothing to be desired, and like one[7] who, still young, -likewise arrived through suffering to the clearest light, I said, in my -turn: Nothing is wanting, for “_I believe, I love, and I wait!_” - -Yes, I await the plenitude of that happiness, a single ray of which -sufficed to transform my whole life. I bless God for having unveiled the -profound mystery of my heart, and enabled me to solve its enigma, and -to understand with the same clearness all the aspirations of the soul -which constitute here below the glory and torment of our nature! I render -thanks to him for being able to comprehend and believe with assurance -that the reason why we are so insatiable for knowledge, for repose, for -happiness, for love, for security, and for so many other blessings never -found on earth to the extent they are longed for, is because “we are all -created _solely_ for what we cannot here possess!”[8] - - -MARCH. - - Ready is Time beneath her brooding wing - To break with swelling life the brown earth’s sheath; - And fondly do we watch th’ expectant heath - For bloom and song the days are ripe to bring. - Our heralds even vaunt the birth of spring, - While yet, alack! the winter’s blatant breath - Defieth trust, and coldly shadoweth - With drifts of gray each hope that dares to sing. - Yet still we know, as deepest shades foretell - The coming of the morn, and lovely sheen - Of living sunshine lies asleep between - A snow-bound crust and joys that upward well, - So, sure of triumph o’er the yielding shell, - Are ecstasies of song and matchless green! - - -CALDERON’S AUTOS SACRAMENTALES. - -I. - - -I. - -Villemain, in his _Lectures on the Literature of the Middle Ages_, while -speaking of the Mysteries performed by the _Confrères de la Passion_, -exclaims, “It is to be regretted that at that period the French language -was not more fully developed, and that there was no man of genius among -the _Confrères de la Passion_. - -“The subject was admirable: imagine a theatre, which the faith of the -people made the supplement of their worship; conceive religion, with the -sublimity of its dogmas, put on the stage before convinced spectators, -then a poet of powerful imagination, able to use freely all these grand -things, not reduced to the necessity of stealing a few tears from us -by feigned adventures, but striking our souls with the authority of -an apostle and the impassioned magic of an artist, addressing what we -believe and feel, and making us shed real tears over subjects which seem -not only true, but divine--certainly nothing would have been greater than -this poetry!” - -Such a poet and such poetry Spain possesses in Calderon and his _Autos -Sacramentales_, which may be regarded as the completion and perfection of -the religious drama of the Middle Ages. - -Of the modern nations which possess a national popular drama, Spain is -the only one where, by the side of the secular stage, there has grown up -and been carefully cultivated a religious drama; for this, in England, -died with the Mysteries and Moralities. - -The persistence of the religious drama in Spain is to be explained by the -peculiar history of the nation, especially the struggle of centuries with -the Moors--a continual crusade fought on their own soil, which inflamed -to the highest degree the religious enthusiasm of the people. - -The Reformation awoke but a feeble echo in Spain, and only served to -quicken the masses to greater devotion to doctrines they saw threatened -from abroad. - -The two dogmas of the church which have always been especially -dear to the Spaniards are those of the Immaculate Conception and -Transubstantiation. - -The former, as more spiritual and impalpable, remained an article of -faith, deep and fervent, only represented to the senses by the mystic -masterpieces of Murillo. Transubstantiation, on the other hand, was -embodied in a host of symbols and ceremonies, and had devoted to it the -most gorgeous of all the festivals of the church--that of Corpus Christi, -established in 1263 by Urban IV., formally promulgated by Clement V. in -1311, and fifty years later amplified and rendered more magnificent by -John XXIII. - -This festival was introduced into Spain during the reign of Alfonso X., -and its celebration there, as elsewhere, was accompanied by dramatic -representations. - -In Barcelona, even earlier than 1314, part of the celebration consisted -in a procession of giants and ridiculous figures--a feature, as we shall -afterwards see, always retained. - -It seems established that from the earliest date dramatic representations -of some kind always accompanied the celebration of Corpus Christi. - -These plays, constituting a distinct and peculiar class, received a name -of their own, and were at first called _autos_ (from the Latin _actus_, -applied to any particularly solemn act, as _autos-da-fe_), and later more -specifically _autos sacramentales_. - -We infer from occasional notices that these religious dramas were -performed without interruption during the XIVth and XVth centuries. What -their character was during this period we do not know, as we possess none -earlier than the beginning of the XVIth century. - -From this last-named date notices of the secular drama begin to multiply, -and we may form some idea of the early _autos sacramentales_ from the -productions of Juan de la Enzina and Gil Vicente. - -The former wrote a number of religious dialogues or plays, which he -named _eclogues_, probably because the majority of the characters were -shepherds. - -One of these eclogues is on the Nativity, another on the Passion and -Death of our Redeemer. - -The word _auto_, as we have stated, was applied to any solemn act, and -did not at first refer exclusively to the Corpus Christi dramas, so we -find among the works of Gil Vicente an _auto_ for Christmas, and one on -the subject of S. Martin, which, although having nothing to do with the -mystery of the Eucharist, was performed during the celebration of Corpus -Christi in 1504, in the vestibule of the Church of Las Caldas in Lisbon. - -These sacred plays were undoubtedly at first represented only in the -churches by the ecclesiastics; they were not allowed to be performed in -villages (where they could not be supervised by the higher clergy), or -for the sake of money. - -The abuses in their performance, or perhaps the large number of -spectators, afterwards led to their representation in the open air. - -The stage (as in the beginning of the classical drama) was a wagon, on -which the scenery was arranged; when the _autos_ became more elaborate, -three of these wagons or _carros_ were united. - -We may see what these primitive stages were like in _Don Quixote_ (part -ii. chap. 11), the hero of which encountered upon the highway one of -these perambulating theatres: - - “He who guided the mules and served for carter was a frightful - demon. The cart was uncovered and opened to the sky, without - awning or wicker sides. - - “The first figure that presented itself to Don Quixote’s eyes - was that of Death itself with a human visage. Close by him sat - an angel with painted wings. On one side stood an emperor, with - a crown, seemingly of gold, on his head. - - “At Death’s feet sat the god called Cupid, not blindfolded, but - with his bow, quiver, and arrows. - - “There was also a knight completely armed, excepting only that - he had no morion or casque, but a hat with a large plume of - feathers of divers colors. - - “With these came other persons, differing both in habits and - countenances.” - -To Don Quixote’s question as to who they were the carter replied: - - “Sir, we are strollers belonging to Angulo el Malo’s company. - This morning, which is the octave of Corpus Christi, we have - been performing, in a village on the other side of yon hill, a - piece representing the Cortes or Parliament of Death, and this - evening we are to play it again in that village just before us; - which being so near, to save ourselves the trouble of dressing - and undressing, we come in the clothes we are to act our parts - in.” - -The character of the _autos_ changed with the improvements in their -representation; from mere dialogues they developed into short farces, the -object of which was to amuse while instructing. - -Like the secular plays, they opened with a prologue, called the _loa_ -(from _loar_, to praise), in which the object of the play was shadowed -forth and the indulgence of the spectators demanded. - -The _loa_ was originally spoken by one person, and was also called -_argumento_ or _introito_, and was in the same metre as the _auto_; -although it consisted sometimes of a few lines in prose, as in the _auto_ -of _The Gifts which Adam sent to Our Lady by S. Lazarus_: - - “LOA.--Here is recited an _auto_ which treats of a letter - and gifts which our father Adam sent by S. Lazarus to the - illustrious Virgin, Our Lady, supplicating her to consent to - the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ. - - “In order that the _auto_ may be easily heard, the accustomed - silence is requested.” - -Still later the _loa_ was extended into a short, independent play, -sometimes with no reference to the _auto_ it preceded, and frequently by -another author. - -During Lope de Vega’s reign over the Spanish stage an _entremes_ or farce -was inserted between the _loa_ and _auto_. - -These _entremeses_ are gay interludes, terminating with singing and -dancing, and having no connection with the solemn play which follows, -unless, as is the case with one of Lope de Vega’s (_Muestra de los -Carros_), to ridicule the whole manner of celebrating the festival. - -With the increase in wealth and cultivation the performance of the -_autos_ had lost much of its primitive simplicity, and was attended with -lavish magnificence. - -The proper representation of these truly national works was deemed of -such importance that each city had a committee, or _junta del corpus_, -consisting of the _corregidor_ and two _regidores_ of the town, and a -secretary. - -This committee in Madrid was presided over by a member of the royal -council (_Consejo y Cámera real_) who was successively called the -“commissary, protector, and superintendent of the festivals of the Most -Holy Sacrament.” - -The president of the junta was armed with extraordinary powers, -frequently exercised against refractory actors. It was his duty to -provide everything necessary for the festival: plays, actors, cars, -masked figures for the processions, decorations for the streets, etc. - -As there were at that date no permanent theatrical companies in the -cities, it was necessary to engage actors for the _autos_ early in the -year, in order that there might be no risk of failure, and to afford the -necessary time for rehearsals. - -The necessary preparations having been made, and an early Mass -celebrated, a solemn procession took place, followed by the -representation of the _autos_ in the open air. - -The best descriptions of the manner of representation are found in the -travels of two persons who witnessed the performance of the _autos_ in -Madrid in 1654 and 1679. - -The second of the two was the Comtesse d’Aulnoy, whose account of her -travels was always a popular book.[9] The writer was a gossipy French -lady, who disseminated through Europe many groundless scandals about the -Spanish court. - -Here are her own words about the _autos_: - - “As soon as the Holy Sacrament is gone back to the church - everybody goes home to eat, that they may be at the _autos_, - which are certain kinds of tragedies upon religious subjects, - and are oddly enough contrived and managed; they are acted - either in the court or street of each president of a council, - to whom it is due. - - “The king goes there, and all the persons of quality receive - tickets overnight to go there; so that we were invited, and I - was amazed to see them light up abundance of flambeaux, whilst - the sun beat full upon the comedians’ heads, and melted the wax - like butter. They acted the most impertinent piece that I ever - saw in my days.… These _autos_ last for a month.…” - -We shall see why the flippant Parisian was shocked when we consider the -subject-matter of these plays. - -The whole ceremony is much better described by the earlier traveller, -Aarseus de Somerdyck, a Dutchman, who was in Madrid in 1654. - -His account is so long and minute that we have been obliged to condense -it slightly: - - “The day opened with a procession, headed by a crowd of - musicians and Biscayans with tambourines and castanets; then - followed many dancers in gay dresses, who sprang about and - danced as gayly as though they were celebrating the carnival. - - “The king attended Mass at Santa Maria, near the palace, and - after the service came out of the church bearing a candle in - his hand. - - “The repository containing the Host occupied the first place; - then came the grandees and different councils. - - “At the head of the procession were several gigantic figures - made of pasteboard, and moved by persons concealed within. They - were of various designs, and some looked frightful enough; all - represented women, except the first, which consisted only of - an immense painted head borne by a very short man, so that the - whole looked like a dwarf with a giant’s head. - - “There were besides two similar figures representing a Moorish - and an Ethiopian giant, and a monster called the _tarrasca_. - - “This is an enormous serpent, with a huge belly, long tail, - short feet, crooked claws, threatening eyes, powerful, - distended jaws, and entire body covered with scales. - - “Those who are concealed within cause it to writhe so that its - tail often knocks off the unwary bystanders’ hats, and greatly - terrifies the peasants. - - “In the afternoon, at five o’clock, the _autos_ were performed. - These are religious plays, between which comic interludes are - given to heighten and spice the solemnity of the performance. - - “The theatrical companies, of which there are two in Madrid, - close their theatres during this time, and for a month perform - nothing but such religious plays, which take place in the open - air, on platforms built in the streets. - - “The actors are obliged to play every day before the house - of one of the presidents of the various councils. The first - representation is before the palace, where a platform with a - canopy is erected for their majesties. - - “At the foot of this canopy is the theatre; around the stage - are little painted houses on wheels, from which the actors - enter, and whither they retire at the end of every scene. - - “Before the performance the dancers and grotesque figures amuse - the public. - - “During the representation lights were burned, although it - was day and in the open air, while generally other plays are - performed in the theatres in the daytime without any artificial - light.” - -Sufficient has now been said in regard to the history and mode of -representation of the _autos_ to enable us to understand the essentially -popular character of these plays--a fact very necessary to be kept in -mind, and which will explain, if not palliate, the many abuses which -gradually were introduced, and which led to their suppression by a royal -decree in 1765. - -They have, however, left traces of their influence in plays still -performed on Corpus Christi in some parts of Spain, and in the sacred -plays represented during Lent in all the large cities.[10] - - -II. - -We have seen the primitive condition of the _autos_ when Lope de Vega -took possession of the stage. He did for the _autos_ what he did for the -secular drama: with his consummate knowledge of the stage and the public, -he took the materials already at hand, and remodelled them to the shape -most likely to interest and win applause. - -The superior poetic genius of Calderon found in the _autos_ the field for -its noblest exercise, and it is now admitted that he carried the secular -as well as the religious drama to the highest perfection of which it was -capable. - -It is perhaps not generally remembered that Calderon, in common with many -men of letters of that day, took Holy Orders when he was fifty-one years -old (1651), and was appointed chaplain at Toledo. - -This, however, involved his absence from court, and twelve years later he -was made chaplain of honor to the king; other ecclesiastical dignities -were added, which he enjoyed until the close of his life, in 1681. - -Mr. Ticknor (_Hist. of Span. Lit._, ii. 351, note) says: “It seems -probable that Calderon wrote no plays expressly for the public stage -after he became a priest in 1651, confining himself to _autos_ and to -_comedias_ for the court, which last, however, were at once transferred -to the theatres of the capital.” - -For nearly thirty-seven years he furnished Madrid, Toledo, Granada, and -Seville with _autos_, and devoted to them all the energies of his matured -mind. - -Solis, the historian, in one of his letters says: “Our friend Don Pedro -Calderon is just dead, and went off, as they say the swan does, singing; -for he did all he could, even when he was in immediate danger, to finish -the second _auto_ for Corpus Christi. - -“But, after all, he completed only a little more than half of it, and it -has been finished in some way or other by Don Melchior de Leon.” - -Calderon evidently based his claim for recognition as a great poet on his -_autos_; of all his plays he deemed them alone worthy of his revision for -publication, and he would now without doubt be judged by them, had not -the spirit in which and for which they were written passed away, to a -great extent, with the author. - -Before we examine his _autos_ in detail we must notice some of their most -striking peculiarities, and see in what respect they differ from plays on -religious subjects. - -The intensely religious character of the Spaniards led, at an early date, -to their consecrating to religion every form of literature; and plays -based on the lives of the saints, miracles of the Blessed Virgin, etc., -are very common. - -Almost every prominent doctrine of the church is illustrated in the -dramas of Lope de Vega and Calderon. - -Their plays differ not at all in _form_ from those of a purely secular -character; they are all in three acts, in verse. - -The _autos_, on the other hand, are restricted to the celebration of one -doctrine--that of Transubstantiation; consist of but one act (that one, -however, nearly equal in length to the three of many secular plays); and -were performed on but one solemn occasion--the festival of Corpus Christi. - -The most striking peculiarity of the _autos_ consists in the introduction -of _allegorical_ characters, which, however, were not first brought -before the public in _autos_, nor was their use restricted to that class -of dramatic compositions. - -The custom of personifying inanimate objects is as old as the imagination -of man, and has been constantly used since the days of Job and David; and -Cervantes, in his interesting drama, _Numancia_, introduces “a maiden who -represents Spain,” and “the river Douro.” - -It is not easy to see how the introduction of allegorical personages -could have been avoided. - -The leading idea in all the _autos_ is the redemption of the human soul -by the personal sacrifice of the Son of God--that great gift of himself -to us embodied in the doctrine of the Real Presence. - -The plot is the history of the soul from its innocence in Eden to its -temptation and fall, and subsequent salvation; the characters are the -soul itself, represented by human nature, the Spouse Christ, the tempter, -the senses, the various virtues and vices. - -These constitute but a small minority of the whole number, as will be -seen by the following list, which might easily be expanded: - -God Almighty as Father, King, or Prince, Omnipotence, Wisdom, Divine -Love, Grace, Righteousness, Mercy; Christ as the Good Shepherd, -Crusader, etc., the Bridegroom--_i.e._, Christ, who woos his bride, the -Church--the Virgin, the Devil or Lucifer, Shadow as a symbol of guilt, -Sin, Man as Mankind, the Soul, Understanding, Will, Free-will, Care, -Zeal, Pride, Envy, Vanity, Thought (generally, from its fickleness, as -Clown), Ignorance, Foolishness, Hope, Comfort, the Church, the written -and natural Law, Idolatry, Judaism or the Synagogue, the Alcoran or -Mahometanism, Heresy, Apostasy, Atheism, the Seven Sacraments, the World, -the four quarters of the globe, Nature, Light symbol of Grace, Darkness, -Sleep, Dreams, Death, Time, the Seasons and Days, the various divisions -of the world, the four elements, the plants (especially the wheat and -vine, as furnishing the elements for the Holy Eucharist), the five -Senses, the Patriarchs, Prophets, Apostles and their symbols (the eagle -of John, etc.), and the Angels and Archangels. - -Anachronisms are not regarded, and the prophets and apostles appear side -by side on the same stage. - -Although the plot was essentially always the same, its development and -treatment were infinitely varied. - -The protagonist is Man, but under the most diversified forms, from -abstract man to Psyche or Eurydice, representatives of the human soul. - -The essential idea of man’s fall and salvation is entwined with all -manner of subjects taken from history, mythology, and romance. - -The first contributed _The Conversion of Constantine_, the second a -host of plays like _The Divine Jason_, _Cupid and Psyche_, _Andromeda -and Perseus_, _The Divine Orpheus_, _The True God Pan_, _The Sacred -Parnassus_, _The Sorceries of Sin_ (Ulysses and Circe). Romance -contributed the fables of _Charlemagne and the Twelve Peers_, etc. - -It is almost needless to say that the most important sources of the -_autos_ are the Scriptures and Biblical traditions. - -Examples of the former are: _The Brazen Serpent_, _The First and Second -Isaac_, _Baltassar’s Feast_, _The Vineyard of the Lord_ (S. Matt. xx. 1). -_Gedeon’s Fleece_, _The Faithful Shepherd_, _The Order of Melchisedech_, -_Ruth’s Gleaning_, etc. - -An interesting example of the use of tradition is the _auto_ of _The Tree -of the Best Fruit_ (_El Arbol del Mejor Fruto_), embodying the legend -that the cross on which Christ died was produced from three seeds of -the tree of the forbidden fruit planted on the grave of Adam. There yet -remains a large number of plays which cannot be referred to any of the -above-mentioned classes. - -These are the inventions of the poet’s brain, some of them but a recast -of secular plays already popular;[11] others are fresh creations, and -are among the most interesting of the autos. Among these are _The Great -Theatre of the World_ (_El Gran Teatro del Mundo_, partly translated by -Dean Trench), _The Poison and the Antidote_ (_El Veneno y la Triaca_, -partly translated by Mr. MacCarthy), etc. - -No idea, however, can be formed of the _autos_ from a mere statement of -their form and subjects; they must be examined in their entirety, and the -reader must transport himself back to the spirit of the times in which -they were written. - -What this spirit was, and how the _autos_ are to be regarded, is -admirably expressed by Schack, in his _History of the Spanish Drama_ -(iii. p. 251), and of which Mr. MacCarthy has given the following -spirited translation: - - “Posterity cannot fail to participate in the admiration of - the XVIIth century for this particular kind of poetry, when - it shall possess sufficient self-denial to transplant itself - out of the totally different circle of contemporary ideas into - the intuition of the world, and the mode of representing it, - from which this entire species of drama has sprung. He who - can in this way penetrate deeply into the spirit of a past - century will see the wonderful creations of Calderon’s _autos_ - rise before him, with sentiments somewhat akin to those of - the astronomer, who turns his far-reaching telescope upon the - heavens, and, as he scans the mighty spaces, sees the milky-way - separating into suns, and from the fathomless depths of the - universe new worlds of inconceivable splendor rising up. - - “Or let me use another illustration: he may feel like the - voyager who, having traversed the wide waste of waters, steps - upon a new region of the earth, where he is surrounded by - unknown and wonderful forms--a region which speaks to him in - the mysterious voices of its forests and its streams, and where - other species of beings, of a nature different from any he has - known, look out wonderingly at him from their strange eyes. - - “Indeed, like to such a region these poems hem us round. - - “A temple opens before us, in which, as in the Holy Graal - Temple of Titurel, the Eternal Word is represented symbolically - to the senses. - - “At the entrance the breath as if of the Spirit of eternity - blows upon us, and a holy auroral splendor, like the brightness - of the Divinity, fills the consecrated dome. - - “In the centre, as the central point of all being and of all - history, stands the cross, on which the infinite Spirit has - sacrificed himself from his infinite benevolence towards man. - - “At the foot of this sublime symbol stands the poet as - hierophant and prophet, who explains the pictures upon the - walls, and the dumb language of the tendrils, and the flowers - that are twining round the columns, and the melodious tones - which reverberate in music from the vault. - - “He waves his magic wand, and the halls of the temple extend - themselves through the immeasurable; a perspective of pillars - spreads from century to century up to the dark gray era of the - past, where first the fountain of life gushes up, and where - suns and stars, coming forth from the womb of nothing, begin - their course. - - “And the inspired seer unveils the secrets of creation, showing - to us the breath of God moving over the chaos, as he separates - the solid earth from the waters, points out to the moon and - the stars their orbits, and commands the elements whither they - should fly and what they are to seek. - - “We feel ourselves folded in the wings of the Spirit of the - universe, and we hear the choral jubilation of the new-born - suns, as they solemnly enter on their appointed paths, - proclaiming the glory of the Eternal. - - “From the dusky night, which conceals the source of all things, - we see the procession of peoples, through the ever-renewing - and decaying generations of men, following that star that led - the wise men from the east, and advancing in their pilgrimage - towards the place of promise; but beyond, irradiated by the - splendors of redemption and reconciliation, lies the future, - with its countless generations of beings yet unborn. - - “And the sacred poet points all round to the illimitable, - beyond the boundaries of time out into eternity, shows the - relation of all things, created and uncreated, to the symbol of - grace, and how all nations look up to Him in worship. - - “The universe in its thousand-fold phenomena, with the chorus - of all its myriad voices, becomes one sublime psalm to the - praise of the Most Holy; heaven and earth lay their gifts at - his feet; the stars, ‘the never-fading flowers of heaven,’ and - the flowers, ‘the transitory stars of earth,’ must pay him - tribute; day and night, light and darkness, lie worshipping - before him in the dust, and the mind of man opens before him - its most hidden depths, in order that all its thoughts and - feelings may become transfigured in the vision of the Eternal. - - “This is the spirit that breathes from the _autos_ of Calderon - upon him who can comprehend them in the sense meant by the - poet.” - -With this preparation we can now examine in detail one or two of the -most characteristic of Calderon’s _autos_, selecting from the class of -Scriptural subjects _Baltassar’s Feast_, and from the large class of -allegories invented by the poet the _Painter of his own Dishonor_, which -is of especial interest, as being the counterpart of a secular play. - -NOTE.--Those who desire a better acquaintance with Calderon’s AUTOS than -they can form from the above very imperfect sketch and analyses will find -the following list of authorities of interest: - -The _autos_ were not collected and published until some time after the -poet’s death, in 1717, six vols. 4to, and 1759-60, six vols., also in -4to, both editions somewhat difficult to find. In 1865 thirteen were -published in Riradeneyra’s collection of Spanish authors in a work -entitled _Autos Sacramentales desde su origen hasta fines del siglo_ -XVII., with an historical introduction by the collector, Don Eduardo G. -Pedroso. - -The _autos_ have never been republished, in the original, out of Spain. - -The enthusiasm in regard to the Spanish drama aroused by Schlegel’s -_Lectures_, early in this century, bore fruit in a large number of -excellent German translations of the most celebrated secular plays. - -The _autos_ were neglected until 1829, when Cardinal Diepenbrock -published a translation of _Life is a Dream_ (counterpart of comedy of -same name); this was followed in 1846-53 by _Geistliche Schauspiele_, von -Calderon (Stuttgart, two volumes), containing eleven _autos_ translated -by J. von Eichendorff, a writer well known in other walks of literature. -In this translation the original metre is preserved, and they are in -every way worthy of admiration. - -In 1856 Ludwig Braunfels published two volumes of translations from Lope -de Vega, Iviso de Molina, and Calderon; the second volume contains the -_auto_ of _Baltassar’s Feast_. - -In 1855 Dr. Franz Lorinser, an ecclesiastic of Regensburg, an -enthusiastic admirer of Spanish literature, began the translation of -all of Calderon’s _autos_, and has now translated some sixty-two of the -seventy-two into German trochaic verse, without any attempt to preserve -the original _asonante_. - -This translation is accompanied by valuable notes and explanations, -very necessary for the non-Catholic reader, as these plays are in many -instances crowded with scholastic theology. - -If the Germans, with their genius for translation, shrank from the labor -necessary for the faithful rendering of the _autos_, the English, with -their more unmanageable language, may well be excused for suffering these -remarkable plays to remain so long unknown. - -Occasional notices and analyses had been given in literary histories -and periodicals, but the first attempt at a metrical translation was by -Dean Trench in his admirable little work (reprinted in New York 1856) on -Calderon, which contains a partial translation of _The Great Theatre of -the World_. - -It is needless to say it is beautifully done, and on the whole is the -most poetical translation yet made into English. - -The first complete translation of an _auto_ was made by Mr. D. F. -MacCarthy, published in 1861 in London, under the title, _Three Dramas of -Calderon, from the Spanish_, and containing the _auto_, _The Sorceries of -Sin_. - -The author was favorably known for his previous labors in this field, -which had won him the gratitude of all interested in Spanish literature. - -He has since published a volume, entitled _Mysteries of Corpus Christi_, -Dublin and London, 1867, containing complete translations of _Baltassar’s -Feast_, _The Divine Philothea_, and several scenes from _The Poison and -the Antidote_, in all of which the original metre is strictly preserved. -There are few translations in the English language where similar -difficulties have been so triumphantly overcome. - -The _asonante_ can never be naturalized in English verse, but Mr. -MacCarthy has done much to reconcile us to it, and make its introduction -in Spanish translations useful, if not indispensably necessary. - -It may be doubted whether in any other way a correct idea of the Spanish -drama can be conveyed to those unacquainted with the Spanish language. - -TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH. - - -ARE YOU MY WIFE? - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “A SALON IN PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” -“PIUS VI.,” ETC. - -CHAPTER III. - -THE LILIES. - -My first step was to pay a visit to the Préfecture de Police. I was -received with the utmost courtesy and many half-spoken, half-intimated -expressions of sympathy that were touching and unexpected. All that my -sensitive pride most shrank from in my misfortune was ignored with a -tact and delicacy that were both soothing and encouraging. I had felt -more than once, when exposing my miserable and extraordinary situation -to the police agents at home, that it required the strongest effort of -professional gravity on their part not to burst out laughing in my face. -No such struggle was to be seen in the countenances of the French police. -They listened with interest, real or feigned, to my story, and invited -what confidence I had to give by the matter-of-fact simplicity with which -they set to work to put the few pieces of the puzzle together, and to -endeavor to read some clew in them. I returned to my hotel after this -interview more cheered and sanguine than the incident itself reasonably -warranted. - -It was scarcely two years since I had been in Paris, yet since that -first visit I found it singularly altered. I could not say exactly how; -but it was not the same. It had struck me when I first saw it as the -place above all I had yet seen for a man to build an earthly paradise -to himself; the air was full of brightness, redolent of light-hearted -pleasure; the aspect of the city, the looks of the people, suggested -at every point the Epicurean motto, “Eat, drink, and be merry; for -to-morrow we die!” But it was different now. Perhaps the change was in -me; in the world within rather than the world without. The chord that had -formerly answered to the touch of the vivacious gayety of the place was -broken. I walked through the streets and boulevards now with wide-open, -disenchanted eyes, critical and unsympathetic. Things that had passed -unheeded before appeared to me with a new meaning. What struck me as most -disagreeable, and with a sense of complete novelty, was the widespread -popularity which the devil apparently enjoyed amongst the Parisians. If, -as we may assume, the popularity of a name implies the popularity of the -person or the idea that it represents, it is difficult to exaggerate -the esteem and favor which Satan commands in the city of bonnets and -revolutions. You can scarcely pass through any of the thoroughfares -without seeing his name emblazoned on a shop-window, or his figure carved -or bedaubed in some grotesque or hideous guise on a sign-board inviting -you to enter and spend your money under his patronage. There are devils -dancing and devils grinning, devils fat and devils lean, a _diable -vert_ and a _diable rose_, a _bon diable_, a _diable à quatre_--every -conceivable shape and color of _diable_, in fact, in the range of the -infernal hierarchy. He stands as high in favor with the literary guild -as with the shop-keepers; books and plays are called after him; his name -is a household word in the press; it gives salt to the editor’s joke and -point to his epigram. The devil is welcome everywhere, and everywhere -set up as a sign not to be contradicted. Angels, on the other hand, are -at a discount. Now and then you chance upon some honorable mention of -the _ange gardien_, but the rare exception only serves as a contrast -which vindicates the overwhelming popularity of the fallen brethren. -Is this the outcome of the promise, “I will give my angels charge over -thee”? And does Beelzebub’s protection of his Parisian votaries justify -their interpretation of the message? I was revolving some such vague -conjectures in my mind as I turned listlessly into the Rue de Rivoli, and -saw a cab driving in under the _porte cochère_ of my hotel. I quickened -my pace, for I fancied I recognized a familiar face in the distance. The -glass door at the foot of the stairs was still swinging, as I pushed it -before me, and heard a voice calling my name on the first floor. “Hollo! -here you are, uncle!” I cried, and, clearing the intervening stair at -three bounds, I seized the admiral by both arms, as he stood with his -hand still on my bell-rope. - -“Come in, my boy. Come in,” he said, and pushed in without turning his -head towards me. - -“You have bad news!” I said. I read it in his averted face and the -subdued gravity of his greeting. He deliberately took off his hat and -flung his light travelling surtout on the sofa before he answered me. -Then he came up and laid his hand on my shoulder. “Yes, very bad news, my -poor fellow; but you will bear up like a man. It doesn’t all end here, -you know.” - -“My God! It is all over, then! She is dead!” I cried. - -He made a gesture that signified assent, and pressed me down into a -chair. I do not remember what followed. - -I recollect his standing over me, and whispering words into my ear that -came like the sound of my mother’s voice--words that fell like balm upon -my burning brain, and silenced, as if by some physical force, other -words that were quivering on my tongue. I never knew or cared before -whether my uncle believed in anything, whether he had faith in God or in -devils; but as he spoke to me then I remember feeling a kind of awe in -his presence--awe mingled with surprise and a sense of peace and comfort; -it was as if I had drifted unawares into a haven. He never left me for a -moment till the hard dumbness was melted, and I let my head drop on his -shoulder, and wept.… - -He told me that the day I left Dieppe news came of the wreck of a -fishing-smack having floated into the harbor of St. Valéry. The police -were on the alert, and went at once to inspect the boat. It had capsized, -and had drifted ashore, after knocking about on the high seas no one -could say how many days; but it bore the name of a fisherman who had been -seen in the neighborhood about ten days before. There was nothing in the -boat, of course, that could give any indication as to what had become of -its owner or how the accident had occurred. About two days later the body -of a woman was washed ashore almost on the same spot; the police, still -on the _qui-vive_, went down to see it, and at once telegraphed for my -uncle. The body was lying at the _morgue_ of St. Valéry; it was already -decomposing, but the work of destruction was not far enough advanced -to admit of doubt as to the identity. The long, dark hair was dripping -with the slime of the sea, and tangled like a piece of sea-weed; but the -admiral’s eyes had no sooner glanced at the face than he recognized it. - -I can write this after an interval of many months, but even now I cannot -recall it without feeling, almost as vividly as at the moment, the -pang that seemed to cleave my very life in two. My uncle had said: “It -doesn’t all end here!” and those words, I believe, preserved me from -suicide. They kept singing, not in my ears, but within me, and seemed -to be coming out of all the common sounds that were jarring and dinning -outside. The very ticking of the clock seemed to repeat them: “It does -not all end here.” It did, so far as my happiness went. I was a blighted -man for ever. The dark mystery of the flight and the death would never -be solved on this side of the grave. The sea had given up its dead, but -the dead could not speak. I was alone henceforth with a secret that no -fellow-creature could unriddle for me. I must bear the burden of my -broken life, without any hope of alleviation, to the end. The name of De -Winton was safe now. No blot would come upon it through the follies or -sins of her who had beamed like a sweet, sudden star upon my path, and -then gone out, leaving me in the lonely darkness. Why should I chronicle -my days any more? They can never be anything to me but a dreary routine -of comings and goings, without joy or hope to brighten them. The sun -has gone down. The stone has fallen to the bottom; the trembling of the -circles, as they quiver upon the surface of the water, soon passes away, -and then all is still and stagnant again. - - * * * * * - -So Clide lapses into silence again, and for a time we lose sight of him. -He is roving about the world, doing his best to kill pain by excitement, -and soothe memory with hope; and all this while a new life is getting -ready for him, growing and blossoming, and patiently waiting for the -summer-time, when the fruit shall be ripe for him to come and gather -it. The spot which this new life has chosen for its home is suggestive -rather of the past than of the future. A tiny brick cottage, with a -thatched roof overgrown with mosses green and brown, a quaint remnant -of old-fashioned life, a bit of picturesque long ago forgotten on the -skirts of the red-tiled, gas-lit, prosperous modern town of Dullerton. -The little brick box, smothered in its lichens and mosses, was called The -Lilies from a band of those majestic flowers that dwelt on either side -of the garden-wicket, like guardian angels of the place, looking out in -serene beauty on the world without. - -It was a nine days’ wonder to Dullerton when the Comte Raymond de la -Bourbonais and his daughter Franceline came from over the seas, and took -up their abode at The Lilies with a French _bonne_ called Angélique. -There was the usual amount of guessing amongst the gossips as to the why -and the wherefore a foreign nobleman should have selected such a place -as Dullerton, when, as was affirmed by those who knew all about it, he -had all the world before him to choose from. The only person who could -have thrown light upon the mystery was Sir Simon Harness, the lord of the -manor of Dullerton. But Sir Simon was not considerate enough to do so; -he was even so perverse as to set the gossips on an entirely wrong scent -for some time; and it was not until the count and his daughter had become -familiar objects to the neighborhood that the reason of their presence -there transpired. - -The De la Bourbonais were an old race of royalists whose archives could -have furnished novels for a generation without mixing one line of fiction -with volumes of fact. They had fought in every Crusade, and won spurs on -every battle-field wherever a French prince fought; they had produced -heroes and heroines in the centuries when such things were expected from -the feudal lords of France, and they had furnished scapegraces without -end when these latter became the fashion; they had quarrelled with their -neighbors, stormed their castles, and misbehaved themselves generally -like other noble families of their time, dividing their days between -war and gallantry so evenly that it was often difficult to say where -the one began and where the other ended, or which led to which. This -was in the good old times. Then the Revolution came. The territorial -importance of the De la Bourbonais was considerably diminished at this -date; but the prestige of the old name, with the deeds of prowess that -had once made it a power in the camp and a glory at the court, was as -great as ever, and marked its owners amongst the earliest victims of the -Terror. They gave their full contingent of blue blood to the guillotine, -and what lands remained to them were confiscated to the Regenerators -of France. The then head of the house, the father of the present Comte -Raymond, died in England under the roof of his friend, Sir Alexander -Harness, father of Sir Simon. The son that was born to him in exile -returned to France at the Restoration, and grew up in solitude in the -old castle that had withstood so many storms, and--thanks partly to its -dilapidated condition, but chiefly to the fidelity and courage of an old -dependent--had been rescued from the general plunder, and left unmolested -for the young master who came back to claim it. Comte Raymond lived there -in learned isolation, sharing the ancestral ruin with a population of -owls, who pursued their meditations in one wing while he pondered over -philosophical problems in another. It was a dreary abode, except for the -owls; a desolate wreck of ancient splendor and power. We may poetize -over ruins, and clothe them with what pathos we will, the beauty of -decay is but the beauty of death; the ivy that flourishes on the grave -of a glorious past is but a harvest of death; it looks beautiful in the -weird silver shadows of the moon, but it shrinks before the blaze of day -that lights up the proud castle on the hill, standing in its strength of -battlement and tower and flying buttress, and smiling a grim, granite -smile upon the gray wreck in the valley down below, and wondering what -poets and night-birds can find in its crumbling arches and gaping windows -to haunt them so fanatically. Raymond de la Bourbonais was contented in -his weather-beaten old fortress, and would probably never have dreamed -of leaving it or changing the owl-like routine of his life, if it had -not entered into the mind of his grand-aunt, the only remaining lady of -his name, to marry him. Raymond started when the subject was broached, -but, with the matter-of-fact coolness of a Frenchman in such things, -he quickly recovered his composure, and observed blandly to the aged -countess: “You are right, my aunt. It had not occurred to me, I confess; -but now that you mention it, I see it would be desirable.” And having -so far arranged his marriage, Raymond, satisfied with his own consent, -relapsed into his books, and begged that he might hear no more about it -until his grand-aunt had found him a wife. - -The family of the De Xaintriacs lived near him, and happened just at -this moment to have a daughter to marry; so the old countess ordered out -the lumbering family coach that had taken her great-grandmother to the -_fêtes_ given for Marie de Medicis on her marriage, and rumbled over the -roads to the Château de Xaintriac. This ancestral hall was about on a par -with its neighbor, De la Bourbonais, as regarded external preservation, -but the similarity between the two houses ended here. The De Xaintriacs’ -origin was lost in the pre-historic ages before the Deluge, the earliest -record of its existence being a curious iron casket preserved in the -archives, in which, it was said, the family papers had been rescued from -the Flood by one of Noe’s daughters-in-law, “herself a demoiselle de -Xaintriac”--so ran the legend. The papers had been destroyed in a fire -many centuries before the Christian era, but happily the casket had been -saved. It was to a daughter of this illustrious house that the Comtesse -de la Bourbonais offered her grand-nephew in marriage. Armengarde de -Xaintriac was twenty-five years of age, and shadowed forth in character -and person the finest characteristics of her mystic genealogy. In -addition to the antediluvian casket, she brought the husband, who was -exactly double her age, a dower of beauty and sweetness that surpassed -even the lofty pride that was her birthright. For four years they were -as happy as two sojourners in this valley of tears could well be. Then -the young wife began to droop, perishing away slowly before her husband’s -eyes. “Take her to the Nile for a year; there is just a chance that -that may save her,” said the doctors. Armengarde did not hear the cruel -verdict; and when Raymond came back one day after a short absence, -and announced that he had come in unexpectedly to a sum of money, and -proposed their spending the winter in Egypt, she clapped her hands, -and made ready for the journey. Raymond watched her delight like one -transfigured, while she, suspecting nothing, took his happiness as a -certain pledge of restored health, and went singing about the house, as -if the promise were already fulfilled. The whole place revived in a new -atmosphere of hope and security; the low ceilings, festooned with the -cobwebs of a generation, grew alight with cheerfulness, and the sunbeams -streamed more freely through the dingy panes of the deep windows. It was -as if some stray ray from heaven had crept into the old keep, lighting it -up with a brightness not of earth. - -Angélique was to go with them in charge of little Franceline, their only -child. - -It was on a mild autumn morning, early in October, that the travellers -set out on their journey toward the Pyramids. The birds were singing, -though the sun was hiding behind the clouds; but as Raymond de la -Bourbonais looked back from the gate to catch a last glimpse of the home -that was no longer his, the clouds suddenly parted, and the sun burst -out in a stream of golden light, painting the old keep with shadows of -pathetic beauty, and investing it with a charm he had never seen there -before. Sacrifice, like passion, has its hour of rapture, its crisis -of mysterious pain, when the soul vibrates between agony and ecstasy. -A sunbeam lighted upon Raymond’s head, encircling it like a halo. “My -Raymond, you look like an angel; see, there is a glory round your head!” -cried Armengarde. - -“It is because I am so happy!” replied her husband, with a radiant smile. -“We are going to the land of the sun, where my pale rose will grow red -again.” - -The sacrifice was not quite in vain. She was spared to him four years; -then she died, and he laid her to rest under the shade of the great -Pyramid, where they told him that Abraham and Sara were sleeping. - -When M. de la Bourbonais set foot on his native soil again, he was a -beggar. The money he had received for the castle and the small bit of -land belonging to it had just sufficed to keep up the happy delusion -with Armengarde to the last, and bring him and Franceline and Angélique -home; the three landed at Marseilles with sufficient money to keep them -for one month, using it economically. Meantime the count must look -for employment, trusting to Providence rather than to man. Providence -did not fail him. Help was at hand in the shape of one of those kind -dispensations that we call lucky chances, and which are oftener found in -the track of chivalrous souls than misanthropes like to own. About three -days after his arrival in the busy mercantile port, M. de la Bourbonais -was walking along the quay, indulging in sad reveries with the vacant air -and listless gait now habitual to him, when a hand was laid brusquely -on his shoulder. “As I live, here is the man,” cried Sir Simon Harness. -“My dear fellow, you’ve turned up in the very nick of time; but where in -heaven’s name have you turned up from?” - -The question was soon answered. Sir Simon gave his heartiest sympathy, -and then told his friend the meaning of the joyous exclamation which had -greeted him. - -“You remember a villain of the name of Roy--a notary who played old Harry -with some property in shares and so forth that your father entrusted to -him just before he fled to England? You must have heard him tell the -story many a time, poor fellow. Well, this worthy, as big a blackguard -as ever cheated the hangman of his fee, was called up to his reckoning -about a month ago, and, by way, I suppose, of putting things straight -a bit before he handed in his books, the rascal put a codicil to his -will, restoring to you what little remained of the money he swindled -your poor father out of. It is placed in bank shares--a mere pittance -of the original amount; but it will keep your head above water just -for the present, and meantime we must look about for something for you -at headquarters--some stick at the court or a nice little government -appointment. The executors have been advertising for you in every -direction; it’s the luckiest chance, my just meeting you in time to give -the good news.” - -Raymond was thankful for the timely legacy, but he would not hear of a -stir being made to secure him either stick or place. He was too proud -to sue at the hands of the regicide’s son who now sat on the throne of -Louis Seize, nor would he accept an appointment at his court, supposing -it offered unsolicited. The pittance that, in Sir Simon’s opinion, was -enough to keep him above water for a time, would be, with his simple -habits, enough to float him for the rest of his life. He had, it is true, -visions of future wealth for Franceline, but these were to be realized -by the product of his own brain, not by the pay of a courtly sinecure -or government office. Finding him inexorable on this point, Sir Simon -ceased to urge it. He was confident that a life of poverty and obscurity -would soon bring down the rigid royalist’s pride; but meantime where was -he to live? Raymond had no idea. Life in a town was odious to him. He -wanted the green fields and quiet of the country for his studies; but -where was he to seek them now? He had no mind to go back to Lorraine -and live like a peasant, in sight of his old home, that was now in the -hands of strangers. “Come to England,” said Sir Simon. “You’ll stay with -me until you grow home-sick and want to leave us. No one will interfere -with you; you can work away at your books, and be as much of a hermit -as you like.” Raymond accepted the invitation, but only till he should -find some suitable little home for himself in the neighborhood. Within -a week he found himself installed at Dullerton Court with Franceline -and Angélique. The same rooms that his father had occupied sixty years -before, and which had ever since been called the count’s apartments, -were prepared for them. They were very little changed by the wear and -tear of the intervening half-century. There were the same costly hangings -to the gilt four-post beds, the same grim, straight-nosed Queen Elizabeth -staring down from the tapestry, out of her stiff ruffles, on one wall; -the same faded David and Goliath wrestling on the other. Raymond could -remember how the pictures used to fascinate him when he was a tiny boy, -and how he used to lie awake in his little bed and keep his eyes fixed -on them, and wonder whether the two would ever leave off fighting, and -if the big man would not jump up suddenly and knock down the little man, -who was sticking something into his chest. Outside the house the scene -was just as unchanged; the lake was in the same place, and it seemed -as if the swan that was sitting in the middle of it, with folded sails -and one leg tucked under his wing, was the identical one that the young -countess used to feed, and that Raymond cried to be let ride on. The -deer were glancing through the distant glade, just as he remembered them -as a child, starting at every sound, and tossing their antlers in the -sunlight; the gray stone of the grand castellated house may have been a -tinge darker for the smoke and fog of the sixty additional years, but -this was not noticeable; the sunbeams sent dashes of golden light across -the flanking towers with their dark ivy draperies, and into the deep -mullioned windows, where the queer small panes hid themselves, as if they -were ashamed to be seen, just as in the old days; the fountain sent up -its crystal showers on the broad sweep of the terrace, and the lime and -the acacia trees sheltering the gravel walks that led through grassy -openings into the enclosed flower-garden were as dark and as shady as of -yore; the clumps on the mounds swelling here and there through the park -had not outgrown the shapes they were in Raymond’s memory; the lawn was -as smooth and green as when he rolled over its mossy turf, to the utter -detriment of fresh-frilled pinafores and white frocks. - -It was a pleasant resting-place, a palm-grove in the wilderness, where -the wayfarer might halt peacefully, and take breath for the rest of -the journey. Yet Raymond was determined not to tarry there longer than -was absolutely needful. Sir Simon did all that a host could do to -make him prolong his stay; but he was inexorable. He spied out a tiny -brick cottage perched on a bit of rising ground just below the park, -half-smothered in moss and lichens. It was beautifully situated as to -view; flowing meadows sloped down before it towards the river; beyond -the river corn-fields stretched out towards the woods, that rose like -dark waves breaking at the foot of the purple hills; the cottage was -called The Lilies, and contained six rooms, three above and three below, -including the kitchen. When Raymond offered himself as a tenant for it, -the baronet burst into a ringing laugh that scared the stately swan out -of his dignity, and sent him scudding over the water like a frightened -goose. But Raymond was not to be laughed out of his purpose; he should -have The Lilies, or he would go away. He must have it, too, like any -ordinary tenant, on the same conditions, neither better nor worse. The -lease was accordingly drawn out in due form, and M. de la Bourbonais -entered into possession after a very short delay. The room that was -intended for a drawing-room was fitted up with the count’s books--the -few special treasures he had rescued from the fate of all his goods -and chattels four years ago--and was called the library. It was not -much bigger than a good-sized book-case, but it would answer all the -purposes of a sitting-room for the present; Franceline would never be -in his way, and might sit there as much as she liked. The landlord had -had a little scheme of his own about the furnishing of the cottage, and -had sent for a London tradesman to this effect, intending to surprise -Raymond by having it all ready for him. But Raymond was as impracticable -here as about the lease. Sir Simon was annoyed. Raymond contrived to -foil him and have his own way in everything. He seemed to be half his -time in the moon; but when you wanted him to stay there, he was suddenly -wide-awake and as wilful as a mule. There was a substratum of steel -somewhere in him, in spite of his gentleness; and though it never hurt -you, it repelled you when you came against it every now and then, and -it was provoking. There was altogether something about Raymond that -mystified Sir Simon. To see a man as refined and sensitive as he was, -endowed with the hereditary instincts that make affluence a necessity -of existence to a gentleman, settling down into the conditions and -abode of the smallest of small farmers, and doing it as cheerfully as -if he were perfectly contented with the prospect, was something beyond -Sir Simon’s comprehension. To him life without wealth--not for its own -sake, but for what it gives and hinders--was merely a sentence of penal -servitude. Raymond had always been poor, he knew; but poverty in the -antique splendor of decayed ancestral halls, with the necessaries of -life provided as by a law of nature, and in the midst of a loyal and -reverent peasantry, was a very different sort of poverty from what he was -now embarking on. He would sometimes fix his eyes on Raymond when he was -busying himself, with apparently great satisfaction, on some miserable -trifle that Angélique wanted done in her room or in the kitchen, and -wonder whether it was genuine or feigned, whether sorrow or philosophy -had so deadened him to external conditions as to make him indifferent to -the material meanness and miseries of his position. He never heard a word -of regret, or any expression that could be construed into regret, escape -him in their most familiar conversations. Once Raymond, in speaking of -poverty, had confessed that he had never believed it had any power to -make men unhappy--such poverty as his had been--until he felt the touch -of its cruel finger on his Armengarde; then he realized the fact in its -full bitterness. But he had foiled the tormenter by a sublime fraud -of love, and saved his own heart from an anguish that would have been -more intolerable than remorse. Sir Simon remembered the expression of -Raymond’s face as he said this; the smile of gentle triumph that it wore, -as if gratitude for the rescue and the sacrifice had alone survived. He -concluded that it was so; that Raymond had forgiven poverty, since he had -conquered her; and that now he could take her to live with him like a -snake that had lost its sting, or some bright-spotted wild beast that he -had wrestled with and tamed, and might henceforth sport with in safety. - -Sir Simon found it hard to reconcile this serene philosophical state -of mind with his friend’s insurmountable reluctance to accept the least -material service, while, on the other hand, he took with avidity any -amount of affection and sympathy that was offered to him. It was because -he felt that he could repay these in kind; whereas for the others he -must remain an insolvent debtor. “Bourbonais, that is sheer nonsense and -inconsistency. I wouldn’t give a button for your philosophy, if it can’t -put you above such weakness. It’s absurd; you ought to struggle against -it and overcome it.” This was the baronet’s pet formula; he was always -ready with this advice to his friends. Raymond never contested the wisdom -of the proposition, or Sir Simon’s right to enunciate it; but in this -particular at least he did not adopt it. - -The gentry of the neighborhood called in due course at The Lilies, -and M. de la Bourbonais punctiliously returned the civility, and here -the intercourse ended. He would accept no hospitality that he was not -in a position to return. He was on very good terms with his immediate -neighbors, who were none of them formidable people. There was Mr. -Langrove, the vicar of Dullerton, and Father Henwick, the Catholic -priest, and Miss Bulpit and Miss Merrywig, two maiden ladies, who were in -their separate ways prominent institutions of the place. These four, with -Sir Simon, were the only persons who could boast of being on visiting -terms with the shy, polite foreigner who bowed to every old apple-woman -on the road as if she were a duchess, and kept the vulgar herd of the -town and the fine people of the county as much at a distance as if he -were an exiled sovereign who declined to receive the homage of other -subjects than his own. - -Franceline had been eight years at Dullerton, and was now in her -seventeenth year. She was very beautiful, as she stood leaning on the -garden-rail amongst the lilies, looking like a lily herself, with one -dove perched upon her finger, while another alighted on her head, and -cooed to it. She was neither a blonde nor a brunette, as we classify -them, but a type between the two. Her complexion was of that peculiar -whiteness that we see in fair northern women, Scandinavians and Poles; as -clear as ivory and as colorless, the bright vermilion of the finely cut, -sensitive mouth alone relieving its pallor. Yet her face was deficient -neither in warmth nor light; the large, almond-shaped eyes, flashing -in shadow, sometimes black, sometimes purple gray, lighted it better -than the pinkest roses could have done; and if the low arch of the dark -eyebrows gave a tinge of severity to it, the impression was removed by -two saucy dimples that lurked in either cheek, and were continually -breaking out of their hiding-places, and brightening the pensive features -like a sunbeam. Franceline’s voice had a note in it that was as bright as -her dimples. It rang through the brick cottage like the sound of running -water; and when she laughed, it was so hearty that you laughed with -her from very sympathy. Such a creature would have been in her proper -sphere in a palace, treading on pink marble, and waited on by a retinue -of pages. But she was not at all out of place at The Lilies; perhaps, -next to the palace and pink marble, she could not have alighted in a -more appropriate frame than this mossy flower-bed to which a capricious -destiny had transplanted her. She seemed quite as much a fitting part -of the place as the tall, majestic lilies on either side of the -garden-gate. But as regarded Dullerton beyond the garden-gate, she was -as much out of place as a gazelle in a herd of Alderney cows. Dullerton -was the very ideal of commonplace, the embodiment of respectability and -dulness--wealthy, fat-of-the-land dulness; if a prize had been set up for -that native commodity, Dullerton would certainly have carried it over -every county in England. There was no reason why it should have been so -dull, for it possessed quite as many external elements of sociability -as other provincial neighborhoods, and the climate was no foggier than -elsewhere; everybody was conscious of the dulness, and complained of it -to everybody else, but nobody did anything to mend matters. There was, -nevertheless, a good deal of intercourse one way or another; a vast -amount of food was interchanged between the big houses, and the smaller -ones periodically called in the neighbors to roll croquet-balls about -on the wet grass, and sip tea under the dripping trees; for it seemed -a law of nature that the weather was wet on this social occasion. But -nothing daunted the good-will of the natives; they dressed themselves in -muslins, pink, white, and blue, and came and played croquet, and drank -tea, and bored themselves, and went away declaring they had never been -at such a stupid affair in their lives. The gentlemen were always in a -feeble minority at these festive gatherings, and, instead of multiplying -themselves to supplement numbers by zeal, they had a habit of getting -together in a group to discuss the crops and the game-laws, leaving their -wives and daughters to seek refuge in county gossip, match-making, or -parish affairs, according to their separate tastes. Dullerton was not a -scandal-mongering place. Its gossip was mostly of an innocent kind; the -iniquities of servants the difficulties of getting a tolerable cook or a -housemaid that knew her business, recipes for economical soups for the -poor, the best place to buy flannels, etc., formed the staple subjects of -the matrons’ conversation. The young ladies dressed themselves bravely in -absolute defiance of the rudiments of art and taste; vied with each other -in disguising their heads--some of them very pretty ones--under monstrous -_chignons_ and outlandish head-gears; practised the piano, rode on -horseback, and wondered who Mr. Charlton would eventually marry; whether -his attentions to Miss X---- meant anything, or whether he was only -playing her off against Miss Z----. Mr. Charlton was the only eligible -young man resident within a radius of fifteen miles of Dullerton, and -was consequently the target for many enterprising bows and arrows. For -nine years he had kept mothers and daughters in harassing suspense as to -“what he meant”; and, instead of reforming as he grew older, he was more -tantalizing than ever now at the mature age of thirty-two. Mothers and -maidens were still on the _qui-vive_, and lived in perpetual hot water -as to the real intentions of the owner of Moorlands and six thousand -a year. He had, besides this primary claim on social consideration, -another that would in itself have made him master of the situation -in Dullerton: he had a fine voice, and sang a capital song; and this -advantage Mr. Charlton used somewhat unkindly. He was as capricious with -his voice as in his attentions, and it was a serious preoccupation with -the dinner-givers whether he would make the evening go off delightfully -by singing one of his songs with that enchanting high C, or leave it to -its native dulness by refusing to sing at all. The moods and phases of -the tyrannical tenor were, in fact, watched as eagerly by the expectant -hostess as the antics of the needle on the eve of a picnic. - -The one house of that side of the county where people did not bore -themselves was Dullerton Court. They congregated here, predetermined -to enjoy something more than eating and drinking; and they were never -disappointed. There was nothing in the entertainments themselves -to explain this fact; the house was indeed on a grander scale of -architecture, more palatial than any other country mansion in those -parts; but the people who met there, and chatted and laughed and went -away in high satisfaction with themselves and each other, were the same -who congregated in the other houses to yawn and be bored, and go away -grumbling. The secret of the difference lay entirely in the host. Sir -Simon Harness came into the world endowed with a faculty that predestined -him to rule over a certain class of men--the dull and dreary class; -people who have no vital heat of their own, but are for ever trying to -warm themselves at other people’s fires. He had, moreover, the genius of -hospitality in all its charms. He welcomed every commonplace acquaintance -with a heartiness that put the visitor in instantaneous good-humor with -himself and his host and all the world. Society was his life; he could -not live without it. He enjoyed his fellow-creatures, and he delighted -in having them about him; his house was open to his friends at all -times and seasons. What else was a house good for? What pleasure could -a man take in his house, unless it was full of friends? Unhappily for -Dullerton, Sir Simon was a frequent absentee. Some said that he could -not stand its dulness for long at a time, and that this was why he was -continually on the road to Paris and Vienna and the sunny shores of -Italy and Spain. But this could not be true; you had only to witness his -mercurial gayety in the midst of his Dullerton friends, and hear the ring -of his loud, manly voice when he shook them by the hand and bade them -welcome, to be convinced that he enjoyed them to the full as much as -they enjoyed him. It is true that since M. de la Bourbonais had come to -be his neighbor, the squire was less of a rover than formerly. When he -was at home, he spent a great deal of time at The Lilies--a circumstance -which gave Dullerton a great deal to talk about, and raised the reserved, -courteous recluse a great many pegs in the estimation of the county. -The baronet and his friend had many points of sympathy besides the -primary one of old hereditary friendship, though they were as dissimilar -in tastes and character as any two could be. This dissimilarity was, -however, a part of the mutual attraction. Sir Simon was an inexhaustible -talker, and M. de la Bourbonais an indefatigable listener; he had what -Voltaire called a talent for holding his tongue. But this negative -condition of a good listener was not his only one; he possessed in a -rare degree all the merits that go to the composition of that delightful -personage. Most people, while you are talking to them, are more occupied -in thinking what they will say to you than in attending to what you -are saying to them, and these people are miserable listeners. M. de -la Bourbonais gave his whole mind to what you were saying, and never -thought of his answer until the time came to give it. He not only seemed -interested, he really was interested, in your discourse; and he would -frequently hear more in it than it was meant to convey, supplying from -his own quick intelligence what was wanting in your crude, disjointed -remarks. There was nothing in a quiet way that Sir Simon liked better -than an hour’s talk with his tenant, and he always came away from the -luxury of having been listened to by a cultivated, philosophical mind in -high good-humor with himself. His vanity, moreover, was flattered by the -fact beyond the mere personal gratification it afforded him. Everybody -knew that the French _emigré_ was a man of learning, given to abstruse -study of some abstract kind; the convivial squire must therefore be more -learned than he cared to make believe, since this philosophical student -took such pleasure in his society. When his fox-hunting friends would -twit him jocosely on this score, Sir Simon would pooh-pooh them with a -laugh, observing in a careless way: “One must dip into this sort of thing -now and then, you see, or else one’s brain gets rusty. I don’t care much -myself about splitting hairs on Descartes or untwisting the fibres of a -Greek root, but it amuses Bourbonais; you see he has so few to talk to -who can listen to this sort of thing.” It was true that the conversation -did occasionally take such learned turns, and equally true that M. de la -Bourbonais enjoyed airing his views on the schools and dissecting roots, -and that Sir Simon felt elevated in his own opinion when the count -caught up some hazardous remark of his on one of the classic authors, -and worked it up into an elaborate defence of the said author; and -when, on their next meeting, Raymond would accost him with “Mon cher, I -didn’t quite see at the moment what you meant by pointing that line from -Sophocles at me, but I see now,” Sir Simon would purr inwardly like a -stroked cat. Every now and then, too, he would startle the Grand Jury -by the brilliancy of his classical quotations, and the way in which he -bore down on them with a weight of argument worthy of a Q.C. in high -practice; little they dreamed that the whole case had been sifted the day -before by the orator’s learned friend, who had analyzed it, and put it in -shape for the rhetorical purpose of the morrow. The baronet was serenely -unconscious of being a plagiarist; he had got into a way of sucking his -friend’s brains, until he honestly thought they were his own. - -This intellectual piracy is not so rare, perhaps, as at first sight you -may imagine. It would be a curious revelation if our own minds could be -laid bare to us, and we were enabled to see how far their workings are -original and how far imitative. We should, I fancy, be startled to find -how small a proportion the former bears to the latter, and how much that -we consider the spontaneous operation of our minds is, in reality, but -the reflex of the minds of others, and the unconscious reproduction of -thoughts and ideas that are suggested by things outside of us. - -Franceline’s _bonne_, as she still called her, though Angélique had -passed from that single capacity into the complex position of butler, -cook, housemaid, lady’s maid, and general factotum at The Lilies, was -as complete a contrast to a name as ever mortal presented. A gaunt, -high-cheek-boned, grizzly-haired woman, with a squint and a sharp, -aggressive chin, every inch of her body protested against the mockery -that had labelled her angelic. She had a gruff voice like a man’s, and a -trick of tossing her head and falling back in her chair when she answered -you that had gained her the nickname of the French grenadier amongst -the rising generation of Dullerton. Yet the kernel of this rough husk -was as tender and mellow as a peach, and differed from the outer woman -as much as the outer woman differed from her name. When the small boys -followed her round the market, laughing at her under her very nose, and -accompanying their vernacular comments with very explicative gestures, -the French grenadier had not the heart to stop the performance by sending -the actors to the right-about, as she might have done with one shake -of her soldier-like fist; but if they had dared to look crooked at -Franceline, or play off the least of their tricks on M. de la Bourbonais, -she would have punched their heads for them, and sent them off yelling -with broken noses without the smallest compunction. Angélique had found a -husband in her youth, and when he died she had transferred all her wifely -solicitude to her master and his wife and child. She could have given him -no greater proof of it than by leaving her native village and following -him to his foreign home; yet she never let him suspect that the sacrifice -cost her a pang. She was of a social turn, and it was no small trial -to be shut out from neighborly chat by her ignorance of the language. -She took it out, to be sure, with the count and Franceline, and with -the few intimates of The Lilies who spoke French; but, let her improve -these opportunities as she might, there was still a great gap in her -social life. Conversation with ladies and gentlemen was one thing, and a -good gossip with a neighbor was another. But Angélique kept this grief -to herself, and never complained. With M. le Curé, as she dubbed Father -Henwick, the Catholic priest of Dullerton, she went the length of shaking -her head, and observing that people who were in exile had their purgatory -in this world, and went straight to heaven when they died. Father Henwick -had been brought up at S. Sulpice, and spoke French like a native, -and was as good as a born Frenchman. She could pour her half-uttered -pinings into his ear without fear or scruple; her dreams of returning -_dans mon pays_ at some future day, when M. le Comte would have married -mademoiselle. She could even confide to this trusty ear her anxieties on -the latter head, her fear that M. le Comte, being a philosopher, would -not know how to go about finding a husband for Franceline. She could -indulge freely in motherful praises of Franceline’s perfections, and tell -over and over again the same stories of her nurseling’s babyhood and -childhood; how certain traits had frightened her that the _petite_ was -going to turn out a very Jezabel for wickedness, but how she had lived -to find out her mistake. She loved notably to recall one instance of -these juvenile indications of character; when one day, after bellowing -for a whole hour without ceasing, the child suddenly stopped, and Mme. -la Comtesse called out from her pillows under the palm-tree: “At last! -Thank goodness it’s over!” and how Franceline stamped her small foot, -and sobbed out: “No-o-o, it’s not over! I repose myself!” and began -again louder than ever. And how another day, when a powerful Arab who -was leading her mule over the hills suddenly lashed his whip across the -shoulders of a little boy fast asleep on the pathway, waking him up -with a howl of pain, Franceline clutched her little fist and struck the -savage a box on the ear, screaming at him in French: “O you wicked! I -wish you were a thief, and I’d lock you up! I wish you were a murderer, -and I’d cut your head off! I wish you were a candle, and I’d blow you -out!” Father Henwick would listen to the same stories, and delight -Angélique by assuring her for the twentieth time that they were certain -pledges of future strength and decision in the woman. And when Angélique -would wind up with the usual remark, “Ah! our little one is born for -something great; she would make a famous queen, Monsieur le Curé,” he -would cordially agree with her, revolving, nevertheless, in his own mind -the theory that there are many kinds of greatness, and many queens who go -through life without the coronation ceremony that crowns them with the -outward symbols of royalty. - -Miss Merrywig was another of Angélique’s friends; but she had not been -educated at S. Sulpice, and so the intercourse was sustained under -difficulties. Her French was something terrific. She ignored genders, -despised moods and tenses; and as to such interlopers as adverbs and -prepositions, Miss Merrywig treated them with the contempt they deserved. -Her mode of proceeding was extremely simple: she took a bundle of -infinitives in one hand, and pronouns and adjectives in another, and -shook them up together, and they fell into place the best way they could. -It was wonderful how, somehow or other, they turned into sentences, and -Angélique, by dint of good-will, always guessed what Miss Merrywig was -driving at. A great bond between them was their love of a bargain. Miss -Merrywig delighted in a bargain as only an old maid with an income of two -hundred pounds a year can delight in it. She had, moreover, a passion -for making everybody guess what she paid for things. This harmless -peculiarity was apt to be a nuisance to her friends. The first thing she -did after investing in a remnant of some sort, or a second-hand article, -was to carry it the rounds of Dullerton, and insist on everybody’s -guessing how much it cost. - -“Make a guess! You know what a good linsey costs, and you see this is -pure wool; you can see that? you have only to feel it. Just feel it! It’s -as soft as cashmere. That’s what tempted me. I don’t want it _exactly_, -but then I mightn’t get _such_ a bargain when I did want it; and, as the -young man at Willis’ said--they’re so _uncommonly_ civil at Willis’!--a -good article _always_ brings its value; and there was no denying it _was_ -a bargain, and one never _can_ go wrong in taking a good thing when one -gets it cheap; and they do mix cotton so much with the wool nowadays that -one can’t be too particular, as my dear mother used to say, though in her -time it was of course very different. Now you’ve examined it, what do -you think I gave for it?” There was no getting out of it: you might try -to fight off on the plea that you had no experience in linseys, that you -were no judge--Miss Merrywig would take no excuse. - -“Well, but give a guess. Say something. What would you consider _cheap_? -You know what a stuff all pure wool _ought_ to be worth. Just give a -guess. Remember, it was a bargain!” Thus adjured and driven into a -corner, you timidly ventured a sum, and, whether you hit it or not, -Miss Merrywig was aggrieved. If you fell below the mark, there was no -describing her astonishment and disappointment. “Fifteen shillings! Dear -_me_! Why, that’s the price of a common alpaca! Fifteen shillings! Good -_gracious_! Oh? you can’t _mean_ it. Do guess again.” - -And when, to console her, you guessed double, and it happened to be -right, she was still inconsolable. - -“So you don’t think it was a bargain after all! Dear me! Well that _is_ -a disappointment. All I can say is that my dear mother had a linsey that -was not one atom softer or stronger than this, and she paid just double -for it--three pounds; she did indeed; she told me so _herself_, poor -soul. I often heard her speak highly of that linsey when I was a child, -and I quite well remember her saying that it had cost three pounds, and -that it had been well worth the money.” - -You might cry _peccavi_, and eat your words, and declare your conviction -that it was the greatest windfall you ever heard of; nothing would pacify -Miss Merrywig until she had carried her bargain to some one else, and had -it guessed at a higher figure, which you were pretty sure to be informed -of at the earliest opportunity, and triumphantly upbraided for your want -of appreciation. Angélique was a great comfort to Miss Merrywig on this -head. She loved a bargain dearly, and was proud of showing that she knew -the difference between one that was and one that was not; accordingly, -she was one of the first to whom Miss Merrywig submitted a new purchase. -“Voyons!” the grenadier would say, and then she would take out her -spectacles, wipe them, adjust them on her nose, and then deliberately rub -the tissue between her finger and thumb, look steadily at Miss Merrywig, -as if trying to gather a hint before committing herself, and then give an -opinion. She generally premised with the cautious formula: “Dans mon pays -it would be so-and-so. Of course I can only make a guess in this country; -prices differ.” She was not often far astray; but even when she was, this -preface disarmed Miss Merrywig, and, when Angélique hit the mark, her -satisfaction was unbounded. Other people might say she had been cheated, -or that she had paid the full value of the thing. There was Comte de la -Bourbonais’ French maid, who said it was the _greatest_ bargain she had -_ever_ seen; and being a Frenchwoman, and accustomed to French stuffs, -she was more likely to know than people who had never been out of England -in the whole course of their lives. - -The other old maid who occupied a prominent position at Dullerton, and -was on friendly terms with the grenadier, was Miss Bulpit. It would be -difficult to meet with a greater contrast between any two people than -between Miss Bulpit and Miss Merrywig. The latter talked in italics, -emphasizing all the small words of her discourse, so as to throw -everything out of joint. Miss Bulpit spoke “in mournful numbers,” brought -out her sentences as slowly as a funeral knell, and was altogether -funereal in her aspect. She was tall and lank, and wore a black silk -wig, pasted in melancholy braids on either side of her face--a perfect -foil to the gay little curls that danced on Miss Merrywig’s forehead -like so many little bells keeping time to her tongue. Miss Bulpit was -enthroned on a pedestal of one thousand five hundred pounds a year, -and attended by all the substantial honors that spring from such a -foundation. She was fully alive to the advantages of her position, and -had never married from the fear of being sought more for her money -than for herself. So, at least, rumor has it. Mr. Tobes, the Wesleyan -clergyman of the next parish, whose awakening sermons decoyed the black -sheep of the surrounding folds to him, had tried for the prize for -more than seven years, but in vain. Miss Bulpit smiled with benevolent -condescension on his assiduities, allowed him to meet her at the railway -station and to hand her a bouquet occasionally; but this was the extent -of his reward. He persevered, however; and, when Miss Bulpit shook her -black silk head at him with a melancholy smile and a reproof for wasting -on her the precious time that belonged to his flock, Mr. Tobes would -reply that the laborer was worthy of his hire, and that no man could live -without an occasional recompense for his labors. - -Miss Bulpit was the lowest of the Low-Church, so zealous in propagating -her own views as to be a severe trial to the vicar, Mr. Langrove. The -vicar was a shy, scholarly man and a great lover of peace, but he was -often hard pushed to keep the peace with Miss Bulpit. She crossed him in -every way, and defied him to his very face; but it was done so mildly, -with such an unction of zeal and such a sincere desire to correct his -errors and make up for his shortcomings, that it was impossible to treat -her like an ordinary antagonist. She had a soup-kitchen and a dispensary -in her own house, where the poor of his parish were fed and healed; and -if Miss Bulpit made these material things the medium of dealing with -their souls, and if they chose to be dealt with, how could Mr. Langrove -interfere to prevent it? If she had a call to break the word to others, -why should she not obey it just as he obeyed his? He had his pulpit, -which she did not interfere with--a mercy for which the vicar was not, -perhaps, sufficiently grateful. Miss Bulpit was limited to no restriction -of place or time; she could preach anywhere and at a moment’s notice; -the water was always at high pressure, and only wanted a touch to set -it flowing into any channel; the cottages, the wards of the hospital, -the village school, the roadside, any place was a rostrum for her. If -she met a group of laborers going home with their spades over their -shoulders, Miss Bulpit would accost them with a few good words; and if -they took them well, as their class mostly do from ladies, she would -plunge into the promiscuous depths of that awful leather bag of hers that -was Mr. Langrove’s horror, and evolve from a chaos of pill-boxes, socks, -spectacles, soap, black draughts, buns, and bobbins, a packet of tracts, -and, selecting an appropriate one, she would proceed to expound it, and -wind up with a few texts out of the little black Testament that lived -by itself in an outside pocket of the black leather bag. This state of -things would have been bad enough, even if Miss Bulpit had held sound -views; but what made it infinitely worse was that her orthodoxy was more -than doubtful. But there was no way of putting her in her place. She was -too rich for that. If she had been a poor woman, like Miss Merrywig, -it would have been easy enough; but Miss Bulpit’s fortune had built a -bulwark of defence round her, and against these stout walls the vicar’s -shafts might be pointed in perfect safety to the enemy. It was a great -mercy if they did not recoil on himself. Some persons accused him of -being ungrateful. How could he quarrel with her for preaching in the -school when she had re-roofed it for him, after he had spent six months -in fruitless appeals to the board to do it? How could the authorities of -the hospital refuse her the satisfaction of saying a few serious words to -the inmates, when she supplied them with unlimited port-wine and jellies, -and other delicacies which the authorities could not provide? It was very -difficult to turn out a benefactor who paid liberally for her privileges, -and had so firm a footing in every charitable institution of the county. -The vicar was not on vantage-ground in his struggle to hold his own. Miss -Bulpit was a pillar of the state of Dullerton. There were not a few who -whispered that if either must go to the wall, it had better be the parson -than the parishioner. Coals were at famine prices; soup and port-wine are -comforting to the soul of man, and the donor’s strictures on S. James and -exclusive enthusiasm for S. Paul were things that could be tolerated by -those whom they did not concern. - -Franceline had been to see Miss Merrywig, who lived like a lizard in -the grass, with a willow weeping copious tears over her mouldy little -cottage. The cheerful old lady always spoke with thankfulness of -the quiet and comfort of her home, and believed that everybody must -envy her its picturesque situation, to say nothing of the delights of -being wakened by the larks before daylight, and kept awake long after -midnight by the nightingales. The woods at Dullerton were alive with -nightingales. On emerging from the damp darkness after an hour with Miss -Merrywig, Franceline found that the sun had climbed up to the zenith, and -was pouring down a sultry glow that made the earth smoke again. There -was a stile at the end of the wood, and she sat down to rest herself -under the thick shade of a sycamore. The stillness of the noon was on -everything. A few lively linnets tried to sing; but, the effort being -prompted solely by duty, after a while they gave it up, and withdrew to -the coolest nooks, and enjoyed their siesta like the lazy ones. Nobody -stirred, except the insects that were chirping in the grass, and some -bees that sailed from flower to flower, buzzing and doing field-labor -when everybody else was asleep or idle. To the right the fields were -brimful of ripening grain of every shade of gold; the deep-orange corn -was overflowing into the pale amber of the rye, and the bearded barley -was washing the hedge that walled it off from the lemon-colored wheat. -To the left the rich grass-lands were dotted with flocks and herds. In -the nearest meadow some cattle were herding. It was too hot to eat, so -they stood surveying the fulness of the earth with mild, bovine gaze. -They might have been sphinxes, they were so still; not a muscle in their -sleek bodies moved, except that a tail lashed out against the flies now -and then. Some were in the open field, holding up their white horns to -the sunlight; others were grouped in twos and threes under a shady tree; -but the noontide hush was on them all. Presently a number of horses -came trooping leisurely up to the pond near the stile; the mild-eyed -kine moved their slow heads after the procession, and then, one by one, -trooped on with it. The noise of the hoofs plashing into the water, and -the loud lapping of the thirsty tongues, was like a drink to the hot -silence. Franceline watched them lifting their wet mouths, all dripping, -from the pool, and felt as if she had been drinking too. There was a -long, solemn pause, and then a sound like the blast of an organ rose up -from the pond, swelling and sweeping over the fields; before it died away -a calf in a distant paddock answered it. - -If any one had told Franceline, as she sat on her stile, thinking sweet, -nothing-at-all thoughts, under the sycamore tree, that she was communing -with nature, she would have opened her dark eyes at them, and laughed. -It was true, nevertheless. She might not know it, but she drew a great -deal of her happiness from the woods and fields, and the birds and the -sunsets. Her life had been from its babyhood, comparatively speaking, a -solitary one, and the want, or rather the absence, of kindred companions -had driven her unconsciously into companionship with nature. Her father’s -society was a melancholy one enough for a young girl. Raymond’s mind -was like an æolian harp set up in a ruin; every breath of wind that -swept over it drew out sounds of sweet but mournful music. Even his -cheerfulness--and it was uniform and genuine--had a note of sadness in -it, like a lively air set in a minor key; there was nothing morbid or -harsh in his spirit, but it was entirely out of tune with youth. He -was perfectly resigned to life, but the spring was broken; he looked -on at Franceline’s young gayety, as he might do at the flutterings and -soarings of her doves, with infinite admiration, but without the faintest -response within himself. So the child grew up as much alone as a bird -might be with creatures of a different nature, and made herself a little -world of her own--not a dream world, in the sense of ordinary romance; -she had read no novels and knew nothing about the great problem of the -human heart, except what its own promptings may have whispered to her. -She made friends with the flowers and the birds and the woods, and loved -them as if they were living companions. She watched their comings and -goings, and found out their secrets, and got into a way of talking to -them and telling them hers. As a child, the first peep of the snowdrop -and the first call of the cuckoo was as exciting an event to her as the -arrival of a new toy or a new dress to other little girls. She found S. -Francis of Assisi’s beautiful hymn to his “brother, the sun, and his -sisters, the moon and the stars,” one day in an old book of her father’s, -and she learned it by heart, and would warble it in a duet with the -nightingale out of her lattice-window sometimes when Angélique fancied -her fast asleep. As she grew up the mystery of the poem grew clearer -to her, and she repeated it with a deeper sense of sympathy with the -brothers and sisters that dwell in the sky, and the clear, pure water, -and everywhere in the beautiful creation. I am sorry if this sounds -unnatural, but I cannot help it. I am describing Franceline as I knew -her. But I don’t think it will seem unnatural if you notice the effect -of surroundings on delicate-fibred children; how easily they follow the -lights we hold out to them, and how vibratile their little spirits are. -There was no absolute want of child society at Dullerton, any more than -grown-up society; but Franceline de la Bourbonais did not care for it -somehow. She felt shy amongst the noisy, romping children that swarmed -in the nurseries of Dullerton, and they thought her a queer child, and -did not get on well with her. The only house where she cared at all to -go in her juvenile days was the vicarage; but the attraction was the -vicar himself, rather than his full home, that was like an aviary of -chattering parrots and chirping canaries. Now that the parrots were -grown up and “going out,” Franceline saw very little of them. They were -occupied making markers on perforated card-board for all their friends, -or else “doing up” their dresses for the next dinner or croquet party; -the staple topic of their conversation after these entertainments was -why Mr. Charlton took Miss This down to dinner, instead of Miss That; -whether it was an accident, or whether there was anything in it; and how -divinely Mr. Charlton had sung “Ah, non giunge.” These things were not -the least interesting to Franceline, who was not “out,” or ever likely to -be. Who would take her, and where could she get dresses to go? She hated -perforated card-board work, and she did not know Mr. Charlton. It was no -wonder, therefore, she felt out of her element at the vicarage, like a -wild bird strayed into a cackling farmyard, and that the Langrove girls -thought her dull and cold. - -It would be a very superficial observer, nevertheless, who would accuse -Franceline of either coldness or dulness, as she sits there on this -lovely summer day, her gypsy hat thrown back, and showing the small head -in its unbroken outline against the sky, with the red gold hair drifting -in wavy braids from the broad, ivory forehead, while her dark eyes -glance over the landscape with an intense listening expression, as if -some inaudible voices were calling to her. It was very pleasant sitting -there in the shade doing nothing, and there is no saying how long she -might have indulged in the delicious _far niente_, if a thrush had not -wakened suddenly in the foliage over her head, and reminded her that it -was time to be stirring. It was nearly three hours since she had left -home, and Angélique would be wondering what had become of her. With a -fairy suddenness of motion she rose up, vaulted over the stile with the -agility of a young kid, and plunged into the teeming field. There was a -footpath through it in ordinary times, but it was flooded now, and she -had to wade through the rye, putting her arms out before her, as if she -were swimming; for a light breeze had sprung up and was blowing the tawny -wave in ripples almost into her face. She shut her eyes for a moment, -and, opening them, suddenly fancied she was in the middle of the sea, the -sun lighting up the yellow depths with myriads of scarlet poppies and -blue-bells, that shone like fairy sea-weed through the stems. She had not -got quite to the end of the last field when she heard a sound of voices -coming down the park toward a small gate that opened into the fields. She -hurried on, thinking it must be Sir Simon, and perhaps her father; and it -was not until he was close by the gate that she discovered her mistake. -One of the voices belonged to Mr. Charlton, the other to a young man -whom she had never seen before. Franceline knew Mr. Charlton by sight. -She had met him once at Miss Merrywig’s, who was a particular friend of -his--but then everybody was a particular friend of Miss Merrywig’s--and -a few times when she was out walking with Sir Simon and her father, and -the young man had stood to shake hands; but this had not led to anything -beyond a bowing acquaintance. That was not Mr. Charlton’s fault. There -were few things that would have gratified him more than to be able to -establish himself as a visitor at The Lilies; but M. de la Bourbonais had -not given him the smallest sign of encouragement, so he had to content -himself with raising his hat instinctively an inch higher than to any -other lady of his acquaintance when he met Franceline on the road or in -the green lanes--he on horseback, she, of course, on foot; and when the -young French girl returned his salute by that stately little bend of her -head, he would ride on with a sense of elation, as if a royal princess -had paid him some flattering attention. This was the first time they -had met alone on foot. Mr. Charlton’s first impulse was to speak; but -something stronger than first impulse checked him, and, before he had -made up his mind about it, he had lost an opportunity. The stranger, -whose presence of mind was disturbed by no scruples or timidity, stepped -quickly forward, and lifted the latch of the heavy wooden gate, and -swung it back, lifting his hat quite off, and remaining uncovered till -Franceline had passed in. It was very vexatious to Mr. Charlton to have -missed the chance of the little courtesy, and to feel that his companion -had the largest share in the bow that included them both as she walked -rapidly on. Franceline’s curiosity, meanwhile, was excited. Who could -this strange gentleman be, who looked so like a Frenchman, and bowed like -one? If he was a guest of Mr. Charlton’s, she would never know, most -likely; but if he was staying at the Court, she would soon hear all about -him. She wondered which way they were going. The gate had clicked, so -they were sure to have gone on. Franceline scarcely stopped to consider -this, but, obeying the impulse of the moment, turned round and looked. -She did so, and saw the stranger, with his hand still upon the gate, -looking after her. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -THE FUTURE OF THE RUSSIAN CHURCH. - -BY THE REV. CÆSARIUS TONDINI, BARNABITE. - -CONCLUDED. - -IV. - -It is time that our notice of this subject drew towards its close. The -return of the Russian Church to Catholic unity is the dearest wish of -our heart. A brother in religion (in which we love each other as perhaps -nowhere else in the world, because we love each other for eternity) drew -us, during the few months we spent together in Italy, to share in his -longings and aspirations for the religious future of Russia, his native -country. Before quitting Italy Father Schouvaloff went to Rome, and -presented himself before the Pope. The Holy Father, Pius IX., engaged him -to make a daily offering of his life to God to obtain the return of his -country to the unity of the Catholic Church. Father Schouvaloff joyfully -obeyed, and God, on his part, accepted the offering. Being sent to Paris -towards the end of the year 1857, Father Schouvaloff died there on the 2d -of April, 1859. - -Upon his tomb we promised to continue, in so far as it would be granted -to us under religious obedience, our feeble co-operation in his work; and -our writings are in part the fulfilment of this promise. - -Father Schouvaloff’s confidence in the return of Russia to Catholic unity -was very great; we have fully shared in this confidence, and everything -that, since his death, has taken place in Russia, has but served to -augment it. This may appear strange, but perhaps more than one among our -readers will share it with us when we have said in what manner we look -forward to this happy event. - -A return of the Russians _en masse_ to Catholic unity we scarcely -contemplate. This could not happen except under the hypothesis of -political interests which appear to us inadmissible. And even should we, -in this matter, be mistaken, and from political interests the Russian -people were to accept union with Rome, would a union thus brought -about be desirable? Unless we mistake, the words of Jesus Christ might -be applied to a faith thus created when he said, _Omnis plantatio quam -non plantavit Pater meus eradicabitur_--“Every plant which my Heavenly -Father hath not planted shall be rooted up” (S. Matt. xv. 13). Was it by -promising the Jewish nation to deliver it from the Roman yoke that Jesus -Christ taught his heavenly doctrine? Was it by promising independence, -honors, temporal advantages, that the apostles persuaded the pagans to -believe in the Crucified? Again, is it by pointing to a perspective -of material advantages that any Catholic priest, however moderately -cognizant of his own duty and the good of souls, seeks to induce any one -to become a Catholic? If to those who aspire to follow Jesus Christ was -always held the same language as that which he himself used to them, -there might, perhaps, be fewer conversions, but they would be true -conversions, and each one would lead on others, as true as themselves. -No; a faith created by political interests would never be a real and -solid faith, and other political interests would cause it to be cast -aside as easily as it had been accepted; it is the tree which the Father -has not planted, and which will be rooted up. Besides, history proves it. -More than once have the Greeks momentarily reunited themselves to the -Catholic Church; their defection has been explained by the _fides Græca_, -and that is all. But let us be just; Greek faith is pretty much the -faith of every nation. If we take into account the circumstances under -which these reunions were accomplished, the motives which led the Greek -bishops, whether to Lyons or to Florence, and the small care they took -to cause that that which had agreed happily with their presence in the -council--the discussion of the contested points--should remain always the -principal end, we shall perceive that the duration of the reunion would -have been a prodigy. - -In not effecting this prodigy our Lord has perhaps willed to hinder men -from finding in history a denial given to his words: _Omnis plantatio -quam non plantavit Pater meus eradicabitur_--“Every plant which my -Heavenly Father hath not planted shall be rooted up.” - -Neither have we by any means an unlimited confidence in the action which -might be exercised by the emperors of Russia on the bishops and clergy -of their church. While retaining the hope that the czars may understand -that it is to their interest to dispossess themselves, in great part at -least, of the religious power, and not even despairing of their favoring -the reunion of the Russian bishops with Rome, our confidence is not based -upon their actions. It is difficult for us to believe that they could -be moved by other than political interests; that which we have said, -therefore, respecting a return _en masse_ of the Russian people, would -consequently here again find its application. Besides, if formerly the -word of a czar was that of Russia, and his will the will also of his -subjects, it is no longer the same in the present day. When Peter I. -accepted the scheme of reunion proposed by the doctors of the Sorbonne of -Paris, and consented to have it examined by his bishops (1717); when Paul -I. took into consideration the plan suggested by Father Gruber (1800), -one might truly have said, Russia promises fair to become Catholic. At -this present time, however, an emperor of Russia might probably speak -and promise for himself alone. We must add that at a period when changes -in popular opinion and sympathies are as frequent as they are sudden, the -simple fact that the reunion with Rome had been promoted and favored by a -czar might, in certain circumstances, furnish an additional pretext for -disavowing it afterwards. - -But what is it, then, which induces us to hope, which sustains our -confidence, and which emboldens us to manifest it openly, though we -should seem to be following an utopian idea? - -In the first place, we have hope in a change which, grace aiding it, the -events recently accomplished, and those which are continuing to take -place in Europe, will work on the minds of men. Events have their logic, -and it imposes itself also upon the nations. The alternative indicated -above, and which will force minds to recognize the divinity of the -Catholic Church, will become an evident fact, and God will do the rest. - -We hope because Alexander II. has emancipated the peasantry, and we may -be allowed to see in the emancipation of the peasantry the prelude to the -emancipation of the Russian Church. We shall return to this point. - -We hope because the spirit of apostolate, by faith and charity, is now -more powerful than ever in the Catholic Church. As soon as the doors -of Russia shall be open to her, and she can there freely exercise her -action, her priests, her missionaries, her religious orders, her Sisters -of Charity, her Little Sisters of the Poor, will present themselves of -their own accord. God will do the rest. - -Again, we hope because of the “Associations of Prayer,” which have -already preceded and powerfully prepared the way for the return of Russia -to the Catholic faith. The favor demanded is a great one, and therefore -we have chosen all that Christian piety, the church, God himself, offers -us as having most power to prevail with him. Rather than depend alone on -disseminating leaflets of prayers, or engaging pious souls to remember -Russia, thus giving to these associations a form which, in one way or -another, might injure their character of universality, we have endeavored -to obtain the celebration of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. For this -intention we have asked for Masses.[12] In the Holy Mass it is Jesus -Christ himself who prays, and he is always heard. - -A plenary indulgence, attached to these Masses, invites the faithful to -unite their prayers with those of the divine Intercessor. If the faithful -fail, still Jesus pleads; for faith this is enough. - -Lastly, we hope because eighteen centuries which have passed away -since Jesus Christ quitted the earth in human form have not been able -to diminish in anything the creative power of his words. Jesus Christ -promised to faith--and to faith possessed in the measure of a grain of -mustard-seed--that it should move mountains (S. Matt. xvii. 19; S. Luke -xvii. 6). Thus it was with happiness, at the last General Congress at -Mechlin, in 1867, we made a public act of faith in proclaiming our -unlimited confidence in prayer, and, we added, “in prayer presented to -God by Mary.”[13] This public act of faith we here repeat. - -At the same Congress of Mechlin we also spoke of our confidence in the -special benediction which His Holiness Pius IX. had deigned to grant to -us, and which is thus expressed: _Benedicat te Deus et dirigat cor et -intelligentiam tuam_. - -This confidence has assuredly not diminished since that time. Far from -this, if there is one teaching which imposes itself with an irresistible -force upon our mind, it is this: that in the Vicar of Jesus Christ, no -less than in Jesus Christ himself, is fulfilled the declaration of our -divine Saviour, “He that gathereth not with me, scattereth” (S. Luke xi. -23). - -And further, Jesus Christ spoke thus to his disciples: _When you shall -have done all the things that are commanded you, say: We are unprofitable -servants: we have done that which we ought to do_ (S. Luke xvii. 10). -After this it is not even humility, but simple Christian logic, to attach -a high value to the works of the apostolate, to the benediction of the -pope; lest we should be not only unprofitable servants--which is always -the case--but dangerous servants. - -It is that, in the first place, the benediction of the pope, while it -encourages zeal, requires that we should correct whatever there may be -of human or of reprehensible in the manner in which our zeal expresses -itself and the means which it employs. The Vicar of Jesus Christ cannot -and does not bless anything but what is pleasing to Jesus Christ and -conformable to his will. That which is not conformable to these, far from -participating in this benediction, dishonors and in some sort vilifies -it. The benediction of the pope imposes an obligation. - -It is, in the second place, that the mission of the priest is not to -preach according to his own ideas; to exercise the ministry according -to his own ideas; to aid the church according to his own ideas; but to -preach, to exercise the ministry, to aid the church, after the manner -indicated by God, who is the Master of the church, who knows her needs -better than we do, and who has no need of us. And who will inform us -of his will, if not his legitimate representatives, the bishops, and, -above them, the Vicar of Jesus Christ, the pope? All those who, however -slightly, have studied the mysteries of the human heart, the relations -existing between faith and reason, and the powerlessness of all human -means to produce one single act of faith, will, we are certain, partake -in the sentiment which we have just expressed. Hence it is that we are -happy here to proclaim again our confidence in the benediction of Pius IX. - -Thus, therefore, the logic of events, the spirit of the apostolate, the -emancipation of the serfs, the efficaciousness of prayer, the power of -faith, the benediction of Pius IX.--these are the things which support -our confidence; these are our motives for hope. - -Are we the plaything of an illusion, and is our confidence the effect of -religious excitement? Not in any wise; for we are now about to indicate -where lies the principal obstacle in the way of reunion, and what is the -objection which will have the most effect upon the minds of men. It is in -the fear that the popes may overstep the limits of their authority; that -the religious power may absorb that of the state; and that Russia would -only become Catholic to the detriment of the national spirit. - -In fact, we cannot deny the teaching of history, which shows us, almost -always and everywhere, conflicts between the civil and religious power. -More than in the conduct of the popes, the true cause of these will -be found, we believe, in the fact that Cæsarism--that is to say, the -tendency of sovereigns to obtain an empire entire and absolute over -their subjects--is to be found in human nature itself. To avoid the -possibility of conflicts between Rome and the various governments, it -would be necessary to change human nature. Perhaps it may be allowable -to say that, in the difficulty which stands in the way, practically -to define in an absolute manner the limits of the two powers, we must -recognize a providential disposition which has permitted this in order to -open a wider field for the exercise of virtue. That which was said by S. -Augustine, _Homines sumus, fragiles, infirmi, lutea vasa portantes; sed -si angustiantur vasa carnis, dilatentur spatia charitatis_, may find here -its application, at least, if from the supreme representatives of the -two powers, the pope and the sovereign, we descend to those who exercise -these powers in their name in less elevated spheres and in the ordinary -details of life. These smaller and subordinate authorities, charged to -represent power, and carrying into their representation of power their -personal character, their private views, at times their prejudices -and their interests, may be well compared to those vases of which S. -Augustine speaks--vases of capacity and of varied form, and which must be -made to occupy a certain fixed space. Let only charity intervene, round -the angles, shape the lines, adapt the prominences to the sinuosities, -determine the length, shorten where needful, obtain even the sacrifice of -some superfluous ornaments, these vases will then all find their place; -space is multiplied by miracle; that which has effected it is the spirit -of Jesus Christ, which is charity. - -This solution of the difficulty by charity is not, however, the only one -which we propose. Without speaking of the concordats which prove that -an amicable understanding may be entered into with Rome, and also not -to mention those great sovereigns of various countries whose history -proves that to live in peace with the church is by no means hurtful to -the prosperity of the state, the Russians will allow us also to reckon in -some degree upon the intellectual progress to which, no less than other -nations, they attach a great value. Now, to advance intellectually is to -perceive that which was previously hidden from the mind, and to discern -clearly that which was only half guessed at before. Why, then, not hope -that the Russians will now see more clearly than in the time when Peter -I. treated them so contemptuously what must be expected or feared from -the religious and civil power; that is to say, that if conflicts appear -inevitable, the alternative, for them as well as for other peoples, is -this: conflicts with Rome, or slavery to their sovereigns. Let them make -their choice. - -Much is said about the providential mission of Russia in Asia. Why not -also in Europe? Of all the nations of Europe, the Russian people is that -which more than all others knows by experience what serfdom really is, -under the empire of a sovereign ruling at the same time bodies and souls. -Their submission has been called “the heroism of slavery.” “Whoever has -seen Russia,” it has also been said, “will find himself happy to live -anywhere else.” Well! at the risk of provoking a smile of incredulity, we -express the hope that there will be found amongst the Russians sufficient -intelligence to comprehend that God is offering to them the most sublime -mission with which he can honor a nation. A people only now freed from -religious slavery, and consecrating the first exercise of its liberty to -hinder other nations from falling into the same slavery, will be worthy -of true admiration, so much would there be in this conduct of nobleness, -of self-denial, and of disinterestedness! Now, all this is what Russia -can do. But in order to do it, she must break with the past; she must -disavow her acts; she must acknowledge with humility her faults, which -she must hasten to repair. If those who hold in their hands the destinies -of Russia were not czars, that would offer no difficulty. The czars -are not the Russian people. If they have reparation to make, they have -nothing to disavow. In the situation in which Russia has been up to the -present time the faults of the czars have been personally their own; no -responsibility could rest upon the Russian people. - -But Russia is still governed by the czars. Will they be asked to break -with their past? Will it be expected that they will disavow the acts of -their dynasty; that they will acknowledge their faults; that they will -repair them? It is to require of them a more than heroic virtue. Are they -capable of it? Why not? - -The czar who at this time governs Russia has emancipated the Russian -peasants, he has abolished the servitude of the glebe. He has had to -break with his past, disavow the acts of his ancestors, acknowledge their -faults, and repair them. He has had to struggle against immense interior -difficulties, against the interests of the lords, against routine, -against the spirit of domination, against cupidity. In spite of all this, -Alexander II. is emancipator of the serfs--a title far more glorious than -those given by flattery to Peter I. - -When the servitude of the peasantry was still in existence in Russia, -lords were not wanting who held to their serfs the following kind of -language: “How happy you are! You are delivered from all care for your -own existence or for that of your families! When you have finished the -work which you owe to me, you can do whatever you think best. You enjoy -in peace the fruits of the earth, the pleasures of the country, the free -air of the fields. I consider you as my children. I take care of you. -Your interests are mine. Your family joys are mine, and mine also are -your pains. How happy you are!” In fact, if we are to believe certain -authorities, nothing was wanting to the happiness of the Russian peasant, -serf of the glebe; it was a perpetual idyl. In spite of that, all Europe -pitied him. And why? Because the peasant could not go whither he would, -and because, if he were not sensible of the privation of this liberty, it -was because he had been rendered incapable of appreciating it. - -Now, there are peoples who are chained to the glebe, not by the body, but -by the soul. - -They have each their lord, and, provided that they accomplish the -work which their lord imposes upon them, they are, for the rest, -free to employ their time as they please. Care is taken of them, of -their families, of their material interests, and especially they are -unceasingly reminded that they are free, and that their lord has nothing -more at heart than their liberty. They are indeed free to do many things; -but one liberty is wanting to them--their body may go whither they desire -it, but their soul is chained to the glebe. Study being granted to them, -and the knowledge of that which is passing in the world being no longer -refused to them, they discover on the earth a church which calls herself -divine, and charged to conduct all souls to heaven. They study her; they -are not alarmed at objections; they know how to make allowance for -human weakness in her children, and even in her ministers. They find in -this weakness itself one argument more in favor of the divinity of this -church. They admire the courage, full of gentleness, of these bishops. It -is truth, it is God, who speaks by her. These souls desire God, and they -are therefore drawn towards her, because they lift themselves up to God. -At this moment a heavy weight holds them back; wishing to soar towards -heaven, they find themselves chained to the glebe. - -Yes, for the souls who desire God the false interests of the state -are but a glebe--a glebe the laws to which the conscience refuses -to submit--a glebe the will of the sovereign, and a glebe also the -traditions of his dynasty. - -These people, let others call them free, and, on the faith of their -lords, let them also call themselves free; they are none the less people -in serfdom--souls chained to the glebe. - -What glory for Alexander II., if, after having delivered bodies from the -servitude of the glebe, he would also deliver souls! What glory, if, -after having delivered his own subjects from it, he would labor also to -set others free! - - -STRAY LEAVES FROM A PASSING LIFE. - -CHAPTER I. - -MR. CULPEPPER MAKES A PROPOSAL--A RENCOUNTER IN A CHURCHYARD. - -It was one of those golden November mornings that throw a mystic -glamour over New York. A warm haze draped the great city, softening -its deformities, blending its beauties. In its magic light the very -street-cars took on a romantic air, as they sped along loaded with -their living freight. The bales of goods on the sidewalk, huddled -together in careless profusion, were no longer the danger which they -are generally supposed to be by elderly gentlemen who have due regard -for life and limb, but gracious droppings rather from Pandora’s box, -raining down fresh and bright from the hands of the genial goddess. What -in the garish sun were vulgar business houses filled with sober goods -and peopled with staring and sleek-combed clerks, assumed under this -gorgeous drapery the aspect of mystic temples of commerce, where silent -and solemn-eyed priests stood patiently all the day long to call in -the passers-by to worship. The lofty policeman, looming like a statue -at the corner, was not the ferocious, peanut-chewing being that he is -commonly supposed to be, but a beneficent guardian of the great temple -of peace. The busy crowds of brisk business men that hurried along, -untouched as yet by the toil and the soil of the day, were fresh-faced -and clear-eyed, chatty and cheerful. Thompson stepped out as cheerily -as though he were just beginning that strange task, on which so many -ambitious mortals have gone down, of performing his thousand miles in -a thousand hours; for Thompson, happy man! knew not as yet what was so -calmly awaiting him on his desk--that heavy bill that he was bound to -meet, but which, strange to say, had quite slipped his memory. And there -is Johnson walking arm-in-arm with Jones, Johnson’s face wreathed in -sunny smiles the while. Johnson’s heart is gay and his step light, and -he feels the happy influence of the morning. Jones is sadly in want of a -confidential clerk, and his friend is dilating on the treasure that he -himself possesses--that very clerk who, he learns on reaching his office, -absconded last night with a fearful amount of Johnson’s property. Nor, -on the other hand, does that eager-faced youngster, the shining seams of -whose garments tell of more years than his seamless face and brow, know -that at last the gracious answer that he has so longed for awaits his -arrival, and that the bright opening at length lies before him that is to -lead him on to fortune, if not to fame, more than the five hundred and -forty-six rival applicants know that their addresses have been rejected. -As yet the day is marked with neither white bean nor black, and so let -us hope, with this mighty stream pouring on and on and on down the great -thoroughfares of the city, that the white beans may outnumber the black -when the day is done, and that what is lost here may be gained there; -for we are of them, brethren of theirs, and joyous hopes of this kind -cost little, while, at least, they harden not the heart. And so the whole -city, with its hopes and fears, its life and its death, moved out under -the November haze that morning, and with it, as the central figure in the -vast panorama, he whose stray leaves, it is hoped, may prove at least of -passing interest to the many of whom he is one. - -My special point of attraction that day was the office of _The Packet_, -“a monthly journal of polite literature,” to quote the prospectus, which -was supported by “the ablest pens of both hemispheres,” as the same -prospectus modestly admitted. As at this time I was a pretty constant -contributor to _The Packet_, I suppose that, according to the prospectus, -I was fully entitled to take my stand among “the ablest pens of both -hemispheres,” whether I chose to insist on my literary rank or not. And -as I contributed occasionally to other journals which were respectively, -according to their several prospectuses, “the leading weekly,” “the -greatest daily,” “the giant monthly,” “the only quarterly,” “the great -art journal,” etc., there could not possibly be any doubt as to my -literary position. For all that, I confess I was still among the callow -brood, and fear that, if any person had referred to me in public as “a -literary man,” the literary man would have blushed very violently, and -felt as small as a titmouse. Still, I had that delicious feeling of the -dawning of hope and the glorious uncertainty of a great ambition that -always attend and encourage the first steps of a new career, whatever -be its character. It was natural enough, then, that I should step out -lustily among my fellows, my head high in air, and my heart higher -still, drinking in the inspiration of the morning, piercing the golden -mist with the eye of hope, feeling a young life throbbing eagerly within -me, feeling a mysterious brotherhood with all men, gliding as through a -fairy city in a gilded dream. - -As I had several places to call at, it was late in the afternoon when I -arrived at _The Packet_ office to draw my little account. On entering I -found an unusual commotion; something had evidently gone very wrong. Mr. -Culpepper, the experienced editor of the journal of polite literature, -was, to judge by the tones of his voice, in a towering rage. I fancied -that I caught expressions, too, which were not exactly in accordance -with polite literature. When Mr. Culpepper’s temper did happen to fail, -it was an event to be remembered, particularly as that event took -place, on an average, some two or three times a week. Everything and -everybody in the office was in a turmoil; for Mr. Culpepper’s temper had -an infectious quality that affected all its immediate surroundings. An -experienced eye could tell by the position of the dictionary, the state -of the floor, the standing of the waste-basket, the precise turn of the -editor’s easy-chair, how the wind blew to Mr. Culpepper. On this mild -November afternoon it was clear that a terrific gale had sprung up from -some unexpected quarter. It had ruffled what was left of Mr. Culpepper’s -hair, it blew his cravat awry, it had disarranged his highly intellectual -whiskers, it spared not even his venerable coat-tails. His private office -showed the effects of a raging tornado. Pigeon-holes had been ransacked; -drawers had been wrenched open and rifled of their contents; Webster and -Worcester lay cheek-by-jowl in the waste-basket; the easy-chair had a -dangerous crick in the back; Mr. Culpepper himself was plunged ankle-deep -in manuscripts that strewed the floor in wild confusion; while Mr. -Culpepper’s hands were thrust in his cavernous pockets, as he stood there -on my entrance, a very monument of editorial despair. - -Mr. Culpepper, like most men, was preferable when good-tempered. Indeed, -though his opinions at times, particularly on the merits or demerits of -my own compositions, were apt to be more emphatic than polished, Mr. -Culpepper, when good-tempered, was by no means an unpleasant companion. -In his stormy periods I always coasted as clear of him as I could; but it -was now too late to sheer off. So, making the best of a bad bargain, I -advanced boldly to meet the enemy, when to my surprise he greeted me with -the exclamation, - -“Oh! you are just the man I wanted. Can you tell a story--a good, -lively Christmas story, with a spice of fun, a dash of love, a slice of -plum-pudding, a sprinkling of holly and ivy, with a bunch of mistletoe -thrown in? And, by the bye, if you have genius enough, a good ghost. Yes, -a good, old-fashioned ghost would be capital. They are dying out now, -more’s the pity. Yes, I must have a ghost and a country churchyard, with -a bowl of punch, if you want it. There are your materials. Now, I want -them fixed up into a first-class Christmas story, to fill exactly eight -pages, by four o’clock to-morrow afternoon at the latest. Must have it to -fit this illustration. Clepston was to have done it, but he has failed me -at the last hour. Just like him--he must go and get married just when -I want my story. He did it on purpose, because I refused to advance his -pay--married out of revenge, just to spite me. Well, what do you say?” - -I said nothing; for Mr. Culpepper’s rapidity and the novelty of his -proposal fairly took my breath away. I had never yet attempted fiction, -but there was a certain raciness in Mr. Culpepper’s manner of putting it -that urged me to seize my present opportunity. A good ghost-story within -just twenty-four hours! A pleasant winter tale that should be read to -happy families by happy firesides; by boys at school, their hair standing -on end with wild excitement, and their laughter ringing out as only boys’ -laughter does; by sweet-faced girls--by everybody, in fact, with a vast -amount of pleasure and not a twinge of pain. Thousands whom I should -never know would say, “What a dear fellow this story-teller is!” “What a -pleasant way he has of putting things!” “What--” - -“Well, what do you say?” broke in Mr. Culpepper rudely; and I remembered -that the story which was to win me such golden opinions from all sorts of -people was yet to be written. - -“I hardly know. Four o’clock to-morrow afternoon? The time is so very -short. Could you not extend it?” - -“Not a moment. Printers waiting now. If I can’t have yours by that time, -I must use something else; and I have not a thing to suit. Just look -here,” he said pointing to the floor, and glancing ruefully around; “I -have spent the day wading through all these things, and there is nothing -among the pile. A mass of rubbish, all of it!” - -My resolution was made; I started up. - -“Mr. Culpepper, I will try. I will stay up all night; and if there be a -ghost yet unlaid, a pudding yet unmade, a piece of holly yet ungathered, -or a bunch of mistletoe that has not yet done duty, you shall have them -all by four o’clock to-morrow afternoon.” - -“Now, I rely on you, mind. Four o’clock sharp. Let it be brisk and -frosty, bright as the holly-berries, and soothing as a glass of punch! -We owe you a little account, I believe. Here it is, and now good-by till -to-morrow afternoon.” - -Who has not experienced that half-fearful and yet wholly pleasant feeling -of setting foot for the first time in a new and strange land? It was -with some such feeling that my heart fluttered as I left the office of -_The Packet_ that afternoon. Yet what was I to achieve within the next -four-and-twenty hours? An eight-page Christmas story of the approved -pattern, with the conventional sauces and seasonings--nothing more. The -thing had been done a thousand times before, and would be done a thousand -times again, as often as Christmases came round, and thought nothing -of. Why should I be so fluttered at the task? Was this to be the great -beginning at last of my new career? Was this trumpery eight-page story -to be the true keynote to what was to make music of all the rest of my -life? Nonsense! I said to myself; and yet why nonsense? Did not all great -enterprises spring from small and insignificant beginnings? Were not all -great men at some time or another babies in arms, rocked in cradles, fed -on soothing syrups, and carried about in long clothes? Did not a falling -apple lead Newton on to the great discovery of gravitation? Was it not -a simmering kettle that opened Watt’s eyes to steam, and introduced the -railway and the packet? Did not a handful of sand reveal the mines of -California? Must not Euclid have started with a right reading of axioms -as old as the world? Who shall fix the starting-point of genius? And why -should not my first fictitious Christmas pudding contain the germ of -wonders that were to be? - -I can feel the astute and experienced reader who has been gracious enough -to accompany me thus far already falter at the very outset of the short -excursion we purposed taking together. I can feel the pages close over -me like a tomb, while a weary yawn sings my death-dirge. But allow me, -my dear sir, or my dear madam, or my much-esteemed young lady, to stay -your hands just one moment, until I explain matters a little, until I -introduce myself properly; and I promise to be very candid in all I have -to say. You see--indeed, you will have seen already--that the gentleman -who has just left Mr. Culpepper’s presence was at this period of his -life very young indeed, and proportionately ambitious. These two facts -will explain the fluttering of his heart at the cold-blooded proposal -of spending an entire night at his writing-desk, delving his brain for -the materials of a silly little story, while you, dear sir, have drawn -over your ears, and over that head that has been rubbed into reverent -smoothness by the gentle hand of time, the sleep-compelling night-cap; -and while you, dear madam, while you have--done nothing of the kind. I -plead guilty, then, at this time, to the twofold and terrible charge of -outrageous youth and still more outrageous ambition. But I have long -since contrived to overcome the disgrace of excessive youth; while, as -regards ambition, what once happened to a literary friend of mine has -never happened to me: that morning I have been waiting for so long, -so long, when I was to wake up and find myself famous, has not yet -arrived--looks even as though it never meant to dawn. Literature was to -me an unknown sea, upon which I had not fairly embarked. I had paddled a -little in a little cockleshell of my own in sunny weather around friendly -coasts, but as yet had not ventured to launch out into the great deep. -The storm and the darkness and the night, the glory and the dread of the -tempest, the awful conflicts of the elements, were as yet unknown to and -unbraved by me. Indeed, as I promised to be candid, I may as well whisper -in your ear that the main efforts of my pen at this precise period of -my life were devoted to meeting with a calm front and easy conscience -the weekly eye of Mrs. Jinks. Mrs. Jinks was my boarding-house keeper, a -remarkable woman in her way, and one for whom I entertained an unbounded -respect; but she was scarcely a Mme. de Staël, unless in looks, still -less a Mme. de Sévigné. Mme. Jinks’ encouragement to aspiring genius was -singularly small when aspiring genius could not pay its weekly board--a -contingency that has been known to occur. Mrs. Jinks never fell into the -fatal mistake of tempting the man to eat unless the man was prepared -to pay. But even Mrs. Jinks could not crush out all ambition, so that -I hugged Mr. Culpepper’s proposal, as I went home that evening, with a -fervor and enthusiasm that I had never before experienced; for it seemed -to open up to me a new vista of bright and beautiful imaginings. - -For all that, I could not strike the clew. It seems a very easy thing, -does it not, to concoct a passable enough Christmas story out of the -ample materials with which Mr. Culpepper had so lavishly supplied me? -Just try; sit down and write a good, short, brisk Christmas story, out of -all the time-honored materials, and judge for yourself what an easy task -it is, O sapient critic! a line from whose practised pen stabs to death -a year of hopes, and projects, and labor. Strange to say, my immediate -project dissolved and faded out of my mind, as I plodded homewards along -the great thoroughfare I had trodden so serenely in the morning. The -little Christmas story gave place to something new, something larger, -something vague, indefinable, and mighty. A great realm of fiction -unfolded itself before me--a realm all my own, a fairy island in a summer -sea, peopled with Calibans and dainty Ariels, Mirandas and Ferdinands, -and a thousand unseen creatures, waiting only for the wave of my magic -wand to be summoned into the beauty of life, to bring sweet songs down -from the clouds of heaven, and whisperings of spirits far away that the -earth had never yet heard. A mist sprang up around me as I walked, and -through it peered a thousand eyes, and from it came and went a thousand -shapeless forms, whose outlines I could half discern, but hold not. I -could not bid them stay until I grasped them. Something was wanting, a -touch only, a magic word, but I could not find it. A charm was on me, -and more potent than I. It was there, working, working, working, but I -could not master it. I walked along in a dream. Men in throngs passed -me by in what seemed a strange and awful silence. If they spoke, never a -word heard I. Carriages and vehicles of every description I felt rolling, -rolling past; but their wheels were strangely muffled, for never a sound -fell on my ear. The fair, bright city of the morning was filled now with -silent shadows, moving like ghosts in a troubled dream. Lights sprang -up out of the mist as I passed along, but they seemed to shine upon me -alone. Intensely conscious of my own existence, I had only a numb feeling -of other life around me. At last I found myself at Mrs. Jinks’ door. I -took a letter from her hand, and seated at length in my own room, with -familiar objects around me, the shadows seemed to lift, and I was brought -back to the subject of my proposed night’s work. - -Still, I could not collect my thoughts sufficiently to bring them to -bear, in a practical way, on the central idea around which my fiction -was to take body and shape. The sudden strain on my imagination had been -too severe; a kind of numbness pervaded my whole being, and the moments, -every one of which was precious as a grain of gold, were slipping idly -away. The feeling that all the power to achieve what you desire lies -there torpid within you, but too sullen to be either coaxed or bullied -into action, laughing sluggishly at the most violent effort of the will -to move it, is, perhaps, one of the most exasperating that a man can -experience. It is like one in a nightmare, who sees impending over him a -nameless terror that it only needs a wag of a little tongue to divert, -and yet the little tongue cleaves with such monstrous persistency to -the roof of the parched mouth that not all the leverage of Archimedes -himself could move it from its place. That fine power of man’s intellect, -that clear perception and keen precision which can search the memory, and -at a glance find the clew that it is seeking; that can throw out those -far-reaching fibres over the garden of knowledge, gathering in from all -sides the necessary stores, was as far away from me as from a madman’s -dream. I could fasten upon nothing; my brain was in disorder, while the -moments were lengthening into hours, and the hours slipping silently away. - -In despair I tried a cigar--a favorite refuge of mine in difficulties; -and soon light clouds, pervaded with a subtle aroma, were added to those -thinner clouds of undefined and indefinable images that floated around -me, volatile, shadowy, intangible; mysterious, nebulous. Mr. Culpepper’s -“materials” had quite evaporated, and I began to think dreamily of old -days, of anything, everything, save what was to the point. I remember how -poor old Wetherhead, of all people in the world--“Leatherhead” we used -facetiously to style him at college--came up before me, and I laughed -over the fun we had with him. What a plodder he was! When preparing -for his degree, he took ferociously to wet towels. He had the firmest -faith in wet towels. He had tried them for the matriculation, and found -them “capital,” he assured us. “Try a towel, Leathers,” we would say to -him whenever we saw him in difficulties. Poor fellow! He was naturally -dull and heavy, dense and persistent as a clod. It would take digging -and hoeing and trenching to plant anything in that too solid brain; and -yet he was the most hopeful fellow alive. He was possessed with the -very passion of study, without a streak of brightness or imagination -to soften and loosen the hopeless mass of clay whereof his mind seemed -composed; and so he depended on wet towels to moisten it. He almost wore -his head out while preparing for the matriculation examen. But by slow -and constant effort he succeeded in forcing a sufficient quantity of -knowledge into his pores, and retaining it there, to enable him to pass -the very best-deserved first class that ever was won. The passage of -the Alps to a Hannibal or a Napoleon was a puny feat compared with the -passing of an examination by a Wetherhead. We took him on our shoulders, -and bore him aloft in triumph, a banner-bearer, with a towel for banner, -marching at the head of the procession. “You may laugh, but it was the -towels pulled me through, old fellow,” he said to me, smiling, his great -face expanding with delight. “Stay there, and don’t go any farther, -Leathers,” I advised, when he proclaimed his intention of going up for -the degrees. “Nonsense!” said he, and, in spite of everybody’s warnings, -Wetherhead “went in” for the B.A. It was a sight to see him in the -agonies of study; his eyes almost starting out of his head as the day -wore on, and around that head, arranged in turban fashion, an enormous -towel reeking with moisture. “How many towels to-day, Leathers?” “How’s -the reservoir, Leatherhead?” those impudent youngsters would cry out. -As time went on and the examination drew near the whole college became -interested in Wetherhead and his prospects of success. Bets were made -on him, and bets were made on his towels. The wit of our class wrote an -essay--which, it was whispered aloud, had reached the professors’ room, -and been read aloud there to their intense amusement--on “Towels _vs._ -Degrees; or, The probabilities of success, measured by the quantity of -water on the brain.” He bore it all good-humoredly, even the threat to -crown him with towels instead of laurel if he passed and went up for -his degree. A dark whisper reached me, away in the country at the time, -that he had failed, that the failure had touched his brain, and that he -was cut down half-strangled one morning from his own door-key, to which -he had suspended himself by means of a wet towel; which, instead of its -usual position around his brow, had fastened itself around his throat. Of -course that was a malicious libel; for I met the poor fellow soon after, -looking the ghost of himself. “How was it, Wetherhead?” I asked. “I don’t -know, old fellow,” he responded mournfully. “I got through splendidly the -first few days; but after that things began to get muddled and mixed up -somehow, so that I could hardly tell one from another. It was all there, -but something had got out of order. I felt that it was all there, but -there was too much to hold together. The fact is, _I missed my towel_. A -towel or two would have set it all right again. The machine had got too -hot, and wanted a little cooling off; but I couldn’t march in there, you -know, with a big towel round my head; so I failed.” - -The clock striking twelve woke me from my dream of school-days. I had -just sixteen hours and a half left to complete the story that was not yet -begun. Whew! I might as well engage to write a history of science within -the appointed time. It was useless. My cigar had gone out, and I gave up -the idea of writing a story at all. And yet surely it was so easy, and I -had promised Culpepper, and both he and _The Packet_ and the public were -awaiting my decision. And this was to be the end of what I had deemed the -dawn of my hope and the firstling of my true genius! - -“Roger Herbert, you are an ass,” spake a voice I knew well--a voice that -compelled my attention at the most unseasonable hours. “Excuse me for -my plainness of speech, but you are emphatically an ass. Now, now, no -bluster, no anger. If you and I cannot honestly avow the plain truth to -each other, there is no hope for manhood. Mr. Culpepper and the public -waiting for you! Ho! ho! Ha! ha! It’s a capital joke. Mr. Culpepper is -at this moment in the peaceful enjoyment of his first slumbers; and the -public would not even know your name if it were told them. Upon my word, -Roger, you are even a greater ass than I took you to be. Well, well, -we live and learn. For the last half-a-dozen hours or more where have -you been? Floating in the clouds; full of the elixir of life; dreaming -great dreams, your spirit within you fanned with the movement of the -_divinus afflatus_, eh? Is not that it? Nonsense, my dear lad. You have -only once again mounted those two-foot stilts, against which I am always -warning you, and which any little mountebank can manage better than you. -_They_ may show some skill, but you only tumble. So come down at once, -my fine fellow, and tread on _terra firma_ again, where alone you are -safe. You a genius! Ho! ho! Ho! ho! ho! And all apropos of a Christmas -pudding. The genius of a Christmas pudding! It is too good. Your proper -business, when Mr. Culpepper made his proposal to you this afternoon, was -to tell him honestly that the task he set you was one quite beyond your -strength--altogether out of your reach, in fact. But no; you must mount -your stilts, and, once on them, of course you are a head and shoulders -above honest folk. O Roger, Roger! why not remember your true stature? -What is the use of a man of five foot four trying to palm himself off and -give himself the airs of one of six foot four? He is only laughed at for -his pains, as Mr. Culpepper will assuredly laugh at you to-morrow. Take -my advice, dear boy, acknowledge your fault, and then go to bed. You are -no genius, Roger. In what, pray, are you better, in what are you so good, -as fifty of your acquaintances, whom I could name right off for you, but -who never dream that they are geniuses? The _divinus afflatus_, forsooth! -For shame, for shame, little man! Stick to your last, my friend, and be -thankful even that you have a last whereto to stick. Let Apelles alone, -or let the other little cobblers carp at him, if they will. The world -will think more of his blunders than of all your handicraft put together, -and your little cobbler criticisms into the bargain. And now, having said -my say, I wish you a very good-night, Roger, or good-morning rather.” - -So spake the voice of the _Daimon_ within me; a very bitter voice it -has often proved to me--as bitter, but as healthy, as a tonic. And -at its whisper down tumbled all “the cloud-capt towers and gorgeous -palaces” that my imagination had so swiftly conjured up. It was somewhat -humiliating to confess, but, after all, Roger Herbert, Senior, as I -called that inner voice, was right. I resolved to go to bed. Full of that -practical purpose, I went to my desk to close it up for the night, and -all dreams of a momentary ambition with it, when my eyes fell upon a -letter bearing the address: - - ROGER HERBERT, ESQ., - Care of Mrs. Jinks, - ---- Street, - New York, - United States, - America. - -What a quantity of writing for so small an envelope! One needed no -curious peep within, nor scarcely a second glance at the neat-pointed -hand, with the up-and-down strokes of equal thickness, to guess at the -sex of the writer. I remembered now; it was the letter Mrs. Jinks gave me -at the door, and, good heavens! it had been lying there disregarded all -these hours, while I was inflated with my absurd and bombastic thoughts. -The writing I knew well, for my hand had been the first to guide the -writer through the mazes and the mysteries of chirography. One sentence -from the letter is sufficient to give here. “Dear, dear Roger: Papa is -sick--is _dying_. Come home at once.” It was signed “Fairy.” - -“Home at once!” The post-marks said London and Leighstone. London, it -may be necessary to inform the reader, is the capital of a county called -Middlesex, in a country called England, while Leighstone is a small -country town some thirty miles out of London. From Leighstone writes -“Fairy” to “Dear, dear Roger” some thousand--it seems fifty thousand--odd -miles away. The father reported dying is my father; Fairy is my sister. -It is now nearly two in the morning, and by four in the afternoon Mr. -Culpepper and the printers expect that brisk, pleasant, old-fashioned -Christmas story that is to make everybody happy, and not a hint at pain -in it! And I have been puzzling my brains these long hours past trying -to compose it, with that silent letter staring me in the face all the -time. A pleasant Christmas story, a cheery Christmas story! How bitterly -that voice began to laugh within me again! Oh! the folly, the crime, of -which I had been guilty. It was such vain and idle dreams as these that -had lured me away from that father’s side; that had brought me almost to -forget him; that, great God! perhaps had dealt the blow that struck him -down. Merciful heavens! what a Christmas story will it be mine to tell? - -At four in the afternoon a steamer sailed for Liverpool, and I was one -of the passengers. Years have passed since then, and I can write all -this calmly enough now; but only those--and God grant that they may be -few!--who at a moment’s warning, or at any warning, have had to cross -more than a thousand miles of ocean in the hope of catching a dying -parent’s last breath, can tell how the days pall and the sleepless nights -drag on; how the sky expands into a mighty shroud covering one dear -object, of which the sad eyes never lose the sight; how the winds, roar -they loud or sing they softly, breathe ever the same low, monotonous -dirge. - -It was scarcely a year since I had parted from my father, and our parting -had not been of the friendliest. He was a magnate in Leighstone, as all -the Herberts before him had been since Leighstone had a history. They -were a tradition in the place; and though to be great there in these days -did not mean what it once meant, and to the world outside signified very -little indeed, yet what is so exacting or punctilious as the etiquette -of a petty court, what so precise and well preserved as its narrow -traditions and customs? Time did not exist for Leighstone when a Herbert -was not the foremost man there. The tomb of the Herberts was the oldest -and grandest in the churchyard that held the ashes of whole generations -of the Leighstone folk. There had been Crusading Herberts, and Bishops -Herbert, Catholic and Protestant, Abbots Herbert, Justices Herbert, -Herberts that had shared in councils of state, and Herberts that had been -hanged, drawn, and quartered by order of the state. Old townsfolk would -bring visitors to the churchyard and give in their own way the history of -“that ere Harbert astretched out atop o’ the twomb, wi’ a swoord by his -soide, and gluvs on his hands, the two on ’em folded one aginst t’other -a-prayin’ loike, and a cross on his buzzum, and a coople o’ angels wi’ -stone wings a-watchin’ each side o’ ’im. A had fowt in the waars long -ago, that ere Harbert had, when gentle-folk used to wear steel coats, -a used, and iron breeches, and go ever so fur over the seas to foight. -Queer toimes them was. Whoi, the Harberts, folks did say, was the oldest -fam’ly i’ the country. Leastwoise, there was few ’uns older.” - -My father was possessed with the greatness of his ancestry, and resented -the new-fangled notions that professed to see nothing in blood or -history. Nurtured on tradition of a past that would never reappear, -he speedily retired from a world where he was too eager to see that a -Herbert was no more than a Jones or a Smith, and, though gifted with -powers that, rightly used, might have proved, even in these days, that -there was more in his race than tradition of a faded past, he preferred -withdrawing into that past to reproducing it in a manner accommodated -to the new order of things. In all other respects he was a very amiable -English gentleman, who, abjuring politics, which he held had degenerated -into a trade unbecoming a gentleman’s following, divided his time between -antiquarian and agricultural pursuits, for neither of which did I exhibit -so ardent an admiration as he had hoped. As soon as I could read, and -think, and reason in my own way, I ran counter to my father in many -things, and was pronounced by him to be a radical, infected with the -dangerous doctrines of the day, which threatened the overthrow of all -things good, and the advent of all things evil. He only read in history -the records of a few great families. For me the families were of far -less interest than the peoples, historically at least. The families had -already passed or were passing away; the peoples always remained. To the -families I attributed most of the evils that had afflicted humanity; in -the peoples I found the stuff that from time to time helped to regenerate -humanity. I do not say that all this came to me at once; but this manner -of looking at things grew upon me, and made my father anxious about my -future, though he was too kind to place any great restrictions in the way -of my pursuits, and our disputes would generally end by the injunction: -“Roger, whatever you do or think, always remember that you represent a -noble race, and are by your very birth an English gentleman, so long as -such a being is permitted to exist.” - -As I grew older problems thickened around me, and I often envied the -passive resignation with which so spirited a temperament as my father’s -could find refuge from the exciting questions of the day in the quiet -of his books and favorite pursuits. Coming home from college or from an -occasional excursion into the great world without, Leighstone would seem -to me a hermitage, where life was extinct, and there was room for nothing -save meditation. And there I meditated much, and pondered and read, as I -then thought, deeply. The quaint, old churchyard was my favorite ground -for colloquy with myself, and admirably adapted, with its generations of -silent dead, was it for the purpose. In that very tomb lay bones, once -clothed with flesh, through which coursed lustily blood that had filtered -down through the ages into my veins. In my thoughts I would question -that quiet old Herbert stretched out there on his tomb centuries ago, -and lying so still, with his calm, stony face upturned immovably and -confidently to heaven. The face was not unlike my father’s; Leighstone -folk said it was still more like mine. That Herbert was a Catholic, and -believed earnestly in all that I and my father as earnestly disbelieved. -Was he the worse or the better man for his faith? To what had his faith -led him, and to what had ours led us? What was his faith, and what was -ours? To us he was a superstitious creature, born in dark ages, and the -victim of a cunning priestcraft, that, in the name of heaven, darkened -the minds and hearts of men; while, had he dreamed that a degenerate -child of his would ever, even in after-ages, turn heretic, as he would -say, the probabilities were that in his great-hearted earnestness, had it -rested solely with him, he would rather have ended the line in his own -person than that such disgrace should ever come upon it. The man who in -his day had dared tell him that flesh of his would ever revile the church -in which he believed, and the Sacrament which he adored, would likely -enough have been piously knocked on the head for his pains. What a puzzle -it all was! Could a century or two make all this difference in the manner -of regarding the truths on which men professed to bind their hopes of an -eternal hereafter? - -One afternoon of one of those real English summer days that when they -come are so balmy and bright and joyous, while sauntering through the -churchyard, I lighted upon a figure half buried in the long grass, so -deeply intent on deciphering the inscription around the tomb of my -ancestor that he did not notice my approach. There he lay, his hat by -his side, and an open sketch-book near it, peering into the dim, old, -half-effaced characters as curiously as ever did alchemist of eld into an -old black-letter volume. His years could not be many more than mine. His -form would equally attract the admiration of a lady or a prize-fighter. -The sign of ruddy health burned on the bronzed cheek. The dress had -nothing particular in it to stamp the character of the wearer. The -sketch-book and his absorbing interest in the grim old characters around -a tomb might denote the enthusiasm of an artist, or of an antiquarian -like my father, though he looked too full of the robust life of careless -youth for the one, and too evidently in the enjoyment of life as it was -for the other. Altogether a man that, encountered thus in a country -churchyard on a warm July afternoon, would at once excite the interest -and attract the attention of a passer-by. - -While I was mentally noting down, running up, and calculating to a -nicety the sum of his qualities, the expression of his face indicated -that he was engaged in a hopeless task. “I can make all out about the -old Crusader except the date, and that is an all-important point. The -date--the date--the date,” he repeated to himself aloud. “I wonder what -Crusade he fought in?” - -“Perhaps I could assist you,” I broke in. “Sir Roger Herbert followed the -good King Edward to the Holy Land, and for the sake of Christ’s dear rood -made many a proud painim to bite the dust. So saith the old chronicle -of the Abbey of S. Wilfrid which you see still standing--the modernized -version of it, at least--on yonder hill. The present abbot of S. Wilfrid -is the florid gentleman who has just saluted me. That handsome lady -beside him is the abbot’s wife. The two pretty girls seated opposite are -the abbot’s daughters. The good and gentle Abbot Jones is taking the fair -abbess, Mrs. Jones, out for her afternoon airing. She is a very amiable -lady; he is a very genial gentleman, and the author of the pamphlet in -reply to Maitland’s _Dark Ages_. Mr. Jones is very severe on the laziness -and general good-for-nothingness of the poor monks.” - -My companion, who still remained stretched on the grass, scanned my face -curiously and with an amused glance while I spoke. He seemed lost in a -half-revery, from which he did not recover until a few moments after I -had ceased speaking. With sudden recollection, he said: - -“I beg your pardon, I was thinking of something else. Many thanks for -your information about this old hero, whom the new train of ideas, called -up by your mention of the Abbot Jones and his family, drove out of my -mind a moment. The Abbot Jones!” he laughed. “It is very funny. Yet why -do the two words seem so little in keeping?” - -“It is because, as my father would tell you, this is the century of the -Joneses. Centuries ago Abbot Jones would have sounded just as well and as -naturally as did Queen Joan. But, in common with many another good thing, -the name has become vulgarized by a vulgar age.” - -My companion glanced at me curiously again, and seemed more inwardly -amused than before, whether with me or at me, or both, it was impossible -to judge from his countenance, though that was open enough. He turned -from the abbot to the tomb again. - -“And so this old hero,” said he, patting affectionately the peaked toe of -the figure of Sir Roger, “drew his sword long ago for Christ’s dear rood, -and probably scaled the walls of Damietta at the head of a lusty band. -What a doughty old fellow he must have been! I should have been proud to -have shaken hands with him.” - -“Should you, indeed? Then perhaps you will allow a remote relative of -that doughty old fellow to act as his unworthy representative in his -absence?” said I, offering my hand. - -“Why, you don’t mean to say that you are a descendant of the old knight -whose ashes consecrate this spot!” he exclaimed, rising and grasping -me by the hand. “Sir, I am happy to lay my hand in that of a son of a -Crusader!” - -“I fear I may not claim so high a character. There are no Crusaders -left. Myself, and Sir Roger here, move in different circles. You forget -that a few centuries roll between us.” - -“Centuries change the fashion of men’s garments,” he responded quickly, -“not the fashion of their hearts. Truth is truth, and faith faith, and -honor honor, now as when this warrior fought for faith, and truth, and -honor. The crusades end only with the cross and faith in Christ.” - -So spake with fervent accent and kindling glance the gentleman whom a -few moments before I had set down as one eminently fitted to attract the -admiration alike of lady or prize-fighter. The words struck me as so -strange, spoken in such a place and by such a person, that I was silent a -little, and he also. At length I said: - -“You are like my father. You seem to prefer the old to the new.” - -“Not so; I am particularly grateful that I was born in this and in no -other century. But I object to the enthusiasm that would leave all the -dead past to bury its dead. There were certain things, certain qualities -in the centuries gone by, a larger faith, a more general fervor, a -loyalty to what was really good and great, more universal than prevails -to-day, that we might have preserved with benefit to ourselves and to -generations to come. But pardon me. You have unfortunately hit upon one -of my hobbies, and I could talk for hours on the subject.” - -“On the contrary, I ought to feel flattered at finding one interested -even in so remote a relative of mine as Sir Roger. As I look at him this -moment the thought comes to me, could he bend those stiff old knees of -his, hardened by the centuries into triple stone, rise up and walk -through Leighstone, live a week among us, question us, know our thoughts, -feelings, aspirations, religions, ascertain all that we have profited by -the centuries that have rolled over this tomb, he would, after one week -of it all, gather his old joints together and go back to his quiet rest -until that - - ‘Tuba mirum spargens sonum - Per sepulchra regionum - Coget omnes ante thronum.’ - -“I can’t help laughing at the conceit. Imagine me escorting this -stiff and stony old Sir Roger through the streets of Leighstone, and -introducing him to my relations and friends as my grandfather some six -centuries removed. But the fancy sounds irreverent to one whom I doubt -not was as loyal-hearted a gentleman as ever clove a Turk to the chine. -Poor old Sir Roger! I must prevent Mattock making such constant use of -his elbow. It is getting quite out of repair.” - -“Who is Mattock, may I ask?” - -“Mattock is a character in his way. He is the Leighstone grave-digger, -and has been as long as I can remember. He claims a kind of fellowship -with those he buries, and he has buried a whole generation of -Leighstonites, till a contagious hump has risen on his back from the -number of mounds he has raised. He is a cynic in his way, and can be -as philosophic over a skull as Hamlet in the play. He has a wonderful -respect, almost a superstitious regard, for Sir Roger. Whenever he -strips for a burial, he commends his goods to the care of my ancestor, -accompanied always by the same remark: ‘I wonder who laid thee i’ -the airth? A weighty corpse thou, a warrant. A deep grave thine, old -stone-beard. Well, lend’s your elbow, and here’s to ye, wherever ye -may be.’ Mattock takes special care to fortify himself against possible -contingencies with a dram. ‘Cold corpses,’ he says, ‘is unhealthy. They -are apt to lie heavy on the stomick, if ye doant guard agin ’em; corpses -doos. So doos oysters. A dram afore burial and another dram after keeps -off the miasmys.’ Such is Mattock’s opinion, backed up by an experience -of a quarter of a century. You are evidently a stranger in this -neighborhood?” - -“Yes, I was merely passing through. I am enjoying a walking tour, being a -great walker. It is by far the best method of seeing a country. When in -the course of my wanderings I come across an old tomb such as this, an -old inscription, or anything at all that was wrought or writ by reverent -hands centuries ago, and has survived through the changes of time, I am -amply repaid for a day’s march. Doubly so in this instance, since it -has been the fortunate means of bringing me in contact with one whose -opinions I am happy to think run in many things parallel with my own. And -now to step out of the past into the very vulgar present, I am staying -at the ‘Black Bull.’ The ‘Black Bull,’ I am assured, is famous for his -larder, so that, if you feel inclined to ripen the acquaintance begun by -the grave of your ancestor, in the interior of the ‘Black Bull,’ Kenneth -Goodal will consider that he has fallen on an exceptionally happy day.” - -“Kenneth Goodal?” The name struck me as familiar; but I could not -recollect at the moment where I had heard it before. I repeated it aloud. - -“It sounds quite a romantic name, does it not? It was my absurd mother -who insisted on the Kenneth, after a Scotch uncle of mine. For that -matter I suppose it was she who also insisted on the Goodal. At least -my father says so. But she is the sweetest of women to have her own -way, Heaven bless her! Of course I had no voice in the matter at all, -beyond the generic squeal of babyhood. Had I been consulted, I should -have selected Jack, a jolly, rough-and-ready title. It carries a sort -of slap-me-on-the-back sound with it. One is never surprised at a Jack -getting into scrapes or getting out of them. But it would cause very -considerable surprise to hear that a Kenneth had been caught in any wild -enterprise. However, Kenneth I am, and Kenneth I must remain, as staid -and respectable as a policeman on duty by very force of title.” - -“Now I remember where I heard the name. There were traditions at Dr. -Porteous’, at Kingsclere, of a Kenneth Goodal who had just left before I -went there. But he can’t have been you.” - -“No? Why not?” - -“He was an awful scape-grace, they told me. He used to play all kinds -of tricks on the masters, though as great a favorite with them as with -the boys. He was a great mimic, and Dr. Porteous, who is as solemn as an -undertaker at a rich man’s funeral, and as pompous as a parish beadle, -surprised Kenneth Goodal one day, surrounded by a delighted crowd, -listening with such rapt attention to a highly wrought discourse, after -the doctor’s best manner, on the history and philosophy of Resurrection -Pie, that it required the unmistakable ‘ahem!’ of the doctor at the close -to announce to actor and audience the presence of the original. The -doctor in the grand old-school manner congratulated the youthful Roscius -on talents of whose existence he had been hitherto unaware, and hinted -that a repetition of so successful a performance might encourage him to -seek a wider field for so promising a pupil. And when the same Kenneth -thrashed the Kingsclere Champion for beating one of the youngsters, -bribing the policeman not to interfere until he had finished him, the -doctor, who was a model of decorum, had him up before the whole college, -and delivered an address that is not quite forgotten to this day; -acknowledging the credit to the establishment of such a champion in their -midst; a young gentleman who could mimic his superiors until his identity -was lost, and pummel his inferiors until their identity was lost, was -wasting his great natural gifts in so narrow an arena; and so on--all -delivered in the doctor’s best Ciceronian style. It took a deputation -of all the masters and all the boys together to beg the delinquent off -a rustication or worse. In fact, the stories of him and his deeds are -endless. How odd that you should have the same name!” - -My new acquaintance laughed outright. - -“I fear I must lay claim to more than the name; that historical personage -stands before you. I was with Dr. Porteous for a couple of years, and had -no idea that I left such fame behind me. The doctor and I became the best -of friends after my departure. And so you and I are, in a manner, old -school-fellows? How happy I am to have fallen across you. But, come; the -‘Black Bull’ is waiting.” - -“By the elbow of mine ancestor, nay. Such dishonor may not come upon the -Herberts. Why, Sir Roger here would rise from his tomb at the thought and -denounce me in the market-place. You must come with me. Dinner is ready -by this time. Come as you are. My father will like you. He likes any one -who is interested in his ancestors. And my sister, who, since my mother’s -death, is mistress of the house and mistress of us all, shall answer for -herself.” - -“So be it,” he said, and we passed under the yews, their sad branches -flushed in the sun, out through the gate, under the old archway with its -mouldering statues, up the pretty straggling road that formed the High -Street of Leighstone, arm in arm together, fast friends we each of us -felt, though but acquaintances of an hour. The instinct that out of a -multitude selects one, though you may scarcely know his name, and tells -you that one is your friend, is as strange as unerring. It was this -unconscious necromancy that had woven a mesh of golden threads caught -from the summer sunlight around us as we moved along. Its influence -was upon us, breathing in the perfumed air. I had never had a real -friend of my own age before, and I hailed this one as the discovery of -a life-time. We should strike out together, tread the same path, be it -rough or smooth, arm in arm until the end come. Damon and Pythias would -be nothing to us. The same loves, the same hates, the same hopes, were to -guide, animate, and sustain us. Castles in the air! Castles in the air! -Who has not built them? Who among the sons of men in the neighborhood of -twenty summers has not chosen one man out of thousands, leant upon him, -cherished him, made him his idol, loved him above all? And so it goes -on, until some day comes a laughing eye peeping from under a bonnet, and -with one dart the bosom friendship is smitten through and through, and -Damon is ready to sacrifice a hecatomb of his Pythiases on the altar of -the ox-eyed goddess. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -IN MEMORIAM. - -E. T. - -OBIIT ANNOS NATA XV. - - Who says she has wither’d, that little White Rose? - She has been but remov’d from the valley of tears - To a garden afar, where her loveliness glows - Begemm’d with the grace-dew of virginal years, - - I knew we should lose her. The dear Sacred Heart - Has a nook in earth’s desert for flowerets so rare; - And keeps them awhile in safe shelter, apart - From the wind and the rain, from the dust and the glare; - - But all to transplant them when fairest they bloom, - When most we shall miss them. And this, that our love - May be haunted the more by the fadeless perfume - They have left us to breathe of the Eden above. - - Farewell, happy maiden! Our weariest hours - May gather a share of thy perfect repose. - And fragrantly still with the Lord of the flowers - Thou wilt plead for thy lov’d ones--our little Saint Rose.[14] - - FEBRUARY 27, 1875.[15] - - -THE TRAGEDY OF THE TEMPLE. - -History is like a prison-house, of which Time is the only jailer who -can reveal the secrets. And Father Time is slow to speak. Sometimes -he is strangely dumb concerning events of deep importance, sometimes -idly garrulous about small matters. When now and then he reveals some -long-kept secret, we refuse to believe him; we cannot credit that such -things ever happened on this planet of ours, so respectable in its -civilized humanity, so tenderly zealous for the welfare and freedom of -its remotest members. But this same humanity is a riddle to which our -proudest philosophers have not yet found the clew. It moves mountains to -deliver an oppressed mouse, and sits mute and apathetic while a nation -of weak brothers is being hunted to death by a nation of strong ones in -the midst of its universal brotherhood; seeing the most sacred principles -and highest interests of the world attacked and imperilled, and the -earth shaken with throes and rendings that will bring forth either life -or death, exactly as humanity shall decide, and yet not moving a finger -either way. Then, when the storm is over and it beholds the wreck caused -by its own apathy or stupidity, it fills the world with an “agony of -lamentation,” gnashes its teeth, and protests that it slept, and knew not -that these things were being done in its name. - -Sometimes the funeral knell of the victims goes on echoing like a distant -thunder-tone for a whole generation, and is scarcely heeded, until at -last some watcher hearkens, and wakes us up, and, lo! we find that a -tragedy has been enacted at our door, and the victim has been crying -out piteously for help while we slumbered. History is full of these -slumberings and awakenings. What an awakening for France was that when, -after the lapse of two generations, the jailer struck the broken stones -of the Temple, and gave them a voice to tell their story, bidding all the -world attend! - -The account of the imprisonment and death of Louis XVII. had hitherto -come down to his people stripped of much of its true character, and -clothed with a mistiness that disguised the naked horror of the truth, -and flattered the sensitive vanity of the nation into the belief--or -at any rate into the plausible hope--that much had been exaggerated, -and that the historians of those times had used too strong colors in -portraying the sufferings of the son of their murdered king. The _Grande -Nation_ had been always grand; she had had her hour of delirium, and run -wild in anarchy and chaos while it lasted; but she had never disowned -her essential greatness, never forfeited her humanity, the grandeur of -her mission as the eldest daughter of the church of Christ, and the -apostle of civilization among the peoples. The demon in man’s shape, -called Simon the Cordwainer, had disgraced his manhood by torturing -a feeble, inoffensive child committed to his mercy, but he alone was -responsible. The governing powers of the time were in total ignorance -of his proceedings; France had no share in the blame or the infamy. The -sensational legend of the Temple was bad enough, but at its worst no -one was responsible but Simon, a besotted shoemaker. It was even hinted -that the Dauphin had been rescued, and had not died in the Tower at all, -and many tender-hearted Frenchmen clung long and tenaciously to this -fiction. But at the appointed time one man, at the bidding of the great -Secret-Teller, stood forth and tore away the veil, and discovered to all -the world the things that had been done, not by Simon the Cordwainer, but -by the _Grande Nation_ in his person. M. de Beauchesne[16] was that man, -and nobly, because faithfully and inexorably, he fulfilled his mission. -It was a fearful message that he had to deliver, and there is no doubt -but that his work--the result of twenty years’ persevering research and -study--moved the hearts of his countrymen as no book had ever before -moved them. It made an end once and for ever of garbled narratives, and -comforting fables, and bade the guilty nation look upon the deeds she had -done, and atone for them with God’s help as best she might. - -In reading the records of those mad times one ceases to wonder at recent -events. They give the key to all subsequent crimes and wanderings. A -nation that deliberately, in cold, premeditated hate and full wakefulness -of reason, decrees by law in open court that God does not exist, and -forthwith abolishes him by act of parliament--a nation that does this -commits itself to the consequences. France did this in the National -Convention of 1793, and why should she not pay the penalty? - -Of all the victims of that bloody period, there is none whose story is -so touching as that of the little son of Louis and Marie Antoinette. He -was born at Versailles on the 27th of March, 1785. All eye-witnesses -describe him as a bright and lovely child, with shining curls of fair -hair, large, blue eyes, liquid as a summer sky, and a countenance of -angelic sweetness and rare intelligence--“a thing of joy” to all who -beheld him. Crowds waited for hours to catch a glimpse of him disporting -himself in his little garden before the palace, a flower amidst the -flower-beds, prattling with every one, making the old park ring with -his joyous laughter. One day, when in the midst of his play, he ran to -meet his mother, and, flinging himself into a bush for greater haste, -got scratched by the thorns; the queen chided him for the foolish -impetuosity. “How then?” replied the child; “you told me only yesterday -that the road to glory was through thorns.” “Yes, but glory means -devotion to duty, my son,” was Marie Antoinette’s reply. “Then,” cried -the little man, throwing his arms, round her knees, “I will make it my -glory to be devoted to you, mamma!” He was about four years old when this -anecdote was told of him. - -It is rather characteristic of the child’s destiny that two hours after -the bereavement which made him Dauphin of France, and while his parents -were breaking their hearts by the still warm body of his elder brother, -a deputation from the Tiers Etat came to demand an audience of the -king. Louis XVI. was a prey to the first agony of his paternal grief, -and sent to entreat the deputies to spare him, and return another day. -They sent back an imperious answer, insisting on his appearing. “Are -there no fathers amongst them?” exclaimed the king; but he came out and -received them. The incident was trifling, yet it held one of those notes -of prophetic anticipation which now first began to be heard, foretelling -the approaching storm in which the old ship of French royalty was to be -wrecked. - -On the 6th of October the palace of Versailles was stormed by the mob; -the guards were massacred, the royal family led captives to Paris amidst -the triumphant yells of the _sans-culottes_. Then followed the gilded -captivity of the Tuileries, which lasted three years; then came the 10th -of August, when this was exchanged for the more degrading prison of the -Temple; then the _Conciergerie_--then the scaffold. - -The Temple was a Gothic fortress built in 1212 by the Knights of the -Temple. It had been long inhabited by those famous warrior-knights, -and consisted of two distinct towers, which were so constructed as to -resemble one building. The great tower was a massive structure divided -into five or six stories, above a hundred and fifty feet high, with a -pyramidal roof like an extinguisher, having at each corner a turret -with a conical roof like a steeple. This was formerly the keep, and had -been used as treasury and arsenal by the Templars; it was accessible -only by a single door in one turret, opening on a narrow stone stair. -The other was called the Little Tower, a narrow oblong with turrets at -each angle, and attached, without any internal communication, to its big -neighbor on the north side. Close by, within the enclosure of the Temple, -stood an edifice which had in olden times been the dwelling-house of -the prior, and it was here the royal family were incarcerated on their -arrival. The place was utterly neglected and dilapidated, but from its -construction and original use it was capable of being made habitable. -The king believed that they were to remain here, and visited the empty, -mouldy rooms next day, observing to Cléry what changes and repairs were -most urgently required. No such luxurious prospect was, however, in store -for them. They were merely huddled into the Prior’s Hotel while some -preparations were being made for their reception in the tower. These -preparations consisted in precautions, equally formidable and absurd, -against possible rescue or flight. The heavy oak doors, the thick stone -walls, which had proved safe enough for murderers and rebel warriors, -were not considered secure for the timid king and his wife and children. -Doors and windows were reinforced with iron bars, bolts, and wooden -blinds. The corkscrew stair was So narrow that only one person could pass -it at a time, yet new iron-plated doors were put up, and bars thrown -across it at intervals, to prevent escape. The door leading from it into -the royal prisoners’ apartment was so low that when Marie Antoinette -was dragged from her children, after the king’s death, to be taken to -the _Conciergerie_, she knocked her head violently against the upper -part of it, exclaiming to some one who hoped she was not hurt, “Nothing -can hurt me now!” The Abbé Edgeworth thus describes the access to the -king’s rooms: “I was led across the court to the door of the tower, -which, though very narrow and very low, was so overcharged with iron -bolts and bars that it opened with a horrible noise. I was conducted up a -winding stair so narrow that two persons would have had great difficulty -in getting past each other. At short distances these stairs were cut -across by barriers, at each of which was a sentinel; these men were all -true _sans-culottes_, generally drunk, and their atrocious exclamations, -re-echoed by the vast vaults which covered every story of the tower, -were really terrifying.” For still greater security all the adjoining -buildings which crowded round the tower were thrown down. This work of -destruction was entrusted to Palloy, a zealous patriot, whose energy in -helping to pull down the Bastile pointed him out as a fit instrument for -the occasion. These external arrangements fitly symbolized the systematic -brutality which was organized from the first by the Convention, and -relentlessly carried out by its agents on each succeeding victim, but -by no one so ferociously as Simon the shoemaker. The most appalling -riddle which the world has yet set us to solve is the riddle of the -French Revolution. The deepest thinkers, the shrewdest philosophers, are -puzzling over it still, and will go on puzzling to the crack of doom. -There are causes many and terrible which explain the grand fact of the -nation’s revolt itself; why, when once the frenzy broke out, the people -murdered the king, and butchered all belonging to him, striving to bring -about a new birth, a different order of things, by a baptism of blood, -the death and annihilation of the old system--many wise and solemn words -have been uttered concerning these things, many answers which, if they -do not justify the madness of the Revolution, help us to pity, and in -a measure excuse, its actors; but the enigma which no one has ever yet -solved, or attempted to solve, is the excess of cruelty practised on -the fair-haired child whose sole crime was his misfortune in being the -descendant of the kings of France. - -The Princesse de Lamballe fell on the 3d of September at the prison of La -Force. The National Guards carried the head on a pike through the city, -and then hoisted it under the windows of the king, and clamored for him -to come out and show himself. One young officer, more humane than his -compeers, rushed forward and prevented it, and saved Louis from beholding -the dreadful spectacle. The king was deeply grateful for the kind action, -and asked the officer’s name. “And who was the other who tried to force -your majesty out?” enquired M. de Malesherbes. “Oh! I did not care to -know his name!” replied Louis gently. That was a night of horrors. The -two princesses, Mme. Royale and Princess Elizabeth, could not sleep; the -drums were beating to arms, and they sat in silence, “listening to the -sobs of the queen, which never ceased.” But more cruel days were yet in -store. Before the month was out the Commune de Paris issued a decree for -the separation of the king from his wife and children. “They felt it,” -says this curious document, “their imperious duty to prevent the abuses -which might facilitate the evasion of those traitors, and therefore -decree, 1st, that Louis and Antoinette be separated. - -“2d. That each shall have a separate dungeon (_cachot_). - -“3d. That the _valet de chambre_ be placed in confinement, etc., etc.” - -That same night the king was removed to the second story of the great -tower. The room was in a state of utter destitution; no preparations of -the commonest description had been made for receiving him. A straw bed -was thrown down on the floor; Cléry, his _valet_, had not even this, but -sat up all night on a chair. A month later (October) the queen and her -children were transferred to the story over that now occupied by Louis in -the great tower. On the 26th the Dauphin was torn from his mother under -the pretence that he was now too old to be left to the charge of women, -being just seven years and six months. He was therefore lodged with his -father, who found his chief solace in teaching the child his lessons; -these consisted of Latin, writing, arithmetic, geography, and history. -The separation was for the present mitigated by the consolation of -meeting at meal-times, and being allowed to be together for some hours in -the garden every day. They bore all privations and the insults of their -jailers with unruffled patience and sweetness. Mme. Elizabeth and the -queen sat up at night to mend their own and the king’s clothes, which the -fact of their each having but one suit made it impossible for them to do -in the daytime. - -This comparatively merciful state of things lasted till the first week -in December, when a new set of commissaries were appointed and the -captives watched day and night with lynx-eyed rigor. On the 11th the -prince was taken back to his mother, the king was summoned to the bar -of the Convention, and on his return to prison was informed that he was -henceforth totally separated from his family. He never saw them again -until the eve of his death. The Duchesse d’Angoulême (Mme. Royale) has -described that interview to us with her usual simplicity and pathos: “My -father, at the moment of parting with us for ever, made us promise never -to think of avenging his death. He was well satisfied that we should hold -sacred his last instructions; but the extreme youth of my brother made -him desirous of producing a still stronger impression upon him. He took -him on his knee, and said to him, ‘My son, you have heard what I have -said, but, as an oath is something more sacred than words, hold up your -hand and swear that you will accomplish the last wish of your father.’ My -brother obeyed, bursting into tears, and this touching goodness redoubled -ours.” - -The next day Louis had gone to receive the reward promised to the -merciful, to those who return love for hate, blessings for curses. When -the guillotine had done its work, the shouts of the infuriated city -announced to the queen that she was a widow. Her agony was inconsolable. -In the afternoon of this awful day she asked to see Cléry, hoping that he -might have some message for her from the king, with whom he had remained -till his departure from the Temple. She guessed right; the faithful -servant had been entrusted with a ring, which the king desired him to -deliver to her with the assurance that he never would have parted with it -but with his life. But Cléry was not allowed the mournful privilege of -fulfilling his trust in person; he was kept a month in the Temple, and -then released. “We had now a little more freedom,” continues Mme. Royale. -“The guards even believed that we were about to be sent out of France; -but nothing could calm the agony of the queen. No hope could touch her -heart; life was indifferent to her, and she did not fear death.” - -Her son, meanwhile, had nominally become King of France. The armies of -La Vendée proclaimed him as Louis XVII., under the regency of his uncle, -the Comte de Provence. He was King of France everywhere except in France, -where he was the victim of a blind ferocity unexampled in the history of -the most wicked periods of the world. - -The “freedom” which the Duchesse d’Angoulême speaks of lasted but a few -days; the royal family were all now in the queen’s apartment, but kept -under, if possible, more rigid and humiliating supervision than before. -Their only attendants were a certain Tison and his wife, who had hitherto -been employed in the most menial household work of the Temple. They were -coarse and ignorant by nature, and soon the confinement to which they -were themselves condemned so soured their temper that they grew cruel and -insolent, and avenged their own privations on their unhappy prisoners. -They denounced three of the municipals whom they detected in some signs -of respect and sympathy for the queen, and these men were all guillotined -on the strength of the Tisons’ evidence. The woman went mad with remorse -when she beheld the mischief her denunciations had done. At first she -sank into a black melancholy. Marie Antoinette and the Princess Elizabeth -attended on her, and did their utmost to soothe her during the first -stage of the malady; but their gentle charity was like coals of fire on -the head of their persecutor. She soon became furious, and had to be -carried away by force to a mad-house. - -About the 6th of May the young prince fell ill. The queen was alarmed, -and asked to see M. Brunier, his ordinary physician; the request was -met with a mocking reply, and no further notice taken of it, until the -child’s state became so serious that the prison doctor was ordered by -the Commune to go and see what was amiss with him. The doctor humanely -consulted M. Brunier, who was well acquainted with the patient’s -constitution, and otherwise did all that was in his power to alleviate -his condition. This was not much, but the queen and Mme. Elizabeth, who -for three weeks never left the little sufferer’s pillow, were keenly -alive to the kindness of the medical man. This illness made no noise -outside the Temple walls; but Mme. Royale always declared that her -brother had never really recovered from it, and that it was the first -stage of the disease which ultimately destroyed him. The government -had hitherto been too busy with more important matters to have leisure -to attend to such a trifle as the life or death of “little Capet.” It -was busy watching and striving to control the struggle between the -Jacobins and the Girondists, which ended finally in the overthrow of the -latter. On the 9th of July, however, it suddenly directed its notice to -the young captive, and issued a decree ordering him to be immediately -separated from Antoinette, and confided to a tutor (_instituteur_), who -should be chosen by the nation. It was ten o’clock at night when six -commissaries, like so many birds of ill-omen, entered the Temple, and -ascended the narrow, barricaded stairs leading to the queen’s rooms. -The young prince was lying fast asleep in his little curtainless bed, -with a shawl suspended by tender hands to shade him from the light on -the table, where his mother and aunt sat mending their clothes. The men -delivered their message in loud tones; but the child slept on. It was -only when the queen uttered a great cry of despair that he awoke, and -beheld her with clasped hands praying to the commissaries. They turned -from her with a savage laugh, and approached the bed to seize the prince. -Marie Antoinette, quicker than thought, flew towards it, and, clasping -him in her arms, clung despairingly to the bed-post. One of the men was -about to use violence in order to seize the boy, but another stayed his -hand, exclaiming: “It does not become us to fight with women; call up -the guard!” Horror-stricken at the threat, Mme. Elizabeth cried out: -“No, for God’s sake, no! We submit, we cannot resist; but give us time -to breathe. Let the child sleep out the night here. He will be delivered -to you to-morrow.” This prayer was spurned, and then the queen entreated -as a last mercy that her son might remain in the tower, where she might -still see him. A commissary retorted brutally, _tutoyant_ her, “What! -you make such a to-do because, forsooth, you are separated from your -child, while our children are sent to the frontiers to have their brains -knocked out by the bullets which you bring upon us!” The princesses now -began to dress the prince; but never was there such a long toilet in this -world. Every article was passed from one to another, put on, taken off -again, and replaced after being drenched with tears. The commissaries -were losing patience. “At last,” says Mme. Royale, the queen, gathering -up all her strength, placed herself in a chair, with the child standing -before her, put her hands on his little shoulders, and, without a tear or -a sigh, said with a grave and solemn voice, “My child, we are about to -part. Bear in mind all I have said to you of your duties when I shall be -no longer near to repeat it. Never forget God, who thus tries you, nor -your mother, who loves you. Be good, patient, kind, and your father will -look down from heaven and bless you.” Having said this, she kissed him -and handed him to the commissaries. One of them said: “Come, I hope you -have done with your sermonizing; you have abused our patience finely.” -Another dragged the boy out of the room, while a third added: “Don’t be -uneasy; the nation will take care of him!” Then the door closed. Take -care of him! Not even in that hour of supreme anguish, quickened as her -imagination was by past and present experience of the nation’s “care,” -could his mother have pictured to herself what sort of guardianship was -in preparation for her son. That night which saw him torn from her arms -and from beneath the protecting shadow of her immense love, beheld the -little King of France transferred to the pitiless hands of Simon and his -wife. - -Simon was a thick-set, black-visaged man of fifty-eight years of age. He -worked as a shoemaker next door to Marat, whose patronage procured for -him the office of “tutor” to the son of Louis XVI. His wife is described -as an ill-favored woman of the same age as her husband, with a temper as -sour and irascible as his was vicious and cruel. They got five hundred -francs a month for maltreating the “little Capet,” whom Simon never -addressed except as “viper.” “wolf-cub,” “poison-toad,” adding kicks and -blows as expletives. For two days and nights the child wept unceasingly, -refusing to eat or sleep, and crying out continually to be taken back to -his mother. He was starved and beaten into sullen silence and a sort of -hopeless submission. If he showed terror or surprise at a threat, it was -treated as insolent rebellion, and he was seized and beaten as if he had -attempted a crime. All this first month of Simon’s tutorship the child -was so ill as to be under medical treatment. But this was no claim on the -tutor’s mercy; if it had been, he would have been unfitted for his task, -and would not have been chosen for it. He was astonished, nevertheless, -at the indomitable spirit of his victim, at the quiet firmness with which -he bore his treatment, and at the perseverance with which he continued -to insist on being restored to his mother. How long would it take to -break this royal “wolf-cub”? Simon began to be perplexed about it. He -must have advice from headquarters, and fuller liberty for the exercise -of his own ingenuity. Four members of the Committee of _Sûreté Générale_ -betook themselves to the Temple, and there held a conference with the -patriot shoemaker which remains one of the most curious incidents of -those wonderful days. Amongst the four councillors was Drouet, the famous -post-master of Sainte Ménéhould, and Chabot, an apostate monk. One of -the others related the secret conference to Sénart, secretary of the -committee, who thus transcribed it at the time: “Citizens,” asks Simon, -“what do you decide as to the treatment of the wolf-cub? He has been -brought up to be insolent. I can tame him, but I cannot answer that he -will not sink under it (_crever_). So much the worse for him; but, after -all, what do you mean to do with him? To banish him?” Answer: “No.” “To -kill him?” “No.” “To poison him?” “No.” “But what, then?” “_To get rid of -him_” (_s’en défaire_). - -From this forth the severity of Simon knew no bounds but those of his -own fiendish powers of invention. He applied his whole energies to the -task of “doing away with” the poor child. He made him slave like a dog at -the most laborious and menial work; he was shoe-black, turnspit, drudge, -and victim at once. Not content with thus degrading him, Simon insisted -that the boy should wear the red cap as an external badge of degradation. -The republican symbol was no doubt associated in the child’s mind with -the bloody riots of the year before; for the mere sight of it filled him -with terror, and nothing that his jailer could say or do could persuade -him to let it be placed on his head. Simon, exasperated by such firmness -in one so frail and young, fell upon him and flogged him unmercifully, -until at last Mme. Simon, who every now and then showed that the woman -was not quite dead within her, interfered to rescue the boy, declaring -that it made her sick to see him beaten in that way. But she hit upon -a mode of punishment which, though more humane, proved more crushing -to the young captive than either threats or blows. His fair hair, in -which his mother had taken such fond pride, still fell long and unkempt -about his shoulders. Mme. Simon declared that this was unseemly in the -little Capet, and that he should be shorn like a son of the people. She -forthwith proceeded to cut off the offending curls, and in a moment, -before he realized what she was about to do, the shining locks lay strewn -at his feet. The effect was terrible; the child uttered a piteous cry, -and then lapsed into a state of sullen despair. All spirit seemed to -have died out of him; and when Simon, perceiving this, again approached -him with the hated cap, he made no resistance, gave no sign, but let it -be placed on his little shorn head in silence. The shabby black clothes -that he wore by way of mourning for his father were now taken off, and -replaced by a complete _Carmagnole_ costume; still Louis offered no -opposition. He was taken out for exercise on the leads every day, and, -to prevent the queen having the miserable satisfaction of catching a -glimpse of him on these occasions, a wooden partition had been run up; -it was loosely put together, however, and Mme. Elizabeth discovered a -chink through which it was possible to see the captive as he passed. -Marie Antoinette was filled with thankfulness when she heard of this, -and overcoming her reluctance to leave her room, from which she had -never stirred since the king’s death, she now used every subterfuge for -remaining on the watch within sight of the chink. At last, on the 20th -of July, her patience was rewarded. But what a spectacle it was that -met her gaze! Her beautiful, fair-haired child, cropped as if he had -just recovered from a fever, and dressed out in the odious garb of his -father’s murderers, driven along by the brutal Simon, and addressed in -coarse and horrible language. She was near enough to hear it, to see -the look of terror and suffering on the child’s face as he passed. Yet, -such strength does love impart to a mother in her most trying needs, the -queen was able to see it all and remain mute and still; she did not cry -out, nor faint, nor betray by a single movement the horror that made -her very heart stand still, but, rising slowly from the spot, returned -to her room. The shock had almost paralyzed her, and she resolved that -nothing should ever tempt her to renew it. But the longing of the -mother’s heart overcame all other feelings. The next day she returned to -her watch-point, and waited for hours until the little feet were heard -on the leads again, accompanied as before by Simon’s heavy tread and -rough tones. What Marie Antoinette must have suffered during those few -days, when she beheld with her own eyes and heard with her own ears the -sort of tutelage to which her innocent child was subjected, God, and -perhaps a mother’s heart, alone can tell. That young soul, whose purity -she had guarded as the very apple of her eye, was now exposed to the -foulest influences; for prayers and pious teachings he heard nothing but -blasphemy and curses; his faith, that precious flower which had been -planted so reverently and watered with such tender care, what was to -become of it--what had become of it already? None but God knew, and to -God alone did the mother look for help. He who saved Daniel in the lions’ -den and the children in the fiery furnace was powerful to save his own -now, as then; he would save her child, for man was powerless to help. -One of Simon’s diabolical amusements was to force the prince to use bad -language and sing blasphemous songs. Blows and threats were unavailing -so long as the boy caught any part of the revolting sense of the words; -but at last, deceived no doubt by the very grossness of the expressions, -and unable to penetrate their meaning, he took refuge from blows in -compliance, and with his sweet childish treble piped out songs that were -never heard beyond the precincts of a tavern or a guard-house. The queen -heard this once. Angels heard it, too, and, closing their ears to the -loathsome sounds, smiled with angels’ pity on the unconscious treason of -their little kindred spirit. - -But this new crisis of misery was not of long duration to Marie -Antoinette. About three days after her first vision of Simon and his -victim, the commissaries entered her room in the dead of the night, and -read a decree, ordering them to convey her to the _Conciergerie_. This -was the first step of the scaffold. The summons would have been welcome -to the widow of Louis XVI., if she had not been a mother; but she was, -and the thought of leaving her son in the hands of men whose aim was not -merely to “slay the body,” but to destroy the soul, made the prospect of -her own deliverance dreadful to contemplate. But God was there--God, who -loved her son better and more availingly than even she loved him. She -committed him once more to God, and commended her daughter to the tender -and virtuous Elizabeth, little dreaming that the same fate which had -befallen the brother was soon to be awarded to the gentle, inoffensive -sister. - -On the same day that the queen was sent to the _Conciergerie_, -preparatory to her execution, a member of the Convention sent a toy -guillotine as a present to “the little Capet,” doubtless with the -merciful design of acquainting the poor child with his mother’s impending -fate. A subaltern officer in the Temple, however, had the humanity to -intercept the fiendish present, for the young prince never received it. -It was the fashion of the day to teach children to play at beheading -sparrows, which were sold on the boulevards with little guillotines, -by way of teaching them to love the republic and to scorn death. It is -rather a curious coincidence that Chaumette, the man who sent the satanic -toy to the Dauphin, was himself decapitated by it a year before the death -of the child whom he thought to terrify by his cruel gift. - -While the mock trial of the queen was going on, Simon pursued more -diligently than ever his scheme of demoralization. A design which must -first have originated in some fiend’s brain had occurred to him, and it -was necessary to devise new means for carrying it into execution. He -would make this spotless, idolized child a witness against his mother; -the little hand which hers had guided in forming its first letters, and -taught to lift itself in prayer, should be made an instrument in the most -revolting calumny which the human mind ever conceived. Simon began to -make the boy drink; when he attempted to refuse, the liquor was poured -into his mouth by force; until at last, stupefied and unconscious of what -he was doing, unable to comprehend the purpose or consequence of the act, -he signed his name to a document in which the most heinous accusations -were brought against his august mother. The same deposition was presented -to his sister for her signature; but without the same success. “They -questioned me about a thousand terrible things of which they accused my -mother and my aunt,” says Mme. Royale; “and, frightened as I was, I could -not help exclaiming that they were wicked falsehoods.” The examination -lasted three hours, for the deputies hoped that the extreme youth and -timidity of the princess would enable them to compel her consent to sign -the paper; but in this they were mistaken. “They forgot,” continues Mme. -Royale, “the life that I had led for four years past, and, above all, -that the example shown me by my parents had given me more energy and -strength of mind.” The queen’s trial lasted two entire days and nights -without intermission. Not a single accusation, political or otherwise, -was confirmed by a feather’s weight of evidence. But what did that -signify? The judges had decreed beforehand that she must die. Hébert -brought forward the document signed by her son; she listened in silent -scorn, and disdained to answer. One of the paid assassins on the jury -demanded why she did not speak. The queen, thus adjured, drew herself up -with all the majesty of outraged motherhood, and, casting her eyes over -the crowded court, replied: “_I did not answer; but I appeal to the heart -of every mother who hears me_.” A low murmur ran through the crowd. No -mother raised her voice in loyal sympathy with the mother who appealed to -them, but the inarticulate response was too powerful for the jury; they -dropped the subject, and when the counsel nominally appointed for her -defence had done speaking, the president demanded of the prisoner at the -bar whether she had anything to add. There was a moment’s hush, and then -the queen spoke: “For myself, nothing; for your consciences, much! I was -a queen, and you dethroned me; I was a wife, and you murdered my husband; -I was a mother, and you have torn my children from me. I have nothing -left but my blood--make haste and take it!” - -This last request was granted. The trial ended soon after daybreak on -the third day, and at eleven o’clock the same forenoon she was led to the -scaffold. - -Seldom has retribution more marked ever followed a crime, than that which -awaited the perpetrators of this legal murder. Within nine months from -the death of Marie Antoinette every single individual known to have had -any share in the deed--judges, jury, witnesses, and prosecutors--all -perished on the same guillotine to which they condemned the queen. - -The captives in the Temple knew nothing either of the mock trial or the -death which followed it. It is difficult to understand the motive of -this silence, especially as concerns Simon. Perhaps it was owing to his -wife’s influence that the young prince was spared the blow of knowing -that he was an orphan. If so, it was the only act of mercy she was able -to obtain for him. The brutalities of the jailer rather increased than -diminished after the queen’s death. The child was locked up alone in a -room almost entirely dark, and the gloom and solitude reduced him to -such a point of despondency and apathy that few hearts, even amongst the -cruel men about him, could behold the wretched spectacle unmoved. One -of the municipals begged Simon’s leave to give the poor child a little -artificial canary bird, which sang a song and fluttered its wings. The -toy gave him such intense pleasure that the man good-naturedly followed -up the opportunity of Simon’s mild mood to bring a cage full of real -canaries, which he was likewise allowed to give the little Capet. The -birds were tamed to come on his finger and perch on his shoulder, and had -other pretty tricks which amused and delighted the poor little fellow -inexpressibly. He was very happy in the society of his feathered friends -for some time, until one unlucky day a new commissary came to inspect his -room, and, expressing great surprise at “the son of the tyrant” being -allowed such an aristocratic amusement, ordered the cage to be instantly -removed. Simon, to atone for this passing weakness towards the wolf-cub, -set himself to maltreat him more savagely than ever. The child, in the -midst of the revolting atmosphere which surrounded him, still cherished -the memory of his mother’s teaching; he remembered the prayers she had -taught him, the lessons of love and faith she had planted in his heart. -Simon had flogged him the first time he saw him go down on his knees to -say his prayers, so the child ever after went to bed and got up without -repeating the offence. We may safely believe that he sent up his heart to -God morning and night, nevertheless, though he did not dare kneel while -doing so. One night, a bitter cold night in January, Simon awoke, and, -by the light of the moon that stole in through the wooden blind of the -window, beheld the boy kneeling up in his bed, his hands clasped and his -face uplifted in prayer. He doubted at first whether the child was awake -or asleep; but the attitude and all that it suggested threw him into a -frenzy of superstitious rage; he took up a large pitcher of water, icy -cold as it was, and flung it, pitcher and all, at the culprit, exclaiming -as he did so, “I’ll teach you to get up Pater-nostering at night like -a Trappist!” Not satisfied with this, he seized his own shoe--a heavy -wooden shoe with great nails--and fell to beating him with it, until -Mme Simon, terrified by his violence and sickened by the cries of the -victim, rushed at her husband, and made him desist. Louis, sobbing and -shivering, gathered himself up out of the wet bed, and sat crouching on -the pillow; but Simon pulled him down, and made him lie in the soaking -clothes, perishing and drenched as he was. The shock was so great that he -never was the same after this night; it utterly broke the little spirit -that yet remained in him, and gave a blow to his health which it never -recovered. - -TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH. - - -SPRING. - - The spring-time has come, - But with skies dark and gray - And the wind waileth wildly - Through all the drear day. - Few glimpses of sunshine, - No thought of the flowers, - No bird’s songs enliven - These chill, gloomy hours. - - The snow lieth coldly - Where lately it fell, - The crocus and daisy - Yet sleep in the dell; - The frost yet at evening - Falls softly and chill, - And scatters his pearls - Over meadow and hill. - - But April, sweet April-- - Her tears bring no gloom-- - Will pour on the zephyr - A violet perfume; - Will bid the rill glance - In the sunlight along, - And waken at morning - The bird’s gushing song. - - I am thinking of one - Who oft sought for the flowers - In the sunlight and shadow - Of April’s bright hours. - But when winter’s bleak winds - Sang a dirge for the year, - With pale lips, yet smiling, - She lay on her bier. - - The flowers then that died - Will awaken again, - But her we have loved - We shall look for in vain; - Yet, though we have laid her - Beneath the dark sod, - She bloometh this spring - In the garden of God. - - -SUBSTANTIAL GENERATIONS. - -I. - -We have shown that the intrinsic principles of the primitive material -substance are _the matter_ and _the substantial form_; and we have proved -that in the material element the matter is a mere mathematical point--the -centre of a virtual sphere--whilst the substantial form which gives -existence to such a centre is an act, or an active principle, having a -spherical character, and constituting a sphere of power all around that -centre, as shown by its exertions directed all around in accordance with -the Newtonian law. Hence the nature of the matter as actuated by its -substantial form, and the nature of the substantial form as terminated to -its matter, are fully determined. - -It would seem that nothing remains to be investigated about this subject; -for, when we have reached the _first_ constituent principles of a -given essence, the metaphysical analysis is at an end. One question, -however, remains to be settled between us and the philosophers of the -Aristotelic school concerning the _mutual relation_ of the matter and -the substantial form in a material being. Is such a relation variable or -invariable? Is the matter separable from any given substantial form, as -the Aristotelic theory assumes, or are the matter and its form so bound -together as to form a unit substantially unchangeable? Can substantial -forms be supplanted and superseded by other substantial forms, or do they -continue for ever as they were at the instant of their creation? - -Some of our readers may think that what we have said in other preceding -articles suffices to settle the question; for it is obvious that simple -material elements are substantially unchangeable. But the peripatetic -school looked at things from a different point of view, and thought that -the question was to be solved by the consideration of the potentiality -of the _first matter_ with respect to all substantial forms. Hence it is -under this aspect that their opinion is to be examined, that a correct -judgment may be formed of the merits and deficiencies of a system so -long advocated by the most celebrated philosophers. For this reason, as -also because some modern writers have resuscitated this system without -taking notice of its defects, and without making such corrections as -were required to make it agree with the positive sciences, we think it -necessary to examine the notions on which the whole Aristotelic theory is -established, and the reasonings by which it is supported, and to point -out the inaccuracies by which some of those reasonings are spoiled, as -well as the limits within which the conclusions of the school can be -maintained. - -_Materia prima._--The notion of “first matter,” which plays the principal -part in the theory of substantial generations, has been the source of -many disputes among philosophers. Some, as Suarez, think that the -_materia prima_ is metaphysically constituted of act and potency; others -consider the _materia prima_ as a real potency only; whilst others -consider it as a mere potency of being, and therefore as a non-entity. -The word “matter” can, in fact, be used in three different senses. - -First, it is used for _material substance_, either compound or simple; -as when steel is said to be the matter of a sword, or when the primitive -elements are said to be the matter of a body. When taken in this sense, -the word “matter” means a _physical_ being, substantially perfect, and -capable of accidental modifications. - -Secondly, the word “matter” is used for _the potential term lying under -the substantial form_ by which it is actuated. In this sense the matter -is a _metaphysical_ reality which, by completing its substantial form, -concurs with it to the constitution of the physical being--that is, of -the substance. It is usually called _materia formata_, or “formed matter.” - -Thirdly, the word “matter” is used also for _the potential term of -substance conceived as deprived of its substantial form_. In this sense -the matter is a mere potency of being, and therefore _a being of reason_; -for it cannot thus exist in the real order: and it is then called -_materia informis_, or “unformed matter.” It is, however, to be remarked -that the phrase _materia informis_ has been used by the fathers of the -church to designate the matter as it came out of the hands of the Creator -before order, beauty, and harmony were introduced into the material -world. Such a matter was not absolutely without form, as is evident. - -Of the three opinions above mentioned about the nature of _materia -prima_, the one maintained by Suarez is, in the present state of physical -science, the most satisfactory, though it can scarcely be said to agree -with the Aristotelic theory, as commonly understood. Indeed, if such a -first matter is metaphysically constituted of act and potency, as he -maintains, such a matter is nothing less than a primitive substance, -as he also maintains; and we may be allowed to add, on the strength -of the proofs given in our preceding articles, that such a first -matter corresponds to our primitive unextended elements, which, though -unknown to Suarez, are in fact the _first_ physical matter of which all -natural substances are composed. But, if the first matter involves a -metaphysical act and is a substance, such a matter cannot be the subject -of _substantial_ generation; for what is already in act is not potential -to the first act, and what has already a first being is not potential to -the first being. Hence we may conclude that the first matter of Suarez -excludes the theory of rigorously substantial generations, and leads to -the conclusion that the generated substances are not new with respect to -their substance, but only with regard to their compound essence, and that -the forms by which they are constituted are indeed _essential_ to them, -but not strictly _substantial_, as we intend hereafter to explain. - -The second interpretation of the words _materia prima_ is that given by -S. Thomas, when he considers the first matter as “matter without form,” -and as a mere potency of being. “The matter,” he says, “exists sometimes -under one form, and at other times under another; but it can never exist -isolated--that is, by itself--because, as it does not involve in its -ratio any form, it cannot be in act (for the form is the only source -of actuality), but can merely be in potency. And therefore, _nothing -which is in act can be called first matter_.”[17] From these words it is -evident that S. Thomas considers the first matter as matter without form; -for, had it a form, it would be in act, and would cease to be called -“first” matter. In another place he says: “Since the matter is a pure -potency, it is _one_, not through any one form actuating it, but _by the -exclusion of all forms_.”[18] And again: “The accidental form supervenes -to a subject already pre-existent in act; the substantial form, on the -contrary, does not supervene to a subject already pre-existent in act, -but _to something which is merely in potency to exist_, viz., _to the -first matter_.”[19] And again: “The true nature of matter is _to have -no form whatever in act_, but to be in potency with regard to any of -them.”[20] And again: “The first matter is a pure potency, just as God is -a pure act.”[21] - -From these passages, and from many others that might be found in S. -Thomas’ works, it is manifest that the holy doctor, in his metaphysical -speculations, considers the first matter as matter without a form. -In this he faithfully follows Aristotle’s doctrine. For the Greek -philosopher explicitly teaches that “as the metal is to the statue, or -the wood to the bedstead, or any other unformed material to the thing -which can be formed with it, so is the matter to the substance and to the -being”;[22] that is, as the metal has not yet the form of a statue, so -the first matter still lacks the substantial form, and consequently is a -_pure_ potency of being. - -Nevertheless, the Angelic Doctor does not always abide by this old and -genuine notion of the first matter. When treating of generation and -corruption, or engaged in other physical questions, he freely assumes -that the first matter is something actually lying under a substantial -form, and therefore that it is a _real_ potency in the order of nature, -and not a mere result of intellectual abstraction. Thus he concedes that -“the first matter exists in all bodies,”[23] that “the first matter must -have been created by God under a substantial form,”[24] and that “the -first matter remains in act, after it has lost a certain form, owing to -the fact that it is actuated by another form.”[25] In these passages and -in many others the first matter is evidently considered as matter under a -form. - -It is difficult to reconcile with one another these two notions, matter -_without a form_, and matter _under a form_; for they seem quite -contradictory. The only manner of attempting such a conciliation would -be to assume that when the first matter is said to be without a form, -the preposition “without” is intended to express a mental abstraction, -not a real exclusion, of the substantial form. Thus the phrase “without -a form” would mean “without taking the form into account,” although such -a form is really in the matter. This interpretation of the phrase might -be justified by those passages of the holy doctor in which the first -matter, inasmuch as _first_, is presented as a result of intellectual -abstraction. Here is one of such passages: “First matter,” says he, -“is commonly called something, within the genus of substance which -is _conceived_ as a potency abstracted from all forms and from all -privations, but susceptible both of forms and of privations.”[26] It is -evident that, by this kind of abstraction, the matter which is actually -under a form would be conceived as being without a form. As, however, the -conception would not correspond to the reality, the first matter, thus -conceived, would have nothing common with the real matter which exists in -nature. For, since the whole reality of matter depends on its actuation -by a form, to conceive the matter without any form is to take away from -it the only source of its reality, and to leave nothing but a non-entity -connoting the privation of its form. Hence such a _materia prima_ would -entirely belong to the order of conceptual beings, not to the order of -realities; and therefore the matter which exists in nature would not be -“first matter.” It is superfluous to remark that if the first matter -does not exist, as _first_, in the real order, all the reasonings of the -peripatetic school about the offices performed by the first matter in the -substantial generation are at an end. - -The confusion of actuated with actuable matter was quite unavoidable in -the Aristotelic theory of substantial generations. This theory assumes -that not only the primitive elements of matter, but also every compound -material substance, has a special _substantial_ form giving the _first_ -being (_simpliciter esse_, or _primum esse_) to its matter. Hence, in -the substantial generation, as understood by Aristotle, the matter must -pass from one _first_ being to another _first_ being. Now, the authors -who adopted such a theory well saw that the matter which had to acquire -a first being, was to be considered as having no being at all; else it -would not acquire its _first_ being. On the other hand, the matter which -passed from one first being to another was to be considered as having -a first being; or else it would not exchange it for another. Hence the -first matter, as ready to acquire a first being, was called a _pure_ -potency--that is, a potency of being; whilst, as ready to exchange its -first being for another, it was called a _real_ potency--that is, an -actual reality. That a _pure_ potency can be a _real_ potency, or an -actual reality, is an assumption which the peripatetic school never -succeeded in proving, though it is the very foundation of the theory of -strictly substantial generations as by them advocated. - -Before we proceed further we have to mention S. Augustine’s notion of -_unformed_ matter, as one which contains a great deal more of truth -than is commonly believed by the peripatetic writers. This great doctor -admits that _unformed_ matter was created, and existed for a time in -its informity. “The earth,” says he, “was nothing but unformed matter; -for it was invisible and uncompounded, … and out of this invisible -and uncompounded matter, out of this informity, out of this almost -mere nothingness, thou wast to make, O God! all the things which this -changeable world contains.”[27] Some will ask: How could such a great -man admit the existence of matter without a form? Did he not know that a -potency without an act cannot exist? Or is it to be suspected that what -he calls _unformed matter_ was not altogether destitute of a form, but -only of such a form as would make it visible as in the compound bodies? - -S. Thomas believes that S. Augustine really excluded all forms from his -unformed matter, and remarks that such an unformed matter could not -possibly exist in such a state; for, if it existed, it was in act as -a result of creation. For the term of creation is a being in act; and -the act is a form.[28] Thus it is evident that to admit the existence -of the matter without any form at all is a very gross blunder. But, -for this very reason that the blunder is so great, we cannot believe -that S. Augustine made himself guilty of it. We rather believe that he -merely excluded from his unformed matter a visible shape, and what was -afterward called “the form of corporeity” by which compound substances -are constituted in their species and distinguished from one another. Let -us hear him. - -“There was a time,” says he, “when I used to call _unformed_, not that -which I thought to be altogether destitute of a form, but that which -I imagined to be ill-formed, and to have such an odd and ugly form as -would be shocking to see. But what I thus imagined was unformed, not -absolutely, but only in comparison with other things endowed with better -forms; whilst reason and truth demanded that I should discard entirely -all thought of any remaining form, if I wished to conceive matter as -truly unformed. But this I could not do; for it was easier to surmise -that a thing altogether deprived of form had no existence, than to admit -anything intermediate between a formed being and nothing, which would be -neither a formed being nor nothing, but an unformed being and almost a -mere nothing. At last I dropped from my mind all those images of formed -bodies, which my imagination was used to multiply and vary at random, -and began to consider the bodies themselves, and their mutability on -account of which such bodies cease to be what they were, and begin to be -what they were not. And I began to conjecture that their passage from -one form to another was made through something unformed, not through -absolute nothing. But this I desired to know, not to surmise. Now, were -I to say all that thou, O God! hadst taught me about this subject, who -among my readers would strive to grasp my thought? But I shall not cease -to praise thee in my heart for those very things which I cannot expound. -For the mutability of changeable things is susceptible of all the forms -by which such things can be changed. But what is such a mutability? -Is it a soul? Is it a body? Is it the feature of a soul or of a body? -Were it allowable, I would call it a _nothing-something_, and a _being -non-being_. And yet it was already in some manner before it received -these visible and compounded forms.”[29] - -The more we examine this passage, the stronger becomes our conviction -that the word “form” was used here by S. Augustine, not for the -substantial form of Aristotle, but for _shape_ or geometric form, and -that “unformed matter” stands here for _shapeless matter_. For, when he -says that “reason and truth demand that all thought of any remaining -forms should be discarded,” of what remaining forms does he speak? Of -those “odd and ugly forms” which he says would be shocking to see. But -it is evident that no substantial form can be odd and ugly or shocking -to see. Moreover, S. Augustine conceives his “unformed matter,” by -dropping from his mind “all those images of formed bodies” by which -his imagination had been previously haunted. Now, it is obvious that -substantial forms are not an object of the imagination, nor can they be -styled “images” of formed bodies. Lastly, the holy doctor explicitly -says that the matter of the bodies “was already in some manner before it -could receive _these visible and compounded forms_,” which shows that the -forms which he excluded from the primitive matter are “the visible and -compounded forms” of bodies--that is, such forms as result from material -composition. And this is confirmed by those other words of the holy -doctor, “The earth was nothing but unformed matter; _for it was invisible -and uncompounded_”--that is, the informity of the earth consisted in the -absence of material composition, and, therefore, of visible shape, not in -the absence of primitive substantial forms. - -It would be interesting to know why S. Augustine believed that his -readers would not bear with him (_quis legentium capere durabit?_) if -he were to say all that God had taught him about shapeless matter. Had -God taught him the existence of simple and unextended elements? Was his -shapeless matter that simple point, that invisible and uncompounded -potency, on account of which all elements are liable to geometrical -arrangement and to physical composition? The holy doctor does not tell -us; but certainly, if there ever was shapeless matter, it could have -no extension, for extension entails shape. It would, therefore, seem -that S. Augustine’s shapeless matter could not but consist of simple -and unextended elements; and if so, he had good reason to expect that -his readers would scorn a notion so contrary to the popular bias; as -we see that even in our own time, and in the teeth of scientific and -philosophical evidence, the same notion cannot take hold of the popular -mind. - -If the unformed matter of S. Augustine is matter without shape and -without extension, we can easily understand why he calls it _pene nullam -rem_, viz., scarcely more than nothing.[30] Indeed, the potential term -of a primitive element, a simple point in space, is scarcely more than -nothing; for it has no bulk, and were it not for the act which gives it -existence, it would be nothing at all, as it has nothing in itself and in -its potential nature which deserves the name of “being”; but it borrows -all its being from the substantial act, as we shall explain later on. -It is, therefore, plain that the matter of a simple element, and of all -simple elements, is hardly more than nothing, and that it might almost -be described as a _nothing-something_, and a _being non-being_, as S. -Augustine observes. But when the primitive matter began to cluster into -bodies having bulk and composition, then this same matter acquired a -_visible form_ under definite dimensions, and thus one mass of matter -became distinguishable from another, and by the arrangement of such -distinct material things the order and beauty of the world were produced. - -Thus S. Augustine did not admit the existence of matter deprived of a -substantial form, but only the existence of matter without shape, and -therefore without extension. And for this reason we have said that his -doctrine contains more truth than is commonly believed by the peripatetic -writers. His _uncompounded_ matter can mean nothing else than simple -elements; and since the components are the material cause of the -compound, and must be presupposed to it, the simple elements of which all -bodies consist are undoubtedly those material beings which God must have -created before anything having shape and material composition could make -its appearance in the world. Hence S. Augustine’s view of creation is, -in this respect, perfectly consistent with sound philosophy no less than -with revelation. His shapeless matter must be ranked, we think, with the -first matter of Suarez above mentioned, under the name of _primitive_ -material substance. - -As to the first matter of S. Thomas and of the other followers of -Aristotle, it is difficult to say what it is; for we have seen that -it has been understood in two different manners. If we adopt its most -received definition, we must call it “a pure potency” and “a first -potency.” According to this definition, the first matter is a non-entity, -as we have already remarked, and has no part in the constitution of -substance, any more than a corpse in the constitution of man; for, as the -body of man is not _a living corpse_, so the matter in material substance -is not _a pure potency in act_, both expressions implying a like -contradiction. Hence the first matter, according to this definition, -is not a metaphysical being, but a mere being of reason--that is, a -conception of nothingness as resulting from the suppression of the formal -principle of being. - -From our notion of simple elements we can form a very clear image of -this being of reason. In a primitive element the matter borrows all its -reality from the substantial form of which it is the intrinsic term--that -is, from a virtual sphericity of which it is the centre. To change such -a centre into a _pure_ potency of being, we have merely to suppress -the virtual sphericity; for, by so doing, what was a _real_ centre of -power becomes an _imaginary_ centre, a term deprived of its reality, a -mere nothing; which however, from the nature of the process by which -it is reached, is still conceived as the vestige of the real centre of -power, and, so to say, the shadow of the real matter which disappears. -Thus the _materia prima_, as a pure potency, is nothing else than an -imaginary point in space, or the potency of a real centre of power. This -clear and definite conception of the first matter is calculated to shed -some additional light on many questions connected with the peripatetic -philosophy, and, above all, on the very definition of matter. The old -metaphysicians, when defining the first matter to be “a pure potency,” -had no notion of the existence of simple elements, and knew very little -about the law of material actions; and for this reason they could say -nothing about the special character of such a pure potency. For the -same reason they were unable also to point out the special nature of -the first act of matter; they simply recognized that the conspiration -of such a potency with such an act ought to give rise to a “movable -being.” But potency and act are to be found not only in material, but -also in spiritual, substances; and as these substances are of a quite -different nature, it is evident that their respective potencies and their -respective acts must be of a quite different nature. Now, the special -character of the potency of material substance consists in its being a -_local_ term, whilst the special character of the potency of spiritual -substance consists in its being an _intellectual_ term. And therefore, to -distinguish the former from the latter, we should say that the matter is -“a potential term _in space_” and the first matter “a potency of being in -space.” The additional words “_in space_” point out the characteristic -attribute of the material potency as distinguished from all other -potencies. - -Moreover, our conception of _materia prima_ as an imaginary point in -space may help us to realize more completely the distinction which -must be made between the non-entity of the first matter and absolute -nothingness. Absolute nothingness is a mere negation of being, or a -_negative_ non-entity; whereas the non-entity of the first matter is -formally constituted by a privation, and must be styled a _privative_ -non-entity. For, as the matter and its substantial form are the -constituents of one and the same primitive essence, we cannot think -of the matter without reference to the form, nor of the form without -reference to the matter. And therefore, when, in order to conceive the -first matter, we suppress mentally the substantial form, we deprive -the matter of what it essentially requires for its existence; and it -is in consequence of such a process that we reduce the matter to a -non-entity. Now, to exclude from the matter the form which is due -to it is to constitute the matter under a privation. Therefore the -resulting non-entity of the first matter is a privative non-entity. -Indeed, privation is defined as “the absence of something due _to a -subject_,” and we can scarcely say that a non-entity is a subject. But -this definition applies to _real_ privations only, which require a -_real_ subject lacking something due to it; as when a man has lost an -eye or a foot. But in our case, as we are concerned with a pure potency -of being, which has no reality at all, our subject can be nothing else -than a non-entity. This is the subject which demands the form of which -it is bereaved, as it cannot even be conceived without reference to it. -The very name of _matter_, which it retains, points out a _form_ as its -transcendental correlative; while the epithet “first” points out the fact -that this matter is yet destitute of that being which it should have in -order to deserve the name of _real_ matter. - -But, much as this notion of the first matter agrees with that of “pure -potency” and of “first potency,” the followers of the peripatetic system -will say that _their_ first matter is something quite different, as is -evident from their theory of substantial generations, which would have -no meaning, if the first matter were not a reality. Let us, then, waive -for the present the notion of “_pure_ potency,” and turn our attention to -that of “_real_ potency,” that we may see what kind of reality the first -matter must be, when the “first matter” is identified with the matter -actually existing under a substantial form. - -The matter actuated by a form is a _real potency_, and nothing more. -It is only by stretching the word “being” beyond its legitimate meaning -that this real potency is sometimes called a real being. In fact, the -potential term of the real being is real, not on account of any real -entity involved in its own nature, but merely on account of the real act -by which it is actuated. How anything can be real without possessing -an entity of its own our reader may easily understand by recollecting -what we have often remarked about the centre of a sphere, whose reality -is entirely due to the spherical form, or by reflecting that negations -and privations are similarly called _real_, not because of any entity -involved in them, but simply because they are appurtenances of real -beings. - -We have seen that S. Augustine would fain have called the primitive -matter a _nothing-something_ and a _being non-being_, if such phrases -had been allowable. His thought was deep, but he could not find words to -express it thoroughly. Our “real potency” is that “nothing-something” -which was in the mind of the holy doctor. S. Thomas gives us a clew to -the explanation of such a “nothing-something” by remarking that _to be_ -and _to have being_ are not precisely the same thing. _To be_ is the -attribute of a complete act, whilst _to have being_ is the attribute -of a potency actuated by its act. That is said _to be_ which contains -in itself the formal reason of its being; whilst that is said _to have -being_ which does not contain in itself the formal reason of its being, -but receives its being from without, and puts it on as a borrowed -garment. Of course, God alone can be said _to be_ in the fullest meaning -of the term, as he alone contains in himself the _adequate_ reason of -his being; yet all created essence can be said _to be_, inasmuch as it -contains in itself the _formal_ reason of its being--that is, an act -giving existence to a potency; whereas the potency itself can be said -merely _to have being_, because _being_ is not included in the nature of -potency, but must come to it from a distinct source. And therefore, as -a thing colored _has_ color, but _is not_ color, and as a body animated -_has_ life, but _is not_ life, so the matter actuated by its form _has_ -being, but _is not_ a being. - -Some philosophers, who failed to take notice of this distinction, -maintained that the matter which exists under a substantial form is -an _incomplete being_, and an _incomplete substance_. The expression -is not correct. For, if the matter which lies under the substantial -form were an incomplete being, it would be the office of the form to -complete it. Now, the substantial form can have no such office; for the -form always inchoates what the matter completes. It is always the term -that completes the act, whilst the act actuates the term by giving it -the first being. Hence the matter which lies under its substantial form -is not an incomplete entity. Nor is it an entity destined to complete -the form; for, if the term which completes a form were a being, such a -term would be a real subject, and thus the form terminated to it would -not be strictly substantial, as it would not give it the first being. -Moreover, the matter and the substantial form constitute _one_ primitive -essence, in which it is impossible to admit a multiplicity of entitative -constituents; and therefore, since the substantial form, which is a -formal source of being, is evidently an entitative constituent, it -follows that the matter lying under it has no entity of its own, but is -merely clothed with the entity of its form. - -But, true though it is that the matter lying under a substantial form has -no entity of its own, it is, however, a _real_ term, as we have already -intimated; hence it may be called a _reality_. And since _reality_ -and _entity_ are commonly used as synonymous, we may admit that the -formed matter is an entity, adjectively, not substantively, just as we -admit that ivory is _a sphere_ when it lies under a spherical form. -Nevertheless the ivory, to speak more properly, should be said _to have -sphericity_ rather than _to be a sphere_; for, though it is the subject -of sphericity, it is not spherical of its own nature. In the same manner, -a body vivified by a soul is called _living_; but, properly speaking, it -should be styled _having life_, because life is not a property of the -body as such, but it springs from the presence of the soul in the body. -The like is to be said of the being of the matter as actuated by the -substantial form. It is from the form alone that such a matter has its -first being; and therefore such a matter has only a borrowed being, and -is a _real potency_, not a real entity. Such is, we believe, the true -interpretation of S. Augustine’s phrase: “nothing-something” and “being -non-being”--_Nihil aliquid, et est non est_. - -Nor is it strange that the matter should be _a reality_ without being -_an entity_, properly so called; for the like happens with all the real -terms of contingent things. Thus the real term of a line (the point) -is no linear entity, though it certainly belongs to the line, and is -something real in the line; the real term of time (the present instant, -or the _now_) is no temporal entity, as it has no extension, though it -certainly belongs to time, and is something real in time; the real term -of a body (the simple element) is no bodily entity, as it has no bulk, -though it certainly belongs to the body, and is something real in it; -the real term of a circle (the centre) is no circular entity, though -it certainly belongs to the circle, and is something real in it. And -in like manner the real term of a primitive contingent substance (its -potency) is no substantial entity, though it evidently belongs to the -contingent substance, and is something real in it. In God alone, whose -being excludes contingency, the substantial term (the Word) stands forth -as a true entity--a most perfect and infinite entity--for, as the term -of the divine generation is not educed out of nothing, it is absolutely -free from all potentiality, and is in eternal possession of infinite -actuality. Hence it is that God alone, as we have above remarked, can be -said _to be_ in the fullest meaning of the term. - -As the best authors agree that the matter which is under a substantial -form is no being, but only “a real potency,” we will dispense with -further considerations on this special point. What we have said suffices -to give our readers an idea of the _materia prima_ of the ancients, and -of the different manners in which it has been understood. - -_Substantial form._--Coming now to the notion of the substantial form -the first thing which deserves special notice is the fact that the -phrase “substantial form” can be interpreted in two manners, owing to -the double meaning attached to the epithet “substantial.” All the forms -which supervene to a specific nature already constituted have been called -“accidental,” and all the forms which enter into the constitution of -a specific nature have been called “substantial.” But as the accident -can be contrasted with the _essence_ no less than with the _substance_ -of a thing, so the substantial form can be defined either as that which -gives the first being to a certain _essence_, or as that which gives the -first being to a _substance_ as such. The schoolmen, in fact, left us -two definitions of their substantial forms, of which the first is: “The -substantial form is that which gives the first being to the matter”; the -second is: “The substantial form is that which gives the first being to -a thing.” The first definition belongs to the form strictly substantial, -for the result of the first actuation of matter is a primitive substance; -whereas the second has a much wider range, because all things which -involve material composition, in their specific nature, receive the -first specific being by a form which needs not give the first existence -to their material components, and which, therefore, is not strictly -a substantial form. Thus a molecule of oxygen, because it contains a -definite number of primitive elements, cannot be formally constituted -in its specific nature, except by a specific composition; and such a -composition is an essential, though not a truly substantial, form of the -compound, as we shall more fully explain in another article. - -The strictly substantial form contains in itself the whole reason of -the being of the substance; for the matter which completes it does -not contribute to the constitution of the substance, except as a mere -term--that is, by simply receiving existence, and therefore without -adding any new entity to the entity of the form. Whence it follows that -the form itself contains the whole reason of the resulting essence. -“Although the essence of a being,” says S. Thomas, “is neither the form -alone nor the matter alone, yet the form alone is, in its own manner, the -cause of such an essence.”[31] It cannot, however, be inferred from this -that the strictly substantial form is a _physical_ being. Physical beings -have a complete essence and an existence of their own; which is not the -case with any material form. “Even the forms themselves,” according to -S. Thomas, “have no being; it is only the compounds (of matter and form) -that have being through them.”[32] And again: “The substantial form -itself has no complete essence; for in the definition of the substantial -form it is necessary to include that of which it is the form.”[33] It -is plain that a being which has no complete essence and no possibility -of a separate existence cannot be styled a physical being, but only a -metaphysical constituent of the physical being. - -The schoolmen teach that the substantial forms of bodies _are educed out -of the potency of matter_. This proposition is true. For the so-called -“substantial” forms of bodies are not strictly substantial, but only -essential or natural forms, as they give the first existence, not to -the matter of which the bodies are composed, but only to the bodies -themselves. Now, all bodies are material compounds of a certain species, -and therefore involve distinct material terms bound together by a -specific form of composition, without which such a specific compound can -have no existence. The specific form of composition is therefore the -essential form of a body of a given species; and such is the form that -gives _the first being_ to the body. To say that such a form is educed -out of the potency of matter is to state an obvious truth, as it is known -that the composition of bodies is brought about by the mutual action of -the elements of which the bodies are constituted, which action proceeds -from the _active_ potency, and actuates the _passive_ potency of the -matter of the body, as we shall explain more fully in the sequel. - -But the old natural philosophers, who had no notion of primitive -unextended elements, when affirming the eduction of substantial forms out -of the potency of matter, took for granted that such forms were strictly -substantial, and gave the first being not only to the body, but also -to the matter itself of which the body was composed. In this they were -mistaken; but the mistake was excusable, as chemistry had not yet shown -the law of definite proportions in the combination of different bodies, -nor had the spectroscope revealed the fact that the primitive molecules -of all bodies are composed of free elementary substances vibrating around -a common centre, and remaining substantially identical amid all the -changes produced by natural causes in the material world. Nevertheless, -had they not been biassed by the _Ipse dixit_, the peripatetics would -have found that, though accidental forms, and many essential forms too, -are educed out of the potency of matter, yet the strictly substantial -forms cannot be so educed. - -The matter may be conceived either as formed or as unformed. If it is -formed, it is already in possession of its substantial form and of its -first being, which it never loses, as we shall prove hereafter. Therefore -such a matter is not in potency with regard to its first being; and thus -no strictly substantial form can be educed from the potency of the formed -matter. If, on the contrary, the matter is yet unformed, it is plain -that such a matter cannot be acted on by natural agents; for it has no -existence in the order of things, and therefore it cannot be the subject -of natural actions. How, then, can it receive the first being? Owing to -the impossibility of explaining how the unformed matter could be actuated -by natural agents, those who admitted the eduction of substantial forms -out of the potency of matter were constrained to assume that the _first_ -matter had some reality of its own, and consisted intrinsically, as -Suarez teaches, of act and potency. But, though it is true that the -matter must have some reality in order to receive from natural agents -a new form, it is evident that such a new form cannot be strictly -substantial; for it cannot give the first being to a matter already -endowed with being. Hence no strictly substantial form can be naturally -educed out of the potency of matter. - -If, then, a truly substantial form could in any sense be educed out of -the potency of matter, such an eduction should be made, not by natural -causes, but by God himself in the act of creation; for no agent, except -God, can bring matter into existence. But we think that even in this case -it would be incorrect to say that the substantial form is educed out -of the potency of matter. For, although the unformed matter, and the -nothingness out of which things are educed by creation, admit of no real -difference, yet the unformed matter, as a privative non-entity, involves -a formality of reason, which absolute nothingness does not involve; and -hence to substitute the unformed matter for absolute nothingness as the -extrinsic term of creation, is to present the fact of creation under a -false formality. God creates a substance, not by educing its _form_ out -of a privative non-entity--that is, out of an abstraction--but by educing -the _substance_ itself out of nothingness. And for this reason it would -be quite incorrect to call creation an eduction of a substantial form out -of the potency of matter. - -There is yet another reason why creation should not be so explained. For -the philosophers who admit the eduction of substantial forms out of the -potency of matter, assume, either explicitly or implicitly, that such -a potency is _real_, though they often call it “a pure potency,” as we -have stated. Their matter is therefore a _real_ subject of substantial -generations. Now, it is obvious that creation neither presupposes nor -admits a previous real subject. Hence, to say that creation is the -eduction of a substantial form out of the potency of matter, would be to -employ a very mischievous phrase, with nothing to justify it, even if no -other objection could be raised against its use. - -We conclude that strictly substantial forms are never educed out of the -potency of matter, but are simply educed out of nothing in creation. As, -however, every such form gives being to its matter, without which it -cannot exist, we commonly say that the whole substance, and not its form -as such, is educed out of nothing. S. Thomas says: “The term of creation -is a being in act; and its act is its form”[34]--the form, evidently, -which gives the first being to the matter, and which is therefore truly -and properly substantial. Hence, before the position of this act, nothing -exists in nature which can be styled “matter,” whilst at the position -of this act, and by virtue of it, the material substance itself is -instantly brought into existence. Accordingly, the position of an act -which formally gives existence to its term is the very eduction of the -substance out of nothing; and the strictly substantial form is educed out -of nothing in the very creation of the substance, whereas the matter, at -the mere position of such a form, and through it immediately, acquires -its first existence. The matter, as the reader may recollect, is to its -form what the centre of a sphere is to the spherical form. Hence, as the -centre acquires its being by the mere position of a spherical form, so -the matter acquires its being by the mere position of the substantial -form, without the concurrence of any other causality. - -This last conclusion may give rise to an objection, which we cannot leave -without an answer. The objection is the following: If the matter receives -its first being through the substantial form alone, it follows that God -did not create the matter, but only the form itself. - -We answer that when we speak of the creation of matter, the word “matter” -means “material substance.” For the term of creation, as we have just -remarked with S. Thomas, is _the being in act_--that is, the complete -being, as it physically exists in the order of nature. Now, such a being -is the substance itself. On the other hand, to create _the being in act_ -is to produce _the act_ which is the formal reason of the being; and -since the position of the act entails the existence of a potential term, -it is evident that God, by producing the act, causes the existence of the -potential term. But as this term is not a “real being,” but only a “real -potency,” and as its reality is merely “borrowed” from the substantial -form, it has nothing in itself which requires making, and therefore it -cannot be the term of a special creation. - -The old philosophers, who admitted the separability of the matter from -its substantial form, and who were for this reason obliged to grant to -such a matter an imperfect being, were wont to say that the matter was -_con-created_ with the form, and thus they seem to have conceived the -creation of a primitive material substance as including two partial -creations. But, as a primitive being includes but _one_ act, it cannot be -the term of _two_ actions; for two actions imply two acts. On the other -hand, the matter which is under the substantial act has no entity of its -own, as we have shown to be the true and common doctrine, and therefore -has no need of a special effection, but only of a formal actuation. Hence -the creation of a primitive material substance does not consist of two -partial creations. We may, however, adopt the term “_con-created_” to -express the fact that the position of the act entails the reality of the -potential term, just as the position of sphericity entails the existence -of a centre. - -The preceding remarks have been made with the object of preparing the -solution of a difficulty concerning the creation of matter. For matter -is potential, whilst God is a pure act without potency; but a pure -act without potency cannot produce anything potential, since it does -not contain in itself any potentiality nor anything equivalent to it. -Therefore the origin of matter cannot be accounted for by creation. - -The answer to this difficulty is as follows: We grant that the matter, as -distinguished from the form which gives it the first being, and therefore -as a potential term of the primitive substance, cannot be created, for -it is no being at all, but only a potency of being; and yet it does not -follow that the material substance itself cannot be created. Of course -God does not contain in himself, either formally or eminently, the -potentiality of his own creatures, but he eminently contains in himself -and can produce out of himself an endless multitude of acts giving -existence to as many potential terms. And thus God, by producing any such -act, causes the existence of its correspondent potency, which is not -efficiently made, but only formally actuated, as has been just explained. -Creation is an action, and action is the production of an act; hence -“the term of creation is _a being in act_, and this act is the form,” as -St. Thomas teaches; the matter, on the contrary, or the potency of the -created being, is a term coming out of nothingness by formal actuation, -and consequently having no being of its own, but owing whatever existence -it has to the act or form of which it is the term; so that, if God ceased -to conserve such an act, the term would instantly vanish altogether -without need of a special annihilation. Nothingness is the source of all -potentiality and imperfection, as God is the source of all actuality and -perfection. Hence even the spiritual creatures, in which there is no -matter, are essentially potential, inasmuch as they, too, have come out -of nothing. This suffices to show that God, though containing in himself -no formal and no virtual potentiality, can create a substance essentially -constituted of act and potency. For we have seen that, to create such a -substance, God needs only to produce an act _ad extra_, and that such an -act contains in itself the formal reason of its proportionate potency; -because “although the essence of a being is neither the form alone nor -the matter alone, yet the form alone is in its own manner (that is, by -formal principiation) the cause of such an essence.” - -And let this suffice respecting the general notions of first matter and -substantial form. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -THE LEADER OF THE CENTRUM IN THE GERMAN REICHSTAG. - -The Catholics of Germany have suffered a great loss in the death of -Herman von Mallinkrodt, deputy to the Reichstag. Germany now realizes -what he was, and it is indeed a pleasure for us to honor in this -periodical the memory of this extraordinary man by giving a short sketch -of his life. - -Herman von Mallinkrodt was born in Minden (Westphalia), on the 5th of -February, 1821. His father, who was of noble birth and a Prussian officer -of state, was a Protestant; his mother, _née_ Von Hartman, of Paderborn, -was an excellent Catholic. All the children of this marriage were -baptized Catholics--which is very seldom the case in mixed marriages--and -were filled with the true Catholic spirit. - -Like Herman, so also did his brother and sister, who were older than he, -distinguish themselves by their decidedly Catholic qualities. George, -who had become the possessor of the old convent of Boeddekken, founded -in the year 837 by S. Meinulph, cherished a special devotion towards -this the first saint of Paderborn, and rebuilt the chapel, destroyed in -the beginning of this century by the Prussian government. This chapel is -greatly esteemed as a perfect specimen of Gothic architecture, and is -now held in high honor, as being the final resting-place of Herman von -Mallinkrodt. His sister, Pauline, the foundress and mother-general of the -sisterhood of “Christian Love,” has become celebrated by the success she -has achieved in the education of girls. (The principal teacher of Pauline -was the noble convert and celebrated poetess, Louisa Aloysia Hensel, in -whose verses, according to the criticism of the Protestant historian -Barthel, more tender and Christian sentiments are expressed than are -to be found in any German production of modern times.) These excellent -Sisters were also expelled, as being dangerous to the state, and sought -as well as found a new field of usefulness in America, the land of -freedom. - -The true Catholic discipline of these three children they owe to the -careful training of their mother and the pure Catholic atmosphere of -Aix-la-Chapelle, to which city their father was sent as vice-president -of the government. Herman followed the profession of his father, and -studied jurisprudence. The interest felt by the young jurist in whatever -concerned the church is seen in the following incident, which had an -important influence on his whole life: When the time had arrived for him -to pass his state examination, he retired to the quiet of Boeddekken. -From different themes he selected the one treating on the judicial -relations between church and state. Not being satisfied with the view -taken by certain authors, he endeavored to arrive at a knowledge of the -matter by personal investigation, and after fourteen months of close -application he succeeded in establishing a system which proved itself on -all sides tenable and in harmony with the writings of the old canonists -of the church. The person to whose judgment the production was submitted -declared that the treatise, although excellent, was too strongly in -favor of the church, but that the author had permission to publish it, -which, however, was not done. Herman, nevertheless, as he afterwards told -one of his friends, had never to retract one of the principles he then -maintained; he had only to let them develop themselves more fully. As he -in his youth did not rest until he had become perfect master of any theme -he had to discuss, so also did he never in afterlife ascend the tribune, -upon which he won imperishable honors, until he had digested the whole -matter in his mind. We make no mention of the positions which Mallinkrodt -occupied as the servant of the state. It is well known that his strong -Catholic sentiments were for the Prussian government an insurmountable -objection to his being elevated to a post corresponding with his eminent -ability, until he, as counsellor of the government at Merseburg, left the -ungrateful service of the state. It was, however, his good fortune to -apply the talents which Almighty God had given him in so full a measure, -to his parliamentary duties for eighteen years, from 1852 to 1874, the -short interruption from 1864 to 1868 excepted. - -In his life his friends recognized his merits, and in his death even his -enemies confessed that a great man had passed away. - -This prominent leader Almighty God has taken from us in a sudden and -unexpected manner. The last Prussian Diet, at whose session he was -more conspicuous than ever before, had adjourned, and in paying his -farewell visits before his return to his home in Nord-Borchen, where -he possessed a family mansion, he contracted a cold, which finally -developed itself into an inflammation of the lungs and of the membrane -covering the thorax. On the fifth day of his sickness the man who, by his -indefatigable public labors and the grief he felt for the afflictions -undergone by the church, had worn out his life, passed to his eternal -reward, on the 26th of May, in the 53d year of his age. He had married -Thecla, _née_ Von Bernhard, a step-sister of his first wife, several -months before his death, and she was present when he died. Placing one -hand in hers, he embraced with the other the cross, which in life he had -always venerated and chosen as his standard. - -No pen can describe the heartfelt anguish which the Catholic people -of Germany felt at their loss. At the funeral services in Berlin the -distinguished members of all parties were present. The government alone -failed to acknowledge the merit of one who had so long been an eminent -leader in the Reichstag. Paderborn, to which city the body was conveyed, -has never witnessed such a grand funeral procession as that of Von -Mallinkrodt. From thence to Boeddekken, a distance of nine miles, one -congregation after the other formed the honorary escort, not counting -the crowd of mourners who had gathered together at Boeddekken, where the -deceased was to be buried in the chapel of S. Meinulph. A large number -of members of the Centrum party, nearly all the nobility of Westphalia, -were here assembled, and many cities of Germany sent deputies, who -deposited laurel wreaths upon the coffin. It was an imposing sight -when his Excellency Dr. Windthorst approached the open grave to strew, -as the last service of love, some blessed earth upon the remains of his -dear friend, the tears streaming meanwhile from his eyes. During the -funeral services the bells of the Cathedral of Münster tolled solemnly -for two hours, summoning Catholics from the different districts to attend -the High Mass of Requiem for the beloved dead; so that the words of -the Holy Scriptures applied to the hero of the Machabees can be truly -applied also to Von Mallinkrodt: “And all the people … bewailed him -with great lamentation” (1 Machabees ix. 20). It is a remarkable fact -that even his opponents, who during his lifetime attacked him with all -manner of weapons, could not but bestow the most unqualified praises -upon him in death. It would seem that the eloquence of Von Mallinkrodt -during his latter years had been all in vain; for although every seat -was filled as soon as he ascended the tribune to speak, and he was -listened to with profound attention, yet he exercised no influence upon -the votes, for the reason that they had previously been determined -upon. No one was found who could reply to his forcible arguments, for -they were unanswerable. Not only his graceful oratory, but the very -appearance of a man so true to his convictions, had its effect even upon -his opponents. It will not be out of place for us to give a few of the -tributes paid to his memory by those who differed from him in politics. -Even in Berlin, where titles are so plentiful, the general sentiment was -one of sorrow. “With respectful sympathy,” writes the _Spener Gazette_, -“we have to announce the unexpected death of a man distinguished not -only for talent, but for integrity--Herman von Mallinkrodt, deputy to -the Reichstag. He was sincerely convinced of the justice of the cause -he espoused. Greater praise we cannot bestow upon a friend, nor can we -refrain from acknowledging that our late adversary always acted from -principle.” “Von Mallinkrodt,” says the correspondent of the Berlin -_Progress_, “stood in the first rank when there was question regarding -the policy of the government against the church; no other orator, not -only of his own party, but even of the opposition, could compare with him -in logical reasoning or in rhetorical skill. His speeches give evident -proof of the rare combination of truth and ability to be found in this -great man.” The fault-finding Elberfelder _Gazette_ testifies as follows -to the eloquence of our deputy: “Who that has listened to even one of -Von Mallinkrodt’s speeches can ever forget the fascinating eloquence or -the picturesque appearance of the orator--reminding one of the Duke of -Alba, by the perfect dignity of his manner and the classic form of his -discourse?” The Magdeburg correspondent almost goes further when he says: -“He served his party with such disinterestedness, and was so indifferent -to his own advancement, that it would be well if all political parties -could show many such characters--men who live exclusively for one idea, -and sacrifice every temporal advantage to this idea. The Reichstag -will find it difficult to fill the vacuum caused by the death of Von -Mallinkrodt. In this all parties agree; and members who combated the -principles of the deceased with the greatest earnestness, nevertheless -confess that in energy and vigor of expression he was seldom equalled -and never excelled by any one.” “In regard to his exterior appearance,” -the Magdeburg _Gazette_ says: “Von Mallinkrodt, with his erect person, -beautifully-formed head, stern features, and flashing eyes, was a fine -specimen of a man who knew how to control his temper, and not give way -to an outburst of passion at an important moment. He was a leader who, -in the severest combat, could impart courage and confidence to his -followers, and he stood as firm as a rock when any attempt was made to -crush him.… He will not be soon forgotten by those with whom he has had -intellectual contests. Of Von Mallinkrodt, who stands alone among men, it -can be truly said: ‘He was a great man.’” - -The reader will pardon us for selecting from among the many tributes -of respect paid to the memory of Von Mallinkrodt one taken from the -democratic Frankfort _Gazette_, edited by Jews, which journal at other -times keeps its columns open to the most outrageous attacks upon the -Catholic Church. It says with great truth: “The single idea of the -church entirely filled the mind of this extraordinary and wonderful man; -and firmly as he upheld the system of Mühler-Krätzig, as steadfastly -did he oppose the policy of Falk. In this opposition he grew stronger -from session to session, the governing principle of his life developed -itself more and more fully, and he became bolder in his attack upon the -ministers and their parliamentary friends. Talent and character were -united in him; a true son of the church, he was at the same time a true -son of mother earth, and his healthy organization had its effect upon his -disposition. The last session of the Reichstag saw him at the height of -his usefulness; his last grand speech, in reference to the laws against -the bishops, was, as his friends and opponents acknowledge, the most -important parliamentary achievement since the beginning of the conflict.… -In him the Reichstag loses not only one of its shining lights, but also -a character of iron mould, such as is seldom found preserved in all its -strength in the present unsettled state of public affairs. We cannot join -in the requiem which the priests will sing around his catafalque, but his -honest opponents will venerate his memory, for he was, what can be said -of but few in our degenerate times--_a true man_.” - -With these noble qualities Von Mallinkrodt possessed the greatest -modesty; he was accessible to every one, cheerful and familiar in the -happy circle of his friends, respectful to his political opponents, just -and reasonable to Protestants, and devoted to his spiritual mother, the -Catholic Church. Like O’Connell, during his parliamentary labors he had -constant recourse to prayer. “Pray for me!” were his farewell words to -his sister when he went to Berlin to enter the arena of politics. When he -had concluded the above-mentioned last and grand speech in the Reichstag, -in regard to the laws against the bishops, with the words, _Per crucem ad -lucem_, which he himself translated, “through the cross to joy,” and when -he descended the tribune, he went directly to the seat of Rev. Father -Miller, of Berlin, counsellor of the bishop, stretched out his hand to -him, and said, “You have prayed well!” It is said of him that before -any important debate in the chambers he went in the morning to Holy -Communion. The people of Nord-Borchen tell one another with emotion how, -without ever having been noticed by him, they have observed their good -Von Mallinkrodt pass hours in prayer in the lonely chapel near Borchen. -What pious aspirations he made in that secluded spot God alone knows. He -was always very fond of reciting the Rosary, which devotion displayed -itself particularly upon his death-bed. He asked the Sister who nursed -him to recite the beads with him, as his weakness prevented him from -praying aloud. When his wife approached his couch of pain, after greeting -her affectionately, he told her to look for his rosary and crucifix, -which she would find lying beside him on the right. The following day, -when his sister, the Superioress Pauline, had arrived in Berlin, after -a friendly salutation, he said to her: “It is indeed good that you -are here; say with me another decade of the Rosary.” It is related of -O’Connell that in a decisive moment he would always retire to a corner -in the House of Parliament, in order to say the Rosary; it was also the -habit of Von Mallinkrodt. - -The same living faith which animated him in life gave him also -consolation in death. “Think of S. Elizabeth,” said he to his wife, -Thecla; “she also became a widow when young.” When his wife, the day -previous to his death, spoke to him of the love and grief of his five -children, tears filled his eyes; but he wiped them quietly away without -uttering a word, and looked up to heaven. He explained to the Sister -who attended him why during his whole illness he had never felt any -solicitude concerning his temporal or family affairs; for, said he, “I -have confidence in God.” - -Another remarkable feature of his last sickness, which testifies to the -peaceful state of mind of this Christian warrior, who fought the cause, -but not the individual, was the fact that he evinced real satisfaction -that his personal relations toward his political opponents had become -no worse, but even more friendly. It was this sentiment which, when the -fever had reached its height, caused him to exclaim: “I was willing to -live in peace with every one; but justice must prevail! Should Christians -not speak more like Christians when among Christians?” As Von Mallinkrodt -lived by faith, so also did he die, embracing the sign of redemption; and -thus he passed away _per crucem ad lucem_--through the cross to joy. - - -AN EXPOSITION OF THE CHURCH IN VIEW OF RECENT DIFFICULTIES AND -CONTROVERSIES AND THE PRESENT NEEDS OF THE AGE.[35] - -“These are not the times to sit with folded arms, while all the enemies -of God are occupied in overthrowing every thing worthy of respect.”--PIUS -IX., Jan. 13, 1873. - -“Yes, this change, this triumph, will come. I know not whether it will -come during my life, during the life of this poor Vicar of Jesus Christ; -but that it must come, I know. The resurrection will take place and we -shall see the end of all impiety.”--PIUS IX., Anniversary of the Roman -Plébiscite, 1872. - - -I. THE QUESTION STATED. - -The Catholic Church throughout the world, beginning at Rome, is in a -suffering state. There is scarcely a spot on the earth where she is not -assailed by injustice, oppression, or violent persecution. Like her -divine Author in his Passion, every member has its own trial of pain to -endure. All the gates of hell have been opened, and every species of -attack, as by general conspiracy, has been let loose at once upon the -church. - -Countries in which Catholics outnumber all other Christians put together, -as France, Austria, Italy, Spain, Bavaria, Baden, South America, Brazil, -and, until recently, Belgium, are for the most part controlled and -governed by hostile minorities, and in some instances the minority is -very small. - -Her adversaries, with the finger of derision, point out these facts -and proclaim them to the world. Look, they say, at Poland, Ireland, -Portugal, Spain, Bavaria, Austria, Italy, France, and what do you see? -Countries subjugated, or enervated, or agitated by the internal throes -of revolution. Everywhere among Catholic nations weakness only and -incapacity are to be discerned. This is the result of the priestly -domination and hierarchical influence of Rome! - -Heresy and schism, false philosophy, false science, and false art, -cunning diplomacy, infidelity, and atheism, one and all boldly raise up -their heads and attack the church in the face; while secret societies -of world-wide organization are stealthily engaged in undermining her -strength with the people. Even the Sick man--the Turk--who lives at the -beck of the so-called Christian nations, impudently kicks the church of -Christ, knowing full well there is no longer in Europe any power which -will openly raise a voice in her defence. - -How many souls, on account of this dreadful war waged against the church, -are now suffering in secret a bitter agony! How many are hesitating, -knowing not what to do, and looking for guidance! How many are wavering -between hope and fear! Alas! too many have already lost the faith. - -Culpable is the silence and base the fear which would restrain one’s -voice at a period when God, the church, and religion are everywhere -either openly denied, boldly attacked, or fiercely persecuted. In such -trying times as these silence or fear is betrayal. - -The hand of God is certainly in these events, and it is no less certain -that the light of divine faith ought to discern it. Through these clouds -which now obscure the church the light of divine hope ought to pierce, -enabling us to perceive a better and a brighter future; for this is what -is in store for the church and the world. That love which embraces at -once the greatest glory of God and the highest happiness of man should -outweigh all fear of misinterpretations, and urge one to make God’s hand -clear to those who are willing to see, and point out to them the way to -that happier and fairer future. - -What, then, has brought about this most deplorable state of things? How -can we account for this apparent lack of faith and strength on the part -of Catholics? Can it be true, as their enemies assert, that Catholicity, -wherever it has full sway, deteriorates society? Or is it contrary to the -spirit of Christianity that Christians should strive with all their might -to overcome evil in this world? Perhaps the Catholic Church has grown -old, as others imagine, and has accomplished her task, and is no longer -competent to unite together the conflicting interests of modern society, -and direct it towards its true destination? - -These questions are most serious ones. Their answers must be fraught with -most weighty lessons. Only a meagre outline of the course of argument can -be here given in so vast a field of investigation. - - -II. REMOTE CAUSE OF PRESENT DIFFICULTIES. - -One of the chief features of the history of the church for these last -three centuries has been its conflict with the religious revolution -of the XVIth century, properly called Protestantism. The nature of -Protestantism may be defined as the exaggerated development of personal -independence, directed to the negation of the divine authority of the -church, and chiefly aiming at its overthrow in the person of its supreme -representative, the Pope. - -It is a fixed law, founded in the very nature of the church, that every -serious and persistent denial of a divinely-revealed truth necessitates -its vigorous defence, calls out its greater development, and ends, -finally, in its dogmatic definition. - -The history of the church is replete with instances of this fact. One -must suffice. When Arius denied the divinity of Christ, which was always -held as a divinely-revealed truth, at once the doctors of the church and -the faithful were aroused in its defence. A general council was called at -Nice, and there this truth was defined and fixed for ever as a dogma of -the Catholic faith. The law has always been, from the first Council at -Jerusalem to that of the Vatican, that the negation of a revealed truth -calls out its fuller development and its explicit dogmatic definition. - -The Council of Trent refuted and condemned the errors of Protestantism at -the time of their birth, and defined the truths against which they were -directed; but, for wise and sufficient reasons, abstained from touching -the objective point of attack, which was, necessarily, the divine -authority of the church. For there was no standing-ground whatever for -a protest against the church, except in its denial. It would have been -the height of absurdity to admit an authority, and that divine, and at -the same time to refuse to obey its decisions. It was as well known then -as to-day that the keystone of the whole structure of the church was its -head. To overthrow the Papacy was to conquer the church. - -The supreme power of the church for a long period of years was the centre -around which the battle raged between the adversaries and the champions -of the faith. - -The denial of the Papal authority in the church necessarily occasioned -its fuller development. For as long as this hostile movement was -aggressive in its assaults, so long was the church constrained to -strengthen her defence, and make a stricter and more detailed application -of her authority in every sphere of her action, in her hierarchy, in her -general discipline, and in the personal acts of her children. Every new -denial was met with a new defence and a fresh application. The danger was -on the side of revolt, the safety was on that of submission. The poison -was an exaggerated spiritual independence, the antidote was increased -obedience to a divine external authority. - -The chief occupation of the church for the last three centuries was -the maintenance of that authority conferred by Christ on S. Peter and -his successors, in opposition to the efforts of Protestantism for its -overthrow; and the contest was terminated for ever in the dogmatic -definition of Papal Infallibility, by the church assembled in council in -the Vatican. Luther declared the pope Antichrist. The Catholic Church -affirmed the pope to be the Vicar of Christ. Luther stigmatized the See -of Rome as the seat of error. The council of the church defined the See -of Rome, the chair of S. Peter, to be the infallible interpreter of -divinely-revealed truth. This definition closed the controversy. - -In this pressing necessity of defending the papal authority of the -church, the society of S. Ignatius was born. It was no longer the -refutation of the errors of the Waldenses and the Albigenses that was -required, nor were the dangers to be combated such as arise from a -wealthy and luxurious society. The former had been met and overcome by -the Dominicans; the latter by the children of S. Francis. But new and -strange errors arose, and alarming threats from an entirely different -quarter were heard. Fearful blows were aimed and struck against the -keystone of the divine constitution of the church, and millions of her -children were in open revolt. In this great crisis, as in previous ones, -Providence supplied new men and new weapons to meet the new perils. -S. Ignatius, filled with faith and animated with heroic zeal, came to -the rescue, and formed an army of men devoted to the service of the -church, and specially suited to encounter its peculiar dangers. The -Papacy was their point of attack; the members of his society must be the -champions of the pope, his body-guard. The papal authority was denied; -the children of S. Ignatius must make a special vow of obedience to the -Holy Father. The prevailing sin of the time was disobedience; the members -of his company must aim at becoming the perfect models of the virtue of -obedience, men whose will should never conflict with the authority of the -church, _perinde cadaver_. The distinguishing traits of a perfect Jesuit -formed the antithesis of a thorough Protestant. - -The society founded by S. Ignatius undertook a heavy and an heroic task, -one in its nature most unpopular, and requiring above all on the part of -its members an entire abnegation of that which men hold dearest--their -own will. It is no wonder that their army of martyrs is so numerous and -their list of saints so long. - -Inasmuch as the way of destroying a vice is to enforce the practice of -its opposite virtue, and as the confessional and spiritual direction are -appropriate channels for applying the authority of the church to the -conscience and personal actions of the faithful, the members of this -society insisted upon the frequency of the one and the necessity of the -other. In a short period of time the Jesuits were considered the most -skilful and were the most-sought-after confessors and spiritual directors -in the church. - -They were mainly instrumental--by the science of their theologians, the -logic of their controversialists, the eloquence of their preachers, the -excellence of their spiritual writers, and, above all, by the influence -of their personal example--in saving millions from following in the great -revolt against the church, in regaining millions who had gone astray, -and in putting a stop to the numerical increase of Protestantism, almost -within the generation in which it was born. - -To their labors and influence it is chiefly owing that the distinguishing -mark of a sincere Catholic for the last three centuries has been a -special devotion to the Holy See and a filial obedience to the voice of -the pope, the common father of the faithful. - -The logical outcome of the existence of the society founded by S. -Ignatius of Loyola was the dogmatic definition of Papal Infallibility; -for this was the final word of victory of divine truth over the specific -error which the Jesuits were specially called to combat. - - -III. PROXIMATE CAUSE. - -The church, while resisting Protestantism, had to give her principal -attention and apply her main strength to those points which were -attacked. Like a wise strategist, she drew off her forces from the -places which were secure, and directed them to those posts where danger -threatened. As she was most of all engaged in the defence of her external -authority and organization, the faithful, in view of this defence, as -well as in regard to the dangers of the period, were specially guided to -the practice of the virtue of obedience. Is it a matter of surprise that -the character of the virtues developed was more passive than active? The -weight of authority was placed on the side of restraining rather than of -developing personal independent action. - -The exaggeration of personal authority on the part of Protestants brought -about in the church its greater restraint, in order that her divine -authority might have its legitimate exercise and exert its salutary -influence. The errors and evils of the times sprang from an unbridled -personal independence, which could be only counteracted by habits of -increased personal dependence. _Contraria contrariis curantur._ The -defence of the church and the salvation of the soul were ordinarily -secured at the expense, necessarily, of those virtues which properly go -to make up the strength of Christian manhood. - -The gain was the maintenance and victory of divine truth and the -salvation of the soul. The loss was a certain falling off in energy, -resulting in decreased action in the natural order. The former was a -permanent and inestimable gain. The latter was a temporary, and not -irreparable, loss. There was no room for a choice. The faithful were -placed in a position in which it became their unqualified duty to put -into practice the precept of our Lord when he said: _It is better for -thee to enter into life maimed or lame, than, having two hands or two -feet, to be cast into everlasting fire_.[36] - -In the principles above briefly stated may in a great measure be found -the explanation why fifty millions of Protestants have had generally a -controlling influence, for a long period, over two hundred millions of -Catholics, in directing the movements and destinies of nations. To the -same source may be attributed the fact that Catholic nations, when the -need was felt of a man of great personal energy at the head of their -affairs, seldom hesitated to choose for prime minister an indifferent -Catholic, or a Protestant, or even an infidel. These principles explain -also why Austria, France, Bavaria, Spain, Italy, and other Catholic -countries have yielded to a handful of active and determined radicals, -infidels, Jews, or atheists, and have been compelled to violate or -annul their concordats with the Holy See, and to change their political -institutions in a direction hostile to the interests of the Catholic -religion. Finally, herein lies the secret why Catholics are at this -moment almost everywhere oppressed and persecuted by very inferior -numbers. In the natural order the feebler are always made to serve the -stronger. Evident weakness on one side, in spite of superiority of -numbers, provokes on the other, where there is consciousness of power, -subjugation and oppression. - - -IV. IS THERE A WAY OUT? - -Is divine grace given only at the cost of natural strength? Is a true -Christian life possible only through the sacrifice of a successful -natural career? Are things to remain as they are at present? - -The general history of the Catholic religion in the past condemns these -suppositions as the grossest errors and falsest calumnies. Behold the -small numbers of the faithful and their final triumph over the great -colossal Roman Empire! Look at the subjugation of the countless and -victorious hordes of the Northern barbarians! Witness, again, the prowess -of the knights of the church, who were her champions in repulsing the -threatening Mussulman; every one of whom, by the rule of their order, -were bound not to flinch before two Turks! Call to mind the great -discoveries made in all branches of science, and the eminence in art, -displayed by the children of the church, and which underlie--if there -were only honesty enough to acknowledge it--most of our modern progress -and civilization! Long before Protestantism was dreamed of Catholic -states in Italy had reached a degree of wealth, power, and glory -which no Protestant nation--it is the confession of one of their own -historians--has since attained. - -There is, then, no reason in the nature of things why the existing -condition of Catholics throughout the world should remain as it is. The -blood that courses through our veins, the graces given in our baptism, -the light of our faith, the divine life-giving Bread we receive, are all -the same gifts and privileges which we have in common with our great -ancestors. We are the children of the same mighty mother, ever fruitful -of heroes and great men. The present state of things is neither fatal -nor final, but only one of the many episodes in the grand history of the -church of God. - - -V. WHICH IS THE WAY OUT? - -No better evidence is needed of the truth of the statements just made -than the fact that all Catholics throughout the world are ill at ease -with things as they are. The world at large is agitated, as it never has -been before, with problems which enter into the essence of religion or -are closely connected therewith. Many serious minds are occupied with the -question of the renewal of religion and the regeneration of society. The -aspects in which questions of this nature are viewed are as various as -the remedies proposed are numerous. Here are a few of the more important -ones. - -One class of men would begin by laboring for the reconciliation of -all Christian denominations, and would endeavor to establish unity in -Christendom as the way to universal restoration. Another class starts -with the idea that the remedy would be found in giving a more thorough -and religious education to youth in schools, colleges, and universities. -Some would renew the church by translating her liturgies into the vulgar -tongues, by reducing the number of her forms of devotion, and by giving -to her worship greater simplicity. Others, again, propose to alter the -constitution of the church by the practice of universal elections in the -hierarchy, by giving the lay element a larger share in the direction of -ecclesiastical matters, and by establishing national churches. There -are those who hope for a better state of things by placing Henry V. -on the throne of France, and Don Carlos on that of Spain. Others, -contrariwise, having lost all confidence in princes, look forward with -great expectations to a baptized democracy, a holy Roman democracy, just -as formerly there was a Holy Roman Empire. Not a few are occupied with -the idea of reconciling capital with labor, of changing the tenure of -property, and abolishing standing armies. Others propose a restoration of -international law, a congress of nations, and a renewed and more strict -observance of the Decalogue. According to another school, theological -motives have lost their hold on the people, the task of directing society -has devolved upon science, and its apostolate has begun. There are -those, moreover, who hold that society can only be cured by an immense -catastrophe, and one hardly knows what great cataclysm is to happen and -save the human race. Finally, we are told that the reign of Antichrist -has begun, that signs of it are everywhere, and that we are on the eve of -the end of the world. - -These are only a few of the projects, plans, and remedies which are -discussed, and which more or less occupy and agitate the public mind. How -much truth or error, how much good or bad, each or all of these theories -contain, would require a lifetime to find out. - -The remedy for our evils must be got at, to be practical, in another way. -If a new life be imparted to the root of a tree, its effects will soon be -seen in all its branches, twigs, and leaves. Is it not possible to get at -the root of all our evils, and with a radical remedy renew at once the -whole face of things? Universal evils are not cured by specifics. - - -VI. THE WAY OUT. - -All things are to be viewed and valued as they bear on the destiny of -man. Religion is the solution of the problem of man’s destiny. Religion, -therefore, lies at the root of everything which concerns man’s true -interest. - -Religion means Christianity, to all men, or to nearly all, who hold -to any religion among European nations. Christianity, intelligibly -understood, signifies the church, the Catholic Church. The church is God -acting through a visible organization directly on men, and, through men, -on society. - -The church is the sum of all problems, and the most potent fact in the -whole wide universe. It is therefore illogical to look elsewhere for the -radical remedy of all our evils. It is equally unworthy of a Catholic to -look elsewhere for the renewal of religion. - -The meditation of these great truths is the source from which the -inspiration must come, if society is to be regenerated and the human race -directed to its true destination. He who looks to any other quarter for -a radical and adequate remedy and for true guidance is doomed to failure -and disappointment. - - -VII. MISSION OF THE HOLY SPIRIT. - -It cannot be too deeply and firmly impressed on the mind that the church -is actuated by the instinct of the Holy Spirit; and to discern clearly -its action, and to co-operate with it effectually, is the highest -employment of our faculties, and at the same time the primary source of -the greatest good to society. - -Did we clearly see and understand the divine action of the Holy Spirit -in the successive steps of the history of the church, we would fully -comprehend the law of all true progress. If in this later period more -stress was laid on the necessity of obedience to the external authority -of the church than in former days, it was, as has been shown, owing to -the peculiar dangers to which the faithful were exposed. It would be an -inexcusable mistake to suppose for a moment that the holy church, at any -period of her existence, was ignorant or forgetful of the mission and -office of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit established the church, and -can he forget his own mission? It is true that he has to guide and govern -through men, but he is the Sovereign of men, and especially of those whom -he has chosen as his immediate instruments. - -The essential and universal principle which saves and sanctifies souls -is the Holy Spirit. He it was who called, inspired, and sanctified the -patriarchs, the prophets and saints of the old dispensation. The same -divine Spirit inspired and sanctified the apostles, the martyrs, and the -saints of the new dispensation. The actual and habitual guidance of the -soul by the Holy Spirit is the essential principle of all divine life. “I -have taught the prophets from the beginning, and even till now I cease -not to speak to all.”[37] Christ’s mission was to give the Holy Spirit -more abundantly. - -No one who reads the Holy Scriptures can fail to be struck with the -repeated injunctions to turn our eyes inward, to walk in the divine -presence, to see and taste and listen to God in the soul. These -exhortations run all through the inspired books, beginning with that of -Genesis, and ending with the Revelations of S. John. “I am the Almighty -God, walk before me, and be perfect,”[38] was the lesson which God gave -to the patriarch Abraham. “Be still and see that I am God.”[39] “O -taste, and see that the Lord is sweet; blessed is the man that hopeth in -him.”[40] God is the guide, the light of the living, and our strength. -“God’s kingdom is within you,” said the divine Master. “Know you not -that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth -in you?”[41] “For it is God who worketh in you both to will and to -accomplish, according to his will.”[42] The object of divine revelation -was to make known and to establish within the souls of men, and through -them upon the earth, the kingdom of God. - -In accordance with the Sacred Scriptures, the Catholic Church teaches -that the Holy Spirit is infused, with all his gifts, into our souls by -the sacrament of baptism, and that, without his actual prompting or -inspiration and aid, no thought or act, or even wish, tending directly -towards our true destiny, is possible. - -The whole aim of the science of Christian perfection is to instruct men -how to remove the hindrances in the way of the action of the Holy Spirit, -and how to cultivate those virtues which are most favorable to his -solicitations and inspirations. Thus the sum of spiritual life consists -in observing and fortifying the ways and movements of the Spirit of God -in our soul, employing for this purpose all the exercises of prayer, -spiritual reading, sacraments, the practice of virtues, and good works. - -That divine action which is the immediate and principal cause of the -salvation and perfection of the soul claims by right its direct and -main attention. From this source within the soul there will gradually -come to birth the consciousness of the indwelling presence of the Holy -Spirit, out of which will spring a force surpassing all human strength, -a courage higher than all human heroism, a sense of dignity excelling -all human greatness. The light the age requires for its renewal can come -only from the same source. The renewal of the age depends on the renewal -of religion. The renewal of religion depends upon a greater effusion of -the creative and renewing power of the Holy Spirit. The greater effusion -of the Holy Spirit depends on the giving of increased attention to his -movements and inspirations in the soul. The radical and adequate remedy -for all the evils of our age, and the source of all true progress, -consist in increased attention and fidelity to the action of the Holy -Spirit in the soul. “Thou shalt send forth thy Spirit, and they shall be -created: and thou shalt renew the face of the earth.”[43] - - -VIII. THE MEN THE AGE DEMANDS. - -This truth will be better seen by looking at the matter a little more in -detail. The age, we are told, calls for men worthy of that name. Who are -those worthy to be called men? Men, assuredly, whose intelligences and -wills are divinely illuminated and fortified. This is precisely what is -produced by the gifts of the Holy Spirit; they enlarge all the faculties -of the soul at once. - -The age is superficial; it needs the gift of wisdom, which enables -the soul to contemplate truth in its ultimate causes. The age is -materialistic; it needs the gift of intelligence, by the light of -which the intellect penetrates into the essence of things. The age -is captivated by a false and one-sided science; it needs the gift of -science, by the light of which is seen each order of truth in its -true relations to other orders and in a divine unity. The age is in -disorder, and is ignorant of the way to true progress; it needs the gift -of counsel, which teaches how to choose the proper means to attain an -object. The age is impious; it needs the gift of piety, which leads the -soul to look up to God as the Heavenly Father, and to adore him with -feelings of filial affection and love. The age is sensual and effeminate; -it needs the gift of force, which imparts to the will the strength to -endure the greatest burdens and to prosecute the greatest enterprises -with ease and heroism. The age has lost and almost forgotten God; it -needs the gift of fear, to bring the soul again to God, and make it feel -conscious of its great responsibility and of its destiny. - -Men endowed with these gifts are the men for whom--if it but knew -it--the age calls: men whose minds are enlightened and whose wills are -strengthened by an increased action of the Holy Spirit; men whose souls -are actuated by the gifts of the Holy Spirit; men whose countenances are -lit up with a heavenly joy, who breathe an air of inward peace, and act -with a holy liberty and an unaccountable energy. One such soul does more -to advance the kingdom of God than tens of thousands without such gifts. -These are the men and this is the way--if the age could only be made to -see and believe it--to universal restoration, universal reconciliation, -and universal progress. - - -IX. THE CHURCH HAS ENTERED ON THIS WAY. - -The men the age and its needs demand depend on a greater infusion of the -Holy Spirit in the souls of the faithful; and the church has been already -prepared for this event. - -Can one suppose for a moment that so long, so severe, a contest, as that -of the three centuries just passed, which, moreover, has cost so dearly, -has not been fraught with the greatest utility to the church? Does God -ever allow his church to suffer loss in the struggle to accomplish her -divine mission? - -It is true that the powerful and persistent assaults of the errors of -the XVIth century against the church forced her, so to speak, out of the -usual orbit of her movement; but having completed her defence from all -danger on that side, she is returning to her normal course with increased -agencies--thanks to that contest--and is entering upon a new and fresh -phase of life, and upon a more vigorous action in every sphere of her -existence. The chiefest of these agencies, and the highest in importance, -was that of the definition concerning the nature of papal authority. -For the definition of the Vatican Council, having rendered the supreme -authority of the church, which is the unerring interpreter and criterion -of divinely-revealed truth, more explicit and complete, has prepared the -way for the faithful to follow, with greater safety and liberty, the -inspirations of the Holy Spirit. The dogmatic papal definition of the -Vatican Council is, therefore, the axis on which turn the new course -of the church, the renewal of religion, and the entire restoration of -society. - -O blessed fruit! purchased at the price of so hard a struggle, but which -has gained for the faithful an increased divine illumination and force, -and thereby the renewal of the whole face of the world. - -It is easy to perceive how great a blunder the so-called “Old Catholics” -committed in opposing the conciliar definition. They professed a desire -to see a more perfect reign of the Holy Spirit in the church, and by -their opposition rejected, so far as in them lay, the very means of -bringing it about! - -This by the way: let us continue our course, and follow the divine -action in the church, which is the initiator and fountain-source of the -restoration of all things. - -What is the meaning of these many pilgrimages to holy places, to -the shrines of great saints, the multiplication of Novenas and new -associations of prayer? Are they not evidence of increased action of the -Holy Spirit on the faithful? Why, moreover, these cruel persecutions, -vexatious fines, and numerous imprisonments of the bishops, clergy, and -laity of the church? What is the secret of this stripping the church of -her temporal possessions and authority? These things have taken place by -the divine permission. Have not all these inflictions increased greatly -devotion to prayer, cemented more closely the unity of the faithful, and -turned the attention of all members of the church, from the highest to -the lowest, to look for aid from whence it alone can come--from God? - -These trials and sufferings of the faithful are the first steps towards -a better state of things. They detach from earthly things and purify -the human side of the church. From them will proceed light and strength -and victory. _Per crucem ad lucem._ “If the Lord wishes that other -persecutions should be sown, the church feels no alarm; on the contrary, -persecutions purify her and confer upon her a fresh force and a new -beauty. There are, in truth, in the church certain things which need -purification, and for this purpose those persecutions answer best which -are launched against her by great politicians.” Such is the language of -Pius IX.[44] - -These are only some of the movements, which are public. But how many -souls in secret suffer sorely in seeing the church in such tribulations, -and pray for her deliverance with a fervor almost amounting to agony! Are -not all these but so many preparatory steps to a Pentecostal effusion of -the Holy Spirit on the church--an effusion, if not equal in intensity to -that of apostolic days, at least greater than it in universality? “If -at no epoch of the evangelical ages the reign of Satan was so generally -welcome as in this our day, the action of the Holy Spirit will have -to clothe itself with the characteristics of an exceptional extension -and force. The axioms of geometry do not appear to us more rigorously -exact than this proposition. A certain indefinable presentiment of -this necessity of a new effusion of the Holy Spirit for the actual -world exists, and of this presentiment the importance ought not to be -exaggerated; but yet it would seem rash to make it of no account.”[45] - -Is not this the meaning of the presentiment of Pius IX., when he said: -“Since we have nothing, or next to nothing, to expect from men, let us -place our confidence more and more in God, whose heart is preparing, as -it seems to me, to accomplish, in the moment chosen by himself, a great -prodigy, which will fill the whole earth with astonishment”?[46] - -Was not the same presentiment before the mind of De Maistre when he -penned the following lines: “We are on the eve of the greatest of -religious epochs; … it appears to me that every true philosopher must -choose between these two hypotheses: either that a new religion is about -to be formed, or that Christianity will be renewed in some extraordinary -manner”?[47] - - -X. TWOFOLD ACTION OF THE HOLY SPIRIT. - -Before further investigation of this new phase of the church, it would -perhaps be well to set aside a doubt which might arise in the minds of -some, namely, whether there is not danger in turning the attention of the -faithful in a greater degree in the direction contemplated? - -The enlargement of the field of action for the soul, without a true -knowledge of the end and scope of the external authority of the church, -would only open the door to delusions, errors, and heresies of every -description, and would be in effect merely another form of Protestantism. - -On the other hand, the exclusive view of the external authority of the -church, without a proper understanding of the nature and work of the -Holy Spirit in the soul, would render the practice of religion formal, -obedience servile, and the church sterile. - -The action of the Holy Spirit embodied visibly in the authority of -the church, and the action of the Holy Spirit dwelling invisibly in -the soul, form one inseparable synthesis; and he who has not a clear -conception of this twofold action of the Holy Spirit is in danger -of running into one or the other, and sometimes into both, of these -extremes, either of which is destructive of the end of the church. - -The Holy Spirit, in the external authority of the church, acts as the -infallible interpreter and criterion of divine revelation. The Holy -Spirit in the soul acts as the divine Life-Giver and Sanctifier. It is of -the highest importance that these two distinct offices of the Holy Spirit -should not be confounded. - -The supposition that there can be any opposition or contradiction between -the action of the Holy Spirit in the supreme decisions of the authority -of the church, and the inspirations of the Holy Spirit in the soul, can -never enter the mind of an enlightened and sincere Christian. The same -Spirit which through the authority of the church teaches divine truth, is -the same Spirit which prompts the soul to receive the divine truths which -he teaches. The measure of our love for the Holy Spirit is the measure -of our obedience to the authority of the church; and the measure of our -obedience to the authority of the church is the measure of our love for -the Holy Spirit. Hence the sentence of S. Augustine: “_Quantum quisque -amat ecclesiam Dei, tantum habet Spiritum Sanctum_.” There is one Spirit, -which acts in two different offices concurring to the same end--the -regeneration and sanctification of the soul. - -In case of obscurity or doubt concerning what is the divinely-revealed -truth, or whether what prompts the soul is or is not an inspiration -of the Holy Spirit, recourse must be had to the divine teacher or -criterion, the authority of the church. For it must be borne in mind -that to the church, as represented in the first instance by S. Peter, -and subsequently by his successors, was made the promise of her divine -Founder that “the gates of hell should never prevail against her.”[48] No -such promise was ever made by Christ to each individual believer. “The -church of the living God is the pillar and ground of truth.”[49] The -test, therefore, of a truly enlightened and sincere Christian, will be, -in case of uncertainty, the promptitude of his obedience to the voice of -the church. - -From the above plain truths the following practical rule of conduct may -be drawn: The Holy Spirit is the immediate guide of the soul in the way -of salvation and sanctification; and the criterion or test that the soul -is guided by the Holy Spirit is its ready obedience to the authority of -the church. This rule removes all danger whatever, and with it the soul -can walk, run, or fly, if it chooses, in the greatest safety and with -perfect liberty, in the ways of sanctity. - - -XI. NEW PHASE OF THE CHURCH. - -There are signs which indicate that the members of the church have not -only entered upon a deeper and more spiritual life, but that from the -same source has arisen a new phase of their intellectual activity. - -The notes of the divine institution of the church--and the credibility of -divine revelation--with her constitution and organization, having been -in the main completed on the external side, the notes which now require -special attention and study are those respecting her divine character, -which lie on the internal side. - -The mind of the church has been turned in this direction for some time -past. One has but to read the several Encyclical letters of the present -reigning Supreme Pontiff, and the decrees of the Vatican Council, to be -fully convinced of this fact. - -No pontiff has so strenuously upheld the value and rights of human reason -as Pius IX.; and no council has treated so fully of the relations of -the natural with the supernatural as that of the Vatican. It must be -remembered the work of both is not yet concluded. Great mission that, to -fix for ever those truths so long held in dispute, and to open the door -to the fuller knowledge of other and still greater verities! - -It is the divine action of the Holy Spirit in and through the church -which gives her external organization the reason for its existence. -And it is the fuller explanation of the divine side of the church and -its relations with her human side, giving always to the former its due -accentuation, that will contribute to the increase of the interior -life of the faithful, and aid powerfully to remove the blindness of -those--whose number is much larger than is commonly supposed--who only -see the church on her human side. - -As an indication of these studies, the following mere suggestions, -concerning the relations of the internal with the external side of the -church, are here given. - -The practical aim of all true religion is to bring each individual soul -under the immediate guidance of the divine Spirit. The divine Spirit -communicates himself to the soul by means of the sacraments of the -church. The divine Spirit acts as the interpreter and criterion of -revealed truth by the authority of the church. The divine Spirit acts as -the principle of regeneration and sanctification in each Christian soul. -The same Spirit clothes with suitable ceremonies and words the truths of -religion and the interior life of the soul in the liturgy and devotions -of the church. The divine Spirit acts as the safeguard of the life of the -soul and of the household of God in the discipline of the church. The -divine Spirit established the church as the practical and perfect means -of bringing all souls under his own immediate guidance and into complete -union with God. This is the realization of the aim of all true religion. -Thus all religions, viewed in the aspect of a divine life, find their -common centre in the Catholic Church. - -The greater part of the intellectual errors of the age arise from a lack -of knowledge of the essential relations of the light of faith with the -light of reason; of the connection between the mysteries and truths of -divine revelation and those discovered and attainable by human reason; of -the action of divine grace and the action of the human will. - -The early Greek and Latin fathers of the church largely cultivated this -field. The scholastics greatly increased the riches received from their -predecessors. And had not the attention of the church been turned aside -from its course by the errors of the XVIth century, the demonstration -of Christianity on its intrinsic side would ere this have received its -finishing strokes. The time has come to take up this work, continue it -where it was interrupted, and bring it to completion. Thanks to the -Encyclicals of Pius IX. and the decisions of the Vatican Council, this -task will not now be so difficult. - -Many, if not most, of the distinguished apologists of Christianity, -theologians, philosophers, and preachers, either by their writings or -eloquence, have already entered upon this path. The recently-published -volumes, and those issuing day by day from the press, in exposition, or -defence, or apology of Christianity, are engaged in this work. - -This explanation of the internal life and constitution of the church, -and of the intelligible side of the mysteries of faith and the intrinsic -reasons for the truths of divine revelation, giving to them their due -emphasis, combined with the external notes of credibility, would complete -the demonstration of Christianity. Such an exposition of Christianity, -the union of the internal with the external notes of credibility, is -calculated to produce a more enlightened and intense conviction of its -divine truth in the faithful, to stimulate them to a more energetic -personal action; and, what is more, it would open the door to many -straying, but not altogether lost, children, for their return to the fold -of the church. - -The increased action of the Holy Spirit, with a more vigorous -co-operation on the part of the faithful, which is in process of -realization, will elevate the human personality to an intensity of force -and grandeur productive of a new era to the church and to society--an -era difficult for the imagination to grasp, and still more difficult to -describe in words, unless we have recourse to the prophetic language of -the inspired Scriptures. - -Is not such a demonstration of Christianity and its results anticipated -in the following words? - -“We are about to see,” said Schlegel, “a new exposition of Christianity, -which will reunite all Christians, and even bring back the infidels -themselves.” “This reunion between science and faith,” says the -Protestant historian Ranke, “will be more important in its spiritual -results than was the discovery of a new hemisphere three hundred years -ago, or even than that of the true system of the world, or than any other -discovery of any kind whatever.” - - -XII. MISSION OF RACES. - -Pursuing our study of the action of the Holy Spirit, we shall perceive -that a deeper and more explicit exposition of the divine side of the -church, in view of the characteristic gifts of different races, is the -way or means of realizing the hopes above expressed. - -God is the author of the differing races of men. He, for his own good -reasons, has stamped upon them their characteristics, and appointed them -from the beginning their places which they are to fill in his church. - -In a matter where there are so many tender susceptibilities, it is highly -important not to overrate the peculiar gifts of any race, nor, on the -other hand, to underrate them or exaggerate their vices or defects. -Besides, the different races in modern Europe have been brought so -closely together, and have been mingled to such an extent, that their -differences can only be detected in certain broad and leading features. - -It would be also a grave mistake, in speaking of the providential mission -of the races, to suppose that they imposed their characteristics on -religion, Christianity, or the church; whereas, on the contrary, it -is their Author who has employed in the church their several gifts for -the expression and development of those truths for which he specially -created them. The church is God acting through the different races of men -for their highest development, together with their present and future -greatest happiness and his own greatest glory. “God directs the nations -upon the earth.”[50] - -Every leading race of men, or great nation, fills a large space in the -general history of the world. It is an observation of S. Augustine that -God gave the empire of the world to the Romans as a reward for their -civic virtues. But it is a matter of surprise how large and important a -part divine Providence has appointed special races to take in the history -of religion. It is here sufficient merely to mention the Israelites. - -One cannot help being struck with the mission of the Latin and Celtic -races during the greater period of the history of Christianity. What -brought them together in the first instance was the transference of -the chair of S. Peter, the centre of the church, to Rome, the centre -of the Latin race. Rome, then, was the embodied expression of a -perfectly-organized, world-wide power. Rome was the political, and, by -its great roads, the geographical, centre of the world. - -What greatly contributed to the predominance of the Latin race, and -subsequently of the Celts in union with the Latins, was the abandonment -of the church by the Greeks by schism, and the loss of the larger -portion of the Saxons by the errors and revolt of the XVIth century. -The faithful, in consequence, were almost exclusively composed of -Latin-Celts. - -The absence of the Greeks and of so large a portion of the Saxons, -whose tendencies and prejudices in many points are similar, left a -freer course and an easier task to the church, through her ordinary -channels of action, as well as through her extraordinary ones--the -Councils, namely, of Trent and the Vatican--to complete her authority and -external constitution. For the Latin-Celtic races are characterized by -hierarchical, traditional, and emotional tendencies. - -These were the human elements which furnished the church with the -means of developing and completing her supreme authority, her divine -and ecclesiastical traditions, her discipline, her devotions, and, in -general, her æsthetics. - - -XIII. SOME OF THE CAUSES OF PROTESTANTISM. - -It was precisely the importance given to the external constitution -and to the accessories of the church which excited the antipathies of -the Saxons, which culminated in the so-called Reformation. For the -Saxon races and the mixed Saxons, the English and their descendants, -predominate in the rational element, in an energetic individuality, and -in great practical activity in the material order. - -One of the chief defects of the Saxon mind lay in not fully understanding -the constitution of the church, or sufficiently appreciating the -essential necessity of her external organization. Hence their -misinterpretation of the providential action of the Latin-Celts, and -their charges against the church of formalism, superstition, and popery. -They wrongfully identified the excesses of those races with the church -of God. They failed to take into sufficient consideration the great -and constant efforts the church had made, in her national and general -councils, to correct the abuses and extirpate the vices which formed the -staple of their complaints. - -Conscious, also, of a certain feeling of repression of their natural -instincts, while this work of the Latin-Celts was being perfected, they -at the same time felt a great aversion to the increase of externals in -outward worship, and to the minute regulations in discipline, as well as -to the growth of papal authority and the outward grandeur of the papal -court. The Saxon leaders in heresy of the XVIth century, as well as those -of our own day, cunningly taking advantage of those antipathies, united -with selfish political considerations, succeeded in making a large number -believe that the question in controversy was not what it really was--a -question, namely, between Christianity and infidelity--but a question -between Romanism and Germanism! - -It is easy to foresee the result of such a false issue; for it is -impossible, humanly speaking, that a religion can maintain itself among -a people when once they are led to believe it wrongs their natural -instincts, is hostile to their national development, or is unsympathetic -with their genius. - -With misunderstandings, weaknesses, and jealousies on both sides, these, -with various other causes, led thousands and millions of Saxons and -Anglo-Saxons to resistance, hatred, and, finally, open revolt against the -authority of the church. - - -XIV. PRESENT SAXON PERSECUTIONS. - -The same causes which mainly produced the religious rebellion of the -XVIth century are still at work among the Saxons, and are the exciting -motives of their present persecutions against the church. - -Looking through the distorted medium of their Saxon prejudices, grown -stronger with time, and freshly stimulated by the recent definition of -Papal Infallibility, they have worked themselves into the belief--seeing -the church only on the outside, as they do--that she is purely a human -institution, grown slowly, by the controlling action of the Latin-Celtic -instincts, through centuries, to her present formidable proportions. The -doctrines, the sacraments, the devotions, the worship of the Catholic -Church, are, for the most part, from their stand-point, corruptions -of Christianity, having their source in the characteristics of the -Latin-Celtic races. The papal authority, to their sight, is nothing else -than the concentration of the sacerdotal tendencies of these races, -carried to their culminating point by the recent Vatican definition, -which was due, in the main, to the efforts and the influence exerted -by the Jesuits. This despotic ecclesiastical authority, which commands -a superstitious reverence and servile submission to all its decrees, -teaches doctrines inimical to the autonomy of the German Empire, and -has fourteen millions or more of its subjects under its sway, ready at -any moment to obey, at all hazards, its decisions. What is to hinder -this ultramontane power from issuing a decree, in a critical moment, -which will disturb the peace and involve, perhaps, the overthrow of -that empire, the fruit of so great sacrifices, and the realization -of the ardent aspirations of the Germanic races? Is it not a dictate -of self-preservation and political prudence to remove so dangerous an -element, and that at all costs, from the state? Is it not a duty to free -so many millions of our German brethren from this superstitious yoke and -slavish subjection? Has not divine Providence bestowed the empire of -Europe upon the Saxons, and placed us Prussians at its head, in order to -accomplish, with all the means at our disposal, this great work? Is not -this a duty which we owe to ourselves, to our brother Germans, and, above -all, to God? This supreme effort is our divine mission! - -This picture of the Catholic Church, as it appears to a large class -of non-Catholic German minds, is not overdrawn. It admits of higher -coloring, and it would still be true and even more exact. - -This is the monster which the too excited imagination and the -deeply-rooted prejudice of the Saxon mind have created, and called, by -way of contempt, the “Latin,” the “Romish,” the “Popish” Church. It is -against this monster that they direct their persistent attacks, their -cruel persecutions, animated with the fixed purpose of accomplishing its -entire overthrow. - -Is this a thing to be marvelled at, when Catholics themselves abhor -and detest this caricature of the Catholic Church--for it is nothing -else--more than these men do, or possibly can do? - -The attitude of the German Empire, and of the British Empire also, until -the Emancipation Act, _vis-à-vis_ to the Catholic Church as they conceive -her to be, may, stripped of all accidental matter, be stated thus: -Either adapt Latin Christianity, the Romish Church, to the Germanic type -of character and to the exigencies of the empire, or we will employ all -the forces and all the means at our disposal to stamp out Catholicity -within our dominions, and to exterminate its existence, as far as our -authority and influence extend! - - -XV. RETURN OF THE SAXON RACES TO THE CHURCH. - -The German mind, when once it is bent upon a course, is not easily turned -aside, and the present out-look for the church in Germany is not, humanly -speaking, a pleasant one to contemplate. It is an old and common saying -that “Truth is mighty, and will prevail.” But why? “Truth is mighty” -because it is calculated to convince the mind, captivate the soul, and -solicit its uttermost devotion and action. “Truth will prevail,” provided -it is so presented to the mind as to be seen really as it is. It is only -when the truth is unknown or disfigured that the sincere repel it. - -The return, therefore, of the Saxon races to the church, is to be hoped -for, not by trimming divine truth, nor by altering the constitution of -the church, nor by what are called concessions. Their return is to be -hoped for, by so presenting the divine truth to their minds that they -can see that it is divine truth. This will open their way to the church -in harmony with their genuine instincts, and in her bosom they will -find the realization of that career which their true aspirations point -out for them. For the Holy Spirit, of which the church is the organ and -expression, places every soul, and therefore all nations and races, in -the immediate and perfect relation with their supreme end, God, in whom -they obtain their highest development, happiness, and glory, both in this -life and in the life to come. - -The church, as has been shown, has already entered on this path of -presenting more intimately and clearly her inward and divine side to the -world; for her deepest and most active thinkers are actually engaged, -more or less consciously, in this providential work. - -In showing more fully the relations of the internal with the external -side of the church, keeping in view the internal as the end and aim of -all, the mystic tendencies of the German mind will truly appreciate the -interior life of the church, and find in it their highest satisfaction. -By penetrating more deeply into the intelligible side of the mysteries of -faith and the intrinsic reasons for revealed truth and the existence of -the church, the strong rational tendencies of the Saxon mind will seize -hold of, and be led to apprehend, the intrinsic reasons for Christianity. -The church will present herself to their minds as the practical means -of establishing the complete reign of the Holy Spirit in the soul, and, -consequently, of bringing the kingdom of heaven upon earth. This is the -ideal conception of Christianity, entertained by all sincere believers -in Christ among non-Catholics in Europe and the United States. This -exposition, and an increased action of the Holy Spirit in the church -co-operating therewith, would complete their conviction of the divine -character of the church and of the divinity of Christianity. - -All this may seem highly speculative and of no practical bearing. But it -has precisely such a bearing, if one considers, in connection with it, -what is now going on throughout the Prussian kingdom and other parts -of Germany, including Switzerland. What is it which we see in all these -regions? A simultaneous and persistent determination to destroy, by every -species of persecution, the Catholic Church. Now, the general law of -persecution is the conversion of the persecutors. - -Through the cross Christ began the redemption of the world; through the -cross the redemption of the world is to be continued and completed. It -was mainly by the shedding of the blood of the martyrs that the Roman -Empire was gained to the faith. Their conquerors were won by the toil, -heroic labors and sufferings of saintly missionaries. The same law holds -good in regard to modern persecutors. The question is not how shall -the German Empire be overthrown, or of waiting in anticipation of its -destruction, or how shall the church withstand its alarming persecutions? -The great question is how shall the blindness be removed from the eyes of -the persecutors of the church, and how can they be led to see her divine -beauty, holiness, and truth, which at present are hidden from their -sight? The practical question is how shall the church gain over the great -German empire to the cause of Christ? - -O blessed persecutions! if, in addition to the divine virtues, which -they will bring forth to light by the sufferings of the faithful, they -serve also to lead the champions of the faith to seek for and employ -such proofs and arguments as the Saxon mind cannot withstand, producing -conviction in their intelligence, and striking home the truth to their -hearts; and in this way, instead of incurring defeat, they will pluck out -of the threatening jaws of this raging German wolf the sweet fruit of -victory. - -This view is eminently practical, when you consider that the same law -which applies to the persecutors of the church applies equally to -the leading or governing races. This is true from the beginning of -the church. The great apostles S. Peter and S. Paul did not stop in -Jerusalem, but turned their eyes and steps towards all-conquering, -all-powerful Rome. Their faith and their heroism, sealed with their -martyrdom, after a long and bloody contest, obtained the victory. The -imperial Roman eagles became proud to carry aloft the victorious cross of -Christ! The Goths, the Huns, and Vandals came; the contest was repeated, -the victory too; and they were subdued to the sweet yoke of Christ, and -incorporated in the bosom of his church. - -Is this rise of the Germanic Empire, in our day, to be considered only -as a passing occurrence, and are we to suppose that things will soon -again take their former course? Or is it to be thought of as a real -change in the direction of the world’s affairs, under the lead of the -dominant Saxon races? If the history of the human race from its cradle -can be taken as a rule, the course of empire is ever northward. Be that -as it may, the Saxons have actually in their hands, and are resolutely -determined to keep, the ruling power in Europe, if not in the world. And -the church is a divine queen, and her aim has always been to win to her -bosom the imperial races. She has never failed to do it, too! - -Think you these people are for the most part actuated by mere malice, and -are persecuting the church with knowledge of what they are doing? The -question is not of their prominent leaders and the actual apostates. -There may be future prodigal sons even amongst these. Does not the church -suffer from their hands in a great measure what her divine Founder -suffered when he was nailed to the cross, and cried, “Father, forgive -them, they know not what they do”? - -The persecutors in the present generation are not to be judged as those -who were born in the church, and who, knowing her divine character, by -an unaccountable defection, turned their backs upon her. Will their -stumbling prove a fatal fall to all their descendants? God forbid! Their -loss for a time has proved a gain to the church, and their return will -bring riches to both, and through them to the whole world; “for God is -able to ingraft them again.”[51] - -The Catholic Church unveils to the penetrating intelligence of the -Saxon races her divine internal life and beauty; to their energetic -individuality she proposes its elevation to a divine manhood; and to -their great practical activity she opens the door to its employment in -spreading the divine faith over the whole world! - -That which will hasten greatly the return of the Saxons to the church -is the progressive action of the controlling and dissolving elements of -Protestantism towards the entire negation of all religion. For the errors -contained in every heresy, which time never fails to produce, involve its -certain extinction. Many born in those errors, clearly foreseeing these -results, have already returned to the fold of the church. This movement -will be accelerated by the more rapid dissolution of Protestantism, -consequent on its being placed recently under similar hostile legislation -in Switzerland and Germany with the Catholic Church. “The blows struck at -the Church of Rome,” such is the acknowledgment of one of its own organs, -“tell with redoubled force against the evangelical church.” - -With an intelligent positive movement on the part of the church, and by -the actual progressive negative one operating in Protestantism, that -painful wound inflicted in the XVIth century on Christianity will be -soon, let us hope, closed up and healed, never again to be reopened. - - -XVI. MIXED SAXONS RETURNING. - -Christ blamed the Jews, who were skilful in detecting the signs of change -in the weather, for their want of skill in discerning the signs of the -times. There are evidences, and where we should first expect to meet -them--namely, among the mixed Saxon races, the people of England and the -United States--of this return to the true church. - -The mixture of the Anglo-Saxons with the blood of the Celts in former -days caused them to retain, at the time of the so-called Reformation, -more of the doctrines, worship, and organization of the Catholic Church -than did the thorough Saxons of Germany. It is for the same reason that -among them are manifested the first unmistakable symptoms of their -entrance once more into the bosom of the church. - -At different epochs movements in this direction have taken place, but -never so serious and general as at the present time. The character and -the number of the converts from Anglicanism to the Catholic Church -gave, in the beginning, a great alarm to the English nation. But now -it has become reconciled to the movement, which continues and takes its -course among the more intelligent and influential classes, and that -notwithstanding the spasmodic cry of alarm of Lord John Russell and the -more spiteful attack of the Right Hon. William E. Gladstone, M.P., late -prime minister. - -It is clear to those who have eyes to see such things that God is -bestowing special graces upon the English people in our day, and that the -hope is not without solid foundation which looks forward to the time when -England shall again take rank among the Catholic nations. - -The evidences of a movement towards the Catholic Church are still clearer -and more general in the United States. There is less prejudice and -hostility against the church in the United States than in England, and -hence her progress is much greater. - -The Catholics, in the beginning of this century, stood as one to every -two hundred of the whole population of the American Republic. The ratio -of Catholics now is one to six or seven of the inhabitants. The Catholics -will outnumber, before the close of this century, all other believers in -Christianity put together in the republic. - -This is no fanciful statement, but one based on a careful study of -statistics, and the estimate is moderate. Even should emigration from -Catholic countries to the United States cease altogether--which it will -not--or even should it greatly diminish, the supposed loss or diminution, -in this source of augmentation, will be fully compensated by the relative -increase of births among the Catholics, as compared with that among other -portions of the population. - -The spirit, the tendencies, and the form of political government -inherited by the people of the United States are strongly and -distinctively Saxon; yet there are no more patriotic or better citizens -in the republic than the Roman Catholics, and no more intelligent, -practical, and devoted Catholics in the church than the seven millions of -Catholics in this same young and vigorous republic. The Catholic faith is -the only persistently progressive religious element, compared with the -increase of population, in the United States. A striking proof that the -Catholic Church flourishes wherever there is honest freedom and wherever -human nature has its full share of liberty! Give the Catholic Church -equal rights and fair play, and she will again win Europe, and with -Europe the world. - -Now, who will venture to assert that these two mixed Saxon nations, -of England and the United States, are not, in the order of divine -Providence, the appointed leaders of the great movement of the return of -all the Saxons to the Holy Catholic Church? - -The sun, in his early dawn, first touches the brightest mountain-tops, -and, advancing in his course, floods the deepest valleys with his -glorious light; and so the Sun of divine grace has begun to enlighten the -minds in the highest stations in life in England, in the United States, -and in Germany; and what human power will impede the extension of its -holy light to the souls of the whole population of these countries? - - -XVII. TRANSITION OF THE LATIN-CELTS - -Strange action of divine Providence in ruling the nations of this earth! -While the Saxons are about to pass from a natural to a supernatural -career, the Latin-Celts are impatient for, and have already entered upon, -a natural one. What does this mean? Are these races to change their -relative positions before the face of the world? - -The present movement of transition began on the part of the Latin-Celtic -nations in the last century among the French people, who of all these -nations stand geographically the nearest, and whose blood is most mingled -with that of the Saxons. That transition began in violence, because it -was provoked to a premature birth by the circumstance that the control -exercised by the church as the natural moderator of the Christian -republic of Europe was set aside by Protestantism, particularly so in -France, in consequence of a diluted dose of the same Protestantism under -the name of Gallicanism. Exempt from this salutary control, kings and the -aristocracy oppressed the people at their own will and pleasure; and the -people, in turn, wildly rose up in their might, and cut off, at their own -will and pleasure, the heads of the kings and aristocrats. Louis XIV., -in his pride, said, “L’Etat c’est moi!” The people replied, in their -passion, “L’Etat c’est nous!” - -Under the guidance of the church the transformation from feudalism to -all that is included under the title of modern citizenship was effected -with order, peace, and benefit to all classes concerned. Apart from this -aid, society pendulates from despotism to anarchy, and from anarchy to -despotism. The French people at the present moment are groping about, and -earnestly seeking after the true path of progress, which they lost some -time back by their departure from the Christian order of society. - -The true movement of Christian progress was turned aside into destructive -channels, and this movement, becoming revolutionary, has passed in our -day to the Italian and Spanish nations. - -Looking at things in their broad features, Christianity is at this -moment exposed to the danger, on the one hand, of being exterminated by -the persecutions of the Saxon races, and, on the other, of being denied -by the apostasy of the Latin-Celts. This is the great tribulation of -the present hour of the church. She feels the painful struggle. The -destructive work of crushing out Christianity by means of these hostile -tendencies has already begun. If, as some imagine, the Christian faith be -only possible at the sacrifice of human nature, and if a natural career -be only possible at the sacrifice of the Christian faith, it requires no -prophetic eye to foresee the sad results to the Christian religion at no -distant future. - -But it is not so. The principles already laid down and proclaimed to the -world by the church answer satisfactorily these difficulties. What the -age demands, what society is seeking for, rightly interpreted, is the -knowledge of these principles and their practical application to its -present needs. - -For God is no less the author of nature than of grace, of reason than of -faith, of this earth than of heaven. - -The Word by which all things were made that were made, and the Word which -was made flesh, is one and the same Word. The light which enlighteneth -every man that cometh into this world, and the light of Christian faith, -are, although differing in degree, the same light. “There is therefore -nothing so foolish or so absurd,” to use the words of Pius IX. on the -same subject, “as to suppose there can be any opposition between -them.”[52] Their connection is intimate, their relation is primary; -they are, in essence, one. For what else did Christ become man than to -establish the kingdom of God on earth, as the way to the kingdom of God -in heaven? - -It cannot be too often repeated to the men of this generation, so many -of whom are trying to banish and forget God, that God, and God alone, is -the Creator and Renewer of the world. The same God who made all things, -and who became man, and began the work of regeneration, is the same who -really acts in the church now upon men and society, and who has pledged -his word to continue to do so until the end of the world. To be guided -by God’s church is to be guided by God. It is in vain to look elsewhere. -“Society,” as the present pontiff has observed, “has been enclosed in a -labyrinth, out of which it will never issue save by the hand of God.”[53] -The hand of God is the church. It is this hand he is extending, in a more -distinctive and attractive form, to this present generation. Blessed -generation, if it can only be led to see this outstretched hand, and to -follow the path of all true progress, which it so clearly points out! - - -XVIII. PERSPECTIVE OF THE FUTURE. - -During the last three centuries, from the nature of the work the church -had to do, the weight of her influence had to be mainly exerted on the -side of restraining human activity. Her present and future influence, due -to the completion of her external organization, will be exerted on the -side of soliciting increased action. The first was necessarily repressive -and unpopular; the second will be, on the contrary, expansive and -popular. The one excited antagonism; the other will attract sympathy and -cheerful co-operation. The former restraint was exercised, not against -human activity, but against the exaggeration of that activity. The future -will be the solicitation of the same activity towards its elevation and -divine expansion, enhancing its fruitfulness and glory. - -These different races of Europe and the United States, constituting the -body of the most civilized nations of the world, united in an intelligent -appreciation of the divine character of the church, with their varied -capacities and the great agencies at their disposal, would be the -providential means of rapidly spreading the light of faith over the whole -world, and of constituting a more Christian state of society. - -In this way would be reached a more perfect realization of the prediction -of the prophets, of the promises and prayers of Christ, and of the true -aspiration of all noble souls. - -This is what the age is calling for, if rightly understood, in its -countless theories and projects of reform. - - -ODD STORIES. - -IX. - -KURDIG. - -The sun was setting in the vale of Kashmir. Under the blessing of its -rays the admiring fakir would again have said that here undoubtedly was -the place of the earthly paradise where mankind was born in the morning -of the world. Something of the same thought may have stirred the mind of -a dwarfed and hump-backed man with bow-legs, who, from carrying on his -shoulders a heavy barrel up the steep and crooked path of a hillside, -stopped to rest while he looked mournfully at the sun. Herds of goats -that strayed near him, and flocks of sheep that grazed below, might have -provoked their deformed neighbor to envy their shapely and well-clad -beauty and peaceful movements. Could he have found it in his heart to -curse the sun which had seemed to view with such complacency his hard -toils amid the burden and heat of the day, the compassionate splendor of -its last look upon field, river, and mountain would still have touched -his soul. As it was, he saw that earth and heaven were beautiful, and -that he was not. Whether he uttered it or not, his keen, sad eyes and -thoughtful face were a lament that his hard lot had made him the one -ugly feature in that gentle scene. No, not the only one; he shared his -singularity with the little green snake that now crawled near his feet. -Yet even this reptile, he thought, could boast its sinuous beauty, -its harmony with the order of things; for it was a perfect snake, and -he--well, he was scarce a man. Soon, however, better thoughts took -possession of his mind, and, when he shouldered his barrel to climb the -hill, he thought that one of those beautiful peris, whose mission it is -to console earth’s sorrowing children ere yet their wings are admitted to -heaven, thus murmured in his ear, with a speech that was like melody: “O -Kurdig, child of toil! thy lot is indeed hard, but thou bearest it not -for thyself alone, and thy master and rewarder hath set thee thy task; -and for this thou shalt have the unseen for thy friends, love for thy -thought, and heaven for thy solace.” As he ascended the hill it seemed -to him that his load grew lighter, as if by help of invisible hands. He -looked for a moment on the snake which hissed at him, and though but -an hour ago, moved by a feud as old as man, he would have ground it in -hate beneath his foot, he now let it pass. The crooked man ascended the -hill, while the crooked serpent passed downward; and it was as if one -understood the other. At length the dwarf Kurdig reached the yard of -the palace, which stood on a shady portion of the eminence, but, as he -laid down his burden with a smile and a good word before his employer, -suddenly he felt the sharp cut of a whip across the shoulders. He -writhed and smarted, feeling as if the old serpent had stung him. - -Kurdig was one of those hewers of wood and drawers of water whose daily -being in the wonderful vale of Kashmir seemed but a harsh contrast of -fallen man with the paradise that once was his home. When he did not -carry barrels of wine, or fruit-loads, or other burdens to the top -of the hill, he assisted his poor sister and her child in the task -of making shawls for one of a number of large shawl-dealers who gave -employment to the people of the valley. With them the dearest days of -his life were spent. At odd times he taught the little girl the names of -flowers, the virtues of herbs, and even how to read and write--no small -accomplishments among peasant folk, and only gained by the dwarf himself -because his mind was as patient and as shrewd as his body was misshapen. -His great desire for all useful knowledge found exercise in all the -common stores of mother-wit and rustic science which the unlettered -people around preserved as their inheritance. How to build houses, to -make chairs, ovens, hats; how to catch fish and conduct spring-waters; -how to apply herbs for cure and healing; how to make oils and crude -wine--these things he knew as none other of all the peasantry about could -pretend to know. He had seen, too, and had sometimes followed in the -hunt, the beasts of the forest; nor was he, as we have seen, afraid of -reptiles. He could row and swim, and while others danced he could sing -and play. This variety of accomplishments slowly acquired for the dwarf -an influence which, though little acknowledged, was widespread. In all -the work and play of the rude folk around him he was the almost innocent -and unregarded master-spirit. The improvement of their houses owed -something to his hand, and their feasts were in good part planned by him; -for, while he acted as their servant, he was in truth their master. To -cure the common fevers, aches, hurts, he had well-tried simples, and his -searches and experiments had added something new to the herbal remedies -of his fathers. All his talents as doctor, musician, mechanic, and -story-teller his neighbors did not fail to make use of, while the dwarf -still kept in the background, and his ugliness, whenever accident had -made him at all prominent, was laughed at as much as ever. Even the poor -creatures his knowledge had cured, and his good-nature had not tasked to -pay him, uttered a careless laugh when they praised their physician, as -if they said: “Well, who would have thought the ugly little crook-back -was so cunning?” - -Yet there was one who never joined in the general smile which accompanied -the announcement of the name of Kurdig. This was his sister’s child. -Never without pain could she hear his name jestingly mentioned; always -with reverence, and sometimes with tears, she spoke of him. The wan, -slender child had grown almost from its feeble infancy by the side of -the dwarf. When able to leave her mother’s sole care, he had taught the -child her first games and songs, and step by step had instructed her in -all the rude home-lessons prevalent among the country people--how to -knit, to weave, to read and to write, according to the necessities of her -place and condition. The wonder was that from a pale and sickly infant -the child grew as by a charm, under the eye of the dwarf, into a blooming -girl, whose quiet and simple demeanor detracted nothing from her peculiar -loveliness, and made her habits of industry the more admirable. There -was, then, one being in the world whom the dwarf undoubtedly loved, and -by whom he was loved in return. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - THE TRUE AND THE FALSE INFALLIBILITY OF THE POPES, ETC. By - the late Bishop Fessler. Translated by Father St. John, of the - Edgbaston Oratory. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. - 1875. - -Dr. Fessler was Bishop of St. Polten in Austria, and the -Secretary-General of the Council of the Vatican. He wrote this pamphlet -as a reply to the apostate Dr. Schulte. It was carefully examined and -approved at Rome, and the author received a complimentary letter from -the Pope for the good service he had rendered to the cause of truth. The -true infallibility which the author vindicates is that infallibility of -the Pope in defining dogmas of Catholic faith and condemning heresies, -which was defined as a Catholic dogma by the Council of the Vatican. -The false infallibility which he impugns is the travesty of the true -doctrine, falsely imputed by Schulte and others to the Catholic Church -as her authoritative teaching expressed in the definition of the Vatican -Council. This doctrine of infallibility falsely imputed represents the -Pope as claiming inspiration, power to create new dogmas, infallibility -as a private doctor, as a judge of particular cases, and as a ruler. -Such an infallibility was not defined by the Council of the Vatican, -has never been asserted by the popes, is not maintained by any school -of theologians, and is, moreover, partly in direct contradiction to -the Catholic doctrine, partly manifestly false, and as for the rest -without any solid or probable foundation. This false infallibility -must, however, be carefully distinguished from the theological doctrine -which extends the infallibility of the church and of the Pope as to -its objective scope and limit; beyond the sphere of pure dogma, or the -Catholic faith, strictly and properly so-called; over the entire realm -of matters virtually, mediately, or indirectly contained in, related to, -or connected with the body of doctrine which is formally revealed, and -is either categorically proposed or capable of being proposed by the -church as of divine and Catholic faith. Bishop Fessler confines himself -to that which has been defined in express terms by the council, and must -be held as an article of faith by every Catholic, under pain of incurring -anathema as a heretic. This definition respects directly the Pope, -speaking as Pope, as being the subject, of whom the same infallibility -is predicated which is predicated of the Catholic Church. The object -of infallibility is obliquely defined, and only so far as necessary to -the precise definition of the subject, which is the Pope speaking _ex -cathedrâ_. As to the object, or extension of infallibility, no specific -definition has been made. The definition is generic only. That is, it -gives in general terms those matters which are in the genus of faith -and morals, as the object of infallible teaching. The truths formally -revealed are the basis of all doctrine in any way respecting faith and -morals which is theological; and they control all doctrine which is -philosophical, concerning our relations to God and creatures, at least -negatively. Therefore, taken in its most restricted sense, infallibility -in faith and morals must denote infallibility in teaching and defining -these formally-revealed truths. So much, then, respecting the object, is -necessarily _de fide_, and is held as such by every theologian and every -instructed Catholic. - -As to the further extension of infallibility, or the specific definition -of all the matters included in the term “de fide et moribus,” the fathers -of the council postponed their decisions to a later day, and probably -will consider them when the council is re-assembled. In the meantime, -we have to be guided by the teaching of the best theologians whose -doctrine is consonant to the practice of the Holy See. We may refer -the curious reader to Father Knox’s little work, _When does the Church -Speak Infallibly?_ as the safest source of information concerning this -important point. As a matter of fact, the popes do teach with authority -many truths which are not articles of faith, and condemn many opinions -which are not heresies. Moreover, they command the faithful to assent -to their teaching, and frequently punish those who refuse to do so. -It is much more logical, and much more consonant to sound theological -principles, to believe that they are infallible in respect to every -matter in which they justly command our absolute and irrevocable assent, -than to believe that we are bound to render this obedience to a fallible -authority. But of the obligation in conscience to submit to all the -doctrinal decisions of the Holy See there is no question. And this -obligation is very distinctly and emphatically declared by Pius IX., with -the concurrence of the universal episcopate, in the closing monition of -the First Decree of the Council of the Vatican. - -“Since it is not enough to avoid heretical pravity, unless those errors -also are diligently shunned which more or less approach it, we admonish -all of the duty of observing also those constitutions and decrees in -which perverse opinions of this sort, not here expressly enumerated, are -proscribed and prohibited by this Holy See.” - - THE ARCHBISHOP OF WESTMINSTER’S REPLY TO MR. GLADSTONE. - - BISHOP ULLATHORNE ON THE SAME SUBJECT. - - BISHOP VAUGHAN ON THE SAME. - - LORD ROBERT MONTAGU ON THE SAME, ETC.--All published by The - Catholic Publication Society. New York: 1875. - -The Archbishop of Westminster has the intellectual and moral as well as -the ecclesiastical primacy in the Catholic Church of England, and in -this controversy he leads the band of noble champions of the faith which -Mr. Gladstone’s audacious war-cry has evoked. The illustrious successor -of S. Anselm and S. Thomas à Becket has a remarkably clear insight into -the fundamental principles of theology and canon law, an unswerving -logical consistency in deducing their connections and consequences, a -loyal integrity in his faith and devotion toward Christ and his Vicar, a -lucidity of style and language, an untiring activity, dauntless courage, -tactical skill, and abundance of resources in his polemics, which combine -to make him a champion and leader of the first class in ecclesiastical -warfare--a very Duguesclin of controversy. In the present pamphlet he -has defined the issues with more precision, and brought the main force -of Catholic principles more directly and powerfully into collision with -his adversary’s opposite centre, than any other of the remarkably able -antagonists of Mr. Gladstone. - -We refer our readers to the pamphlet itself for a knowledge of its line -of argument. We will merely call attention to a few particular points -in it which are noteworthy. In the first place, we desire to note the -exposition of one very important truth frequently misapprehended and -misstated. This is, namely, that the doctrine of Papal Infallibility was -not, before the Council of the Vatican, a mere opinion of theologians, -but the certain doctrine of the church, proximate to faith, and only -questioned since the Council of Constance by a small number, whose -opinion was _never a probable doctrine, but only a tolerated error_. -The archbishop, moreover, shows briefly but clearly how this error, -whose intrinsic mischief was practically nullified in pious Gallicans by -their obedience to the Holy See, and the overpowering weight which the -concurrence of the great body of the bishops with the Pope always gave -to his dogmatic decrees, was threatening to become extremely active and -dangerous if longer tolerated; and that the definition of the Council of -the Vatican was therefore not only opportune and prudent, but necessary. - -He shows, moreover, that the violent and aggressive party which stirred -up the conflict now raging was the party of faithless men who wore the -mask of Catholic profession, with their political and anti-Catholic -accomplices, whose unsuccessful _ruse de guerre_, at the time of the -council, was only the preliminary manœuvre of a systematic war on the -church. - -The unchanged position of Catholics since the council, in respect to -civil allegiance; the essential similarity of that position, doctrinally, -with that of all persons who maintain the supremacy of conscience and -divine law; its greater practical security for stability of government -and political order over any other position; the firm basis for temporal -sovereignty and independence which Catholic doctrine gives to the state; -and the great variation of practical relations between church and state -from their condition at a former period which altered circumstances -have caused, are clearly and ably developed. We are pleased to observe -the positions laid down in our own editorial article on “Religion and -State in our Republic” sustained and confirmed by the archbishop’s high -authority. Americans must be especially gratified at the warm eulogium -upon Lord Baltimore and the primitive constitution of the Maryland colony. - -Among the numerous other replies to Mr. Gladstone, besides those already -noticed in this magazine, the pamphlets of Bishop Vaughan, Bishop -Ullathorne, and Lord Robert Montagu are especially remarkable and worthy -of perusal. Each of them has its own peculiar line of argument and -individual excellence, and they supplement each other. - -The want of sympathy with Mr. Gladstone generally manifested in England -and America, and the respectful interest shown in the exposition of -Catholic principles by his antagonists, are specially worthy of remark. -We are under great obligations to Mr. Gladstone for the fine opportunity -he has afforded us of gaining such a hearing, and he has thus indirectly -and unintentionally done the cause of Catholic truth a very great -service, which some of our opponents candidly, though with considerable -chagrin, have acknowledged. - - THE MINISTRY OF S. JOHN BAPTIST. By H. J. Coleridge, S.J. - London: Burns & Oates. 1875. (New York: Sold by The Catholic - Publication Society.) - -Father Coleridge has devoted himself to very extensive and critical -studies, with the intention of publishing a new life of Christ. This -volume is the first instalment. It is learned and critical without being -dry or abstruse. It can be relied on, therefore, for scholarly accuracy, -and at the same time enjoyed for its literary beauties. The author has -a felicity of diction and a talent for historical narration, which, -combined with his solid learning, make him singularly competent for the -important and delightful task he has undertaken and so successfully -commenced. - - LIFE OF FATHER HENRY YOUNG. By Lady Georgiana Fullerton. - London: Burns & Oates. 1875. (New York: Sold by The Catholic - Publication Society.) - -This remarkable and somewhat eccentric priest lived and died in Dublin, -though he exercised his apostolic ministry also in many other parts of -Ireland. He was undoubtedly a saint, and in some respects strikingly like -the venerable Curé of Ars. The author has written his life in her usual -charming style, and it is not only edifying, but extremely curious and -entertaining. - - THE LILY AND THE CROSS. A Tale of Acadia. By Prof. James De - Mille. Boston and New York: Lee & Shepard. 1875. - -Here we have a kind of quasi-Catholic tale, written by a Protestant. -As a story it has a good deal of stirring incident and dramatic power, -mingled with a fine spice of humor. The writer shows no unkind or unfair -disposition toward Catholics or their religion, and the priest in the -story, as a man, is a noble and heroic character. His Catholicity, -however, is too weak even for the most extreme left of liberal Catholics. - - THE VEIL WITHDRAWN (_Le Mot de L’Enigme_). Translated, by - permission, from the French of Mme. Craven, author of _A - Sister’s Story_, _Fleurange_, etc. New York: The Catholic - Publication Society. 1875. - -In its didactic aspects we consider _The Veil Withdrawn_ superior to its -immediate predecessor, _Fleurange_, inasmuch as its moral purpose is more -decided and apparent; and we believe Mme. Craven has been very opportune -in the choice of the principal lesson which her book inculcates, as well -as felicitous in the manner in which it is conveyed. There is perhaps no -peril to which a frank, confiding young matron is more exposed at the -present day than that constituted by the circumstances which formed the -temptation of the heroine of this novel, and which she so heroically -overcame. And herein we trust the non-Catholic reader will not fail to -observe the safeguard which Catholic principles and the confessional -throw around the innocent--warning them of the threatened danger, without -detracting from the ingenuousness and simplicity which constitute a chief -charm of the sex. We purposely avoid being more specific in our allusion -to the plot of this story, lest we diminish the pleasure of those who -have delayed its perusal until now. - - CALEB KRINKLE. By Charles Carleton Coffin (“Carlton”). Boston - and New York: Lee & Shepard. 1875. - -This “Story of American Life,” which would have been more aptly called -a “Story of Yankee Life,” is really capital. Linda Fair, Dan Dishaway, -and old Peter are excellently-drawn characters, and the others are good -in their way. The description of the blacksmith and his daughter is like -a paraphrase of Longfellow’s exquisite little poem. The author makes -use both of pathos and humor, and although there are rather too many -disasters and narrow escapes, yet, on the whole, the story is simple, -natural, and life-like, its moral tone is elevated, and it is well worth -reading. - - POEMS. By William Wilson. Edited by Benson J. Lossing, - Poughkeepsie: Archibald Wilson. 1875. - -He is a bold publisher who sends forth a poetical venture in these -prosaic days, backed though it be by a partial subscription list and the -favorable reception of a first edition. - -We are reminded in looking over this volume, as we have often been -before in examining those of the tuneful brethren, how much the world -is indebted to the church, consciously or otherwise, for its most -refined enjoyments. If “an undevout astronomer is mad,” how can a poet’s -instincts be otherwise than Catholic? Were it not for Catholic themes, -he would lack his highest inspiration, as well as appropriate imagery to -illustrate his thoughts withal. Even that doughty old iconoclast, John -Bunyan--every inch a poet, though his lines were not measured--found -no relief for his pilgrim-hero till he had looked upon that symbol of -symbols--the cross. - -The author of the present collection made no permanent profession of -literature, and rarely wrote except when the impulse was too strong to be -resisted. His impromptu lines were always his best, the Scottish dialect, -in which many of them are written, adding not a little to their racy -flavor. His verse is characterized by sweetness, beauty, and strength, -and he is particularly happy when descanting upon the joys of home, of -love and friendship, and the charms of outward nature. - -We are not aware that the author ever made a study of the claims of the -church, and some passages in his poems give evidence of much of the -traditional prejudice against her; but we are confident, from other -indications, that his head was too logical and his heart too large to -be shut up within the narrow limits of Presbyterian or other sectarian -tenets. The final stanza of “The Close”--the last he ever wrote--is -touching and suggestive: - - “And his pale hand signing - Man’s redemption sign, - Cried, with forehead shining, - ‘Father, I am Thine!’ - And so to rest he quietly hath passed, - And sleeps in Christ, the comforter, at last.” - - - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XXI., No. 122.--MAY, 1875. - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by Rev. I. T. -HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. - - -PIUS IX. AND MR. GLADSTONE’S MISREPRESENTATIONS. - -The recent conduct of the Right Honorable William Ewart Gladstone has -filled his former friends and admirers with anger and sorrow, and the -nobler among his enemies with astonishment and pity. He has done much to -convert the defeat of the liberal party in Great Britain, which might -have been but temporary, into absolute rout and lasting confusion; for -its return to power is impossible as long as the alienation of the -Irish Catholic members of Parliament continues. The more generous of -Mr. Gladstone’s political foes cannot but deplore that the once mighty -opponent, whom they succeeded in driving from office, has, by his own -behavior, fallen into something very like contempt. His strictures on -the Vatican decrees and the _Speeches_ of Pius IX. possess little merit -in a literary point of view, being written in the bad style common -to Exeter Hall controversialists, and being full of inaccuracies, -misrepresentations, and oversights. They have accordingly received from -the leading critical journals in Great Britain either open censure or -that faint praise which is equally damning. The _Pall Mall Gazette_ -observes that, if Mr. Gladstone goes on writing in a similar strain, no -one will heed what he writes. The wild assault made by him upon Catholics -is not only perceived by others to be causeless and gratuitous, but is -freely confessed by himself to be uncalled for and unwarranted. Speaking -of the questions, whether the Pope claimed temporal jurisdiction or -deposing power, or whether the church still teaches the doctrine of -persecution, he says in his _Expostulation_ (page 26): “Now, to no one -of these questions could the answer really be of the smallest immediate -moment to this powerful and solidly-compacted kingdom.” Again, in the -_Quarterly Review_ article (page 300), he asserts that the “burning” -question of the deposing power, “with reference to the possibilities -of life and action, remains the shadow of a shade!” Why, then, does -Mr. Gladstone apply the torch to quicken the flame of the burning -controversy, which he affirms to be beyond the range of practical -politics? Why does he summon the “shadow of a shade” to trouble, terrify, -or distress his fellow-countrymen? Has he forgotten the history of -his country, which teaches him that these very questions were among -those which brought innocent men to the block, and caused multitudes -to suffer the tortures of the rack and the pains of ignominious death? -We read in Hallam (_Constitutional Hist. of England_) that one of the -earliest novelties of legislation introduced by Henry VIII. was the act -of Parliament of 1534, by which “it was made high treason to deny that -ecclesiastical supremacy of the crown which, till about two years before, -no one had ever ventured to assert. Bishop Fisher, almost the only -inflexibly honest churchman of that age, was beheaded for this denial.” -Sir Thomas More met the same fate. Burleigh, in a state paper in which he -apologizes for the illegal employment of torture in Elizabeth’s reign, -includes among the questions “asked during their torture” of those “put -to the rack,” the question, “What was their own opinion as to the pope’s -right to deprive the queen of her crown?” In those days, then, the mere -opinions of Catholics concerning papal supremacy were torturing and -beheading questions--questions of the rack, the block, and the stake. -Now they are “burning” questions, in a metaphorical sense, and lead to -wordy strife, polemical bitterness, and to widening the breach between -two sections of Queen Victoria’s subjects, which all wise men during -late years have deplored and striven to lessen, but which Mr. Gladstone -deliberately sets himself to widen. - -Into the causes which have provoked Mr. Gladstone to attack Catholics and -the Pope it is not necessary to enter. Corrupt or impure motives are not -imputed to him. Nor is it here intended to discuss the theological part -of the subject, which has already been exhaustively dealt with by Dr. -John Henry Newman, Archbishop Manning, Bishops Ullathorne, Vaughan, and -Clifford, Monsignor Capel, and others. The aim of the present writer is -to point out the inaccuracies of Mr. Gladstone in his _Expostulation_ and -his _Quarterly Review_ article on the _Speeches_ of Pius IX., to exhibit -his general untrustworthiness in his references and quotations, and to -bring forward the real instead of the travestied sentiments of the Pope. - -Now, to honest and fair examination of documents which concern their -faith Catholics have no objection. On the contrary, they desire sincerely -that Protestants should read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them. -Nothing but good to the Catholic Church can result from impartial -study of such documents as the Vatican decrees, the _Encyclical_ and -_Syllabus_ of Pius IX., to which, in his _Expostulation_, Mr. Gladstone -made such extensive reference. Catholics give him a cordial assent -when he says: “It is impossible for persons accepting those decrees -justly to complain when such documents are subjected in good faith to a -strict examination as respects their compatibility with civil right and -the obedience of subjects.” But Catholics and all upright Protestants -must join in condemning as unjust and unfair that bad habit common to -controversialists of a certain class, who aim at temporary victory -for themselves and their party, careless of the interests of eternal -verity. There are partisan writers who cite portions of a document, -in the belief that the mass of readers will have no knowledge of the -entire, and who take extracts hap-hazard from secondary sources, without -troubling themselves to search the authentic or original documents. -Wilful inaccuracy and purposed misquotations are not, as has already -been stated, to be imputed to Mr. Gladstone. But it often occurs that -carelessness and prejudice lead distinguished writers into errors -similar to those produced by malice, and equally or more detrimental. -It so happens that Mr. Gladstone, in describing and quoting the Vatican -decrees, the words of Pius IX., the _Syllabus_ and _Encyclical_, has -published statements so incorrect and so misleading as to subject the -author, were he less eminent for honor and scrupulous veracity, to the -charge either of criminal ignorance or of wilful intention to mislead. -For example, he cites, at pages 32-34 of his _Expostulation_, the -form of the present Vatican decrees as proof of the wonderful “change -now consummated in the constitution of the Latin Church” and of “the -present degradation of its episcopal order.” He says the present Vatican -decrees, being promulgated in a strain different from that adopted by -the Council of Trent, are scarcely worthy to be termed “the decrees -of the Council of the Vatican.” The Trent canons were, he says, real -canons of a real council, beginning thus: “Hæc Sacrosancta,” etc., -“Synodus,” etc., “docet” or “statuit” or “decernit,” and the like; and -its canons, “as published in Rome, are _Canones et Decreta Sacrosancti -Œcumenici Concilii Tridentini_, and so forth. But what we have now to -do with is the _Constitutio Dogmatica Prima de Ecclesiâ Christi edita -in Sessione tertia_ of the Vatican Council. It is not a constitution -made by the council, but one promulgated in the council. And who is it -that legislates and decrees? It is _Pius Episcopus, servus servorum -Dei_; and the seductive plural of his _docemus et declaramus_ is simply -the dignified and ceremonious ‘we’ of royal declarations. The document -is dated ‘Pontificatus nostri Anno XXV.,’ and the humble share of -the assembled episcopate in the transaction is represented by _sacro -approbante concilio_.” Mr. Gladstone, stating that the Trent canons -are published as _Canones et Decreta Sac. Œcum. Concilii Tridentini_, -and particularizing in a foot-note the place of publication as “Romæ: -in Collegio urbano de Propaganda Fide, 1833,” leads his readers -wrongfully to infer that there exists no similar publication of the -Vatican decrees. However, the very first complete edition of the -Vatican decrees, printed especially for distribution to the fathers of -the council, bears this title: _Acta et Decreta Sacrosancti Œcumenici -Concilii Vaticani in Quatuor Prioribus Sessionibus--Romæ ex Typographia -Vaticana_, 1872. What Mr. Gladstone appears to have quoted are the small -tracts, containing portions of the decrees, for general use, one of -which is entitled _Dogmatic Constitution concerning the Catholic Faith, -Published in the Third Session_, while another is entitled _The First -Dogmatic Constitution of the Church of Christ, Published in the Fourth -Session_. Mr. Gladstone has not scrupled to take one of these tracts as -his text-book, misstating its very title; for he quotes it as “edita in -sessione tertia” instead of “quarta,” and deriving from it, instead of -from the authentic _Acta et Decreta_, his materials for charging the -decrees with a change of form “amounting to revolution.” Had the _Acta_ -in their complete version been before him, he could not truthfully have -said “the humble share of the assembled episcopate in the transaction -is represented by _sacro approbante concilio_”; for he would have found -it distinctly stated, and apparently as reason for their confirmation -by the Pope, that the decrees and canons contained in the constitution -were read before, and approved by, all the fathers of the council, with -two exceptions--“Decreta et Canones qui in constitutione modo lecta -continentur, placuerunt patribus omnibus, duobus exceptis, Nosque, -sacro approbante concilio, illa et illos, ut lecta sunt, definimus -et apostolica auctoritate confirmamus.” Why does Mr. Gladstone call -attention to the date as being “Pontificatus nostri Anno XXV.”? Is it in -order to show that the Vatican despises the other mode of computation, -or is it to exhibit his own minute accuracy in quoting? In either case -Mr. Gladstone was wrong, for the date in the _Constitutio Dogmatica_ -before him was as follows: “Datum Romæ, etc., Anno Incarnationis Dominicæ -1870, die 18 Julii. Pontificatus Nostri, Anno XXV.” And why should Mr. -Gladstone describe as “seductive” the plural of the Pope’s “docemus et -declaramus,” and assert that plural form to be “simply the dignified -and ceremonious ‘We’ of royal declarations”? Did he mean to impute to -the use of the plural number a corrupt intention to make people believe -that the ‘we’ included the bishops as well as the Pope? Did he mean also -to impute to the use of the plural an arrogant affectation of royal -dignity? If such were the purpose of Mr. Gladstone, it can only be said -that such rhetorical artifices are unworthy of him and are not warranted -by truth. The ‘we’ is simply the habitual form of episcopal utterances, -employed even by Protestant prelates in their official acts. It is -evident, moreover, that the use of the plural _docemus_ or _declaramus_, -and the employment of the formula _sacro approbante concilio_, denounced -by Mr. Gladstone as innovations, have ancient precedents in their favor. -The _Acta Synodalia_ of the Eleventh General and Third Lateran Council, -held under Pope Alexander III. in 1179, are thus worded: “Nos … de -concilio fratrum nostrorum et sacri approbatione concilii … decrevimus” -or “statuimus.” The same form, with trifling variation, was employed in -1225 by Innocent III. in another General Council, the Fourth Lateran. Mr. -Gladstone thinks “the very gist of the evil we are dealing with consists -in following (and enforcing) precedents of the age of Innocent III.,” -so that it may be useless to cite the General Council of Lyons in 1245, -under Innocent IV., with its decrees published in the obnoxious strain, -“_Innocentius Episcopus, servus servorum Dei, etc., sacro præsente -concilio ad rei memoriam sempiternam_.” The language of another General -Council at Lyons, in 1274, under Gregory X., “Nos … sacro approbante -concilio, damnamus,” etc., and the language of the Council of Vienne, -in 1311, under Clement V., “Nos sacro approbante concilio … damnamus -et reprobamus,” come perhaps too near the age of Innocent III. to have -weight with Mr. Gladstone. But he cannot object on this score to the -Fifth Lateran Council, begun in 1512 under Julius II., and finished in -1517 under Leo X. In this General Council, the next before that of Trent, -Pope Leo was present in person, and by him, just as by Pius IX., in the -Vatican Council, all the definitions and decrees were made in the strain -which Mr. Gladstone calls innovating and revolutionary, namely, in the -style, “Leo Episcopus servus servorum Dei ad perpetuam rei memoriam, -sacro approbante concilio.” Leo X. uniformly employed the plural -_statuimus et ordinamus_ in every session of that council. Pius IX. -followed the example of Leo X., and obeyed precedents set him by popes -who presided in person--not by legates, as at Trent--at General Councils -held in the years 1179, 1225, 1244, 1274, 1311, and 1517. Accordingly, -“the change of form in the present, as compared with other conciliatory -(_sic_) decrees,” turns out on examination to be no revolution, but, on -the contrary, appears to have in its favor precedents the earliest of -which has seven centuries of antiquity. And yet to this alleged change -of form, and to this alone, Mr. Gladstone appealed in evidence of “the -amount of the wonderful change now consummated in the constitution of the -Latin Church” and of “the present degradation of its episcopal order”! - -The _Encyclical_ and _Syllabus_ of 1864 have been treated by Mr. -Gladstone in the same loose, careless, and unfair way as he treated -the Vatican decrees. He promised, at page 15 of his _Expostulation_, -to “state, in the fewest possible words and with references, a few -propositions, all the holders of which have been _condemned_ [the italics -are Mr. Gladstone’s] by the See of Rome during my own generation, and -especially within the last twelve or fifteen years. And in order,” -so proceeds Mr. Gladstone, “that I may do nothing towards importing -passion into what is matter of pure argument, I will avoid citing any -of the fearfully energetic epithets in which the condemnations are -sometimes clothed.” The references here given by Mr. Gladstone are to -the Encyclical letter of Pope Gregory XVI. in 1831--a date, it may be -noticed, rather more ancient than “the last twelve or fifteen years”--and -to the following documents, which at page 16 of his pamphlet are thus -detailed: The Encyclical “of Pope Pius IX., in 1864”; “Encyclical of Pius -IX., December 8, 1864”; “Syllabus of March 18, 1861”; and the “Syllabus -of Pope Pius IX., March 8, 1861.” Here are apparently five documents -deliberately referred to, the first an Encyclical of Gregory XVI.; the -second an Encyclical of Pius IX., in 1864; the third another Encyclical -of Pius IX., dated December 8, 1864; the fourth a Syllabus of March -18th, 1861; and the fifth another Syllabus of the 8th of March, 1861. -Yet these apparently five documents, to which reference is made by Mr. -Gladstone with so much seeming particularity and exactitude of dates, are -in reality two documents only, and have but one date--namely, the 8th -of December, 1864--on which day the _Encyclical_, with the _Syllabus_ -attached, was published by Pius IX. At page 67 of his pamphlet Mr. -Gladstone “cites his originals,” and curiously enough, by a printer’s -error, assigns the Encyclical of Gregory XVI. to Gregory XIV. But he -cites from two sources only--namely, the _Encyclical_ and _Syllabus_ of -1864. That Encyclical contains a quotation from an Encyclical of Gregory -XVI., which and the _Syllabus_ are positively the only documents actually -cited. By a series of blunders, all of which cannot be charged to the -printer--and in a work which has arrived at the “sixteenth thousand” -edition printers’ errors are hardly allowable--the two documents, with -their one date, have been made to do duty for five documents, ascribed -gravely to as many different dates! - -Moreover, Mr. Gladstone’s assertion that he will state “a few -propositions, all the holders of which have been _condemned_ by the Holy -See,” is inaccurate, as far as his extracts from the _Encyclical_ and -the _Syllabus_--the only documents to which he appeals--are concerned; -for in them no “holders” of any propositions are condemned, nor is there -a single anathema directed against any individual. The errors only -are censured. Mr. Gladstone cannot illustrate any one of his eighteen -propositions by a single epithet which could with truth be called -“fearfully energetic.” As a matter of fact, there are no epithets at -all attached to any condemnations in the eighty propositions of the -_Syllabus_. When, therefore, Mr. Gladstone professes, in order to do -nothing “towards importing passion,” that he will “avoid citing any of -the fearfully energetic epithets in which the condemnations are sometimes -clothed,” he plays a rhetorical trick upon his readers. In truth, had he -quoted the entire of the _Encyclical_ and _Syllabus_, he would not have -been able to make his hypocritical insinuation that he might have culled, -if he wished, more damaging extracts. Catholics have to lament, not that -he quoted too much, but that he quoted too little; not that he quoted -with severe rigor, but that he quoted with absolute unfaithfulness. It is -justice, not mercy, which Catholics demand from him, and which they ask -all the more imperatively because he has himself laid down the axiom: -“Exactness in stating truth according to the measure of our intelligence -is an indispensable condition of justice and of a title to be heard.” - -It was urged by some persons that Mr. Gladstone gave sufficient -opportunities for correcting the effect of his inaccuracies by publishing -in an appendix the Latin of the propositions he professed to quote. But -so glaring is the contrast between the “propositions” in English and -the same in Latin that a writer in the _Civiltâ Cattolica_ exclaims -in amazement: “Has he [Mr. Gladstone] misunderstood the Latin of the -quoted texts? Has he through thoughtlessness travestied the sense? Or -has his good faith fallen a victim to the disloyalty of some cunning Old -Catholics who furnished him with these propositions?” Mr. Gladstone has -asserted that Pius IX. has condemned “those who maintain the liberty -of the press,” “or the liberty of conscience and of worship,” “or the -liberty of speech.” On referring to the Latin original of these the -first three of his eighteen propositions, it is found that Pius IX. has -given no occasion for such a monstrous assertion. The Pope has merely -condemned that species of liberty which every man not a socialist or -communist must from his heart believe worthy of censure. Gregory XVI. -called this vicious sort of liberty by the name of _delirium_, and Pius -IX., in his _Encyclical_, terms it the “liberty of perdition.” It is -a liberty “especially pernicious (_maxime exitialem_) to the Catholic -Church and the salvation of souls,” and the claim to it is based on the -error “that liberty of conscience and of worship is the proper right -of every man; that it ought to be proclaimed and asserted by law in -every well-constituted society; and that citizens have an inherent -right to liberty of every kind, not to be restrained by any authority, -ecclesiastical or civil, so that they may be able, openly and publicly, -to manifest and declare their opinions, of whatever kind, by speech, by -the press, or by any other means.” Such is the sort of liberty which the -_Encyclical_ condemns, which is not the general liberty of the press, -or of conscience and worship, as Mr. Gladstone would have it, but that -sort of liberty which might be better termed licentiousness--a liberty, -that is, which knows no bridle or restraint, whether human or divine, -and which refuses to be kept in check by any authority, ecclesiastical -or civil--“omnimodam libertatem nullâ vel ecclesiasticâ, vel civili -auctoritate coarctandam.” The _Expostulation_ has been widely circulated -among the learned, and also in a sixpenny edition among the masses. It -is evident that thousands of persons accustomed to entertain a high -opinion of the veracity of great men in Mr. Gladstone’s position will -take his statements upon trust, and never dream of testing, even had they -the requisite acquaintance with a dead language, the accuracy of his -translations and quotations. To abuse the confidence of this section of -the public is a sin severely to be reprobated. - -The _Speeches of Pius IX_.--which, it would appear, were not read by -Mr. Gladstone until after he wrote the _Expostulation_--have been by -him criticised in the _Quarterly Review_ unmercifully and unfairly. He -did not take into consideration the circumstance that these speeches -are not elaborate orations, but are merely the unprepared, unstudied -utterances of a pontiff so aged as to be termed by the reviewer himself -a “nonagenarian,” borne down with unparalleled afflictions, weighted -with innumerable cares, and oppressed with frequent and at times serious -illnesses. The speeches themselves were not reported _verbatim_ or _in -extenso_. No professional shorthand writer attended when they were -delivered, and they were not spoken with a view to their publication. -But every word which comes from the lips of Pius IX. is precious to -Catholics; and as some of these speeches were taken down by various hands -and appeared in various periodicals, it was thought proper to allow a -collection of them to be formed and published by an ecclesiastic, Don -Pasquale de Franciscis, who himself took notes of the greater number -of these _Discourses_. This gentleman is described by Mr. Gladstone as -“an accomplished professor of flunkyism in things spiritual,” and one -of the “sycophants” about the Pope who administer to His Holiness “an -adulation, not only excessive in its degree, but of a kind which to an -unbiassed mind may seem to border on profanity.” Mr. Gladstone is fond -of insinuating that his own mind is “unbiassed” or “dispassionate,” and -that he would by no means “import passion” into a controversy where calm -reasoning alone is admissible. But, in point of fact, as the _Pall Mall -Gazette_ has pointed out, he shows himself the bigoted controversialist -instead of the grave statesman. Forgetting the genius of the Italian -people, and the difference between the warm and impulsive natives of the -South and the phlegmatic Anglo-Saxons; forgetting, also, the literary -toadyism of English writers not many years ago, and the apparently -profane adulation paid to British sovereigns, he attacks Don Pasquale -for calling the book of the Pope’s speeches “divine,” and accuses him of -downright blasphemy. Dr. Newman, in one of his _Lectures on the Present -Position of Catholics in England_, has given an humorous account of -the way in which foreigners might be induced to believe the laws and -constitution of England to be profane and blasphemous. This he did by -culling out a series of sentences from Blackstone and others, such as -“the king can do no wrong,” “the king never dies,” he is “the vicar of -God on earth.” Thus impeccability, immortality, and omnipotence may be -claimed for the British monarch! Moreover, the subjects of James I. -called him “the breath of their nostrils”; he himself, according to Lord -Clarendon, on one occasion called himself “a god”; Lord Bacon called him -“some sort of little god”; Alexander Pope and Addison termed Queen Anne -“a goddess,” the words of the latter writer being: “Thee, goddess, thee -Britannia’s isle adores.” What Dr. Newman did in good-humored irony Mr. -Gladstone does in sober and bitter earnest. He picks out epithets here -and there, tacking on the expressions of one page to those of another, -and then flings the collected epithets before his reader as proof of Don -Pasquale’s profanity. The temperament of Italians in the present day -may or may not furnish a valid defence, in respect to good taste, for -Don Pasquale. But it is certain that the phrases used by the latter, -when taken in their context and interpreted as any one familiar with -Italian ideas would interpret them, afford slight basis for the odious -charge of profanity--a charge which Mr. Gladstone urges not only by the -means already pointed out, but by other means still more reprehensible, -namely, by fastening on Don Pasquale expressions which he did not employ. -Thus, at page 274 of the _Review_, Mr. Gladstone, in reference to the -“sufferings pretended to be inflicted by the Italian kingdom upon the -so-called prisoner of the Vatican,” adds, “Let us see how, and with what -daring misuse of Holy Scripture, they are illustrated in the authorized -volume before us. ‘He and his august consort,’ says Don Pasquale, -speaking of the Comte and Comtesse de Chambord, ‘were profoundly moved -at such great afflictions which the Lamb of the Vatican has to endure.’” -It seems, in the first place, rather strained to term the application of -the word “lamb” to Pius IX., or any other person, a “daring misuse of -Holy Scripture.” Many a man, when expressing pious hope under disaster, -exclaims, “The Lord tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,” using or -misusing, as the case may be, not the language of Holy Scripture, but the -words of the author of _Tristram Shandy_, to whose works, we believe, the -epithet “holy” is not commonly applied. If Pius IX. had been termed “the -lamb of God,” then indeed Holy Scripture might have been used or misused; -but the single word “lamb,” even in the phrase “lamb of the Vatican,” -is no more an allusion, profane or otherwise, to the Gospels than it is -to the Rev. Laurence Sterne. In the second place, the expression, be it -proper or improper, was not used by Don Pasquale. Turning to volume ii. -of the _Discorsi_, page 545, as Mr. Gladstone directs us, we find the -words were not employed by Don Pasquale, but by the writer of an article -in the _Unità Cattolica_! Pages 545 and 546, the pages cited, contain -a notice of the presentation to the Comte and Comtesse de Chambord of -the first volume of the _Discorsi_; for the article is dated in 1872, -and the second volume was not printed until 1873. So that it appears -the naughty word was not only not used by Don Pasquale, but did not in -reality form part of the “authorized volume,” being merely found in -a newspaper extract inserted in an appendix. In this same newspaper -extract the Comtesse de Chambord is said to have called the first volume -of the _Discorsi_ “a continuation of the Gospels and the Acts of the -Apostles.” This statement rests on the authority of the writer in the -_Unità Cattolica_, but is brought up in judgment not only against Don -Pasquale, but against the Pope himself, who is held by Mr. Gladstone -to be responsible for everything stated either by Don Pasquale in his -preface or by any other persons in the appendices to the _Discorsi_! - -Concerning the Pope, Mr. Gladstone, at page 299 of the _Review_, thus -writes: “Whether advisedly or not, the Pontiff does not, except once -(vol. i. 204), apply the term [infallible] to himself, but is in other -places content with alleging his superiority, as has been shown above, -to an inspired prophet, and with commending those who come to hear his -words as words proceeding from Jesus Christ (i. 335).” At page 268 of -the _Review_ it is also said that Don Pasquale, in his preface, p. 17, -calls the voice of Pius IX. “the voice of God,” and that the Pope is -“nature that protests” and “God that condemns.” If, however, in order -to test the worth of these assertions of Mr. Gladstone, we turn to the -passages he has cited, it will be discovered that Pius IX. did not even -once apply the term infallible to himself; for he, in the passage cited, -applied it not to himself individually, but to the infallible judgment -(_giudizio infallibile_) in principles of revelation, as contrasted -with the authoritative right of popes in general. Nor did Pius IX. -assert any “superiority to an inspired prophet” by saying (_Review_, -p. 276, _Discorsi_, vol. i. 366): “I have the right to speak even more -than Nathan the prophet to David the king.” The right to speak upon a -certain occasion does not surely contain of necessity an allegation of -superiority nor imply a claim to inspiration! Nor did Pius IX. commend -“those who came to hear his words as words proceeding from Jesus Christ”; -for he merely said, in reply to a deputation: “I answer with the church; -and the church herself supplies to me the words in the Gospel for this -morning. You are here, and have put forth your sentiments; but you desire -also to hear the word of Jesus Christ as it issues from the mouth of his -Vicar.” That is to say: You shall have for answer “the word of Jesus -Christ”--meaning this day’s Gospel--spoken by, or as it issues from, or -which proceeds (_che esce_) out of, the mouth of his Vicar. The words, -“He is nature that protests, he is God that condemns,” are evidently -metaphorical expressions of the editor, harmless enough; for, as Pius IX. -cannot be both God and nature literally, the metaphorical application is -apparent to the meanest comprehension. It is true that Don Pasquale, in -his preface, page 16, ascribes to Pius IX. this language: “This voice -which now sounds before you is the voice of Him whom I represent on -earth” (_la VOCE di colui che in terra Io rappresento_); but, turning -to Don Pasquale’s reference (vol. i. p. 299) to verify the quotation, -it is found that the editor made a serious mistake, by which the entire -character of the passage was altered. The Pope had just contrasted -himself (the _vox clamantis de Vaticano_) with John the Baptist (the -_vox clamantis in deserto_). “Yes,” he adds, “I may also call myself -the Voice; for, although unworthy, I am yet the Vicar of Christ, and -this voice which now sounds before you is the voice of him who in earth -represents him” (_è la voce di colui, che in terra lo rappresenta_). Don -Pasquale imprudently put the word “voce” in capital letters, changed “lo” -into “Io,” and “rappresenta” into “rappresento.” The Pope simply said -that his voice, as it cried from the Vatican, was the voice of the Vicar -of Christ. And in the belief of all Catholics so it is. - -The charge of “truculence” is brought against the Pope by Mr. Gladstone. -“It is time to turn,” he says (_Review_, p. 277), “with whatever -reluctance, to the truculent and wrathful aspect which unhappily prevails -over every other in these _Discourses_.” The first proof of this -“truculence” is, it seems, the fact that the “_cadres_, or at least the -skeletons and relics of the old papal government over the Roman states, -are elaborately and carefully maintained.” One would suppose that these -_cadres_ were maintained with the bloodthirsty intention of making war on -Victor Emanuel. But Mr. Gladstone does not say so; nay, he insinuates in -a foot-note that their maintenance is for a purpose far from truculent. -“We have seen it stated from a good quarter,” so Mr. Gladstone writes, -“that no less than three thousand persons, formerly in the papal -employment, now receive some pension or pittance from the Vatican. -Doubtless they are expected to be forthcoming on all occasions of great -deputations, as they may be wanted, like the _supers_ and dummies at -the theatres.” It appears from the _Discorsi_ that the Pope received in -audience deputations from the persons formerly in the papal employment on -twenty-one occasions, between September, 1870, and September, 1873. On -fourteen of these occasions the _impiegati_ were received on days when -no other deputations attended. On the other occasions, although other -deputations were received on the same days, the ex-employees were never -mixed up with other deputations, but were always placed in separate rooms -for audience. Mr. Gladstone has not the least ground for insinuating that -these unfortunate persons, who refused to take the oath of allegiance -to Victor Emanuel, and thereby forfeited employment and pay, were ever -called upon like _supers_ or dummies to make a show at great deputations. -If these ex-employees receive pay from the Pope, it surely is no proof -of papal “truculence.” But “none of these,” so asserts Mr. Gladstone -(_Review_, p. 278), “appear at the Vatican as friends, co-religionists, -as receivers of the Pontiff’s alms, or in any character which could be -of doubtful interpretation. They appear as being actually and at the -moment his subjects and his military and civil servants respectively, -although only in _disponibilità_, or, so to speak, on furlough; they are -headed by the proper leading functionaries, and the Pope receives them as -persons come for the purpose of doing homage to their sovereign.” The -references given for this somewhat confused statement are pages 88 and -365 of volume i., where the Pope very naturally speaks of “the fidelity -shown by them to their sovereign,” and of their “faith, constancy, and -attachment to religion, to God, and to the Vicar of Jesus Christ, their -sovereign.” It was in consequence of the introduction by Victor Emanuel, -into the several government departments in Rome, of an oath of allegiance -to the head of the state--an oath not demanded previously under the Papal -rule--that these _impiegati_ resigned their situations, their consciences -not permitting them to take the oath. It was no wonder, then, that Pius -IX. should notice their fidelity to himself. But he makes no assertion -whatever to the effect that these civil and military servants are merely -on furlough or in _disponibilità_. That they do appear as pensioners -on the bounty of Pius IX. may be proved, in spite of Mr. Gladstone’s -denial, by reference to the _Discorsi_, at pages 38, 50, 99, 182, 235, -308, 460, and 472 of volume i. and pages 25, 38, and 122 of volume -ii. It cannot be expected that we should quote all these passages at -length, but we will quote a few of them. The ex-civil servants, on 13th -July, 1872, approached His Holiness to express “their sincere devotion -and gratitude for what he had done for their sustentation and comfort -under most distressing circumstances.” The police officials, seven days -afterwards, were introduced by Mgr. Randi; and one of them, the Marquis -Pio Capranica, read an address, in which the persons whom Mr. Gladstone -calls “the scum of the earth” (_Review_, p. 278) thank the Pope for -extending to them and their “families his fatherly munificence.” On the -27th of December, 1871, the ex-military officials, through Gen. Kanzler, -laid at the foot of the Pope their protestations of unalterable fidelity, -their prayers for the prolongation of his life, and their gratitude for -his generosity in alleviating the distress and misery of many families -of his former soldiers. But perhaps the “truculence” of Pius IX. may be -discovered, if not in his compassion and generosity to his ex-servants, -at least in his admonitions to them to furbish up their arms and keep -their powder dry. Mr. Gladstone asserts (_Review_, p. 297) that “blood -and iron” are “in contemplation at the Vatican.” “No careful reader of -this authoritative book (the _Speeches_) can doubt that these are the -means by which the great Christian pastor contemplates and asks--ay, asks -as one who should think himself entitled to command--the re-establishment -of his power in Rome.” Now, the Pope can ask or command this “blood and -iron” assistance from none so well as from his ex-soldiers, and from the -civil and military officials still loyal to their chief. It happens, -however, that no “careful reader” of the Pope’s speeches to his former -soldiers or servants can discover a trace of this “truculent” purpose -of His Holiness. He rarely mentions a weapon; but when he does, it is -to remind his audience (as at p. 197, vol. i.) that “we must not combat -with material weapons, but spiritually--that is to say, with united -prayers.” He reminds some young soldiers (vol. i. p. 69) that “prayer is -the terrible weapon for use specially in the actual grievous condition of -affairs, by which weapon alone can the complete triumph of the church and -religion be obtained.” When he would place before some of his faithful -civil servants the example of the “Hebrews when rebuilding Jerusalem, -who held in one hand the working tools and in the other the sword to -combat the enemy,” he warns them to imitation by means of “prayer on the -one side, and constancy on the other” (vol. i. p. 475). Prayer is the -burden of his advice on all these occasions. “_Sursum corda!_ Lift up -the thought and the heart to God, from whom only we can expect comfort, -help, counsel, or protection now and always” (vol. ii. p. 25). “They -have imagined,” says the Pontiff to the Marquis Pio Capranica and other -ex-functionaries of the Police Department (vol. ii. p. 36), “that we wish -to cause an armed reaction! To think this is folly, and to assert it -is calumny. I have made known to all persons that the reaction which I -desire is this: namely, to have people who can protect youth, and provide -for the good education of the young in the principles of faith, morality, -honesty, and respect towards the church and her ministers. This is the -reaction which now and always I will say is our desire. As for the rest, -God will do that which he wills. Great reactions are not in my hands, -but in His upon whom all depends.” There is one passage cited by Mr. -Gladstone to show that the Pope would “take the initiative,” if he could, -and lead his troops to battle. It occurs in a speech addressed to Gen. -Kanzler and the officers of the late pontifical army, and may be found in -vol. ii. pages 141 and 142. The Pope says at the beginning of his speech, -“You are come, soldiers of honor, attached to this Holy See and constant -in the exercise of your duties, to present yourselves before me; but you -come without arms, proving thereby how sad are the present times. Oh! -would I also could obey that voice of God which many ages ago said to a -people, Transform your ploughs and plough-shares and your instruments of -husbandry into spears and swords and implements of war; for the enemies -are advancing, and there is need of many weapons and of many armed men. -Would that God would to-day repeat those same inspirations even unto us. -But God is silent, and I, his Vicar, cannot do aught in distinction from -him, and cannot do aught save keep silence.” The foregoing paragraph has -undoubtedly a warlike sound, and is of course quoted by Mr. Gladstone; -but it is immediately followed by another passage which takes from it -all its force, and which is not quoted by Mr. Gladstone: “And I will -particularly add that I could never desire to authorize an augmentation -of arms, because, as Vicar of the God of Peace, who came on earth to -bring peace to us, I am bound to sustain all the rights of peace, which -is the fairest gift which God can give to this earth.” - -Mr. Gladstone notices “the Pope’s wealth of vituperative power,” and -refers to various passages for illustrations. A string of references -looks convincing, but it has been already shown how little reliance can -be placed on Mr. Gladstone in this respect. He who takes the pains to -verify these references will find Pius IX. has indeed used hard language, -not only towards the Italian government or Victor Emanuel, but towards -insidious proselytizers and bad and immoral teachers, spectacles, -and publications. But is Mr. Gladstone an unprejudiced judge of the -propriety of the pontifical expressions? The late British premier thinks -favorably of Victor Emanuel, and imagines Rome to be much improved -by the entrance of the Italians. He thinks the Pope “knows nothing -except at second-hand, nothing except as he is prompted by the blindest -partisans.” But Mr. Gladstone himself is the infallible authority. He -has sought and produced, of course from impartial sources, statistics to -show that crime has greatly diminished since the termination of the papal -_régime_. The Gladstonian statistics, of course, refute the statements -of the Pope, and also, as it happens, those of the law officers of the -crown in Italy, one of whom, Ghiglieri, when lately opening the legal -year with an elaborate speech, enlarged on the increasing prevalence of -crime in the Roman province since 1870--that is, since Rome became the -capital. Every visitor at Rome since that date knows that “flower-girls” -and other girls have only since 1870 been permitted to infest the Corso -and theatres, and that Rome, though not yet as bad as Paris or London -in respect to ostensible immorality, is rapidly advancing to equality -in vice with rival capitals. But Mr. Gladstone is not averse to vice in -certain quarters. He calls the blind Duke of Sirmoneta “able, venerable, -and highly cultivated,” and contrasts him (with perfect accuracy, but -rather scandalously) with the other members of the Roman aristocracy, -who, according to Edmond About, have not even vice to recommend them. The -Carnival of 1875 in Rome is itself an illustration of the progress of -vice and of crime in what Mr. Gladstone calls the “orderly and national -Italian kingdom.” - -There is but space left to us to notice the deposing power, “the most -familiar to Englishmen” of all the “burning questions.” And the best -way to notice this question is to set before our readers the _ipsissima -verba_ of Pius IX. on the subject (as far as a translation can pretend -to supply them) from the famous speech to the Academia di Religione -Cattolica on July 20, 1871. The Pope said: - -“But amid the variety of themes presented to you, one seems to me at -present of great importance, and this is to repel the attacks by which -they try to falsify the idea of the Pontifical Infallibility. Among -other errors, that one is more than all others malicious which would -attribute to it the right to depose sovereigns and release nations from -the bond of fidelity. This right, without doubt, was sometimes in extreme -circumstances exercised by pontiffs; but it has nothing to do with the -Pontifical Infallibility. Nor is its source the infallibility, but the -pontifical authority. The exercise, moreover, of this right, in those -ages of faith which respected in the pope that which he is--namely, -the Supreme Judge of Christianity--and recognized the advantages of -his tribunal in the great contests of peoples and sovereigns, freely -was extended (aided, also, as a duty, by the public right and by the -common consent of the nations) to the gravest interests of states and -of their rulers. But the present conditions are entirely different from -those, and only malice can confound things so diverse--as, for instance, -the infallible judgment concerning the principles of revelation--with -the right which the popes exercised in virtue of their authority when -the common good demanded it. As for the rest, they know it better than -we, and every one can perceive the reason why they raise at present a -confusion of ideas so absurd and bring upon the field hypotheses to -which no one gives heed. They beg, that is, every pretext, even the most -frivolous and the furthest from truth, provided it be suited to give us -annoyance and to excite princes against the church. Some persons wished -that I should explain and make more clear the conciliar definition. This -I will not do. It is clear in itself, and has no need of further comments -and explanations. Its true sense presents itself easily and obviously to -whoever reads the decree with a dispassionate mind.” - -Doubtless the deposing power is one of the “rusty tools” which Rome, -according to Mr. Gladstone, has “refurbished and paraded anew.” But -what man with a dispassionate mind can read the authentic version of -the words put by Mr. Gladstone incorrectly before the public without -coming to the conclusion that the “refurbishing and parading anew” of the -deposing power is altogether a creation of Mr. Gladstone’s “brain-power,” -and that Pius IX., so far from showing a disposition to employ again -“the rusty tool,” actually manifests an intention to undervalue it and -lay it aside? Some persons would “refurbish” up the deposing power by -connecting it with infallibility, and the Pope denounces their attempt as -absurd and malicious. The abstract right of pontiffs to depose princes -and release subjects from allegiance is referred by Pius IX. not to the -infallibility which would give it new lustre, but to the pontifical -authority, which in olden time was strong and powerful, but which at -present is scarcely recognized by the kingdoms of the world. The exercise -of this right is delicately touched upon, in such a way as to suggest not -the least disposition to resume the right by putting it in practice. It -was indeed “sometimes, in extreme circumstances”--_talvolta in supreme -circostanze_--exercised by popes in those times when the pontiff was -acknowledged “the Supreme Judge of Christianity,” and when the Holy See, -by the common consent of nations, was the tribunal to which appeal was -made in the great contests of sovereigns and nations. Then indeed this -right was extended to “the gravest interests of nations and of rulers”; -but now all is different--“aflatto diverse.” So far from “parading anew” -the abstract right, and “furbishing” it up for present use, the Holy -Father indignantly repudiates the malicious allegation by declaring that -the right itself was but seldom exercised in ancient times, and then -only under special conditions such as are not likely to be found in -modern days. “Hypotheses” may of course be imagined by those who wish -“to give annoyance and excite princes against the church.” But these -“hypotheses,” as the Pope remarks, are not serious. No one pays heed -or attention to them. They are “ipotesi, alle quali niuno pensa.” The -limits of the obedience of subjects to sovereigns are clearly set forth -by Pius IX. in his address to an Austrian deputation on the 18th of June, -1871. “Submission and respect to authority are the principal duties of -truly good subjects. But at the same time I must remind you,” says the -Pope, “that your obedience and fidelity have a limit to be observed. -Be faithful to the sovereign whom God has given to you, and obey the -laws which govern you; but when necessity calls, let your obedience and -fidelity not advance beyond, but be arrested at, the steps of the altar.” -You have “duties to the laws as subjects, and to your consciences as -Christians.” “Unite these duties well, and let your supreme rule be the -holy law of God and his church.” The state of mind of that man who can -find nothing in the _Speeches of Pius IX._ save matter for ridicule, -sarcasm, and invective is not to be envied. It reminds one of the phrase -employed in the consistorial “_processus_” for the appointment of a -bishop to a diocese in which heretics usurped the churches and impeded -the profession and practice of true religion: _Illius status potius est -deplorandus quam recensendus_--It is a condition which is rather to be -deplored than described. - - -THE BATH OF THE GOLDEN ROBIN. - - The sun beams over Laurelside - To Ana-lo-mink water, - And nature smiles in rural pride - At all the gifts he brought her. - - The merry greenwood branches hold - More cheer than castle’s rafter, - The gurgling river ne’er is old - With sly and mellow laughter. - - How welcome is the soothing sound - Of mingling water speeding - O’er pebbly bed with laugh and bound, - Through wooded banks receding! - - Ah! pleasant ’tis to close one’s eyes, - And let the murmurous measure - With liquid tones of gay surprise - Fill up the fancy’s pleasure. - - But ere my hooded eyes could wake - Sweet fancy’s happy scheming, - Came Robin Oriole to break - My sleepless, dulcet dreaming. - - For Rob outshines the glowing day, - And in the sun’s dominions - Seems like a ball of fire at play - On elfin sable pinions. - - He glints the orchard’s dropping dew, - Illumes the maple’s mazes, - Dispels the pine-shade passing through, - And in the sunshine blazes! - - And sweeping to a mossy bank, - The wings the flame deliver - Where fern-encloister’d pebbles flank - An eddy from the river. - - Here, by the stream-indented path, - As master Rob did spy it, - Thought he, What chance for Sunday bath! - So tempting, cool, and quiet. - - He quaintly eyed the little pool, - And hopt so self-confiding, - And peek’d around, like boy from school, - To see none near were hiding. - - Then, list’ning, seem’d to mark the tone - Made by the eddies’ patter; - But bravely sprang upon a stone, - And plunged with splash and spatter. - - The bath came only to his knees, - But, ducking as he flutters, - Against his throat the water sprees, - And round his body sputters. - - It leapt in bubbles, as his crest - And wings were merrily toiling; - You’d think his ruffled, fiery breast - Had set the water boiling. - - He stopt short in his merry ways - As coy as any lady, - And, flutt’ring, sent a diamond haze - Around his bath so shady. - - Then popt out on the olive moss - So softly deep and luscious; - Then skimm’d the blue-eyed flow’rs across, - And perch’d within the bushes. - - He perk’d his head like dandy prig, - Now feeling fine and fresher; - And took the air upon a twig, - That scarcely felt his pressure. - - Full suddenly he scann’d his shank, - As though he had not reckon’d - One dip enough, flew to the bank, - And gayly took a second! - - Oh! how the jolly fellow dashed - The little waves asunder! - Dove in his head and breast, and splashed - His pinion-feathers under. - - Then standing up, as though to rest, - He looked around discreetly; - Again with zest the pool caress’d, - And made his bath completely. - - Out hopt he where the sun-fed breeze - Came streamward warmly tender-- - A brilliant prince of Atomies - Amid this mountain splendor. - - Oh, balmy is the mountain air - Of May with sunlight in it! - And blest is he from town-wrought care - Who can in greenwood win it. - - But sun on Robin’s radiant coat, - All drench’d, he fear’d might spoil it, - So to an alder grove did float - To make his feathery toilet. - - He pick’d his wings and smoothed his neck, - Arranged his vest’s carnation, - And flew out without stain or speck - To dazzle all creation! - - -ARE YOU MY WIFE? - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “A SALON IN PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” -“PIUS VI.,” ETC - -CHAPTER IV. - -“Here you are, you naughty little maiden, gadding about the country -when I want you to be at home to talk to me!” exclaimed Sir Simon, as -Franceline burst into the cottage full of her little adventure. “Where -have you been all this time?” - -“Only to see Miss Merrywig, and then I came home by the fields.” - -“And was any poor mortal lucky enough to meet you coming through the -rye?” inquired Sir Simon facetiously. - -Franceline didn’t see the point a bit; but she blushed as if she did, and -Sir Simon was not the man to let her off. - -“Oh! so that’s it, is it? Come, now, and tell me all about it,” he said, -drawing her to a low seat beside his arm-chair, the only one in the -establishment, and which his host always insisted on his taking. “You -must let me into the secret; it’s very shabby of you to have got one -without consulting me. Who is he, and where did you meet him?” - -“One is Mr. Charlton,” replied Franceline naïvely; “but I don’t know who -the other is. I never saw him before. Tell me who he is, monsieur?” - -“Tell you! Well, upon my word, you are a pretty flirt! You don’t even -know his name! A very nice young lady!” - -“Is he a Frenchman, monsieur? I think he must be from the way he bowed. -Is he a friend of yours? Nobody else knows Frenchmen here but you. Do -tell me who he is.” - -“He’s not a Frenchman,” said Sir Simon, “and he’ll never forgive you for -mistaking him for one, I can tell you. If you were a man, he would run -you through the body for it just as soon as he’d look at you!” - -“Mon Dieu!” cried Franceline, opening her eyes wide with wonder, “then -I don’t care to know any more about him. I hope I shall never see him -again.” - -“Yes, but you shall, though, and I’ll take care to tell him,” declared -Sir Simon. - -“What is it? What is it?” called out M. de la Bourbonais, looking up from -a letter that he was writing against time to catch the post. “What are -you both quarrelling about again?” - -“Petit père, monsieur is so unkind and so disagreeable!” - -“And Mlle. Franceline is so cruel and so inquisitive!” - -“He won’t tell me who that strange gentleman is, petit père. Canst thou -tell me?” - -“Oh! ho! I thought we didn’t care to know!” laughed Sir Simon with a -mischievous look. - -“Tell me, petit père!” said Franceline, ignoring her tormentor’s taunt; -and going up to her father, she laid her head coaxingly against his. - -He looked at her for a moment with a strange expression, and then said, -half speaking to himself, while he stroked her hair, “What can it matter -to thee? What is one strange face more or less to thee or me?” Then -turning to Sir Simon, who was enjoying the sight of the young girl’s -innocent curiosity, and perhaps revolving possible eventualities in his -buoyant mind, the count said, “Who is it, Harness?” - -“How do I know?” retorted his friend. “A strange gentleman that bows like -a Frenchman is not a very lucid indication.” - -“I met him coming out of your gate, walking with Mr. Charlton,” explained -Franceline. “He’s taller than Mr. Charlton--as tall as you, monsieur--and -he wore a moustache like a Frenchman. I never saw any one like him in -England.” - -Franceline’s recollections of France were mostly rather dim, but, like -the memories of childhood, those that survived were very vivid. - -“If he must be a Frenchman, I can make nothing out of it,” said Sir Simon. - -“Voyons, Harness,” laughed the count, “don’t be too unmerciful! Curiosity -in a woman once led to terrible consequences.” - -“Well, I’ll tell you who he is In fact, I came here to-day on purpose to -tell you, and to ask when I could bring him to see you. He’s the nephew -of my old school-chum, De Winton, a very nice fellow, but not the least -like a Frenchman, whatever his bow and his moustache may say to the -contrary.” - -“Do you mean Clide De Winton, the poor young fellow who …?” - -“Precisely,” replied Sir Simon; “he’s been a rover on the face of the -earth for the last eight or nine years. This is the first time I’ve seen -him since I said good-by to him on the steamer at Marseilles, and met -you on my way back. He’s been all over the world since then, I believe. -You’ll find he has plenty to say for himself, and his French is number -one.” - -“And the admiral--is he with him?” inquired Raymond. - -“I’m expecting him down to-morrow. How long is it since you saw him?” - -“Hé!… let us not count the years, mon cher! We were all young then.” - -“We’re all young now,” protested the hearty baronet. “Men of our time of -life never grow old; it’s only these young ones that can afford that sort -of thing,” nodding toward Franceline, who, since she found her Frenchman -was no Frenchman, appeared to have lost all interest in him, and was -busily tidying her father’s table. “As to the admiral, he’s younger than -ever he was. By the way, I don’t intend to let him cut me out with a -certain young lady; so let me see no flirtation in that quarter. I’ll not -stand it. Do you hear me, Miss Franceline?” - -“Yes,” was the laconic rejoinder, and she went on fixing some loose -papers in a letter-press. - - * * * * * - -“Yes, Monsieur le Comte is at home; but, as monsieur knows, he never -likes to be disturbed at this hour,” replied Angélique, who was knitting -the family stockings in the wee summer-house at the end of the garden. - -“Oh! I’ll answer for it he won’t mind being disturbed this time,” said -Sir Simon. “Tell him it’s his old friend, the admiral, who wants to see -him.” - -Before Angélique had got her needles under way and risen, a cry of -jubilant welcome sounded from the closed shutters of the little room -where the count was hard at work in the dark. “Mon cher De Vinton! how it -rejoices me to embrace you.” And the Frenchman was in his friend’s arms -in a minute. “My good Angélique, this is one of our eldest friends! Where -is mademoiselle? Fetch her on the instant! Mon cher De Vinton.” - -The four gentlemen--for Clide was there--went laughing and shaking hands -into the house, and groped their way as best they could into Raymond’s -study. He had the sensible foreign habit of keeping the shutters closed -to exclude the heat, and the admiral nearly fell over a stool in -scrambling for a chair. - -“My dear Bourbonais, we’re none of us bats, and darkness isn’t a help -to the flow of soul,” said Sir Simon; “so, by your leave, I’ll throw a -little light on the subject.” And he pushed back the shutter. - -Before their eyes had recovered the blinding shock of the light coming -suddenly on the darkness, a light foot was pattering down the stairs, -and Franceline glided into the room. The effect was very much as if a -lily had sprouted up from the carpet. An involuntary “God bless my soul!” -broke from the admiral, and Clide started to his feet. “My daughter, -messieurs,” said M. de la Bourbonais, with a sudden touch of the courtier -in his manner, as he took her by the hand, and presented her to them -both. Franceline bowed to the young man, and held out her hand to the -elder one. The admiral, with an unwonted impulse of gallantry, raised -it to his lips, and then held it in both his own, looking steadily into -her face with an open stare of fatherly admiration. He had seen many -lovely women in his day, and, if report spoke true, the brave sailor -had been a very fair judge of the charms of the gentler sex; but he had -never seen anything the least like this. Perhaps it was the unexpected -contrast of the picture with the frame that took him so much by surprise -and heightened the effect; but, whatever it was, he was completely taken -aback, and stood looking at it speechless and bewildered. - -“Do you mean to tell me that this wild rose belongs to _him_?” he said -at last, addressing himself to Sir Simon, and with an aggressive nod -at Raymond, as if he suspected him of having pilfered the article in -question, and were prepared to do battle for the rightful owner. - -“He says so,” averred the baronet cautiously. - -“He may say what he likes,” declared the admiral, “my belief is that he -purloined it out of some fairy’s garden.” - -“And my belief is that you purloined that!” snubbed Sir Simon. “You never -had as much poetry in you as would inspire a fly; had he, Clide?” - -Raymond rubbed his spectacles, and put them on again--his usual way of -disposing of an awkward situation, and which just now helped to conceal -the twinkle of innocent paternal vanity that was dancing in his gray eyes. - -“No, you usedn’t to be much of a poet when I knew you, De Vinton,” he -said. - -“No more he is now,” asserted the baronet. “What do you say, Clide?” - -“The most prosaic of us may become poets under a certain pressure of -inspiration,” replied the young man, with an imperceptible movement of -his head in the direction of Franceline, who blushed under the speech -just enough to justify the admiral’s wild-rose simile. She drew her hand -laughingly away from his, and then, when everybody had found a seat, she -pushed her favorite low stool close to her father’s chair, and sat down -by his knee. - -The friends had a great deal to say to each other, although the presence -of Clide and Sir Simon prevented their touching on certain episodes of -the past that were brought vividly to Raymond’s mind by the presence -of one whom he had not seen since they had taken place. This kept all -painful subjects in the background; and in spite of a wistful look in -Raymond’s eyes, as if the sailor’s weather-beaten face were calling up -the ghost of by-gone days--joys that had lived their span and died, -and sorrow that was not dead, but sleeping--he kept up the flow of -conversation with great animation. Meanwhile, the two young people -were pushed rather outside the circle. Clide, instead of entering on -a _tête-à-tête_, as it was clearly his right and his duty to do, kept -holding on by the fringe of his uncle’s talk, feigning to be deeply -interested in it, while all the time he was thinking of something else, -longing to go and sit by Franceline, and talk to her. It was not shyness -that kept him back. That infirmity of early youth had left him, with -other outward signs of boyhood. The features had lost their boyish -expression, and matured into that of the man of the world, who had seen -life and observed things by the road with shrewd eyes and a mind that had -learned to think. Clide had ripened prematurely within the last eight -years, as men do who are put to school to a great sorrow. He and his -monitress had not parted company, but they had grown used to each other. -Sometimes he reproached himself for this with a certain bitterness. It -seemed like treason to have forgotten; to have put his grief aside, -railed it off, as it were, from his life, like a grave to be visited at -stated times, and kept trimmed with flowers that were no longer watered -with tears. He accused himself of being too weak to hold his sorrow, of -having let it go from want of strength to keep it. Enduring grief, like -enduring love, must have a strong, rich soil to feed upon. The thing -we mourn, like the thing we love, may contain in itself all good and -beauty and endless claims upon our constancy; but we may fail in power -to answer them. The demand may be too great for the scanty measure of -our supply. It is harder to be faithful in sorrow than in love. Clide -had realized this, and he could never think of it without a pang. Yet -he was not to blame. What he had loved and mourned was only a mirage, -a will-o’-the-wisp the ideal creation of his own trusting heart and -generous imagination. He was angry with himself because the thunderbolt -that had fallen in his Garden of Eden, and burnt up the leaves of his -tree of life, had not torn it up by the roots and killed it. Our lives -have deeper roots than we know. Even when they are torn quite up we -sometimes plant them again, and they grow afresh, striking their fibres -deeper than before, and bringing forth richer fruit. But we refuse to -believe this until we have tasted of the fruit. Clide sat apparently -listening to the cheery, affectionate talk of his uncle and Raymond; -but he was all the while listening to his own thoughts. What was there -in the sight of this ivory-browed, mystic-looking maiden to call up so -vividly another face so utterly different from it? Why did he hear the -sea booming its dirge like a reproach to him from that lonely grave at -St. Valery, as if he were wronging or wounding the dead by resting his -eyes on Franceline? Yet, in spite of the reproach, he could not keep them -averted. Her father sometimes called her _Clair de lune_. It was not an -inappropriate name; there was something of the cold, pure light of the -moon in her transparent pallor, and in the shadows of her eyes under the -long, black lashes that lent them such a soft fascination. Clide thought -so, as he watched her; cold as the face might be, it was stirring his -pulse and making his heart beat as he never thought to feel them stir and -beat again. - -“Are ces messieurs going to stay for supper?” said Angélique, putting her -nut-brown face in at the door. “Because, if they are, I must know in time -to get ready.” - -“Why, Angélique, I never knew you want more than five minutes to prepare -the best _omelette soufflée_ I ever get anywhere out of the Palais -Royal!” said Sir Simon. - -“Ah! monsieur mocks me,” said Angélique, who was so elated by this public -recognition of her omelet talent that, if Sir Simon was not embraced -by the nut-brown face on the spot, it was one of those hair-breadth -escapes that our lives are full of, and we never give thanks for because -we never know of them. “Persuade De Vinton and our young friend here -to stop and test it, then!” exclaimed M. de la Bourbonais, holding out -both hands to the admiral in his genial, impulsive way. “The garden is -our _salle-à-manger_ in this hot weather, so there is plenty of room.” -There was something irresistible in the simplicity and cordiality of -the offer, and the admiral was about to say he would be delighted, when -Sir Simon put in his veto: “No, no, not this evening. You must come and -dine with us, Bourbonais; I want you up at the house this evening. But -the invitation will keep. We’ll not let Angélique off her _omelette -soufflée_; we’ll come and attack it to-morrow, if these rovers don’t -bolt, as they threaten to do.” - -And so the conference was broken up, and Raymond accompanied his guests -to the garden-gate, promising to follow them in half an hour. - -It was a rare event for M. de la Bourbonais to dine at Dullerton Court; -he disliked accepting its grand-seignior hospitality, and whenever he -consented it was understood there should be nobody to meet him. “I have -grown as unsocial as a bear from long habit, mon cher,” he would be sure -to say every time Sir Simon bore down on him with an invitation. “I shall -turn into a mollusk by-and-by. How completely we are the creatures of -habit!” To which Sir Simon would invariably reply with his Johnsonian -maxim: “You should struggle against that sort of thing, Bourbonais, and -overcome it”; and Raymond would smile, and agree with him. He was too -gentle and too thoroughbred to taunt his friend with not following it -himself, which he might have done with bitter truth. Sir Simon was the -slave of habits and of weaknesses that it was far more necessary to -struggle against than Raymond’s harmless little foibles. There are some -men who spend one-half of their lives in cheating others, and the other -half in trying to cheat themselves. Sir Simon Harness was one of these. -Cheating is perhaps a hard word to apply to his efforts to keep up a -delusion which had grown so entirely his master that he could scarcely -see where the substance ended and where the shadow began. Yet his whole -life at present was a cheat. He had the reputation of being the largest -land-owner and the wealthiest man in that end of the county, and he -was, in reality, one of the poorest. The grand aim of his existence was -to live up to this false appearance, and prevent the truth from coming -out. It would be a difficult and useless undertaking to examine how -far he was originally to blame for the state of active falsehood into -which he and his circumstances had fallen. There is no doubt that his -father was to blame in the first instance. He had been a very splendid -old gentleman, Sir Alexander Harness, and had lived splendidly and died -heavily in debt, leaving the estate considerably mortgaged. He had not -been more than twenty years dead at the time I speak of, so that his son, -in coming into possession, found himself saddled with the paternal debts, -and with the confirmed extravagant habits of a lifetime. This made the -sacrifices which the payment of those debts necessitated seem a matter -of simple impossibility to him. The only thing to be done was to let the -Court for a term of years, send away the troops of misnamed servants -that encumbered the place, sell off the stud, and betake himself to the -Continent and economize. Thus he would have paid off his encumbrances, -and come back independent and easy in his mind. But, unluckily, strong -measures of this sort did not lie at all in Sir Simon’s way. He talked -about going abroad, and had some indefinite notion of “pulling in.” He -did run off to Paris and other continental places very frequently; but -as he travelled with a courier and a valet, and with all the expenses -inseparable from those adjuncts, the excursions did not contribute much -towards the desired result. Things went on at the Court in the old way; -the same staff of servants was kept up; the same number of parasites who, -under pretence of payment for some small debt, had lived in the Court for -years, until they came to consider they had a vested life-interest in the -property, were allowed to hang on. The new master of Dullerton was loath -to do such a shabby thing as to turn them out; and they were sure to die -off after a while. Then there was the stud, which Sir Alexander had been -so proud of. It had been a terrible expense to set it up, but, being up, -it was a pity to let it down; when things were going, they had a way of -keeping themselves going. There had always been open house at the Court -from time immemorial. In the shooting season people had come down, as a -matter of course, and enjoyed the jovial hospitalities of the old squire -ever since Dullerton had belonged to him. While his son was there he -could not possibly break through these old habits; they were as sacred -as the family traditions. By-and-by, when he saw his way to shutting up -the place and going abroad, it might be managed. Meanwhile, the old debts -were accumulating, and new ones were growing, and Sir Simon was beginning -less than ever to see his way to setting things right. If that tough old -Lady Rebecca Harness, his step-mother, would but take herself to a better -world, and leave him that fifty thousand pounds that reverted to him at -her demise, it would be a great mercy. But Lady Rebecca evidently was in -no hurry to try whether there was any pleasanter place than this best of -all possible worlds, and, in spite of her seventy years, was as hale as a -woman of forty. This was a trying state of things to the light-tempered, -open-handed baronet; but the greatest trial to him was the fear in -which he lived of being found out. He was at heart an upright man, and -it was his pride that men looked up to him as one whose character and -principles were, like Cæsar’s wife, above suspicion. He had lived up to -this reputation so far; but he was conscious of a growing fear that with -the increase of difficulties there was stealing on him a lessening of the -fine moral sense that had hitherto supported him under many temptations. -His embarrassments were creating a sort of mental fog around him; he was -beginning to wonder whether his theories about honesty were quite where -they used to be, and whether he was not getting on the other side of the -border-line between conscience and expediency. Outside it was still all -fair; he was the most popular man in the county, a capital landlord--in -fact, everybody’s friend but his own. The only person, except the family -lawyer, who was allowed to look at the other side of the picture, was -M. de la Bourbonais. Sir Simon was too sympathetic himself not to feel -the need of sympathy. He must occasionally complain of his hard fate to -some one, so he complained to Raymond. But Raymond, while he gave him -his sincerest sympathy, was very far from realizing the extent of the -troubles that called it forth. The baronet bemoaned himself in a vague -manner, denouncing people and things in a general sweep every now and -then; but between times he was as gay and contented as a man could be, -and Raymond knew far too little of the ways of the world and of human -nature to reconcile these conflicting evidences, and deduce from them -the facts they represented. He could not apprehend the anomaly of a sane -man, and a man of honor, behaving like a lunatic and a swindler; spending -treble his income in vanity and superfluity, and for no better purpose -than an empty bubble of popularity and vexation of spirit. Of late, -however, he had once or twice gained a glimpse into the mystery, and it -had given him a sharp pang, which Sir Simon no sooner perceived than he -hastened to dispel by treating his lamentations as mere irritability -of temper, assuring Raymond they meant nothing. But there was still an -uneasy feeling in the latter’s mind. It was chiefly painful to him for -Sir Simon’s sake, but it made him a little uncomfortable on his own -account. With Raymond’s punctilious notions of integrity, the man who -connived at wrong-doing, or in the remotest way participated in it, was -only a degree less culpable than the actual wrong-doer; and if Sir Simon -had come to the point of being hard up for a fifty-pound note to meet a -pressing bill, it was very unprincipled of him to be giving dinners with -Johannisberg and Tokay at twenty shillings a bottle, and very wrong of -his friends to aid and abet him in such extravagance. One day Sir Simon -came in with a clouded brow to unburden himself about a fellow who had -the insolence to write for the seventh time, demanding the payment of -his “little bill,” and, after a vehement tirade, wound up by asking -Raymond to go back and dine with him. “We’ll have up a bottle of your -favorite Château Margaux, and drink confusion to the duns and the speedy -extermination of the race,” said the baronet. “Come and cheer a fellow -up, old boy; nothing clears away the blue devils like discussing one’s -worries over a good glass of claret.” Raymond fought off, first on the -old plea that he hated going out, etc.; but, finding this would not -do, he confessed the truth. He hinted delicately that he did not feel -justified in allowing his friend to go to any expense on his account. -The innocence and infantine simplicity of this avowal sent Sir Simon -into such a hearty fit of laughter that Raymond felt rather ashamed of -himself, and began to apologize profusely for being so stupid and having -misunderstood, etc., and declared he would go and drink the bottle -of Château Margaux all to himself. But after this Sir Simon was more -reticent about his embarrassments; and as things went on at the Court in -the old, smooth, magnificent way, M. de la Bourbonais began to think it -was all right, and that his friend’s want of money must have been a mere -temporary inconvenience. In fact, he began to doubt this evening whether -it was not all a dream of his that Sir Simon had ever talked of being -“hard up.” When he entered the noble dining-room and looked around him, -it was difficult to believe otherwise. Massive silver and costly crystal -sparkled and flashed under a shower of light from the antique branching -chandelier; wax-lights clustered on the walls amidst solemn Rembrandt -heads, and fascinating Reynoldses, and wild Salvator Rosas, and tender -Claudes, and sunny Canalettos. It was not in nature that the owner of -all this wealth and splendor should know what it was to be in want of -money. Sir Simon, moreover, was in his element; and it would have puzzled -a spectator more versed than Raymond in the complex mechanism of the -human heart to believe that the brilliant host who was doing the honors -of his house so delightfully had a canker gnawing at his vitals. He -rattled away with the buoyant spirits of five-and-twenty; he was brimful -of anecdote, and bright with repartee. He drew every one else out. This -was what made him so irresistibly charming in society; it was not only -that he shone himself, but he had a knack of making other people shine. -He made the admiral tell stories of his seafaring life, he drew out Clide -about Afghanistan, and spirited M. de la Bourbonais into a quarrel with -him about the dates of the Pyramids; never flagging for a moment, never -prosing, but vaulting lightly from one subject to another, and all the -while leaving his guests under the impression that they were entertaining -him rather than he them, and that he was admiring them a vast deal more -than he admired himself. A most delightful host Sir Simon was. - -“Nothing cheers a man up like the sight of an old friend! Eh, De Winton?” -he exclaimed, falling back in his chair, with a thumb thrust into each -waistcoat pocket, and his feet stretched out to their full length under -the mahogany, the picture of luxury, hospitality, and content. - -“Much you know about it!” grunted the admiral, filling his glass--“a man -that never wanted to be cheered up in his life!” - -Sir Simon threw back his head and laughed. It was wine to him to be -rated such a good fellow by his old college chum. - -They kept it up till eleven o’clock, puffing their cigars on the terrace, -where the soft summer moon was shining beautifully on the fawns playing -under the silver spray of the fountain. - -“I’ll walk home with you, Raymond,” said Sir Simon when the chime of the -stable-clock reminded the count that it was time for him to go. - -It was about ten minutes’ walk to The Lilies through the park; but as the -night was so lovely, the baronet proposed they should take the longer way -by the road, and see the river by moonlight. They walked on for a while -without speaking. Raymond was enjoying the beauty of the scene, the gold -of the fields and the green of the meadows, all shining alike in silver, -the identity of the trees and flowers merged in uniform radiancy; he -fancied his companion was admiring it too, until the latter broke the -spell by an unexpected exclamation: “What an infernal bore money is, my -dear fellow! I mean the want of it.” - -“Mon Dieu!” was the count’s astonished comment. And as Sir Simon said -nothing more, he looked up at him uneasily: “I thought things had come -all right again, mon cher?” - -“They never were right; that’s the deuce of it. If I’d found them right, -I wouldn’t have been such an ass as to put them wrong. A man needn’t be -a saint or a philosopher to keep within an income of ten thousand pounds -a year; the difficulty is to live up to the name of it when you haven’t -got more than the fifth in reality. A man’s life isn’t worth a year’s -purchase with the worry these rascally fellows give one--a set of low -scoundrels that would suck your vitals with all the pleasure in life, -just because you happen to be a gentleman. Here’s that architect fellow -that ran up those stables last year, blustering and blowing about his -miserable twelve hundred pounds as if it was the price of a cathedral! -I told the fellow he’d have to wait for his money, and of course he was -all readiness and civility, anything to secure the job; and it’s no -sooner done than he’s down on me with a hue-and-cry. He must have his -money, forsooth, or else he’ll be driven to the painful necessity of -applying through his man of business. A fellow of his kind threatening -me with his man of business! The impertinence of his having a man of -business at all! But I dare say it’s a piece of braggadocio; he thinks -he’ll frighten the money out of me by giving himself airs and talking -big. I’ll see the scoundrel further! There’s no standing the impudence -of that class nowadays. Something must be done to check it. It’s a -disgrace to the country to see the way they’re taking the upper hand and -riding rough-shod over us. And mark my words if the country doesn’t live -to regret it! We landed proprietors are the bulwark of the state; and -if they let us be sent to the wall, they had better look to their own -moorings. Mark my words, Bourbonais!” - -Bourbonais was marking his words, but he was too bewildered to make any -sense out of them. “I agree with you, mon cher, the lower orders are -becoming the upper ones in many ways; but what does that prove?” - -“Prove! It proves there’s something rotten in the state of Denmark!” -retorted Sir Simon. - -“But how does that affect the case in question? I mean what has it to do -with this architect’s bill?” - -“It has this to do with it: that if this fellow’s father had attempted -the same impertinence with my father, he’d have been sent to the -right-about; whereas he may insult me, not only with impunity, but with -effect! That’s what it has to do with it. Public opinion has changed -sides since my father lived like a gentleman, and snapped his fingers at -these parasites that live by sucking our blood.” - -Raymond knew that when Sir Simon got on the subject of the “lower” -orders and their iniquities, there was nothing for it but to give him -his head, and wait patiently till he pulled up of his own accord. -When at last the baronet drew breath, and was willing to listen, he -brought him back to the point, and asked what he meant to do about the -twelve-hundred-pound bill. Did he see his way to paying it? Sir Simon -did not. It was a curious fact that he never saw his way to paying a -bill until he had contracted it, and until his vision had been sharpened -by some disagreeable process like the present, which forced him to face -the alternative of paying or doing worse. These new stables had been a -necessary expense, it is true, and he was very forcible in reiterating -the fact to Raymond; but the latter had a provoking way of reverting -to first principles, as he called it, and, after hearing his friend’s -logical demonstration as to the absolute necessity which had compelled -him to build--the valuable horses that were being damaged by the damp of -the old stables; the impossibility of keeping up a hunting stud without -proper accommodations for horses and men; the economy that the outlay -was sure to be in the long run, the saving of doctor’s bills, etc.; the -“vet.” was never out of the house while the horses were lodged in the old -stables--M. de la Bourbonais said: “But, mon cher, why need you keep a -hunting stud, why keep horses at all, if you can’t afford it?” - -This was a question that never crossed Sir Simon’s mind, or, if it did, -it was dismissed with such a peremptory snub that it never presented -itself again. It was peculiarly irritating to have it thrust on him now, -at a moment when he wanted some soothing advice to cheer him up. The -idea, put into words and spoken aloud by another, was, however, not as -easily ignored as when it passed silently through his own mind; it must -be answered, if only by shutting the door in its face. - -“My dear Raymond,” said the baronet in his affectionate, patronizing way, -“you don’t quite understand the matter; you look at it too much from a -Frenchman’s point of view. You don’t make allowance for the different -conditions of society in this country. There are certain things, you see, -that a man must do in England; society exacts it of him. A gentleman must -live like a gentleman, or else he can’t hold his own. It isn’t a matter -of choice.” - -“It seems to me it is, though,” returned Raymond. “He may choose between -his duty to his conscience and his duty to society.” - -“You can’t separate them, my dear fellow; it’s not to be done in this -country. But that’s shifting the question too wide of the mark,” observed -Sir Simon, who began to feel it was being driven rather too close. “The -thing is, how am I to raise the wind to quiet this architect? It is too -late to discuss the wisdom of building the stables; they are built, and -they must be paid for.” - -“Sell those two hunters that you paid five hundred pounds apiece for; -that will go a long way towards it,” suggested the count. - -The proposition was self-evident, but that did not make it the more -palatable to Sir Simon. He muttered something about not seeing his way to -a purchaser just then. Raymond, however, pressed the matter warmly, and -urged him to set about finding one without delay. He brought forward a -variety of arguments to back up this advice, and to prove to his friend -that not only common sense and justice demanded that he should follow -it, but that, from a selfish point of view, it was the best thing he -could do. “Trust me,” he cried, “the peace of mind it will bring you -will largely compensate for the sacrifice.” Sacrifice! It sounded like a -mockery on Raymond de la Bourbonais’ lips to apply the word to the sale -of a couple of animals for the payment of a foolish debt; but Raymond, -whatever Sir Simon might say to the contrary, made large allowance for -their relative positions, and was very far from any thought of irony when -he called it a sacrifice. - -“You’re right; you’re always right, Raymond,” said the baronet, leaning -his arm heavily on the count’s shoulder, and imperceptibly guiding him -closer to the river, that was flowing on like a message of peace in the -solemn, star-lit silence. “I’d be a happier man if I could take life as -you do, if I were more like you.” - -“And had to black your own boots?” Raymond laughed gently. - -“I shouldn’t mind a rap blacking my boots, if nobody saw me.” - -“Ah! that’s just it! But when people are reduced to black their own -boots, they’re sure to be seen. The thing is to do it, and not care who -sees us.” - -“That’s the rub,” said Sir Simon; and then they walked on without -speaking for a while, listening to a nightingale that woke up in a -willow-tree and broke the silence with a short, bright cadence, ending -in a trill that made the very shadows vibrate on the water. There is a -strange unworldliness in moonlight. The cold stars, tingling silently in -the deep blue peace so far above us, have a voice that rebukes the strife -of our petty passions more forcibly than the wisest sermon. The cares and -anxieties of our lives pale into the flimsy shadows that they are, when -we look at them in the glory of illuminated midnight heavens. What sheer -folly it all was, this terror of what the world would say of him if he -sold his hunters! Sir Simon felt he could laugh at the world’s surprise, -ay, or at its contempt, if it had met him there and then by the river’s -side, while the stars were shining down upon him. - -“Simon,” said M. de la Bourbonais, stopping as they came within a few -steps of The Lilies, “I am going to ask you for a proof of friendship.” -He scarcely ever called the baronet by his name, and Sir Simon felt that, -whatever the proof in question was, it was stirring Raymond’s heart very -deeply to ask it. - -“I thought we had got beyond _asking_ each other anything of that sort; -if I wanted a service from you, I should simply tell you so,” replied the -baronet. - -“You are right. That is just what I feel about it. Well, what I want -to say is this: I have a hundred pounds laid by. I don’t want it at -present; there is no knowing when I may want it, so I will draw it -to-morrow and take it to you.” Raymond made his little announcement very -simply, but there was a tremor in his voice. Sir Simon hardly knew what -to say. It was impossible to accept, and impossible to refuse. - -“It’s rather a good joke, my offering to lend you money!” said Raymond, -laughing and walking on as if he noticed nothing. “But you know the story -of the lion and the mouse.” - -“Raymond, you’re a richer man than I am,” said Sir Simon; “a far happier -one,” he added in his own mind. - -“Then you’ll take the hundred pounds?” - -“Yes; that is to say, no. I can’t say positively at this moment; we’ll -talk it over to-morrow. You’ll come up early, and we’ll talk it over. You -see, I may not want it after all. If I get the full value of Nero and -Rosebud, I shouldn’t want it.” - -“But you may not find a purchaser at once, and a hundred pounds would -keep this man quiet till you do,” suggested Raymond. - -“My dear old boy!” said the baronet, grasping his hand--they were at the -gate now--“I ought to be ashamed to own it; but the fact is, Roxham--you -know Lord Roxham in the next county?--offered me a thousand pounds for -Rosebud only two days ago. I’ll write to him to-morrow and accept it. I -dare say he’d be glad to take the two.” - -“Oh! how you unload my heart! Good-night, mon cher ami. A demain!” said -Raymond. - -On his way home Sir Simon looked stern realities in the face, and came to -the determination that a change must be made; that it was not possible -to get on as he was, keeping up a huge establishment, and entertaining -like a man of ten thousand a year, and getting deeper and deeper into -debt every day. Raymond was right. Common sense and justice were the best -advisers, and it was better to obey their counsels voluntarily while -there was yet time than wait till it was too late, and he was driven to -extremities. This architect’s bill was a mere drop in the ocean; but it -is a drop that every now and then makes the flood run over, and compels -us to do something to stem the torrent. As Sir Simon turned it all in -his mind in the presence of the stars, he felt very brave about the -necessary measures of reform. After all, what did it signify what the -world said of him? Would the world that criticised him, perhaps voted -him a fool for selling his hunters, help him when the day of reckoning -came? What was it all but emptiness and vanity of vanities? He realized -this truth, as he sauntered home through the park, and stood looking -down over the landscape sleeping under the deep blue dome. Where might -he and his amusements and perplexities be to-morrow--that dim to-morrow, -that lies so near to each of us, poor shadows that we are, our life a -speck between two eternities? Sir Simon let himself in by a door on the -terrace, and then, instead of going straight to his room, went into the -library, and wrote a short note to Lord Roxham. It was safer to do it now -than wait till morning. The morning was a dangerous time with Sir Simon -for resolves like the present. It was ever to him a mystery of hope, the -awakening of the world, the setting right and cheering up of all things -by the natural law of resurrection. - -The admiral and Clide had planned to leave next day; but the weather was -so glorious and the host was so genial that it required no great pressing -to make them alter their plans and consent to remain a few days longer. - -“You know we are due at Bourbonais’ this evening,” said Sir Simon. “The -old lady will never forgive me if I disappoint her of cooking that omelet -for you.” - -So it was agreed that they would sup at The Lilies, and M. de la -Bourbonais was requested to convey the message to Angélique when, -according to appointment, he came up early to the Court. He had no -opportunity of talking it over with Sir Simon; the admiral and Clide -were there, and other visitors dropped in and engaged his attention. -The baronet, however, contrived to set him quite at rest; the grasp of -his hand, and the smile with which he greeted his friend, said plainer -than words: “Cheer up, we’re all right again!” He was in high spirits, -welcoming everybody, and looking as cheerful as if he did not know what -a dun meant. He fully intended to whisper to Raymond that he had written -about the horses to Lord Roxham; but he was not able to do it, owing to -their being so surrounded. - -“Do you ride much, Monsieur le Comte?” said Clide, coming to sit by -Raymond, who, he observed, stood rather aloof from the people who were -chatting together on common topics. - -“No,” said Raymond; “I prefer walking, which is fortunate, as I don’t -possess a horse.” - -“If you cared for it, that wouldn’t be an impediment, I fancy” said the -young man. “Sir Simon would be only too grateful to you for exercising -one of his. He has a capital stud. I’ve been looking at it this morning. -He’s a first-rate judge of horse-flesh.” - -“That is the basis of an Englishman’s education, is it not?” said the -count playfully. - -“Which accounts, perhaps, for the defects of the superstructure,” replied -Clide, laughing. “It is rather a hard hit at us, Monsieur le Comte; but -I’m afraid we deserve it. You have a good deal to put up with from us one -way or another, I dare say, to say nothing of our climate.” - -“That is a subject that I never venture to touch on,” said Raymond, with -affected solemnity. “I found out long ago that his climate was a very -sore point with an Englishman, and that he takes any disrespect to it as -a personal offence.” - -“A part of our general conceit,” observed Clide good-humoredly. “I’ve -been so long out of it that I almost forget its vices, and only remember -its virtues.” - -“What are they?” inquired Raymond. - -“Well, I count it a virtue in a wet day to hold out the hope to you of -seeing it clear up at any moment; whereas, in countries that are blessed -with a good climate, once the day sets in wet, you know your doom; -there’s nothing to hope for till to-morrow.” - -“There is something in that, I grant you,” replied Raymond thoughtfully; -“but the argument works both ways. If the day sets in fine here, you -never know what it may do before an hour. In fact, it proves, what I have -long ago made up my mind to, that there is no climate in England--only -weather. Just now it is redeeming itself; I never saw a lovelier day in -France. Shall we come out of doors and enjoy it?” - -They stepped out on to the terrace, and turned from the flowery parterre, -with its fountain flashing in the sunlight, into a shady avenue of -lime-trees. - -Clide felt very little interest in Raymond’s private opinion of the -climate. He wanted to make him talk of himself, as a preliminary to talk -of his daughter; and, as usual when we want to lead up to a subject, he -could hit on nothing but the most irrelevant commonplaces. Chance finally -came to his rescue in the shape of a stunted palm-tree that was obtruding -its parched leaves through the broken window of a neglected orangery. Sir -Simon had had a hobby about growing oranges at the Court, and had given -it up, like so many other hobbies, after a while, and the orangery, that -had cost so much money for a time, was standing forlorn and half-empty -near the flower-garden, a trophy of its owner’s fickle purpose and -extravagance. - -“Poor little abortion!” exclaimed the count, pointing to the starved -palm-tree, “it did not take kindly to its exile.” - -“Exile is a barren soil to most of us,” said Clide. “We generally prove a -failure in it.” - -“I suppose because we are a failure when we come to it,” replied Raymond. -“We seldom try exile until life has failed to us at home.” He looked up -with a quick smile as he said this, and Clide answered him with a glance -of intelligent and respectful sympathy. As the two men looked into each -other’s face, it was as if some intangible barrier were melting away, and -confidence were suddenly being established in its place. - -Clide had never pronounced his wife’s name since the day he had let his -head drop on the admiral’s breast, and abandoned himself to the passion -of his boyish grief. It was as if the recollection of his marriage and -its miserable ending had died and been buried with Isabel. The admiral -had often wondered how one so young could be so self-contained, wrapping -himself in such an impenetrable reserve. The old sailor was not given -to speculating on mental phenomena as a rule; but he had given this -particular one many a five minutes’ cogitation, and the conclusion he -arrived at was that either Clide had taken the matter less to heart than -he imagined, and so felt no need of the solace of talking over his loss, -or that the sense of humiliation which attached to the memory of Isabel -was so painful to him, as a man and a De Winton, that he was unwilling to -recur to it. There may have been something of this latter feeling mixed -up with the other impalpable causes that kept him mute; but to-day, as he -paced up and down under the fragrant shade of the lime-trees with M. de -la Bourbonais, a sudden desire sprang up in him to speak of the past, and -evoke the sympathy of this man, who had suffered, perhaps, more deeply -than himself. They were silent for a few minutes, but a subtle, magnetic -sympathy was at work between them. - -“I too have had my little glimpse of paradise, only to be turned out, -like so many others, to finish my pilgrimage alone,” said Raymond -abruptly. - -“No, not alone,” retorted Clide; “you have a daughter, who must be a -great delight to you.” - -“Ah! you are right. I was ungrateful to say alone; but you can -understand that that other solitude can never be filled up. That is to -say,” he added, looking up with a brightening expression in his keen -eyes, that sparkled under projecting brows, made more prominent by bushy -black eyebrows, “not at my age; at yours it is different. When sorrow -comes to a man at the close of his half-century, it is too late to plant -again; he cannot begin life anew. There is no future for him but courage -and resignation. But at your age everything is a beginning. While we are -young, no matter how dark the sky is, the future looks bright; to-morrow -is always full of hope and glad surprises when we are young.” - -“I don’t feel as if I were young,” said Clide; “it seems to me as if I -had outlived my youth. You know there are experiences that do the work of -years quite as well as time; that make us old prematurely?” - -“I know it, I can believe it,” replied Raymond; “but nevertheless the -spring of youth remains. It only wants the help of time to heal its -wounds and restore its power of working and enjoying.” - -The young man shook his head incredulously. - -“You don’t believe it yet; but you will find it out by-and-by,” insisted -Raymond; “that is, if you wish it and strive for it. We are most of us -asleep until sorrow wakes us up and stings us into activity; then we -begin to live really, and to work.” - -“Then I’m afraid I have been awakened to no purpose,” remarked Clide -rather bitterly. “I certainly have not begun to work.” - -“Perhaps unawares you have all this time been preparing yourself for -work--for some appointed task that you would never have been fitted for -without the experiences of the last years.” - -“Well, perhaps you are right,” assented his companion. They walked on -through the flower-beds for a few moments without speaking. Then Raymond -broke the silence: “Why should you go away again, wandering about the -Continent, and indulging in morbid memories, when you have such a -noble mission before you at home! Youth, intelligence, and a splendid -patrimony--what a field of usefulness lies before you! Is it permitted -to leave any field untilled when the laborers are so few?” The same -thought had occurred to Clide during the last twenty-four hours with -a persistency that he was not very earnest in repelling. “Indulging -in morbid memories!” That was what his step-mother was now constantly -reproaching him with. He resented it from her; but Raymond did not excite -his resentment. It was too much as if a father were expostulating with -his son. The paternal tone of the remonstrance called, moreover, for -fuller confidence on his part, and, yielding to the fascination of the -sympathy that was drawing him on and on, he resolved there and then to -give it. He told M. de la Bourbonais the history of his life from the -beginning: his loveless childhood, his boyhood, starved of all spiritual -food, his youth’s wild passion, the loneliness of his later years, and -his present dissatisfied longings. He laid bare all that inner life he -had never unfolded to any human being before. It was a touching and -desolate picture enough, and one that called out Raymond’s tenderest -interest and compassion. He listened to the story with that breathless, -undivided attention that made Sir Simon so delight in him as a listener; -answering by an inarticulate exclamation now and then, interrupting here -and there to put in a question that showed how closely he was following -every turn in the narrative, and how fully and completely he understood -and entered into every phase of feeling the speaker described. When -Clide had finished, he seemed to understand himself better than he had -ever done before. Every question of the listener seemed to throw a new -and stronger light on what he was telling him; it was like a key opening -unexpected mysteries in the past and in his own mind, showing him how -from the very starting his whole theory of life had been a mistake. Life -was now for the first time put under the laws of truth, and through -that transparent medium every act and circumstance showed altogether -differently; hidden meanings came out of what had hitherto been mere -blots, what he had called accidents and mischances; every detail had a -form and color of its own, and fitted into the whole like the broken -pieces of a puzzle. He had been learning and training all the time while -he fancied he was only suffering; he had unawares been drinking in that -moral strength that is only to be gained in wrestling with sorrow. The -revelation was startling; but Clide frankly acknowledged it, and in -so doing felt that he was tacitly committing himself to the new line -of conduct which must logically follow on this admission, if it was -worth anything. There must be an end of sentimental regrets and morbid -despondings. He must, as Raymond said, begin to practise the lesson he -had paid so dear to learn; he must begin to live and to work; he must, -by faithfulness and courage in the future, atone for the folly and -selfishness of the past. - -It may appear strange, perhaps incredible, that a mere passing contact -with a stranger should have so suddenly revealed all this to Clide, -stirred him so deeply, and impelled him to a definite resolution that was -to change the whole current of his life. But which of us cannot trace to -some apparently chance meeting, some word heedlessly uttered, and perhaps -not intended for us, a momentous epoch in our lives? We can never tell -who may be the bearer of the burning message to us, nor in what unknown -tongue it may be spoken. All that matters to us is that we hearken to it, -and follow where the messenger beckons. M. de la Bourbonais had no idea -that he was performing this office to Clide; nor did anything that he -actually said justify the young man in looking upon him in the light of -a herald or an interpreter. It was something rather in the man himself -that did it; a voice that spoke unconsciously in his voice. There is a -power in truth and simplicity more potent than any eloquence; and truth -and simplicity radiated from Raymond like an atmosphere. His presence -had a light in it that impressed you insensibly with the right view of -things, and dissipated worldliness and selfishness and morbid delusions -as the sun clears away the mists. Perhaps along with this immediate -influence there was another one which acted unawares on Clide, adding to -the pressure of Raymond’s pleading the softer incentive of an ideal yet -possible reward. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -DRAPER’S CONFLICT BETWEEN RELIGION AND SCIENCE.[54] - -The author of this volume became known to the public of New York a little -over twenty years ago through a hand-book of chemistry, written at a -time when that science was emerging into its present maturity. Almost -simultaneously appeared from his pen a treatise on _Human Physiology_, -when it likewise was running a swift race to its splendid proportions -of to-day, impelled by the labors of Claude Bernard, Beaumont, and -Bichat. Those works were received at the time with much favor by American -teachers of both named sciences as being clear and succinct compilations -of the labors of European investigators, while containing some original -observations of undoubted scientific merit. Thus, the perception of the -influence of endosmosis and exosmosis on the functions of respiration and -circulation, and the reference of pitch, quality, and intensity of sound -to different portions of the anatomical structure of the ear, constitute -a valid claim, on Draper’s part, as a contributor to modern physiology. -As a chemist, though painstaking and observant, he failed to keep pace -with European researches, and so his book has been superseded in our -schools and colleges by later and more thorough productions. Indeed, it -may be said that his work on physiology likewise is rapidly becoming -obsolete, its popularity having ceded place to the excellent treatises of -Dalton and Austin Flint, Jr. - -Had he in time recognized his exclusive fitness for experimental -chemistry and physiology, his name might rank to-day with those of Liebig -and Lehmann; but some disturbing idiosyncrasy or malevolent influence -inspired him with the belief that he was destined for higher pursuits, -and he burned to emulate Gibbon and Buckle. On the heels of the late -civil war, accordingly, appeared from his ambitious pen a book with the -pretentious title of _History of the American Civil War_, in which he -strove to prove that the agencies which precipitated that sad quarrel -dated back a thousand years; that thermal bands having separated the -North from the South, the two sections could not agree; that the conflict -is not yet over, and will be ended only when both sides recognize the -East as the home of science, and make their salam to the rising sun. We -speak not in jest; the book, we believe, is still extant, and may be -consulted by the curious in such matters. Though the _History of the -American Civil War_ did not meet with flattering success, the new apostle -of Islamism was not discouraged. No more trustworthy as a historian than -Macaulay, he lacked the _verve_ and eloquence of that brilliant essayist, -and his bantling fell into an early decline. - -But there still was Buckle, in another department of intellectual -activity, whom it might be vouchsafed him to outsoar; and so, -Dædalus-like, having readjusted his wings by means of a fresh supply -of wax, he took a swoop into the _Intellectual Development of Europe_ -with precisely the results which befell his classical prototype. Here -indeed was a wide field for the display of that peculiar philosophy of -his which anathematizes the _Pentateuch_ and the pope, and apotheosizes -the locomotive and the loom. Accordingly, we find the _Development_ to -be a bitter attack on the church and all ecclesiastical institutions, -with alternate rhapsodical praises of material progress and scientific -discoveries. - -In the view taken by Dr. Draper the Papacy defeated the kindly intents -of the mild-mannered Mahomet; but with the death of Pio Nono or some -immediate successor the pleasant doctrines of Averroës and Buddha will -reassert themselves, and we shall all finally be absorbed in the great -mundane soul. As we have said, in alluding to the _History of the -American Civil War_, these are not mere idle words; they carry their -black and white attestation in every page of the work referred to. - -But we must hasten to the volume under review. It is entitled _History -of the Conflict between Religion and Science_. The title of the book is -indeed the fittest key to its purpose. It predicates this conflict on -the first page; it assumes it from the start, and, instead of proving -its existence, interprets statements and misstatements by the light of -that assumption. Of this the reader is made painfully aware from the very -outset, and his sense of logic and fair play is constantly shocked by the -distortion of very many historical facts and the truthful presentment of -a few in support of what is a plain and palpable assumption. The book is -therefore a farrago of falsehoods, with an occasional ray of truth, all -held together by the slender thread of a spurious philosophy. - -In the preface the author promises to be impartial, and scarcely has he -proceeded eight short pages in his little volume before a cynical and -sneering spirit betrays him into errors which a Catholic Sunday-school -child would blush to commit. On page 8 he says: “Immaculate Conceptions -and celestial descents were so currently received in those days that -whoever had greatly distinguished himself in the affairs of men was -thought to be of supernatural lineage.” And a little further on: “The -Egyptian disciples of Plato would have looked with anger on those -who rejected the legend that Perictione, the mother of that great -philosopher, a pure virgin, had suffered an immaculate conception.” This -is but a forestalment of the wrath held in store by our author for the -dogma proclaimed in 1854, a derisive comparison of it with the gross -myths of the superstitious Greeks. And yet how conspicuous does not the -allusion render his ignorance of the Catholic doctrine! For evidently -the reference to a pure virgin subjected to an immaculate conception -through the agency of a God reveals Draper’s belief that the Catholic -dogma of the Immaculate Conception consists in the conception of Christ -in the womb of the Virgin Mary without human intervention. Surely some -malign agent had warped his judgment when he assumed to expound Catholic -doctrine; had - - “Made the eye blind, and closed the passages - Through which the ear converses with the heart.” - -But this is not the only point concerning which we would refer persons -curious about Catholic doctrines to Dr. Draper, and those who would -like to become acquainted with Catholic tenets never promulgated -by any council from Nice to the Vatican. On two occasions, speaking -of Papal Infallibility, he distinctly avers that it is the same as -omniscience! On page 352 he says: “Notwithstanding his infallibility, -which implies omniscience, His Holiness did not foresee the issue of -the Franco-Prussian war.” And again on page 361: “He cannot claim -infallibility in religious affairs, and decline it in scientific. -Infallibility embraces all things. If it holds good for theology, it -necessarily holds good for science.” Here is Catholic doctrine _à la_ -Draper! Presumptuous reader, be not deluded by the belief that the -Vatican Council expressly confines infallibility to purely doctrinal -matters; it could not have done so! Does not Dr. Draper as explicitly -affirm that the dogma of infallibility implies omniscience? His -individual experience no doubt had much to do with his extension of -the term; for, knowing himself to be a good chemist and physiologist, -he doubted not that by the same title he was a sound philosopher and -a keen-eyed observer of events. If it holds good in chemistry and -physiology, it necessarily holds good in philosophy and history. It is a -renewal of the old belief of the Stoics, as expounded by Horace, who says -that the wise man is a capital shoemaker and barber, alone handsome and a -king. But these are blemishes which assume even the appearance of bright -spots shining out by contrast with the deeper darkness which they stud. - -The radical error of the book is twofold. It first confounds with the -Catholic Church a great number of singular subjects to which that -universal predicate cannot be applied, loosely and vaguely referring to -this incongruous chimera a great number of acts which cannot be imputed -to the church at all in any proper sense. It next makes the mistake of -applying the standard of estimation which is justly applicable only -to the present time to epochs long past and in many respects diverse -from it. For instance, the personal acts of prelates are referred to -the church considered as an infallible tribunal. Only an ignoramus in -theology needs to be informed that the infallible church is the body of -the episcopate teaching or defining in union with the head, or the head -of the episcopate teaching and defining, as the principal organ of the -body, that which is explicitly or implicitly contained in the revealed -deposit of faith. Administration of affairs, decisions of particular -cases, private opinions and personal acts, even official acts which are -not within the category above stated, do not pertain to the sphere of -infallibility; therefore when Dr. Draper charges against the church acts -which are worthy of censure, or which are by him so represented, and -we detect in the case the absence of some one condition requisite to -involve the church in the sense stated, we retort that he either knows -not what he says or is guilty of wilful misrepresentation. Yet his book -is an unbroken tissue of such charges. And not only are those charges -improperly alleged, but they are for the most part substantially false. - -At a time, for instance, when the placid influence of Christianity had -not supplanted in men’s hearts the fierce passions which ages of paganism -had nurtured there, a band of infuriated monks murdered and tore to -pieces the celebrated Hypatia, in resentment of some real or fancied -affront offered to S. Cyril The crime was indeed unpardonable, and -perhaps S. Cyril was remiss in its punishment; but we might as well lay -to the charge of the New York Academy of Medicine the revolting deeds -perpetrated by individual members of the medical profession, as hold the -church accountable for this crime. Both organizations have repeatedly -expressed their abhorrence of what morality condemns, and it is only -fair that the one as well as the other be judged by its authoritative -teachings and practices. Yet Dr. Draper draws from his quiver on this -occasion the sharpest of arrows to bury in the bosom of that church which -could stain her escutcheon by this wanton attack on philosophy. “Hypatia -and Cyril! Philosophy and bigotry! They cannot exist together.” Do not -the melodramatic surroundings with which Draper’s graphic pen invests -the murder of this woman readily suggest an episode in the history of a -certain knight of rueful mien when he charged a flock of sheep, believing -that he saw before him “the wealthy inhabitants of Mancha crowned -with golden ears of corn; the ancient offspring of the Goths cased in -iron; those who wanton in the lazy current of Pisverga, those who feed -their numerous flocks in the ample plains where the Guadiana pursues -its wandering course--in a word, half a world in arms”? He charges, -and behold seven innocent sheep fall victims to his prowess. Flushed -with this victory, and covetous of fresh laurels, our author whets -his blade for another thrust at that most odious of doctrines--Papal -Infallibility. The management of the attack will serve as a specimen of -Dr. Draper’s mode of critical warfare; it will show how neatly he puts -forward assertion for proof, and in what a spirit of calm and dignified -philosophy he concludes the case against the church. - -A compatriot of his, who had changed the homely name of Morgan for the -more resonant one of Pelagius, feeling that the confines of the little -isle which gave him birth were too narrow for a soul swelling with -polemics, hied to Rome, where his theological fervor was speedily cooled -by Pope Innocent I. Pelagius denied the Catholic doctrine of grace, -asserting the sufficiency of nature to work out salvation. S. Augustine -pointed out the errors of Pelagius and of his associate, Celestius, which -were accordingly condemned by Pope Innocent. If we accept Dr. Draper as -an authority in ecclesiastical history, a much-vexed question connected -with this very intricate affair is readily solved, and we are taught -to understand how indiscreet were the fathers of the Vatican Council -in decreeing the infallibility of the pope. He says: “It happened that -at this moment Innocent died, and his successor, Zosimus, annulled his -judgment and declared the opinions of Pelagius to be orthodox. These -contradictory decisions are still often referred to by the opponents of -Papal Infallibility.” - -Now, so far from this being the case, Zosimus, after a considerable -time of charitable waiting, to give Celestius an opportunity of -reconsidering his errors and being reconciled to the church, formally -repeated the condemnation pronounced by his predecessor, and effectually -stamped out Pelagianism as a formidable heresy. But since our weight -and calibre are so much less than Dr. Draper’s as not to allow our -assertion to pass for proof, we will dwell a moment on the historical -details of the controversy. Before the death of Innocent, Celestius -had entered a protest against his accuser, Paulinus, on the ground of -misrepresentation, but did not follow up his protest by personally -appearing at Rome. The succession of the kind-hearted Zosimus and the -absence of Paulinus appeared to him a favorable opportunity for doing -this, and he accordingly wrote to Zosimus for permission to present -himself. Though the pope was engrossed at the time by the weighty cares -of the universal church, his heart yearned to bring back the repentant -Celestius to the fold of Christ, and he accorded to him a most patient -hearing. Only a fragment of Celestius’ confession remains, but we -have the testimony of three unsuspected witnesses, because determined -anti-Pelagians, concerning the part taken in the matter by the pope. -S. Augustine says: “The merciful pontiff, seeing at first Celestius -carried away by the heat of passion and presumption, hoped to win him -over by kindness, and forbore to fasten more firmly the bands placed -on him by Innocent. He allowed him two months for deliberation.” -Elsewhere S. Augustine says (_Epist. Paulin._, const. 693, _Labbé_, t. -2) that Celestius replied to the interrogatories of the pope in these -terms: “I condemn in accordance with the sentence of your predecessor, -Innocent of blessed memory.” Marius Mercator, who lived at the time of -these occurrences, says that Celestius made the fairest promises and -returned the most satisfactory answers, so that the pope was greatly -prepossessed in his favor (_Labbé_, t. 2, coll. 1512). Zosimus at length -saw through the devices of the wily Celestius, who, like all dangerous -heretics, desired to maintain his errors while retaining communion -with the church, and, in a letter written to the bishops of Africa, -formally reiterated against Pelagius and his adherents the condemnation -of the African Council. Only fragments of the letter remain, but we -know that thereafter some of the most violent Pelagians submitted to -the Holy See. With what imposing dignity Dr. Draper waves aside these -facts, and coolly asserts that Zosimus annulled the judgment of his -predecessor, and declared the opinions of Pelagius to be orthodox! But -this is only a sample of similar flagrant misstatements in which the -book abounds. For even immediately after, referring to Tertullian’s -eloquent statement of the principles of Christianity, he says that it -is marked by a complete absence of the doctrines of original sin, total -depravity, predestination, grace, and atonement, and that therefore these -doctrines had not been broached up to this time. Certainly not all of -them, for the church does not teach the doctrine of total depravity; -but the statement, being of the nature of a negative proof, possesses -no value, and only shows on how slender a peg our author is ready to -hang a damaging assertion against the church. Having thus triumphantly -demonstrated that Tertullian is not the author of the doctrine of the -fall of man, he recklessly lays it at the door of the illustrious Bishop -of Hippo. He says: “It is to S. Augustine, a Carthaginian, that we are -indebted for the precision of our views on these important points.” We -wonder did Dr. Draper ever read these words of S. Paul to the Romans: -“Wherefore as by one man sin entered into this world and by sin death: -and so death passed upon all men, in whom all have sinned” (Epist. Rom. -v. 12). Yet S. Paul lived before Tertullian or S. Augustine. Draper -next sententiously adds: “The doctrine declared to be orthodox by -ecclesiastical authority is overthrown by the unquestionable discoveries -of modern science. Long before a human being had appeared upon the -earth, millions of individuals--nay, more, thousands of species, and -even genera--had died; those which remain with us are an insignificant -fraction of the vast hosts that have passed away.” Admirably reasoned! A -million or more megatheria and megalosauri floundered for a while in the -marshes of an infant world, and died; therefore Adam was not the first -man to die, for through him death did not enter into the world. Had S. -Paul anticipated the honor of a dissection at the hands of so eminent -a wielder of the scalpel, he no doubt would have stated in his Epistle -that when he spoke of death entering into the world through the sin of -one man, he meant, not death to frogs and snakes, or bats and mice, but -death to human beings alone. He would thus have helped Dr. Draper to -the avoidance of one exegetical error at least. Another assertion of -illimitable reaches rapidly follows: “Astronomy, geology, geography, -anthropology, chronology, and indeed all the various departments of human -knowledge, were made to conform to the Book of Genesis”; that is to say, -ecclesiastical authority prohibits us from seeking elsewhere than in the -pages of Holy Writ such knowledge as is contained in Gray’s _Anatomy_ -or Draper’s _Chemistry_ and _Physiology_. Where are your _pièces -justificatives_ for this monstrous assertion, Dr. Draper? Did not the -church, in the heyday of her temporal power, warn Galileo not to invoke -the authority of the Scriptures in support of his doctrine for the reason -that they were not intended to serve as a guide in purely scientific -matters? And here indeed is the true key to the conflict between that -philosopher and the church. Has not the same sentiment, moreover, been -explicitly affirmed by every commentator from S. Augustine himself down -to Maldonatus and Cornelius à Lapide, when considering chapter x. verse -13 of the Book of Josue? Not a single document, extant or lost, can be -referred to as justifying Draper’s extraordinary assertion that the -Book of Genesis, “in a philosophical point of view, became the grand -authority of patristic science.” Of course it is readily perceived that -the term patristic science, as used by Dr. Draper, is not the science -commonly known as patrology, but natural science, as understood and -taught by the fathers. Chief among those whose officious intermeddling in -scientific matters excites the spleen of Dr. Draper is, as before stated, -S. Augustine, Bishop of Hippo. “No one,” he says, “did more than this -father to bring science and religion into antagonism; it was mainly he -who diverted the Bible from its true office, a guide to purity of life, -and placed it in the perilous position of being the arbiter of human -knowledge, an audacious tyranny over the mind of man.” The rash dogmatism -of these words scarcely consists with the spirit Draper arrogates to -himself--the spirit of calm impartiality. So far from having striven to -make Scripture the arbiter of science, S. Augustine studied to bring -both into harmony, and, with this end in view, put the most liberal -interpretation on those passages of Holy Writ which might conflict with, -as yet, unmade scientific discoveries. For this reason he hints at the -possibility of the work of creation extending over indefinite periods of -time, as may, he says, be maintained consistently with the meaning of -the Syro-Chaldaic word which stands indifferently for day and indefinite -duration. The saint’s chief anxiety is to uphold the integrity of the -Book of Genesis against the numerous attacks of pagan philosophers and -paganizing Christians. The necessity of doing this was paramount at -the time, for the Jews and their doctrines were exceedingly obnoxious -to Christian and Gentile; and since the church recognized the divine -inspiration of the Hebrew Scriptures, the task of vindicating their -genuineness devolved on her theologians. But Dr. Draper overlooks this -essential fact, and places S. Augustine in the totally false light of -wantonly belittling science by making it square with the letter of the -Bible. But it is not as a censor alone of S. Augustine’s opinions that -Dr. Draper means to figure; he follows him into the domain of dogmatic -theology, and, having there erected a tribunal, cites him to its bar. He -quotes at length the African bishop’s views on the fundamental dogmas -of the Trinity and creation, having modestly substituted Dr. Pusey’s -translation for his own. The saint expresses his awe and reverence in -face of the wondrous power and incomprehensible works of the Creator, -and Dr. Draper calls him rhetorical and rhapsodical. No wonder. The mind -becomes subdued to the shape in which it works; and since the vigorous -years of Dr. Draper’s life were spent in the laboratory, investigating -secondary causes and the properties of matter, it is not to be supposed -that he can enter at once into close sympathy with souls which have fed -on spiritual truths. - - “What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba?” - -But the crowding errors of the book warn us to hasten forward. - -Having consigned S. Augustine to never-ending oblivion, our untiring -athlete of the pen eloquently sketches step by step the progressive -paganization of Christianity. The first thing to be done, he says, was -to restore the worship of Isis by substituting for that _numen_ the -Blessed Virgin Mary. This substitution was accomplished by the Council -of Ephesus, which declared Mary to be the Mother of God, and condemned -the contradicting proposition of Nestorius. Is it proper to treat this -_niaiserie_ with irony or indignation? We will do neither, but will -respectfully refer Dr. Draper either to Rohrbacher’s _History of the -Church_, or Orsini’s _Devotion to the Blessed Virgin_, to convince -him of the priority of this devotion to the times of S. Cyril and -Nestorius. The matter is too elementary and well known to justify us in -occupying more space with its consideration. Therefore, passing over -frivolous charges of this sort, let us seize the underlying facts in -this alleged paganization of Christianity. The church does not teach -the doctrine of complete spiritual blindness, and is willing to admit -on the part of pagans the knowledge of many religious truths in the -natural order. Prominent among these is a belief in the existence of God, -the immortality of the soul, and a system of rewards and punishments -in the future life. The propositions of De Lamennais, refusing to pure -reason the power of establishing these truths, were formally condemned -by Gregory XVI. In addition, it is part of theological teaching that -certain portions of the primitive revelation made to the patriarchs -flowed down through succeeding generations, corrupted, it is true, and -sadly disfigured, yet substantially identical, and tinged the various -systems of belief in vogue among the nations of the earth. It is almost -unnecessary to point out the numberless analogies which exist between -the Hebrew doctrines and the myths of Grecian and Roman polytheism. The -unity of God was universally symbolized by the admission of a supreme -being, to whom the other deities were subject. The fall of man, a -flooded earth and a rescued ark find their fitting counterparts in the -traditions of most races. Here, then, we find one source of possible -agreement between Christianity and the pagan system without resorting to -Dr. Draper’s ingenious process of gradual paganization. If, before the -Christian revelation, human reason could have partially lifted the veil -which hides another life, and if a defiled current of tradition could -have borne on its bosom fragments of a primitive revelation, surely it is -not necessary to suppose a compromise between Christianity and paganism -by virtue of which the former finds itself in accord on certain points -with the latter. But a still stronger reason for the alleged resemblances -and analogies between the two systems may be found in the common nature -of those who accepted them. There is no sentiment in the human heart more -potent than veneration, especially as its objects ascend in the scale of -greatness. Man’s first impulse is to bow the head before the grandeur of -nature’s mighty spectacles, before the rushing cataract and the sweeping -storm, and to adore the Being whose voice is heard in the tempest, who -dwells in a canopy of clouds and rides on the wings of the wind. Filled -with this sentiment, he builds temples, he offers sacrifices, eucharistic -and propitiatory, he consecrates his faculties to the service of his -God, and applauds those of his fellows who, yielding to a still higher -reverential influence, devote themselves in a special manner to the -promotion of the divine glory and honor. - -For this reason not only the Vestal Virgins themselves deemed celibacy -an honorable privilege which drew them nearer to the Deity, and gloried -in its faithful practice, if history is at all truthful; but their -self-sacrifice invested them with a special halo in the eyes of the -multitude. Had Dr. Draper shared the ennobling sentiments of these pagan -women, he would never have uttered the base slander on humanity--which -puts his own manhood to the blush, and brands the warm-blooded days of -his single life--that “public celibacy is private wickedness.” - -Animated by the same sentiment of rendering all things subject to the -Divinity, men consecrated to him the fruits of the earth, and invoked -his blessing on the seedling buried in the soil. Familiar objects became -typical of divine attributes, as water of the purity of Diana, and salt -of the incorruptibility of Saturn; hence the sprinkling of the _aqua -lustralis_ among the Romans on all solemn occasions, and the use of salt -in their sacrifices. Even the scattering of a little dust on the forehead -was to them expressive of the calm and tranquillity of death succeeding -to the storms and passions of life. No doubt, had Dr. Draper recalled -those lines of Virgil: - - “Hi motus animorum atque hæc certamina tanta - Pulveris exigui jactu compressa quiescunt,” - -he would, in accordance with his peculiar logic, have perceived in the -ceremonies of Ash-Wednesday another instance of a return to paganism. -Without entering at greater length into those spontaneous expressions -of reverence towards the Deity which abound in every religious system, -and which well up from the human heart as a necessary confession of its -dependence on a higher cause, we will hasten to the conclusion, implied -in them, that there is an identity of external worship in all religions -which, so far, proclaims an identity of origin. What, therefore, Dr. -Draper pronounces to be a paganization of Christianity is nothing more -than acceptance by it of those features of older creeds which are founded -on truth, and spring from the constitution of human nature. - -What though the Romans did pay homage to Lares and Penates, to river -gods and tutelary deities; should that fact stigmatize as idolatrous or -heathenish the reverence exhibited by Christians towards the Blessed -Virgin and the saints? Does not the fact rather indicate, by its very -universality, that it is part of the divine economy, and that such -worship best represents the wants of the human heart? Assuredly, this -is not intended as a vindication of pagan practices, but aimed to show -that, in the struggles of the human heart to satisfy its cravings, an -undeserting instinct guides it along a path which, however tortuous and -winding, leads in the end to truth. Draper’s charge of paganization in -all respects resembles Voltaire’s assertion that Christianity is a -counterfeit of Buddhism. - -That noted infidel contended that celibacy, monasticism, mendicity, -voluntary poverty, humility, and mortification of the senses, were so -many features of Buddhism unblushingly borrowed by the Christian Church. -But, like the other misstatements of Voltaire, made through pure love of -mischief, this one has been refuted time and again. It has been shown -that the ethics of Buddha flow from the dogma that ignorance, passion, -and desire are the root of all evil, and, this principle granted, -nothing could be more natural than the moral system thence resulting. -In the Christian code, on the contrary, purity, voluntary poverty, and -mortification of the senses are practised for their own sake; not for the -purpose of enlightenment or the extirpation of ignorance, but that our -natures may thereby become purified. No matter, therefore, how strong -and striking analogies may be, the difference in principle destroys the -theories of Voltaire and Draper; for similar consequences often proceed -from widely differing premises. We see this fact impressively exhibited -in the practice of auricular confession as it exists among the followers -of Gautama. According to them, the evil tendencies of the human heart -are manifold and varied, and, to be successfully combated, must be -divided into classes. Thus the sin of sensuality admits of a division -into excess at table and concupiscence of the flesh, the latter being in -turn subdivided into lust of the eye and lust of the body, evil thoughts, -evil practices, etc. We have here in reality a true system of casuistry. -Faults should be confessed with sorrow and an accompanying determination -not to repeat them; nay, even wrongs must be repaired as far as -possible, and stolen property be restored. Such are the views which have -been firmly held by the disciples of Buddha from time immemorial. Thus -we find confession and its concomitant practices established among the -Buddhists on grounds of pure reason; and surely the fact is no argument -against the same practice in the Christian Church, nor does the existence -of the practice among Christians necessarily denote a Buddhic origin. The -explanation is still the same that practices and beliefs founded on the -wants of human nature are universal, circumscribed neither by church nor -creed. We believe, therefore, that Dr. Draper’s philosophy of gradual -paganization is not tenable; and if we strip it of a certain veneer -of elegant verbiage, we shall find a rather dull load of unsupported -assertion beneath: - - “Desinit in piscem mulier formosa superne.” - -The whole account of this pretended paganization breathes a spirit of -bitterness and malignity that makes one perforce smile at the title-page -of the book, on which is inscribed the name of that sweet daughter of -philosophy, Science. The reader is constantly startled by volleys of -assertions, contemptuous, blasphemous, ironical, and derisive. Indeed, -it may be said that hatred of Catholic doctrine and usages is the -attendant demon of Dr. Draper’s life, the wraith that haunts him day and -night. He says that it was for the gratification of the Empress Helena -the Saviour’s cross was discovered; that when the people embraced the -knees of S. Cyril after the Blessed Virgin was declared Mother of God, -it was the old instinct peeping out--their ancestors would have done -the same for Diana; that the festival of the Purification was invented -to remove the uneasiness of heathen converts on account of the loss -of their _Lupercalia_, or feasts of Pan; that quantities of dust were -brought from the Holy Land, and sold at enormous prices as antidotes -against devils, etc., _ad nauseam_. Through all this rodomontade we -perceive not a single attempt at proof, only an unbroken tissue of -unsupported assertion. It is said; it is openly stated; there is a belief -that--these are Draper’s usual formularies whenever an obscure but impure -and blasphemous tradition is related by him. When, however, he surpasses -himself in obscenity, he drops even this thin disguise of reasoning, -and boldly asserts. But with matter of this sort we will not stain our -pages. Indeed, these vile and obscure traditions seem to have a special -charm for our author. Worse, however, than this packing of silly and -stupid fables into his book is the implied understanding that the church -is answerable for them all. She it is who falsifies decretals, invents -miracles, discovers fraudulent relics, beholds apparitions, sanctions -the trial by fire, massacres a whole cityful, and perpetrates every -crime in the calendar. Surely, she were a very monster of iniquity, the -real scarlet lady, the beast with seven heads, were the half true of her -which Dr. Draper lays at her door. There is in it, however, the manifest -intent and outline of a crusade against the church and the institutions -she fosters; the shadowing forth of a purpose to array against her, what -is more formidable than Star Chamber or Inquisition--the feelings of -unreflecting millions who are allured by the glamour of manner to the -utter disregard of matter. But it must be remembered that Exeter Hall -fanaticism has never found a genial home on this side of the Atlantic, -and we are not afraid that the stupid conglomeration of silly charges -brought against the church by Dr. Draper, more akin to fatuous drivel -than to the dignified and scholarly arraignment of a philosopher, will do -more than provoke a pitying smile. His feeble blows fall on adamantine -sides which have oft resisted shafts aimed with deadlier intent than -these: - - “Telumque imbelle sine ictu - Conjecit.” - -But there is another explanation of the successive accumulation of -doctrines and practices in the church which will perhaps come more -within the reach of Dr. Draper’s appreciation, as it throws light on the -history of science itself, and underlies the growth of every system of -philosophy. We speak of the doctrine of development. Draper unfolded, -even pathetically, the impressive picture of science springing from -very humble beginnings, and growing dauntlessly, despite bigotry and -persecutions, into that colossal structure of to-day which, according to -him, shelters the highest hopes and aspirations of men, and assures to -them a glorious future of absorption into the universal spirit--viz., -annihilation. “Ab exiguis profecta initiis, eo creverit ut jam -magnitudine laboret sua.” This gradual development he proclaims to be the -natural expansion and growth of science, on which theory he predicts for -it an unending career of glory--“crescit occulto velut arbor ævo.” But he -is indignant that the church did not spring into existence, like Minerva -from the brain of Jupiter, armed cap-a-pie, in the full bloom of her -maturity and charms. Because she did not do so, every advance on her part -was retrogressive, and her growth was the addition of “a horse’s neck -to a human head.” She borrowed, compromised, and substituted; so that, -if we believe Dr. Draper, no _olla podrida_ could be composed of more -heterogeneous elements than the Christian Church. - -She placed under contribution not only paganism, but Mahometanism, and -filched a few thoughts from Buddha, Lao-Tse, and Confucius. The least -courtesy we might expect from Dr. Draper is that we may be allowed to -attempt to prove that Christianity, like every system entrusted to the -custody of men, is necessarily affected on its secular side by that -wardship, and so far is subject to the same conditions. But no; he -condemns in advance, and so fastens the gyves of his condemnation on -the church as apparently not to leave even a loop-hole of escape, or a -possible rational explanation of the successive events of her history. - -But enough of this. Even to the most ordinary mind the thin veil of -philosophy in which Dr. Draper wraps his balderdash of paganization is -sufficiently easy of penetration. And what does he offer to the Christian -who would range himself under the new banner? In what attractive forms -does Draper present his science to win the sympathies and sentiments -of men, and make them forego the hopes of eternal happiness whispered -on the cross? Here is one: _Ex uno disce omnes_. When Newton succeeded -in proving that the influence of the earth’s attraction extended as -far as the moon, and caused her to revolve in her orbit around the -earth, he was so overcome by the flooding of truth upon his mind that -he was compelled to call in the assistance of another to complete the -proof. A pretty picture, no doubt, and a fit canonization of science. -But let us contrast it with a Xavier expiring on the arid plains of -an eastern isle, far away from the last comforting words and soothing -touch of a friend, yet happy beyond expression in the firmness of his -faith, while clasping in his dying hands the crucifix, which to him had -been no stumbling-block, but the incitement to labor through ten years -of incomparable suffering among a degraded race. Or place it beside a -Vincent de Paul, who from dawn to darkness traversed the slums of Paris, -picking up waifs, the jetsam and flotsam of society, washing them, -feeding them, dressing their sores, and nursing them more tenderly than a -mother. Or contrast its flimsy sentimentality with the motives which sped -missionaries across unknown oceans, over the Andes, the Himalayas, and -the Rocky Mountains, and into the ice-bound wildernesses of Canada, to -subdue the savage Iroquois by the mildness of the Gospel; to found a new -golden age on the plains of Paraguay; to preach the evangel of peace and -purity through the wide limits of the Flowery Kingdom; and to seal with -their blood the ceaseless toil of their lives. - - “Quæ regio in terris nostri non plena laboris? - Quæ caret ora cruore nostro?” - -Dr. Draper, evidently, has not read the _Decline and Fall of the Roman -Empire_ in vain. Not only does the same anti-Christian spirit breathe -through his pages, but he has seized the stilted style of Gibbon, deemed -philosophical, which is never at home but when soaring amid the clouds. -There is a pomp and parade of philosophy, an assumption of dignified -tranquillity, a tone of mock impartiality, which vividly recall the -defective qualities of Gibbon’s work. But in studying these features -of style, which necessitate a deal of dogmatism, Draper has allowed -himself to be betrayed into numberless errors in philosophy. Perhaps -an illustration or two will help to give point to our remarks. On page -243 he writes: “If there be a multiplicity of worlds in infinite space, -there is also a succession of worlds in infinite time. As one after -another cloud replaces cloud in the skies, so this starry system, the -universe, is the successor of countless others that have preceded it, the -predecessor of countless others that will follow. There is an unceasing -metamorphosis, a sequence of events, without beginning or end.” - -Is not this - - “A pithless branch beneath a fungous rind”? - -Is Dr. Draper aware that Gassendi, Newton, Descartes, and Leibnitz -devoted the highest efforts of their noble intellects to the -consideration of time and space, and would long have hesitated before -thus flippantly affixing the epithet “infinite” to either? What is space -apart from the contained bodies? If it contains nothing, or rather if -there is nothing in space, space itself is nothing; it merely represents -to us the possibility of extended bodies. And if it is nothing, how can -it be infinite? The application of the word infinite to time is still -more inappropriate. There can be no such thing as infinite time. Let -us take Dr. Draper’s own successive periods, though embracing millions -of years, and we contend that there must be some beginning to them. -For if there is no beginning to them, they are already infinite in -number--that is, they are already a number without beginning or end. But -this cannot be. For we can consider either the past series of periods -capable of augmentation by periods to come; and what then becomes of -Draper’s infinity? For surely that is not infinite which is susceptible -of increase. Or we can consider the past series minus one or two of its -periods--a supposition equally fatal to the notion of infinity. Time, -then, is of a purely finite character, and is nothing else than the -successive changes which finite beings undergo. More nonsensical still -is the notion of “a sequence of events without beginning or end.” We -must discriminate here between an actual series and a potential series -of events, which Dr. Draper forgets to do; for on the distinction a -great deal depends. An actual series can never be infinite, for we can -take it at any given stage of its progress, whether at the present -moment or in the past, and consider it increased by one; but any number -susceptible of increase can be represented by figures, since it is -finite, that is, determinate. It cannot be said that it extends into the -past without beginning, for the dilemma always recurs that it is either -finite or infinite; if finite, it must be represented by figures, and -that destroys the idea of a non-beginning; and if it is infinite, it -cannot be increased, which is absurd. And if we ask for a cause for any -one event in the reputed unending series, we are referred to the event -immediately preceding, which in turn has for its cause another prior -event. If, however, we inquire for the cause of the whole series, we are -told that there is none such; there is naught but an eternal succession -of events. Is not this, as some author says, as if we were to ask what -upholds the last link in a chain suspended from an unknown height, and -should receive the answer that the link next to the last supports it, and -the third supports the two beneath, and so on, each higher link supports -a weightier burden? If then we should ask, What is it that supports the -whole? we are told that it supports itself. Therefore a finite weight -cannot support itself in opposition to the laws of gravitation; much -less can another finite weight twice as heavy as the first, and less and -less can it do so as the weight increases; but when the weight becomes -infinite, nothing is required to uphold it. The reasoning is entirely -analogous to Draper’s, who speaks of cloud replacing cloud in the skies -without beginning, without end. “Quos Deus vult perdere prius dementat.” -Bacon has well said that the exclusive consideration of secondary causes -leads to the exclusion of God from the economy of the universe, while a -deeper insight reveals of necessity a First Cause on which all others -depend. This is exactly the trouble with Dr. Draper. He will not lift his -purblind gaze from the mere phenomena of nature to their cause, but is -satisfied to revolve for ever in the vicious circle of countless effects -without a cause. If we are to judge by the additional glow which pervades -what he has written concerning the nebular hypothesis, he unquestionably -considers that theory a conclusive proof of the non-interference of the -Deity in the affairs of the universe. - -Now, we have no particular fault to find with the nebular hypothesis. It -is only an explanation of a change which matter has undergone. It does -not affect the question of creation whether matter was first in a state -of incandescent gas, or sprang at the bidding of the eternal fiat into -its manifold conditions of to-day. Indeed, we will grant that there is a -plausibility in the theory which to many minds renders it fascinating; -but that does not make matter eternal and self-conserving. It is entirely -consistent with the dogma of creation that God first made matter devoid -of harmonious forms and relations, and that these slowly developed in -accordance with the laws he appointed. There is nothing inconsistent in -supposing that our terrestrial planet is a fragment struck off from the -central mass, and that, after having undergone numerous changes, it at -last settled down into a fit abode for man. The church never expressed -herself pro or con; for no matter how individual writers may have felt -and written, no matter how much they may have sought to place this or -that physical theory in antagonism with revealed truth, the church never -took action, for the reason that the question lies beyond the sphere of -her infallible judgment until it touches upon the revealed doctrine. -It is Dr. Draper, therefore, who strenuously seeks to draw inferences -from modern physical theories, so as to put them in conflict, not only -with revelation, but with the truths of natural theology. After having -given an outline of the nebular hypothesis, he says: “If such be the -cosmogony of the solar system, such the genesis of the planetary worlds, -we are constrained to extend our view of the dominion of law, and to -recognize its agency in the creation as well as in the conservation of -the innumerable orbs that throng the universe.” Now, what he means by -extending our views of the dominion of law is to make it paramount -and supreme. But what is this law? If its agency is to be recognized -in the creation of the innumerable orbs that throng the universe, it -certainly must have existed prior to that event, else Dr. Draper uses -the word creation in a sense entirely novel. Now, supposing, as we -are fairly bound to do, that Dr. Draper attaches to the term creation -its ordinary signification, we will have the curious spectacle of law -creating that of which it is but the expression. We cannot perceive what -other meaning we are to extract from the saying that we must recognize -the agency of law in the creation of the universe. Law is, therefore, -the creator of the universe; that is to say, “The general expression -of the conditions under which certain assemblages of phenomena occur” -(Carpenter’s definition of law) ushered into existence the cause of -those phenomena. Can anything more absurd be conceived? But apart from -the notion of law being at the bottom of creation, how can Dr. Draper, -consistently with his ideas of “infinite space,” “infinite time,” -“sequence of events without beginning or end,” admit such a thing as -creation at all? Creation is the transition of a portion of the eternal -possibles in the divine mind from a state of possibility into one of -physical existence, at the bidding of God’s infinite power. Supposing, -then, that it is in this sense Dr. Draper uses the word creation, he must -of necessity discard the doctrine of the eternity of matter, and his -_nugæ canoræ_ concerning “the immutability of law,” “law that dominates -overall,” “unending succession of events,” become the frothings of a -distempered mind. But when a person writes in accordance with no fixed -principles, only as the intellectual caprice of the moment dictates, he -necessarily falls into glaring and fatal inconsistencies. For not many -pages after this implied admission of creation, even though it be the -inane creation by law, he says: “These considerations incline us to view -favorably the idea of transmutations of one form into another rather -than that of sudden creations. Creation implies an abrupt appearance, -transformation a gradual change.” He thus again rejects the doctrine of -creation in almost the same breath in which he spoke of it as brought -about by the agency of law. The question here occurs, Are the notions -of creation and law antipodal? Can they not coexist? For our own part, -we see nothing inconsistent in the supposition that God created the -universe, under stable laws for its guidance and conservation. The very -simplicity of the compatible existence of the two puzzles us to know what -objection to it the ingenuity of Dr. Draper has discovered. For it must -be understood that his stated incompatibility is a wearisome assumption -throughout--wearisome, for the mind, ever on the alert to find a reason -for the statement, withdraws from the hopeless task tired and disgusted. -For instance, at the close of his remarks concerning the nebular theory -he says: “But again it may be asked, ‘Is there not something profoundly -impious in this? Are we not excluding Almighty God from the world he has -made?’” The words are sneeringly written. They are supposed to contain -their own reply, and the writer passes on to something else. He does -not attempt to prove that the nebular hypothesis is at variance with -creation, except with such a view of the act as he himself entertains. -And this brings us to the consideration of his views concerning this -sublime dogma. Draper evidently supposes that creation took place by fits -and starts, as figures pop out in a puppet-show. Hence he is constantly -contrasting the grandeur of a slow development, an ever-progressing -evolution, with the unphilosophical idea of sudden and abrupt creations. -Though we fail to perceive anything derogatory to the infinite wisdom of -the Creator in supposing that he launched worlds into existence perfect -and complete, the idea of creation in the Christian sense does not -necessarily imply this. We hold that the iron logic of facts forces us -to the admission of creation in general, in opposition to the senseless -doctrine of unbeginning and unending series and sequences; and while we -do not pretend to determine the manner in which God proceeded with his -work, we likewise hold that the gradual appearance of planet after planet -of the innumerable orbs that stud the firmament, of genus after genus, -and species after species, can be far more philosophically referred to -the positive act of an infinite power than to the vague operation of law. -Draper, therefore, shivers a lance against a windmill when he sets up his -doctrine of evolution against a purely imaginary creation. While he thus -arraigns the doctrine of creation as shortsighted and unphilosophical, -it is amusing to contemplate the substitute therefor which his system -offers. On page 192 he says: “Abrupt, arbitrary, disconnected creative -acts may serve to illustrate the divine power; but that continuous, -unbroken chain of organisms which extends from palæozoic formations to -the formations of recent times--a chain in which each link hangs on a -preceding and sustains a succeeding one--demonstrates to us not only that -the production of animated beings is governed by law, but that it is by -law that it has undergone no change. In its operation through myriads -of ages there has been no variation, no suspension.” We have already -proved that whatever is finite or contingent in the actual order must -necessarily have had a beginning--a fact which Draper himself seems to -admit when he speaks of the creative agency of law; and the question -arises what it is which Dr. Draper substitutes for the creative act. -Creation by law is an absurdity, since law is but the expression of the -regularity of phenomena, once the fact of the universe has been granted. -Unbeginning and unending series are not only an absurdity, but a palpable -evasion of the difficulty. We have, therefore, according to Dr. Draper, a -tremendous effect without a cause. When we view the many-sided spectacle -of nature, the star-bespangled empyrean, the endless forms of life -which the microscope reveals, the harmony and order of the universe, we -naturally inquire, Whence sprang this mighty panorama? What all-potent -Being gave it existence? Draper’s answer is, It had no beginning, it -will have no end--_i.e._, it began nowhere, it will end nowhere. There -it is, and be satisfied. The Christian replies that it is the work of an -eternal, necessary, and all-perfect Being, who contains within himself -the reason of his own existence, and whose word is sufficient to usher -into being countless other worlds of far vaster magnitude than any that -now exist. - -Throughout the whole book are scattered references to this supremacy of -law over creation, and the inference is constantly deduced that every -curse which has befallen humanity, every retarding influence placed in -the way of human progress, has proceeded from the doctrine of creation. -Creation alone can give color to the doctrine of miracles, and creation -renders impossible the safe prediction of astronomical events. For these -reasons Draper condemns it, not only as an intellectual monstrosity, but -as morally bad. While we admit that the possibility of miracles does -depend on the admission of an intelligent Cause of all things, it by no -means follows that the same admission invalidates the safe prediction -of an eclipse or a comet. Draper’s words touching the matter are such -a curiosity in their way that we cannot forbear quoting them. On page -229 he says: “Astronomical predictions of all kinds depend upon the -admission of this fact: that there never has been and never will be any -intervention in the operation of natural laws. The scientific philosopher -affirms that the condition of the world at any given moment is the direct -result of its condition in the preceding moment, and the direct cause of -its condition in the subsequent moment. Law and chance are only different -names for mechanical necessity.” - -Parodying the words of Mme. Roland, we might exclaim, O Philosophy! what -follies are committed in thy name. Just think of it, reader, because God -is supposed to superintend, by virtue of his infinite intelligence, the -processes of universal nature, with the power to derogate from the laws -he himself appointed, he must be so capricious that constancy, harmony, -and regularity are strangers to him. Supposing we take for granted the -possibility of miracles, it does not ensue that God is about to disturb -the regularity of the universe at the bidding of him who asks. The -circumstances attending the performance of a miracle are so obvious that -there can be no room for doubting the constancy of law operation. Thus -the promotion of an evidently good purpose, which is the prime intent -of a miracle, precludes the caprice which alone could render unsafe -the prediction of a physical occurrence. As well might we question the -probable course a man of well-known probity and discretion will pursue -under specified circumstances, with this difference: that as God is -infinitely wise, in proportion is the probability great that he will not -depart from his usual course, except for most extraordinary reasons. -And if the safety of a prediction depending on such circumstances is -not as great as that which depends on mechanical necessity, we must -base our scepticism on very shadowy grounds. Father Secchi can compute -the next solar eclipse as well as Dr. Diaper; and if he should add, -as he undoubtedly would, D. V., nobody will therefore be inclined to -question the accuracy of his calculations or doubt the certainty of the -occurrence. In preference, however, to the admission of a free agency in -the affairs of the universe, he subscribes to the stoicism of Grecian -philosophy, which subjects all things to a stern, unbending necessity, -and makes men act by the impulse and determination of their nature. -“This system offered a support in their hour of trial, not only to -many illustrious Greeks, but also to some of the great philosophers, -statesmen, generals, and emperors of Rome--a system which excluded chance -from everything, and asserted the direction of all events by irresistible -necessity to the promotion of perfect good; a system of earnestness, -sternness, austerity, virtue--a protest in favor of the common sense of -mankind. And perhaps we shall not dissent from the remark of Montesquieu, -who affirms that the destruction of the Stoics was a great calamity to -the human race; for they alone made great citizens, great men.” Men can -therefore be great in Draper’s sense when they can no longer be virtuous; -they can acquire fame and win the gratitude of posterity when they can -no longer merit; in a word, mechanical necessity; the same inexorable -fatality which impels the river-waters to seek the sea, which turns the -magnet to the north, and makes the planets run their destined courses, -presides over the conduct of men, and elevates, ennobles their actions. -Free-will is chance; Providence an impertinent and debasing interference; -and virtue the firmness, born of necessity, which made Cato end his days -by his own hand. Such is Draper’s substitute in the moral order for the -teachings of Christianity--a system inevitably tending to build a Paphian -temple on the site of every Christian church, and to revive the infamies -which the pen of Juvenal so scathingly satirized, and for which S. Paul -rebuked the Romans in terms of frightful severity and reprobation. For -what consideration can restrain human passions, if men deem their actions -to be a necessary growth or expansion of their nature, if the good and -bad in human deeds are as the tempest that wrecks, or the gentle dews -that fructify and animate the vegetable world? His whole book is a -cumbersome and disjointed argument in favor of necessity, as opposed to -free agency; of law, as opposed to Providence. The manner of his refuting -the existence of divine Providence is so far novel and original that -we are tempted to reproduce it for those of our readers who prefer not -to lose time by perusing the work in full. On page 243 he says: “Were -we set in the midst of the great nebula of Orion, how transcendently -magnificent the scene! The vast transformation, the condensations of a -fiery mist into worlds, might seem worthy of the immediate presence, the -supervision, of God; here, at our distant station, where millions of -miles are inappreciable to our eyes, and suns seem no bigger than motes -in the air, that nebula is more insignificant than the faintest cloud. -Galileo, in his description of the constellation of Orion, did not think -it worth while so much as to mention it. The most rigorous theologian of -those days would have seen nothing to blame in imputing its origin to -secondary causes; nothing irreligious in failing to invoke the arbitrary -interference of God in its metamorphoses. If such be the conclusion -to which we come respecting it, what would be the conclusion to which -an Intelligence seated in it would come respecting us? It occupies an -extent of space millions of miles greater than that of our solar system; -we are invisible from it, and therefore absolutely insignificant. Would -such an Intelligence think it necessary to require for our origin and -maintenance the immediate intervention of God?” That is to say, we are -too insignificant for God’s notice, because larger worlds roll through -space millions of miles from us, and God would have enough to do, if at -all disposed to interfere, in looking after them, without occupying his -important time with terra and her Liliputian denizens. - -It is evident from this passage that Draper’s mind can never rise to -a grand conception. It would not do to tell him that the Intelligence -which superintends and controls the universe “reaches from end to end -powerfully, and disposes all things mildly”; that his infinite ken -“numbers the hair of our heads,” notes the sparrow’s fall, and sweeps -over the immensity of space with its thronging orbs, by one and the same -act of a supreme mind. The furthest is as the nearest, the smallest as -the greatest, with Him who holds the universe in the hollow of his hand, -and whose omnipotent will could create and conserve myriad constellations -greater than Orion. In the passage just quoted Dr. Draper commits the -additional blunder of confounding creation in general with a special view -conveniently entertained by himself. His objection to creation, as before -remarked, proceeds on the notion that creation is necessarily adverse to -slow and continuous development, such as the facts of nature point out as -having been the course through which the world has reached its present -maturity. He does not seem able to understand that, creation having -taken place, the whole set of physical phenomena which underlie recent -physical theories may have come to pass, as he maintains; only we must -assign a beginning. His whole disagreement with the doctrine of creation -is founded on this principle of a non-beginning, though he vainly strives -to make it appear that he objects to it as interfering with regular, -progressive development. On page 239 he says: “Shall we, then, conclude -that the solar and the starry systems have been called into existence -by God, and that he has then imposed upon them by his arbitrary will -laws under the control of which it was his pleasure that their movements -should be made? - -“Or are there reasons for believing that these several systems came into -existence, not by such an arbitrary fiat, but through the operation of -law?” The shallowness of this philosophy the simplest can sound. As well -might we speak of a nation or state springing into existence through the -operation of those laws which are subsequently enacted for its guidance. -Prayer and the possibility of miracles are equally assailed by Draper’s -doctrine of necessary law. His argument against the former is very -closely akin to J. J. Rousseau’s objection to prayer. “Why should we,” -says the pious author of _Emile_, “presume to hope that God will change -the order of the universe at our request? Does he not know better what is -suited to our wants than our short-sighted reason can perceive, to say -nothing of the blasphemy which sets up our judgment in opposition to the -divine decrees?” The opposition of Draper and Tyndall to prayer proceeds -exactly on the same notion--the absurdity, namely, of supposing that our -petitions can ever have the effect of changing the fixed and unalterable -scheme of the universe. Tyndall went so far as to propose a prayer-gauge -by separating the inmates of a hospital into praying and non-praying -ones, and seeing what proportion of the two classes would recover -more rapidly. Those three distinguished philosophers evidently never -understood the nature and conditions of prayer, else they would not -hold such language. God changes nothing at our instance, but counts our -prayer in as a part of the very plan on which the universe was projected. -In the divine mind every determination of our will is perceived from -eternity, as indeed are all the events of creation. But we admit a -distinction of logical priority of some over others. Thus God’s knowledge -of our determination to act is logically subsequent to the determination -itself, since the latter is the object of the divine knowledge, and -must have a logical precedence over it. Prayer, then, is compatible -with the regularity of the universe and infinite wisdom, because God, -having perceived our prayer and observed the conditions accompanying it, -determined in eternity to grant or to withhold it, and regulated the -universe in accordance with such determination. Our prayers have been -granted or withheld in the long past as regards us, but not in the past -as regards God, in whom there is no change nor shadow of a change. It is -evident from this how absurd is Tyndall’s notion of testing the efficacy -of prayer in the manner he proposed, and how unjust is Draper’s constant -arrow-shooting at shrine-cures and petitions for health addressed to God -and to his saints. Nor does the granting of a prayer necessarily imply a -departure from the natural course of events. The foreseen goodness and -piety of a man can have determined God to allow the natural order and -sequence of events to proceed in such a manner as to develop conformably -to his petition. In this there is no disturbance of the natural order, -since the expression means nothing else than the regularity with which -phenomena occur in their usual way--a fact entirely consistent with the -theory of prayer. - -It is true, however, that the history of the church exhibits many -well-authenticated examples of prayers being granted under circumstances -which implied the performance of a miracle or a suspension of the effects -of law. To this Draper opposes three arguments: first, the inherent -impossibility of miracles; secondly, the capricious disturbance of the -universe which would ensue; and, thirdly, the impossibility of discerning -between miracles and juggling tricks or the marvellous achievements -of science. To the first argument we would return an _argumentum ad -hominem_. While Dr. Draper sneeringly repudiates a miracle which implies -a derogation from physical law, he unwittingly admits a miracle tenfold -more astounding. The argument was directed against Voltaire long years -ago, and has been repeatedly employed since. - -Suppose, then, that a whole cityful of people should testify to the -resurrection of a dead man from the grave; would we be justified in -rejecting the testimony on the sole ground of the physical impossibility -of the occurrence? We would thereby suppose that a whole population, -divided into the high and low born, the ignorant and the educated, the -good and the bad, with interests, passions, hopes, prejudices, and -aspirations as wide apart as the poles, should secretly conspire to -impose on the rest of the world, and this so successfully that not even -one would reveal the gigantic deception. History abounds in instances -of the sort, in recitals of sudden cures witnessed by thousands, of -conflagrations suddenly checked, of plagues disappearing in a moment; -and if we are pleased to refuse the testimony because of the physical -impossibility, we are reduced to the necessity of admitting, not a -miracle, but a monstrosity in the moral order. It is true that Dr. Draper -quietly ignores this feature of the case, and is satisfied with the -objection to the possibility of miracles on physical grounds, without -taking the pains to inquire whether circumstances can be conceived -in which this physical possibility may be set aside. Complacently -resting his argument here, the “impartial” doctor, whose lofty mind -ranges in the pure ether of immaculate truth, accuses the church of -filling the air with sprites whose duty it is to perform miracles every -moment. Recklessly and breathlessly he repeats and multiplies the old, -time-worn, oft-refuted, and ridiculous stories which stain the pages of -long-forgotten Protestant controversialists, and which well-informed -men of to-day not in communion with the church would blush to repeat, -as likely to stamp their intelligence with vulgarity and credulity. -Not so with Dr. Draper; for not only does he rehash what for years we -have been hearing from Pecksniffs and Chadbands _usque ad nauseam_, -but he introduces his stale stories in the most incongruous manner. -Shrine-cures, as he calls them, he finds to have gone hand in hand with -the absence of carpeted floors, and relic-worship with smoky chimneys, -poor raiment, and unwholesome food. No doubt his far-seeing mind has -been able to discover a necessary relation between those things which -the ordinary judgment would pronounce most incongruous and dissonant. -Draper not only refuses to recognize the long and laborious efforts of -the church to ameliorate the condition of the masses, to lift them from -the misery and insanitary surroundings into which they had sunk during -the night of Roman decadence, and in which the internecine feuds of the -robber barons and princes, of feudal masters and vassals, had left them, -but he impudently charges the church with being the author of their -wrongs and wretchedness. It is true the same charge has been made before -by vindictive and passionate writers, and it receives no additional -weight at the hands of Dr. Draper by being left, like Mahomet’s coffin, -without prop or support. Since Maitland’s work first disabused Englishmen -of the opinions they had formed concerning mediæval priest-craft and -church tyranny, no writer has had the hardihood to revive the exploded -slanders of Stillingfleet and Fletcher, till this latest anti-papist felt -that he had received a mission to do so. - -Draper’s belief that the admitted possibility of miracles would tend to -disturb the regular succession of natural phenomena is simply puerile; -for miracles occur only under such circumstances as all men understand -to preclude caprice and irregularity. Thus the daily-recurring mystery -of transubstantiation still takes place upon our altars, and, so far as -that tremendous fact is concerned, we might all cling to the idea of -necessary, immutable law; for no order is disturbed, no planet fails -to perform its accustomed revolution. As for its being impossible for -Catholics to distinguish between real miracles and juggleries, it is -very evident that, in keeping with his general opinion of believers in -miracles, he must rate their standard of intelligence at an exceedingly -low figure. A miracle supposes a derogation of the laws of the physical -world, and is never accepted till its character in this sense has been -thoroughly proved. A Protestant writer of high intelligence, who not long -since was present in Rome at an investigation into the evidence adduced -to prove the genuineness of certain miracles attributed to a servant -of God, in whose behalf the title of venerable was demanded, remarked -that, had the same searching scrutiny been employed in every legal case -which had fallen under his observation, he would not hesitate to place -implicit confidence in the rigid impartiality of the judge, the logical -nature of the evidence, and the unimpeachable veracity of the witnesses. -Dr. Draper, therefore, supposes, on the part of those whom he claims -to be incapable or unwilling to discriminate between miracles, in the -sense defined, and mere feats of legerdemain, an unparalleled stupidity -or contemptible roguery. Since, however, he constitutes himself supreme -judge in the case, we will place in juxtaposition with this judgment -another, which will readily show to what extent his discriminating sense -may be trusted. On page 298 he says: “The Virgin Mary, we are assured -by the evangelists, had accepted the duties of married life, and borne -to her husband several children.” As this is a serious accusation, and -the doctor, in presenting it, desires to maintain his high reputation -as an erudite hermeneutist and strict logician by adducing irrefragable -proofs in its support, he triumphantly refers to S. Matt. i. 25. “And he -knew her not till she brought forth her first-born.” We are reluctant to -mention, when it is question of the accuracy of so learned a man as Dr. -Draper, that among the Hebrews the word _until_ denotes only what has -occurred, without regard to the future; as when God says: “I am till -you grow old.” If Draper’s exegesis is correct concerning S. Matt. i. -25, then we must infer that God as surely implies, in the words quoted, -that he will cease to exist at a specified time, as he explicitly states -he will exist till that time. But, not satisfied with this display of -Scriptural erudition, he refers, in support of the same statement, to -S. Matt. xiii. 55, 56; and, because mention is there made of Jesus’ -brethren and sisters, the latest foe to Mary’s virginity concludes that -these were brothers and sisters by consanguinity. What a large number of -brothers and sisters our preachers of every Sunday must have, who address -by these endearing terms their numerous congregations! If, however, -Dr. Draper desires to ascertain who these brethren and sisters were, -he will find that they were cousins to our divine Saviour; it being a -favored custom among the Jews thus to style near relatives. S. Matt, -xxvii. 56 and S. John xix. 25 will define the exact relation the persons -in question bore to the Saviour. Such are the penetration, profundity, -and erudition of the man who brands as imbeciles, dupes, and rogues the -major part of Christendom! But perhaps it may be said that hermeneutics -are not Draper’s _forte_, owing to his supreme contempt of the New -and Old Testaments, and that he has won his laurels in the field of -philosophy. We have already hinted that his perspicuity in philosophical -discussions is in advance of his subtlety, for the reason that he keeps -well on the surface, and exhibits a commendable anxiety not to venture -beyond his depth. At times, however, an intrepidity, born of ignorance, -overcomes his native timidity, and, with amazing confidence, he plays -the oft-assumed _rôle_ of the bull in a china-shop. Mixing himself up -with the Arian dispute concerning the Blessed Trinity, he inclines to the -anti-Trinitarian view, because a son cannot be coeval with his father! -The carnal-minded Arius thus reasoned, and it is no wonder Dr. Draper -agrees with him. Had Dr. Draper taken down from his library shelf the -_Summa_ of S. Thomas, the great extinguisher of Draper’s philosophical -beacon, Averroës, he would have received such enlightenment as would have -made him blush to concur in a proposition so utterly unphilosophical. The -Father, as principle of the Son’s existence, is co-existent with him as -God, and logically only prior to him as father, just as a circle is the -source whence the equality of the radii springs; though, given a circle, -the equality of the radii co-exists, and, if an eternally existing circle -be conceived, an eternal equality of radii ensues. The priority is -therefore one of reason, viz., the priority of a cause to a co-existing -effect. But we have said _satis superque_ concerning Draper and his book. -We deplore, not so much the publication of the volume, as the unhealthy -condition of the public mind which can hail its appearance with welcome. -As an appetite for unnatural food argues a diseased state of the bodily -system, so we infer that men’s minds are sadly diseased when they take -pleasure in what is so hollow, false, and shallow as Dr. Draper’s latest -addition to anti-Catholic literature. We have been obliged to suppress -a considerable portion of the criticisms we had prepared on particular -portions of this rambling production, in order not to take up too much -space. We consider it not to be worth the space we have actually given -to its refutation. And yet, of such a book, one of our principal daily -papers has been so unadvised or thoughtless as to say that it ought to -be made a _text-book_. To this proposition we answer by the favorite -exclamation of the wife of Sir Thomas More: “TILLEY-VALLEY!” - - -STRAY LEAVES FROM A PASSING LIFE. - -CHAPTER II. - -A DINNER AT THE GRANGE--A PAIR OF OWLS. - -As we passed up the gravel walk of the Grange a face was trying its -prettiest to look scoldingly out of the window, but could not succeed. -When the eyes lighted upon my companion, face and eyes together -disappeared. It was a face that I had seen grow under my eyes, but it -had never occurred to me hitherto that it had grown so beautiful. Could -that tall young lady, who did the duties of mistress of the Grange so -demurely, be the little fairy whom only yesterday I used to toss upon -my shoulder and carry out into the barnyard to see the fowls, one hand -twined around my neck, and the other waving her magic wand with the -action of a little queen--the same magic wand that I had spent a whole -hour and a half--a boy’s long hour and a half--in peeling and notching -with my broken penknife, engraving thereon the cabalistic characters -“F. N.,” which, as all the world was supposed to know, signified -“Fairy Nell”? And that was “Fairy” who had just disappeared from the -honeysuckles. Faith! a far more dangerous fairy than when I was her -war-horse and she my imperious queen. - -I introduced my companion as an old school-fellow of mine to my father -and sister. So fine-looking a young man could not fail to impress my -father favorably, who, notwithstanding his seclusion, had a keen eye -for persons and appearances. How so fine-looking a young man impressed -my sister I cannot say, for it is not given to me to read ladies’ -hearts. The dinner was passing pleasantly enough, when one of those odd -revulsions of feeling that come to one at times in the most inopportune -situations came over me. I am peculiarly subject to fits of this nature, -and only time and years have enabled me to overcome them to any extent. -By the grave of a friend who was dear to me, and in presence of his -weeping relatives, some odd recollection has risen up as it were out of -the freshly-dug grave, and grinned at me over the corpse’s head, till I -hardly knew whether the tears in my eyes were brought there by laughter -or by grief. Just on the attainment of some success, for which I had -striven for months or years, may be, and to which I had devoted every -energy that was in me, while the flush of it was fresh on my cheek and in -my heart, and the congratulations of friends pouring in on me, has come -a drear feeling like a winter wind across my summer garden to blast the -roses and wither the dew-laden buds just opening to the light. Why this -is so I cannot explain; that it is so I know. It is a mockery of human -nature, and falls on the harmony of the soul like that terrible “ha! ha!” -of the fiend who stands by all the while when poor Faust and innocent -Marguerite are opening their hearts to each other. - -“And so, Mr. Goodal, you are an old friend of Roger’s? He has told me -about most of his friends. It is strange he never mentioned your name -before.” - -“It is strange,” I broke in hurriedly. “Kenneth is the oldest of all, -too. I found him first in the thirteenth century. He bears his years -well, does he not, Fairy?” - -My father and Nellie both looked perplexed. Kenneth laughed. - -“What in the world are you talking about, Roger?” asked my father in -amazement. - -“Where do you think I found him? Burrowing at the tomb of the Herberts, -as though he were anxious to get inside and pass an evening with them.” - -“And judging the past by the present, a very agreeable evening I should -have spent,” said Kenneth gayly. - -“Well, sir, I will not deny that you would have found excellent company,” -responded my father, pleased at the compliment. “The Herberts. ..” he -began. - -“For heaven’s sake, sir, let them rest in their grave. I have already -surfeited Mr. Goodal with the history of the Herberts.” Kenneth was about -to interpose, but I went on: “A strangely-mixed assembly the Herberts -would make in the other world; granting that there is another world, and -that the members of our family condescend to know each other there.” - -“Roger!” said Nellie in a warning tone, while my father reddened and -shifted uneasily in his chair. - -“If there be another world and the Herberts are there, it is impossible -that they can live together _en famille_. It can scarcely be even a -bowing acquaintance,” I added, feeling all the while that I was as rude -and undutiful as though I had risen from my chair and dealt my father a -blow in the face. He remembered, as I did not, what was due to our guest, -and said coldly: - -“Roger, don’t you think that you might advantageously change the subject? -Mr. Goodal, I am very far behind the age, and not equal to what I suppose -is the prevailing tone among clever young gentlemen of the present day. I -am very old fogy, very conservative. Try that sherry.” - -The quiet severity of his tone cut me to the quick. The spirit of -mischief must have been very near my elbow at that moment. Instead of -taking my lesson in good part, I felt like a whipped school-boy, and, -regardless of poor Nellie’s pale face and Kenneth’s silence, went on -resolutely: - -“Well, sir, my ancestors are to me a most interesting topic of -conversation, and I take it that a Herbert only shows a proper regard for -his own flesh and blood if he inquire after their eternal no less than -their temporal welfare. What has become of all the Herberts, I should -dearly like to know?” - -“I know, sir, what will become of one of them, if he continues his silly -and unmannerly cynicism,” said my father, now fairly aroused. He was very -easily aroused, and I wonder that he restrained himself so long. “I -cannot imagine, Mr. Goodal, what possesses the young men of the present -day, or what they are coming to. Irreverence for the dead, irreverence -for the living, irreverence for all that is worthy of reverence, seems -to stamp their character. I trust, sir, indeed I believe, that you have -better feelings than to think that life and death, here and hereafter, -are fit subjects for a boy’s sneer. I am sure that you have that respect -for church and state and--and things established that is becoming a -gentleman. I can only regret that my son is resolved on going as fast as -he can to--to--” He glanced at Nellie, and remained silent. - -“I know where you would say, sir; and in the event of my happy arrival -there, I shall beyond doubt meet a large section of the Herberts who -have gone before me--that is, if church and things established are to -be believed. When one comes to think of it, what an appalling number of -Herberts must have gone to the devil!” - -“Nellie, my girl, you had better retire, since your brother forgets how -to conduct himself in the presence of ladies and gentlemen.” - -But Nellie sat still with scared face, and, though by this time my heart -ached, I could not help continuing: - -“But, father, what are we to believe, or do we believe anything? Up -to a certain period the Herberts were what their present head--whom -heaven long preserve!--would call rank Papists. Old Sir Roger, whose -epitaph I found Mr. Goodal endeavoring to decipher this afternoon, was a -Crusader, a soldier of the cross which, in our enlightenment and hatred -of idolatry, we have torn down from the altar where he worshipped, and -overturned that altar itself. Was it for love of church and things -established, as we understand them, that he sailed away to the Holy Land, -and in his pious zeal knocked the life out of many an innocent painim? -Was good Abbot Herbert, whose monumental brass in the chancel of S. -Wilfrid’s presents him kneeling and adoring before the chalice that he -verily believed to hold the blood of Christ, a worshipper of the same -God and a holder of the same faith as my uncle, Archdeacon Herbert, who -denies and abhors the doctrine of Transubstantiation, although his two -daughters, who are of the highest High-Church Anglicans, devoutly believe -in something approaching it, and, to prove their faith, have enrolled -themselves both in the Confraternity of the Cope, whose recent discovery -has set Parliament and all the bench of bishops abuzz? Is it all a humbug -all the way down, or were the stout, Crusading, Catholic Herberts real -and right, while we are wrong and a religious sham? Does the Reformation -mark us off into white sheep and black sheep, consigning them to hell and -us to heaven? If not, why were they not Protestants, and why are we not -Catholics, or why are we all not unbelievers? Can the same heaven hold -all alike--those who adored and adore the Sacrament as God, and those who -pronounce adoration of the Sacrament idolatry and an abomination?” - -My father’s only reply to this lengthy and irresistible burst of eloquent -reasoning was to ask Nellie, who had sat stone-still, and whose eyes were -distended in mingled horror and wonder, for a cup of coffee. My long -harangue seemed to have a soothing effect upon my nerves. I looked at -Goodal, who was looking at his spoon. I felt so sorry that I could have -wished all my words unsaid. - -“My dear father, and my dear Kenneth, and you too, Nellie, pardon me. I -have been unmannerly, grossly so. I brought you here, Kenneth, to spend -a pleasant evening, and help us to spend one, and some evil genius--a -_daimon_ that I carry about with me, and cannot always whip into good -behavior--has had possession of me for the last half-hour. It was he that -spoke in me, and not my father’s son, who, were he true to the lessons -and example of his parent, would as soon think of committing suicide as -a breach of hospitality or good manners. Now, as you are antiquarians, -I leave you a little to compare notes, while I take Fairy out to trip -upon the green, and console her for my passing heresy with orthodoxy and -Tupper, who, I need not assure you, is her favorite poet, as he is of -all true English country damsels. There is the moon beginning to rise; -and there is a certain melting, a certain watery, quality about Tupper -admirably adapted to moonlight.” - -The rest of the evening passed more pleasantly. After a little we all -went out on the lawn, and sat there together. The moonlight nights of the -English summer are very lovely. That night was as a thousand such, yet it -seemed to me that I had never felt the solemn beauty of nature so deeply -or so sensibly before. S. Wilfrid’s shone out high and gray and solemn -in the moon. Through the yew-trees of the priory down below gleamed the -white tombstones of the churchyard. A streak of silver quivering through -the land marked the wandering course of the Leigh. And high up among the -beeches and the elms sat we, the odors of the afternoon still lingering -on the air, the melody of a nightingale near by wooing the heart of the -night with its mystic notes, and the moonlight shimmering on drowsy trees -and slumbering foliage that not a breath in all the wide air stirred. - -“There is a soft quiet in our English nights, a kind of home feeling -about them, that makes them very lovable, and that I have experienced -nowhere else,” said Kenneth. - -“Oh! I am so glad to hear you say that, Mr. Goodal.” - -“May I ask why, Miss Herbert?” - -“Well, I hardly know. Because, I suppose, I am so very English.” - -“So is Tupper, and Fairy swears by Tupper. At least she would, if she -swore at all,” remarked her brother, whose hair was pulled for his pains. - -“Were you ever abroad, Miss Herbert?” - -“Never; papa wished to take me often, but I refused, because I suppose -again I am so very English.” - -“Too English to face sea-sickness,” said her brother. - -“I believe the fault is mine, Mr. Goodal,” said her father. “You see the -gout never leaves me for long together. I am liable at any time to an -attack; and gout is a bad companion on foreign travel. It is bad enough -at home, as Nellie finds, who insists on being my only nurse; and I am so -selfish that I have not the heart to let her go, and I believe she has -hardly the heart to leave me.” - -“Oh! I don’t wish to go. Cousin Edith goes every year, and we have such -battles when she comes back. She cannot endure this climate, she cannot -endure the people, she cannot endure the fashions, the language is too -harsh and grating for her ear, the cooking is barbarous--every thing is -bad. Now, I would rather stay at home and be happy in my ignorance than -learn such lessons as that,” said honest Nellie. - -“You would never learn such lessons.” - -“Don’t you think so? But tell us now, Mr. Goodal, do not you, who have -seen so much, find England very dull?” - -“Excessively. That is one of its chief beauties. Dulness is one of our -national privileges; and Roger here will tell you we pride ourselves on -it.” - -“Kenneth would say that dulness is only another word for what you would -call our beautiful home-life,” said the gentleman appealed to. - -“Dulness indeed! I don’t find it dull,” broke in Nellie, bridling up. - -“No, the dairy and the kitchen; the dinner and tea; the Priory on a -Sunday; the shopping excursions into Leighstone, where there is nothing -to buy; the garden and the vinery; the visits to Mrs. Jones and Mrs. -Knowles; to Widow Wickham, who is blind; to Mrs. Staynes, who is deaf, -and whose husband ran away from her because, as he said, he feared that -he would rupture a blood-vessel in trying to talk to her; the parish -school and the charity hospital, make the life of a well-behaved young -English lady quite a round of excitement. There are such things, too, as -riding to hounds, and a ball once in a while, and croquet parties, and -picnics, and the Eleusinian mysteries of the tea-table. Who shall say -that, with all these opportunities for wild dissipation, English country -life is dull?” - -“Roger wearies of Leighstone, you perceive,” said my father. “Well, I -was restless once myself; but the gout laid hold of me early in life, and -it has kept its hold.” - -“Now, Mr. Goodal, in all your wanderings, tell me where you have seen -anything so delightful as this? Have you seen a ruin more venerable than -S. Wilfrid’s, nodding to sleep like a gray old monk on the top of the -hill there? Every stone of it has a history; some of them gay, many of -them grave. Look at the Priory nestling down below--history again. See -how gently the Leigh wanders away through the country. Every cottage and -farm on its banks I know, and those in them. Could you find a sweeter -perfume in all the world than steals up from my own garden here, where -all the flowers are mine, and I sometimes think half know me? All around -is beauty and peace, and has been so ever since I was a child. Why, then, -should I wish to wander?” - -Something more liquid even than their light glistened in Fairy’s eyes, as -she turned them on Kenneth at the close. He seemed startled at her sudden -outburst, and, after a moment, said almost gravely: - -“You are right, Miss Herbert. The beauty that we do not know we may -admire, but hardly love. It is like a painting that we glance at, and -pass on to see something else. There is no sense of ownership about it. I -have wandered, with a crippled friend by my side, through art galleries -where all that was beautiful in nature and art was drawn up in a way -to fascinate the eye and delight the senses. Yet my crippled friend -never suffered by contrast; never felt his deformity there. Knowledge, -association, friendship, love--these are the great beautifiers. The -little that we can really call our own is dearer to us than all the -world--is our world, in fact. An Italian sunset steals and enwraps the -senses into, as it were, a third heaven. A London fog is one of the most -hideous things in this world; yet a genuine Londoner finds something in -his native fog dear to him as the sunset to the Italian, and I confess -to the barbarism myself. On our arrival the other day we were greeted by -a yellow, dense, smoke-colored fog, such as London alone can produce. It -was more than a year since I had seen one, and I enjoyed it. I breathed -freely again, for I was at home. You will understand, then, how I -appreciate your enthusiasm about Leighstone; and if Leighstone had many -like Miss Herbert, I can well understand why its people should be content -to stay at home.” - -Nellie laughed. “I am afraid, Mr. Goodal, that you have brought back -something more than your taste for fogs and your homely Saxon from Italy.” - -“Yes, a more rooted love for my own land, a truer appreciation of my -countrymen, and more ardent admiration of my fair countrywomen.” - -“Ah! now you are talking Italian. But, honestly, which country do you -find the most interesting of all you have seen?” - -“My own, Miss Herbert.” - -“The nation of shop-keepers!” ejaculated I. - -“Of Magna Charta,” interposed my father, who, ready enough to condemn -his age and his country himself, was Englishman enough to allow no other -person to do so with impunity. - -“Of hearth and home, of cheerful firesides and family circles,” added -Nellie. - -“Of work-houses and treadmills,” I growled. - -“Of law and order, of civil and religious liberty,” corrected my father. - -“Which are of very recent introduction and very insecure tenure,” added I. - -“They formed the corner-stone of the great charter on which our English -state is built--a charter that has become our glory and the world’s envy.” - -“To be broken into and rifled within a century; to be set under the -foot of a Henry VIII. and pinned to the petticoat of an Elizabeth; to -be mocked at in the death of a Mary, Queen of Scots, and a Charles; to -be thrown out of window by a Cromwell. Our charters and our liberties! -Oh! we are a thrifty race. We can pocket them all when it suits our -convenience, and flaunt them to the world on exhibition-days. Our charter -did not save young Raymond Herbert his neck for sticking to his faith -during the Reformation, though I believe that same charter provided above -all things that the church of God should be free; and a Chief-Justice -Herbert sat on the bench and pronounced sentence on the boy, not daring -to wag a finger in defence of his own flesh and blood. Of course the -Catholic Church was not the church of God, for so the queen’s majesty -decreed; and to Chief-Justice Herbert we owe these lands, such of them -as were saved. Great heaven! we talk of nobility--English nobility; the -proudest race under the sun. The proudest race under the sun, who would -scorn to kiss the Pope’s slipper, grovelled in the earth, one and all of -them, under the heel of an Elizabeth, and the other day trembled at the -frown of a George the Fourth!” - -I need not dwell on the fact that in those days I had a particular -fondness for the sound of my own voice. I gloried in what seemed to me -startling paradoxes, and flashes of wisdom that loosened bolts and rivets -of prejudice, shattered massive edifices of falsehood, undermined in a -twinkling social and moral weaknesses, which, of course, had waited in -snug security all these long years for my coming to expose them to the -scorn of a wondering world. What a hero I was, what a trenchant manner -I had of putting things, what a keen intellect lay concealed under that -calm exterior, and what a deep debt the world would have owed me had -it only listened in time to my Cassandra warnings, it will be quite -unnecessary for me to point out. - -“I suppose I ought to be very much ashamed of myself,” said Kenneth -good-humoredly; “but I still confess that I find my own country the most -interesting of any that I have seen. It may be that the very variety, -the strange contradictions in our national life and character, noticed -by our radical here, are in themselves no small cause for that interest. -If we have had a Henry VIII., we have had an Alfred and an Edward; if we -have had an Elizabeth, we have also had a Maud; if our nobles cowered -before a woman, they faced a man at Runnymede, and at their head were -English churchmen, albeit not English churchmen of the stamp of to-day. -If we broke through our charter, let us at least take the merit of having -restored something of it, although it is somewhat mortifying to find that -centuries of wandering and of history and discovery only land us at our -old starting-point.” - -“I give in. Bah! we are spoiling the night with history, while all -nature is smiling at us in her beautiful calm.” - -“Ah! you have driven away the nightingale; it sings no more,” said Fairy. - -“Surely some one can console us for its absence,” said Kenneth, glancing -at Nellie. - -“I do not understand Italian,” she laughed back. - -“Your denial is a confession of guilt. I heard Roger call you Fairy. -There be good fairies and bad. You would not be placed among the bad?” - -“Why not?” - -“Because all the bad fairies are old.” - -“And ride on broomsticks,” added I. - -Unlike her brother, who had not a note of music in him, Fairy had a -beautiful voice, which had had the additional advantage of a very careful -cultivation. She sang us a simple old ballad that touched our hearts; and -when that was done, we insisted on another. Then the very trees seemed -to listen, the flowers to open as to a new sunlight, and shed their -sweetness in sympathy, as she sang one of those ballads of sighs and -tears, hope and despair and sorrowful lamentation, caught from the heart -of a nation whose feelings have been stirred to the depths to give forth -all that was in them in the beautiful music that their poet has wedded to -words. The ballad was “The Last Rose of Summer,” and as the notes died -away the foliage seemed to move and murmur with applause, while after a -pause the nightingale trilled out again its wonderful song in rivalry. -There was silence for a short time, which was broken by Kenneth saying: - -“I must break up Fairy-land, and go back to the Black Bull.” - -But of this we would not hear. It was agreed that Kenneth should take -up his quarters with us. The conversation outlasted our usual hours at -Leighstone. Kenneth sustained the burden; and with a wonderful grace and -charm he did so. He had read as well as travelled, and more deeply and -extensively than is common with men of his years; for his conversation -was full of that easy and delightful illustration that only a student -whose sharp angles have been worn off by contact with the world outside -his study can command and gracefully use, leaving the gem of knowledge -that a man possesses, be it small or great, perfect in its setting. Much -of what he related was relieved by some shrewd and happy remark of his -own that showed him a close observer, while a genial good-nature and -tendency to take the best possible view of things diffused itself through -all. It was late when my father said: - -“Mr. Goodal, you have tempted me into inviting an attack of my old enemy -by sitting here so long. There is no necessity for your going to-morrow, -is there, since you are simply on a walking tour? Roger is a great -rambler, and there are many pretty spots about Leighstone, many an old -ruin that will repay a visit. Indeed, ruins are the most interesting -objects of these days. My walking days, I fear, are over. A visitor is a -Godsend to us down here, and, though you ramblers soon tire of one spot, -there is more in Leighstone than can be well seen in a day.” - -Thus pressed, he consented, and our little party broke up. - -“Are you an owl!” I asked Kenneth, as my father and sister retired. - -“Somewhat,” he replied, smiling. - -“Then come to my room, and you shall give your to-whoo to my to-whit. I -was born an owl, having been introduced into this world, I am informed, -in the small hours; and the habits of the species cling to me. Take that -easy-chair and try this cigar. These slippers will ease your feet. Though -not a drinking man, properly so called, I confess to a liking for the -juice of the grape. The fondness for it is still strong in the sluggish -blood of the Norse, and I cannot help my blood. Therefore, at an hour -like this, a night-cap will not hurt us. Of what color shall it be? Of -the deep claret tint of Bordeaux, the dark-red hue of Burgundy, or the -golden amber of the generous Spaniard? Though, as I tell you, not a -drinking man, I think a good cigar and a little wine vastly improves the -moonlight, provided the quantity be not such as to obscure the vision of -eye or brain. That is not exactly a theory of my own. It was constantly -and deeply impressed upon me by a very reverend friend of mine, with whom -I read for a year. Indeed I fear his faith in port was deeper than his -faith in the Pentateuch. The drunkard is to me the lowest of animals, -ever has been, and ever will be. Were the world ruled--as it is scarcely -likely to be just yet--by my suggestions, the fate of the Duke of -Clarence should be the doom of every drunkard, with only this difference; -that each one be drowned in his own favorite liquor, soaked there till -he dissolved, and the contents ladled out and poured down the throat of -whoever, by any accident, mistook the gutter for his bed. You will pardon -my air; in my own room I am supreme lord and master. Kenneth, my boy, -I like you. I feel as though I had known you all my life. That must -have been the reason for my unruly, ungracious, and unmannerly explosion -down-stairs at dinner. I have an uncontrollable habit of breaking out in -that style sometimes, and the effect on my father, whom I need not tell -you I love and revere above all men living, is what you see.” - -He smoked in silence a few seconds, and then, turning on me, suddenly -asked: - -“Where did you learn your theology?” - -The question was the last in the world that would have presented itself -to me, and was a little startling, but put in too earnest a manner for -a sneer, and too kindly to give offence. I answered blandly that I was -guiltless of laying claim to any special theology. - -“Well, your opinions, then--the faith, the reasons, on which you ground -your life and views of life. Your conversation at times drifts into a -certain tone that makes me ask. Where or what have you studied?” - -“Nowhere; nothing; everywhere; everything; everybody; I read whatever -I come across. And as for theology--for my theology, such as it is--I -suppose I am chiefly indebted to that remarkably clever organ of opinion -known as the _Journal of the Age_.” - -A few whiffs in silence, and then he said: - -“I thought so.” - -“What did you think?” - -“That you were a reader of the _Journal of the Age_. Most youngsters who -read anything above a sporting journal or a sensational novel are. I have -been a student of it myself--a very close student. I knew the editor -well. We were at one time bosom friends. He took me in training, and I -recognized the symptoms in you at once.” - -“How so?” - -“The _Journal of the Age_--and it has numerous admirers and -imitators--is, in these days, the ablest organ of a great and almost -universal worship of an awful trinity that has existed since man was -first created; and the name of that awful trinity is--the devil, the -world, and the flesh.” - -I stared at him in silent astonishment. All the gayety of his manner, all -its softness, had gone, and he seemed in deadly earnest, as he went on: - -“This worship is not paraded in its grossest form. Not at all. It is -graced by all that wit can give and undisciplined intellect devise. It -has a brilliant sneer for Faith, a scornful smile for Hope, and a chill -politeness for Charity. I revelled in it for a time. Heaven forgive me! I -was happy enough to escape.” - -“With what result?” - -“Briefly with this: with the conviction that man did not make this world; -that he did not make himself, or send himself into it; that consequently -he was not and could never be absolutely his own master; that he was -sent in and called out by Another, by a Greater than he, by a Creator, -by a God. I became and am a Catholic, to find that what for a time I had -blindly worshipped were the three enemies against whom I was warned to -fight all the days of my life.” - -“And the _Journal of the Age_?” - -“The editor cut me as soon as he found I believed in God in preference to -himself. He is the fiercest opponent of Papal Infallibility with whom I -ever had the honor of acquaintance.” - -“I cannot say that your words and the manner in which you speak them -do not impress me. Still, it never occurred to me that so insignificant -a being as Roger Herbert was worthy the combined attack of the three -formidable adversaries you have named. What have the devil, the world, -and the flesh to do with me?” - -“Yes, there is the difficulty, not only with Roger Herbert, but with -everybody else. It does seem strange that influences so powerful and -mysterious should be for ever ranged against such wretched little beings -as we are, whom a toothache tortures and a fever kills. Yet surely man’s -life on earth is not all fever and its prevention, toothache and its -cure, or a course of eating, doctoring, and tailoring. If we believe at -all in a life that can never end, in a soul, surely that is something -worth thought and care. An eternal life that must range itself on one -side or the other seems worthy of a struggle between the powers of good -and evil, if good and evil there be. Nay, man is bound of his own right, -of his own free will, of his very existence, to choose between one and -the other, to be good or be bad, and not stumble on listlessly as a thing -of chance, tossed at will from one to the other. We do not sufficiently -realize the greatest of our obligations. We should feel disgraced if we -did not pay our tailor or our wine-merchant; but such a thought never -presents itself to us when the question concerns God or the devil, or -that part of us that does not wear clothes and does not drink wine.” - -He had risen while he was speaking, and spoke with an energy and -earnestness I had never yet witnessed in any man. Whether right or -wrong, his view of things towered so high above my own blurred and -crooked vision that I felt myself crouch and grow small before him. The -watch-tower of his faith planted him high up among the stars of heaven, -while I groped and struggled far away down in the darkness. Oh! if I -could only climb up there and stand with him, and see the world and all -things in it from that divine and serene height, instead of impiously -endeavoring to build up my own and others’ little Babel that was to -reach the skies and enable us to behold God. But conversions are not -wrought by a few sentences nor by the mere emotions of the heart; not by -Truth itself, which is for ever speaking, for ever standing before and -confronting us, its mark upon its forehead, yet we pass it blindly by; -for has it not been said that “having eyes they see not, and having ears -they hear not”? - -“Kenneth,” I said, stretching out my hand, which he clasped in both of -his, “the subject which has been called up I feel to be far too solemn -to be dismissed with the sneer and scoff that have grown into my nature. -Indeed, I always so regarded it secretly; but perhaps the foolish manner -in which I have hitherto treated it was owing somewhat to the foolish -people with whom I have had to deal from my boyhood. They give their -reasons about this, that, and the other as parrots repeat their lesson, -with interjectory shrieks and occasional ruffling of the poll, all after -the same pattern. You seem to me to be in earnest; but, if you please, we -will say no more about it--at least now.” - -“As you please,” he replied. “Here I am at the end of my cigar. So -good-night, my dear boy. Well, you have had my to-whit to your to-whoo.” - -And so a strange day ended. I sat thinking some time over our -conversation. Kenneth’s observations opened quite a new train of thought. -It had never occurred to me before that life was a great battle-field, -and that all men were, as it were, ranged under two standards, under the -folds of which they were compelled to fight. Everything had come to me -in its place. A man might have his private opinions on men and things, -as he collects a private museum for his own amusement; but in the main -one lived and died, acted and thought, passed through and out of life, -in much the same manner as his neighbor, not inquiring and not being -inquired into too closely. Life was made for us, and we lived it much -in the same way as we learned our alphabet, we never knew well how, or -took our medicine, in the regulation doses. Sometimes we were a little -rebellious, and suffered accordingly; that was all. Excess on any side -was a bore to everybody else. It was very easy, and on the whole not -unpleasant. We nursed our special crotchets, we read our newspapers, -we watched our children at their gambols, we chatted carelessly away -out on the bosom of the broad stream along which we were being borne so -surely and swiftly into the universal goal. Why should we scan the sky -and search beneath the silent waters, trembling at storms to come and -treacherous whirlpools, hidden sand-banks, and cruel rocks on which many -a brave bark had gone down? Chart and compass were for others; a pleasant -sail only for us. There was a Captain up aloft somewhere; it was his duty -and not ours to see that all was right and taut--ours to glide along in -slumbrous ease, between eternal banks of regions unexplored; to feast -our eyes on fair scenes, and lap our senses in musical repose. That was -the true life. Sunken rocks, passing storms, mutinies among the crew, -bursting of engines--what were such things to us? Had we not paid our -fares and made our provision for the voyage, and was not the Captain -bound to land us safely at our journey’s end, if he valued his position -and reputation? - -The devil, the world, and the flesh! What nightmare summoned these -up, and set them glaring horribly into the eyes of a peaceful British -subject? What had the devil to do with me or I with the devil? What -were the world and the flesh? Take my father, now; what had they to do -with him? Or Fairy? Why, her life was as pure as that sky that smiled -down upon her with all its starry eyes. Let me see; there were others, -however, who afforded better subjects for investigation. Whenever -you want to find out anything disagreeable, call on your friends and -neighbors. There was the Abbot Jones, now; let us weigh him in the -triple scale. How fared the devil, the world, and the flesh with the -Abbot Jones? He was, as I said to Kenneth, a very genial man; he had -lived a good life, married into an excellent family, paid his bills, -had a choice library, a good table, was an excellent judge of cattle, -and a preacher whom everybody praised. Abbot Jones was faultless! There -was not a flaw to be found in him from the tip of his highly-polished -toe to the top of his highly-polished head. He had a goodly income, -but he used it cautiously; for Clara and Alice were now grown up, and -were scarcely girls to waste their lives in a nunnery, like my cousins, -the daughters of Archdeacon Herbert, who adored all that was sweetly -mortifying and secluded, yet, by one of those odd contradictions in -female and human nature generally, never missed a fashion or a ball. Yes, -Abbot Jones was a good and exemplary man. To be sure, he did not walk -barefoot or sandal-shod, not alone among the highways, where men could -see and admire, but into the byways of life, down among the alleys of -the poor, where clustered disease, drunkenness, despair, death; where -life is but one long sorrow. But then for what purpose did he pay a -curate, unless to do just this kind of dirty, apostolic work, while the -abbot devoted himself to the cares of his family, the publication of an -occasional pamphlet, and that pleasant drawing-room religion that finds -its perfection in good dinners, sage maxims, and cautious deportment? If -the curate neglected his duty, that was clearly the curate’s fault, and -not the abbot’s. If the abbot were clothed, not exactly in purple, but -in the very best of broadcloth, and fasted only by the doctor’s orders, -prayed not too severely, fared sumptuously every day of his life, he paid -for every inch of cloth, every ounce of meat, every drop of that port -for which his table was famous; for he still clung to the clerical taste -for a wine that at one time assumed a semi-ecclesiastical character, -and certain crumbs from his table went now and then to a stray Lazarus. -Yes, he was a faultless man, as the world went. He did not profess to -be consumed with the zeal for souls. His life did not aim at being an -apostolic one. He had simply adopted a profitable and not unpleasant -profession. If a S. Paul had come, straggling, footsore, and weary, into -Leighstone, and begun preaching to the people and attacking shepherds -who guarded not their fold, but quietly napped and sipped their port, -while the wolves of irreligion, of vice and misery in every form, -entered in and rent the flock from corner to corner, the abbot would -very probably have had S. Paul arrested for a seditious vagrant and a -disturber of the public peace. - -Take my uncle, the archdeacon; what thought he of the world, the flesh, -and the devil? As for the last-named enemy of the human race, he did -not believe in him. A personal devil was to him simply a bogy wherewith -to frighten children. It was the outgrowth of mediæval superstition, a -Christianized version of a pagan fable. The devil was a gay subject with -Archdeacon Herbert, who was the wittiest and courtliest of churchmen. His -mission was up among the gods of this world; his confessional ladies’ -boudoirs, his penance an epigram, his absolution the acceptance of an -invitation to dinner. He breathed in a perfumed atmosphere; his educated -ear loved the rustle of silks; he saw no heaven to equal a coach-and-four -in Rotten Row during the season. It was in every way fitting that such a -man should sooner or later be a bishop of the Church Established. He was -an ornament to his class--a man who could represent it in society as well -as in the pulpit, whose presence distilled dignity and perfume, and whose -views were what are called large and liberal--that is to say, no “views” -at all. What the three enemies had to do with my uncle I could not see. -I could only see that he would scarcely have been chosen as one of The -Twelve; but then who would be chosen as one of The Twelve in these days? - -I went to the window and looked out. The moon was going down behind S. -Wilfrid’s, and Leighstone was buried in gloomy shadow. Down there below -me in the darkness throbbed thousands of hearts resting a little in -peaceful slumber till the morning came to wake them again to the toil -and the struggle, the pleasure and the pain, the good and the evil, of -another day. The good and the evil. Was there no good and evil waiting -down there by the bedside of every one, to face them in the morning, and -not leave them until they returned to that bedside at night? Was there -a great angel somewhere up above in that solemn, silent, ever-watchful -heaven, with an open scroll, writing down in awful letters the good and -the bad, the white and the black, in the life of each one of us? Were we -worth this care, weak little mortals, human machines, that we were? What -should our good or our evil count against the great Spirit, whom we are -told lives up above there in the passionless calm of a fixed eternity? -Did we shake our puny fists for ever in the face of that broad, bent -heaven that wrapped us in and overwhelmed us in its folds, what effect -would it have? If we held them up in prayer, what profited it? Who of men -could storm heaven or search hell? And yet, as Kenneth said, a life that -could not end was an awful thing. That the existence we feel within us is -never to cease; that the power of discriminating between good and evil, -define them, laugh at them or quibble about them as we may, can never -die out of us; that we are irresistibly impelled to one or the other; -that they are always knocking at the door of our hearts, for we feel them -there; that they cannot be blind influences, knowing not when to come or -when to go, but the voices of keen intelligences acting over the great -universe, wherever man lives and moves and has his being; that they are -not creations of our own, for they are independent of us; we may call -evil good and good wicked, but in the end the good will show itself, and -the evil throw off its disguise in spite of us--what does all this say -but that there is an eternal conflict going on, and that, will he or will -he not, every man born into the world must take a share in it? - -That being so, search thine own heart, friend. Leave thy uncle, leave -thy neighbor, and come back to thyself. Let them answer for their share; -answer thou for thine. Which is thy standard? It cannot be both. What -part hast thou borne in the conflict? What giants killed? What foes -overcome? Hast thou slain that doughty giant within thee--thine own self? -Is there no evil in thee to be cast out? No stain upon the scutcheon of -thy pure soul? No vanity, no pride, no love of self above all and before -all, no worship of the world, no bowing to Mammon or other strange gods, -not to mention graver blots than all of these? Let thy neighbor pass till -all the dross is purged out of thee. There is not a libertine in all the -world but would wish all the world better, provided he had not to become -better with it. Thy good wishes for others are shared by all men alike, -by the worst as by the best. Begin at home, friend, and root out and -build up there. Trim thy own garden, cast out the weeds, water and tend -it well. The very sight of it is heaven to the weary wayfarer who, having -wandered far away from his own garden, sinks down at thy side, begrimed -with the dust of the road and the smoke of sin. You may tear him to -pieces, you may lacerate his soul, you may cast him, bound hand and foot, -into the outer darkness, yet never touch his heart. But he will stand -afar off and admire when he sees thy garden blowing fair, and all the -winds of heaven at play there, all the dews of heaven glistening there, -all the sunshine of heaven beaming there; then will he come and creep -close up to thee, desiring to take off the shoes from his feet, soiled -with his many wanderings in foul places. Then for the first time he feels -that he has wandered from the way, will see the stains upon him, and with -trembling fingers hasten to cast them off, and, standing barefoot and -humble before Him who made thee pure, falter out at length, “Lord, it is -good for us to be here.” - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -CALDERON’S AUTOS SACRAMENTALES. - -CONCLUDED. - -II. - - -I. BALTASSAR’S FEAST.[55] - -Of all Calderon’s _autos_, this is the one which has been the most -generally admired, both on account of its intense dramatic power and -popular character. - -It has been translated several times into German (see note at end of -previous article on the _autos_), and into English by Mr. MacCarthy. - -The latter says in his preface: “This _auto_ must be classed with those -whose action relates directly to the Blessed Sacrament, because it puts -before us, in the profanation of the vases of the Temple by Baltassar, a -type of the desecration of the Holy Sacrament, and symbolizes to us, in -the punishment that follows this sacrilege, the magnitude and sublimity -of the Eucharistic Mystery. Although this immediate relation between the -action of the _auto_ and the sacrament becomes only manifestly clear -in the last scene, nevertheless all the preceding part, which is only -preparing us for the final catastrophe, stands in immediate connection -with it, and, through it, with the action of the _auto_. The wonderful -simplicity of this relation, and the lively dramatic treatment of the -subject, allow us to place this _auto_, justly, in the same category -with those that, comparatively speaking, are easy to be understood, and -which, like _The Great Theatre of the World_, have especial claims upon -popularity, even if many of its details contain very deep allusions, the -meaning of which, at first sight, is not very intelligible.” - -The _auto_ opens in the garden of Baltassar’s palace with a scene between -Daniel and Thought, who, dressed in a coat of many colors, represents -the Fool. - -After a long description of his abstract self he states that he has this -day been assigned to King Baltassar’s mind, and ironically remarks that -he, Thought, is not the only fool, and apologizes for his rudeness in not -listening to Daniel: - - “It were difficult to try - To keep up a conversation, - We being in our separate station, - Wisdom thou, and Folly I.” - -Daniel answers that there is no reason why they should not converse, for -the sweetest harmony is that which proceeds from two different chords. - -Thought hesitates no longer, and informs Daniel that he is thinking of -the wedding which Babylon celebrates this day with great rejoicings. The -groom is King Baltassar, son and heir of Nabuchodonosor; the happy bride -the fair Empress of the East, Idolatry herself. - -That the king is already wedded to Vanity is no hindrance, as his law -allows him a thousand wives. - -Daniel breaks forth in lamentations for God’s people and the unhappy -kingdom; while clownish Thought asks if Daniel himself is interested in -the ladies, since he makes such an outcry over the news, and insinuates -that envy and his captivity are the causes of his grief. - -With a flourish of trumpets enter Baltassar and Vanity at one side, -and Idolatry, fantastically dressed, at the other, with attendants, -followers, etc. - -The king courteously welcomes his new wife, who replies that it is right -that she should come to his kingdom, since here first after the Flood -idolatry arose. - -The king declares that his own idea, his sole ambition, has been to unite -Idolatry and Vanity, and then suddenly becomes absorbed in thought while -fondly regarding his wives; to their questions as to the cause of his -suspense he answers that, fired by their beauty, he wishes to relate the -wondrous story of his conquests. - -Wonderful indeed is the story which follows, extending, in the original, -through three hundred and fifty uninterrupted lines. - -In the introduction the king relates the strange fate of his father, -Nabuchodonosor, whose worthy successor he declares himself to be, and -describes his vaulting ambition, which will not be satisfied until he is -the sole ruler over all the region of Senaar, which beheld the building -of the Tower of Babel; this leads to an account of the Deluge, so -poetical and characteristic that we give its finest portion here:[56] - - “First began a dew as soft - As those tears the golden sunrise - Kisseth from Aurora’s lids; - Then a gentle rain, as dulcet - As those showers the green earth drinks - In the early days of summer; - From the clouds then water-lances, - Darting at the mountains, struck them; - In the clouds their sharp points shimmer’d, - On the mountains rang their but-ends; - Then the rivulets were loosened, - Roused to madness, ran their currents, - Rose to rushing rivers, then - Swelled to seas of seas. O Summit - Of all wisdom! thou alone - Knowest how thy hand can punish! - … Then a mighty sea-storm rushed - Through the rents and rocky ruptures, - By whose mouths the great earth yawns, - When its breath resounds and rumbles - From internal caves. The air - … Roared confined, the palpitation - Of its fierce internal pulses - Making the great hills to shake, - And the mighty rocks to tremble. - The strong bridle of the sand, - Which the furious onset curbeth - Of the white horse of the sea - With its foam-face silver fronted, - Loosened every curbing rein, - So that the great steed, exulting, - Rushed upon the prostrate shore, - With loud neighing to o’errun it.” - -The ark alone is saved, and Nimrod resolves to anticipate a second -Deluge, and erect a more ambitious refuge. The building of the Tower of -Babel and the Confusion of Tongues then follow, and the king closes his -long monologue with the determination to rebuild Nimrod’s tower, urged to -the task by the opportune conjunction of Idolatry and Vanity. - -These express their gratification at this lofty scheme, and offer to -perpetuate the fame of his great deeds. - -The king, exulting, exclaims: “Who shall break this bond?” - -Daniel, advancing, “The hand of God!” and returns the same answer to the -king’s angry question, “What can save thee from my power or defend thee?” - -Baltassar is profoundly moved, but spares Daniel because Vanity loathes -the captive and Idolatry disdains his religion. - -In the fourth scene the prophet addresses the Most High, and cries: “Who -can endure these offences, these pretences of Vanity and displays of -Idolatry? Who will end so great an evil?” - -“I will,” answers Death, who enters, wearing a sword and dagger, and -dressed symbolically in a cloak covered with figures of skeletons. - - DANIEL. “Awful shape, to whom I bow - Through the shadowy glooms that screen thee, - Never until now I’ve seen thee: - Fearful phantom, who art thou?” - -Death’s answer in the following monologue is most impressive and -beautiful. Our space, unfortunately, will let us quote but a part: - - “Daniel, thou Prophet of the God of Truth, - I am the end of all who life begin, - The drop of venom in the serpent’s tooth, - The cruel child of envy and of sin. - Abel first showed the world’s dark door uncouth, - But Cain threw wide the door, and let me in; - Since then I’ve darkened o’er life’s checker’d path, - The dread avenger of Jehovah’s wrath. - … The proudest palace that supremely stands, - ’Gainst which the wildest winds in vain may beat; - The strongest wall, that like a rock withstands - The shock of shells, the furious fire-ball’s heat-- - All are but easy triumphs of my hands, - All are but humble spoils beneath my feet; - If against _me_ no palace-wall is proof, - Ah! what can save the lowly cottage-roof? - Beauty, nor power, nor genius, can survive, - Naught can resist my voice when I sweep by; - For whatsoever has been let to live, - It is my destined duty to see die. - With all the stern commands that thou mayst give, - I am, God’s Judgment, ready to comply; - Yea, and so quickly shall my service run - That ere the word is said the deed is done!” - -Death then recounts some of his past achievements to prove his readiness -to inflict punishment on the king. - -Daniel, however, expressly forbids him to kill Baltassar, and gives him -leave only to awaken him to a sense of coming woe and the fact that he is -mortal. - -This Death does by appearing to the king and showing him a small book -lost by him some time before (_i.e._, the remembrance of his mortality, -which he had forgotten), in which is written his debt to Death. - -He leaves the terror-stricken monarch with an admonition to remember his -obligation. - -Thought, hovering between Vanity and Idolatry, soon, however, effaces the -impression left by the terrible visitor. - -The king and Thought, lulled by their combined flatteries, fall asleep, -while Death enters and delivers the following monologue, which, as Mr. -MacCarthy truly says, “belongs unquestionably to the deepest and most -beautiful poetry that has ever flown from the pen of Calderon”: - - DEATH. “Man the rest of slumber tries, - Never the reflection making - That, O God! asleep and waking, - Every day he lives and dies; - That a living corse he lies, - After each day’s daily strife, - Stricken by an unseen knife, - In brief lapse of life, not breath, - A repose which is not death; - But what is death teaches life: - Sugared poison ’tis, which sinks - On the heart, which it o’ercometh, - Which it hindereth and benumbeth. - And can a man, then, live who poison drinks? - ’Tis forgetting, when the links - That gave life by mutual fretting - To the Senses, snap, or letting - The imprisoned Five go free, - They can hear not, touch, or see; - And can a man forget this strange forgetting? - It is frenzy, that which moves - Heart and eyes to taste and see - Joys and shapes that ne’er can be: - And can a man be found who frenzy loves? - ’Tis a lethargy that proves - My best friend; in trust for me, - Death’s dull, drowsy weight bears he, - And, by failing limb and eye, - Teaches man the way to die: - And can a man, then, seek this lethargy? - ’Tis a shadow, which is made - Without light’s contrasted aid, - Moving in a spectral way, - Sad, phantasmal foe of day: - And can a man seek rest beneath such shade? - Finally, ’tis well portrayed - As Death’s Image: o’er and o’er - Men have knelt its shrine before, - Men have bowed the suppliant knee, - All illusion though it be: - And can a man this Image, then, adore? - Since Baltassar here doth sleep, - Since he hath the poison drank, - Since he treads oblivion’s blank, - Since no more his pulses leap, - Since the lethargy is deep, - Since, in horror and confusion, - To all other sights’ exclusion, - He has seen the Image--seen - What this shade, this poison, mean, - What this frenzy, this illusion: - Since Baltassar sleepeth so, - Let him sleep, and never waken: - Be his body and soul o’ertaken - By the eternal slumber.” - -(He draws his sword, and is about to kill him.) - -Daniel rushes in and saves the sleeper, who is dreaming a mysterious -vision, which is visibly represented to the spectators. - -The king on awakening is captivated, as usual, by Idolatry, who proposes -to him a magnificent feast, in which shall be used the sacred vessels -carried away from Jerusalem. - -The feast is prepared; the table is brought in, on which are displayed -the sacred vessels; the attendants begin serving the banquet, while -Thought plays the court-fool. - -In the midst of the revelry Death enters, disguised as one of the -servants, and, when the king calls for wine, presents him with one of the -golden goblets from the table, with a mysterious aside referring to the -Lord’s Supper, where the cup contains both death and life, as it is drunk -worthily or unworthily. - -The king rises and gives the toast: “For ever, Moloch, god of the -Assyrians, live!” - -A great clap of thunder is heard, darkness settles on the feast, and a -fiery hand writes upon the wall the fatal “MANE, THECEL, PHARES.” - -Idolatry, Vanity, and Thought in turn fail to interpret the mysterious -words, and the first named suggests that Daniel should be summoned.[57] - -The prophet comes and explains the hidden meaning of the words, declaring -that God’s wrath has been aroused by the misuse of the sacred vessels, -which, until the law of grace reigns on earth, foreshow the Blessed -Sacrament. - -Baltassar and his wives tremble at the solemn words. Thought, an -expression of the reproaches of his master’s conscience, turns against -the king, who laments the desertion of his friends in the hour of need. - -Death, during this scene, has been approaching nearer and nearer, and now -draws his sword and stabs the unhappy monarch, who cries: - - “This is death, then! - Was the venom not sufficient - That I drank of?” - - DEATH. “No; that venom - Was the death of the soul; the body’s - This swift death-stroke representeth.” - -The king, struggling with Death, is forced to confess: - - “He who dares profane God’s cup, - Him he striketh down forever; - He who sinfully receives - Desecrates God’s holiest vessel!” - -These are his last words. Idolatry awakens from her dream, and longs to -see the light of the law of grace now while the written law reigns. - -Death declares that it is foreshadowed in Gedeon’s fleece, in the manna, -in the honey-comb, in the lion’s mouth, and in the shew-bread. - - DANIEL. “If these emblems - Show it not, then be it shown - In the full foreshadowing presence - Of the feast here now transformed - Into Bread and Wine--stupendous - Miracle of God; his greatest - Sacrament in type presented.” - -The scene opens to the sound of solemn music; a table is seen arranged -as an altar, with a monstrance and chalice in the middle, and two wax -candles on each side. - -The _auto_ closes with Idolatry’s declaration that she is transformed -into _Latria_, and the usual personal address to the audience. - - -II. THE PAINTER OF HIS OWN DISHONOR. - -We have already remarked that the _auto El Pintor de su Deshonra_ is a -_replica_ of a secular play bearing the same title. - -It will not be out of place to give a short analysis of the latter, -premising that it is one of the greatest of Calderon’s tragedies. - -In the first act the Governor of Gaeta welcomes to his residence his -friend Don Juan Roca, whose young wife, Seraphine, soon becomes intimate -with the governor’s daughter, Portia, to whom she reveals the secret that -she has been ardently loved by Portia’s brother, Don Alvaro, whose love -she has as ardently returned. - -News, however, was received of his shipwreck and death, and she finally -yielded to her father’s urgent requests, and gave her hand to Don Juan. - -The unhappy lady faints while reciting her griefs, and Portia hastens for -aid. At this moment a stranger enters, perceives the unconscious lady, -and bends over her with an expression of the warmest interest. Seraphine -opens her eyes, and with the cry “Alvaro!” faints again. - -Her old lover, saved from the waves, has returned to find her another’s -wife. - -From this moment begins a struggle between love and duty, depicted with -all the tenderness and power of which the poet was capable. - -Seraphine attempts with all her strength to master her love for Alvaro, -and tells him, with forced coolness, how much she is attached to her -husband by duty and inclination. - -During this interview a cannon is heard--the signal announcing the -approaching departure of Don Juan’s ship. Seraphine withdraws to follow -him to their home in Spain, and leaves Alvaro in a state of utter -hopelessness. - -The second act reveals to us Don Juan (an enthusiastic lover of art) in -his home in Barcelona, painting his wife’s portrait. - -The remembrance of the past seems banished from Seraphine’s heart, and -everything indicates a state of peace and happiness. - -Don Juan withdraws a moment, when a sailor enters the room. - -It is Don Alvaro, who, unable to forget his love, has followed Seraphine -to Barcelona. He overwhelms her with his affection; but she shows him -so firmly and eloquently that his pleading is in vain that he in turn -resolves to conquer his passion and leave her for ever. - -He still lingers near, but makes no attempt to approach her again. - -One day, during the Carnival, Don Juan’s villa takes fire. Seraphine is -borne insensible from the house by her husband, who confides her to Don -Alvaro, whom he does not, of course, recognize, and returns to help the -others who are in danger. - -Don Alvaro, meanwhile, is left with Seraphine in his arms. His love -revives stronger than ever in the terrible temptation, and he bears the -still insensible Seraphine to his ship, and makes sail with the greatest -haste. - -Don Juan does not return until the ship is under way, discovers too late -that he has been deceived, and throws himself into the sea in order to -overtake the fugitives. - -In the last act we find Don Juan at Gaeta, disguised as an artist, in -order to obtain more easily access into private houses, and discover who -has stolen his wife. - -He is introduced to Prince Urbino, who commissions him to paint the -portrait of a beautiful woman whom he has seen at a neighboring -forester’s house, which he visits in order to meet Portia secretly. - -The same place has been chosen by Don Alvaro to conceal Seraphine, who is -the beautiful lady who has attracted the prince’s attention. - -Don Juan repairs to the appointed spot, and erects his easel near a -window, through the blinds of which he can see, unnoticed, the fair one. - -The artist discovers, with feelings which can be imagined, his wife -asleep in the garden. She murmurs words which prove her innocence. But -this cannot save her; she must be sacrificed to remove the stain on her -husband’s honor. - -Don Juan expresses his feelings in a most powerful soliloquy, when -Alvaro enters and embraces the sleeping Seraphine. At that instant two -shots are heard, and the innocent and guilty fall bleeding to the ground. - -The _auto_ founded on the above play is, in the opinion of no less a -critic than Wilhelm Val Schmidt, the first of its class, and withal much -less technical than is usual with these plays. - -The _dramatis personæ_ include the Artist, the World, Love, Lucifer, Sin, -Grace, Knowledge, Nature (_i.e._, human nature at first in a state of -innocence), Innocence, and the Will (_i.e._, free-will). - -The first car represents a dragon, which opens and discloses Lucifer, -whose first speech proves the trite remark about the devil quoting -Scripture; for he immediately proceeds to cite Jeremias and David, who -alluded to him as the dragon. - -He then summons Sin, and repeats to her his partly-known history, which -contains some singular ideas. - -He was the favorite of the Father in his former home, where he saw, -before the original existed, the portrait of so rare a beauty that, -inflamed with love, and to prevent the Prince from marrying her, he -rebelled, and, placing himself at the head of the other discontented -spirits, was defeated and doomed to perpetual exile and darkness. - -So far Sin is acquainted with the story; but from this point all is new -to her. - -The greatest of Lucifer’s sufferings arises from his envy of the -Prince, who is all that is wise and lovely: a learned theologian, -legislator, philosopher, physician, logician, astrologist, mathematician, -architect--“witness the palace of the world”--geometrician, rhetorician, -musician, and poet. - -But none of these qualities so enrages and astonishes Lucifer as the -Prince’s talent for painting. He has already been engaged six days on -a landscape. At the beginning the ground of the canvas was so bare and -rough that he only drew on it the outline in shadowy figures. The first -day he gave it light; the second day he introduced heaven and earth, -dividing the waters and the firmament; the third day, seeing the earth so -arid and bare, he painted flowers in it and fruits, and the fourth day -the sun and moon. He filled, the fifth day, the air and waters with birds -and fishes; and this sixth day he has covered the landscape with various -animals. - -Nothing of all this astonishes Lucifer so much as the Prince’s intention -to embody in a palpable form the ideal which was the cause of Lucifer’s -fall. - -The divine Artist has himself chosen the colors and selected clay and -occult minerals, which Lucifer fears a breath may animate: “Since if a -breath can dissipate dust, I suspect, I lament, I fear, that dust may -live by the inspiration of a breath.” - -Animated by this fear, Lucifer has summoned Sin to aid him in destroying -this image, so that the Prince may be The Painter of his own Dishonor. - -A palace appears, and near the entrance the painting on an easel. Lucifer -and Sin retire; for the Artist, accompanied by the Virtues, comes to put -a careful hand to his work. - -Sin knows not where to conceal herself. Lucifer bids her hide in a cave -in the bank of a stream. - -Sin answers that she is afraid of the water, because she foresees that it -is to be (in the water of baptism) the antidote to sin. - -The flowers, grain, and vine all terrify her, before which, as symbols of -some unknown sacrament, she reverently bows. - -She at last conceals herself in a tree, which Lucifer calls from that -moment _the tree of death_. - -The Artist enters, Innocence bearing the palette, Knowledge the -mall-stick, and Grace the brushes. - -He declares his intention to show his power in the portrait his love -wishes to paint, and asks the attendant Virtues to add their gifts to -Human Nature. - -He proceeds to work, while the Virtues call upon the sun, moon, etc., to -praise the Lord. - -The Artist finishes his work by breathing the breath of life into it. -The picture falls, and in its place appears Human Nature, who expresses -most vividly her wonder at her creation, and joins in the general anthem, -“Bless the Lord.” Lucifer confesses that he and Sin are _de trop_, and -they depart to seek some disguise in which to return and carry out their -undertaking. While the chorus repeats the praises of the Lord, Human -Nature naïvely asks, “How can I bless him, if I do not know him? Who will -tell me who He is or who I am?” - -The Artist advances and answers her question. Nature demands who _he_ -is. “I am who am, and have been, and am to be; and since thou hast been -created for Love’s spouse, let thy love be grateful.” - -“What command dost thou lay on me, my Love? I will never break it.” - -“All that thou seest here is thine; that tree alone is mine.” - -Nature asks who can ever divert her love, and is answered, “Thy -Free-will.” - -“What new spirit and force was created in my new being by that word, -which told me that there was something in me besides myself? Voice, tell -me, who is Free-will.” - -Free-will appears as a rustic, and answers, “I.” - -Nature then proceeds to name the various objects about her, accompanying -each name with some appropriate remark, and is led quite naturally to -indulge in some boasting at her dominion over such a beautiful and varied -kingdom. - -This is the moment Lucifer and Sin select to appear in the disguise of -rustics. The latter remains concealed in the tree; the former introduces -himself to Human Nature as a gardener, and says very gallantly that he -lost his last place on her account. - -Nature hastens to turn a conversation becoming somewhat personal by -asking what he is cultivating. - -“That beautiful tree.” - -“It is extremely lovely.” - -“There is something more singular about it than being merely lovely.” - -“What?” - -“Earth, who brought it forth, can tell thee.” - -“I am earth, since I was formed of earth; so I will tell the Earth to -keep me no longer in suspense.” - -“Then speak to her, and thou shalt see.” - -“Mother Earth, what is this hidden mystery?” - -SIN. “Eat, and thou shalt be as God.” - -Then follow the Fall and a powerful scene depicting Nature’s confusion -and grief, as she is dragged off by Satan as his slave, while Sin claims -Free-will as her prey. - -The Artist enters and finds Knowledge, Innocence, and Grace in tears; the -latter informs him of the Fall. - -He thus reproaches his creation for her ingratitude: “What more could -I do for thee, my best design, than form thee with my own hands? I gave -thee my image, a soul that cost thee nothing, and yet thou desertest me -for my greatest enemy.” - -He then pronounces the curse upon Mankind and the Serpent, and declares -he will blot out the world, the scene of their sin. - -The clouds break and the sea bursts its limits; the Earth trembles and -struggles with the waves, and in agony calls on the Lord for mercy. - -In the midst of this confusion of the elements Human Nature is heard -crying for help. - -LUCIFER. “Why callest thou for aid, if I, the only one whom it behooves -to give it, delight in seeing thee annihilated?” - -Sin also makes the same declaration. The World alone attempts to save its -queen. - -At last the Artist casts her a plank, saying, “Mortal, again see whom -thou hast deserted, and for whom; since he whom thou hast offended saves -thee, and he whom thou lovest abandons thee! One day thou wilt know of -what this plank, fragment of a miraculous ark, is symbol.” - -The World, Nature, and Free-will are saved; the latter enters, bound with -Sin, who declares that Sin and Human Nature are so nearly the same that -one cannot go anywhere without the other. - -We have said anachronisms are frequent; the poet here even makes his -characters jest about it. - -HUMAN NATURE. “Since here there are no real persons, and Allegory can -traverse centuries in hours, it seems to me that the salute the angels -are singing to this celestial aurora declares in resounding words…” - -MUSIC. “In heaven and on earth peace to man and glory to God.” - -FREE-WILL. “The story has made a fine jump from the Creation to the -Flood, and I think there is going to be another, if I understand that -song aright--from the Deluge to the Nativity!” - -The chant continues, to the infinite discomfort of Lucifer and Sin, who -at last determine in their rage to disfigure Human Nature so that her -Creator himself could not recognize her. - -Lucifer holds her hands, while Sin brands upon her brow the sign of -slavery. - -Lucifer then commands the World to remain on guard, and let no one enter -without careful scrutiny, for fear lest the Artist may attempt to avenge -the wrong done him. - -The Artist enters, accompanied by Divine Love. - -They are soon discovered by the World, who exclaims: “Who goes there?” - -“Friends.” - -“Your name?” - -“A Man.” - -“And the World, the faithful sentinel of Sin, does not know how thou hast -entered here?” - -“I did not come that Sin should know me.” - -“_I_ do not know thee.” - -“So John will say.” - -“By what door didst thou enter?” - -“By that of Divine Love, who accompanies me.” - -“What is thy office?” - -“I was once an Artist in a certain allegory, and must still be the same.” - -“Artist?” - -“Yes, since I came to retouch a figure of mine which an error has -blotted.” - -“Since thou art a painter thou canst do me a favor.…” - -“What is it?” - -The World then informs him that there is a certain Spouse who has been -carried away from her husband, and is now in the power of a Tyrant, who -is endeavoring to force her to accompany him to another world, the seat -of his rule. - -The Artist weeps, because he remembers his own Spouse, whose fate is -similar to that of this one. - -The world begs the Artist to make a portrait of this fair disconsolate -one, that he (the World) may wear it on his breast. - -The Artist consents, and conceals himself in order to work unobserved. - -The World goes in search of Human Nature, while the Artist looks about -for some hiding-place. Love points to a cross near by, and says that as -the first offence was committed in a tree, this one will witness his -vengeance. - -The Artist calls for his colors, and Love presents him with a box, in -opening which his hands are stained a bloody red. - -“Take this!” - -“It is all carmine.” - -“I have no other color.” - -“Do not let it afflict thee, Love, that blood must retouch what Sin has -blotted. The brushes!” - -Love hands him three nails--“Here they are!” - -“How sharp and cruel! What can be the canvas for such brushes!” - -Love gives him a canvas in the shape of a heart--“a heart.” - -“Of bronze?” - -“Yes.” - -“How I grieve to see it so hardened, when I intended to form in it a -second figure! Give me the mall-stick.” - -Love presents him with a small lance. “Here it is.” - -“The point is steel! Less cruel instruments Innocence, Grace, and -Knowledge once gave me!” - -“Be not astonished if these are more cruel than those; for then thou -didst paint as God, and now as Man!” - -While the Artist is working Nature, Free-will, and Sin enter, and later -Lucifer, who, wearied of Nature’s continual lamentation, comes to drag -her to his realm. - -ARTIST. “Why should I delay my vengeance, seeing them together? Give me, -Love, the weapons which I brought for this occasion!” - -“Thy voice is the lightning, this weapon only its symbol; but I deliver -it to thee with sorrow!” - -“When my offended honor is so deeply concerned?” - -“I am Love, and _she_ is weeping; but I will direct my gaze to thy -wrongs, and without fail shall hit the mark.” - -“My hand cannot err, traitrous adulterers, who conspired against me; the -honor of an insulted man obliges me to this! I am the Painter of his own -Dishonor; die both at one stroke!” (Fires. Lucifer and Sin both fall.) - -LOVE. “Thou hast hit Sin, and not Human Nature!” - -The Artist answers that it cannot be said that his shot has failed, since -by this tree Nature lives, and Lucifer and Sin are killed. - -The Artist points to a fountain of seven streams, and the Virtues, and -invites Human Nature to bathe in the blood from his side, and be restored -to her original condition. - -The _auto_ closes with an expression of gratitude from Nature, and the -usual allusion to the Sacrament in whose honor the present festival is -celebrated. - - -I AM THE DOOR. - -“To him that knocketh it shall be opened.” - - Truly, I see Thou art!--with nails hinged fast: - Yet faster barred and locked with bolts of love. - I, treasure seeking, through Thee would go past. - Than lock or hinges must I stronger prove? - - “A knock will do’t.” A knock! Where durst I, Lord? - “Knock at my heart; there all my wealth is stored.” - - -THE TRAGEDY OF THE TEMPLE. - -CONCLUDED. - -While the so-called King of France was thus subjected to the fierce and -brutal caprice of one man, there were thousands of loyal hearts beating -in pity for him, and longing to liberate and crown him, even at the price -of their blood. The faithful army of La Vendée was fighting for him, -and with a courage and determination that caused some anxiety among the -good patriots as to the possible issue of the campaign. The movement -was held up to ridicule; the young prince was mockingly styled King of -La Vendée. Nevertheless, the republicans were alarmed, and the hopes of -the royalists were reviving. The Simons were discussing these matters -one evening over the newspaper, when Simon, looking at the forlorn, -broken-spirited little monarch, whose cause was thus creating strife and -bloodshed far beyond his dungeon’s walls, exclaimed sneeringly: “I say, -little wolf-cub, they talk of setting up the throne again, and putting -thee in thy father’s place; what wouldst thou do to me if they made thee -king?” The boy raised his dim blue eyes from the ground, where they were -now habitually fixed, and replied: “I would forgive thee!” Mme. Simon, in -relating this incident long after, said that even her husband seemed for -a moment awed by the sublime simplicity of the answer. - -They were both of them sick and tired of their office by this time; she -of the cruel work it involved, he of the close confinement to which -it condemned them. He tried to get released from his post, and after -some fruitless efforts succeeded. On the 19th of January, 1794, they -left the Temple. The patriot shoemaker died six months afterwards on -the guillotine. He had no successor, properly speaking, in the Tower; -in history he has neither successor nor predecessor; he stands alone, -unrivalled and unapproachable, as a type of the tiger-man, a creature -devoid of one humane, redeeming characteristic. Other men whose names -have become bywords of cruelty or ferocious wickedness have at least had -the excuse of some all-absorbing passion which, stifling reason and every -better instinct of their nature, carried them on as by some overmastering -impulse; but Simon could not plead even this guilty excuse. His was no -mad delirium of passion, but a cold-blooded, deadly, undying, unrelenting -cruelty in the execution of a murder that he had no motive in pursuing -except as a means of adding a few coins more to his salary. He entered on -his task of lingering assassination with deliberate barbarity; he was not -stimulated by the sense of personal wrong, by a thirst for revenge, by -any motive that could furnish the faintest thread of extenuation. He rose -every morning and went to his victim as other men rise and go to their -studies or their work. He devoted all his energies, all his instincts, to -coolly inflicting torture on a beautiful, engaging, and innocent little -child. No, happily for the world, he has no prototype in its history; -nor, for the honor of humanity, has he ever found an apologist. He is -perhaps the only monster of ancient or modern times who has never found -a sceptic or a casuist to lift a voice in his behalf. Nero and Trajan, -Queen Elizabeth and Louis XI., have had their apologists; nay, even Judas -has found amongst the fatalists of some German school an infatuated -fellow-mortal to attempt a defence of the indefensible; but no man has -yet been known to utter a word of excuse for the brutal jailer of Louis -XVII. - -And yet his departure, though it rid the helpless captive of an active, -ever-present barbarity, can hardly be said, except negatively, to have -bettered his position. The Convention decreed that it was essential -to the nation’s life and prosperity that the little Capet should be -securely guarded; and as if the insane precautions hitherto used were -not sufficient to secure a feeble, attenuated child, he was removed to -a stronger and more completely isolated dungeon, where henceforth his -waning life might die out quicker and more unheard of. There was only -one window to the room, and this was darkened by a thick wooden blind, -reinforced by iron bars outside. The door was removed, and replaced by a -half-door with iron bars above; these bars, when unlocked, opened like a -trap, and through this food was passed to the prisoner. The only light at -night was from a lamp fastened to the wall opposite the iron grating. - -Mme. Royale thus describes the state of her brother in this new abode, to -which he was transferred--whether by accident or design we know not--on -the anniversary of his father’s death, January 21: “A sickly child of -eight years, he was locked and bolted in a great room, with no other -resource than a broken bell, which he never rang, so greatly did he dread -the people whom its sound would have brought to him; he preferred wanting -any and every thing to calling for his persecutors. His bed had not been -stirred for six months, and he had not strength to make it himself; it -was alive with bugs and vermin still more disgusting. His linen and his -person were covered with them. For more than a year he had no change of -shirt or stockings; every kind of filth was allowed to accumulate about -him and in his room; and during all that period nothing had been removed. -His window, which was locked as well as grated, was never opened, and -the infectious smell of this horrid room was so dreadful that no one -could bear it for a moment. He might indeed have washed himself--for he -had a pitcher of water--and have kept himself somewhat more clean than -he did; but overwhelmed by the ill-treatment he had received, he had not -resolution to do so, and his illness began to deprive him of even the -necessary strength. He never asked for anything, so great was his dread -of Simon and his other keepers. He passed his days without any kind -of occupation. They did not even allow him light in the evening. This -situation affected his mind as well as his body, and it is not surprising -that he should have fallen into a frightful atrophy. The length of time -which he resisted this treatment proves how good his constitution must -have originally been.” - -While the boy-king was slowly telling away his remnant of miserable life -in the dark solitude of the Tower, thousands were being daily immolated -on the public places, where the guillotine, insatiable and indefatigable, -despatched its cartloads of victims. On the 10th of May Mme. Elizabeth, -the most revered and saintly of all the long roll of martyrs inscribed on -that bloody page, was sacrificed with many other noble and interesting -women, amongst them the venerable sister of M. de Malesherbes, the -courageous advocate of the king. She was seventy-six years of age. By a -refinement of barbarity the municipals who conducted the “batch” obliged -Mme. Elizabeth to wait to see her twenty-five companions executed before -laying her own head on the block. Each of them, as they left the tumbrel, -asked leave to embrace her; she kissed them with a smiling face, and said -a few words of encouragement to each. “Her strength did not fail her to -the last,” says Mme. Royale, “and she died with all the resignation of -the purest piety.” - -Mme. Royale was henceforth left in perfect solitude like her brother. She -thus describes her own and the Dauphin’s life after the departure of her -beloved aunt, of whose death she was happily kept in ignorance for a long -time: “The guards were often drunk; but they generally left my brother -and me quiet in our respective apartments until the 9th Thermidor. My -brother still pined in solitude and filth. His keepers never went near -him but to give him his meals; they had no compassion on this unhappy -child. There was one of the guards whose gentle manners encouraged me to -recommend my brother to his attention; this man ventured to complain of -the severity with which the boy was treated, but he was dismissed next -day. I, at least, could keep myself clean. I had soap and water, and -carefully swept out my room every day. I had no light.… They would not -give me any more books, but I had some religious works and some travels, -which I read over and over.” - -The fall of Robespierre, which rescued so many doomed heads from the -guillotine, and opened the doors of their prison, had no such beneficent -effect on the fate of the two royal children. It gave rise, however, -to some alleviation of their sufferings. Immediately on the death of -his cowardly and “incorruptible” colleague, Barras visited the Tower, -and dismissed the whole set of commissaries of the Commune, who were -forthwith despatched to have their heads cut off next day, while a single -guardian was appointed in their place. - -Laurent was the man’s name. He had good manners, some education, and, -better than all, a human heart. The lynxes of the Temple eyed him -askance; he was not of their kin, this creole with the heart of a man, -and they mistrusted him. It was not until two o’clock in the morning that -they conducted him to the presence of his charge. He tells us that when -he entered the ante-room of the dungeon he recoiled before the horrible -stench that came from the inner room through the grated door-way. Good -heavens! was this the outcome of the reign of brotherhood which talked -so mightily of universal love and liberty? It was in truth the most -forcible illustration of the gospel of Sans-culottism that the world had -yet beheld. “Capet! Capet!” cried the municipals in a loud voice. But -no answer came. More calling, with threats and oaths, at last brought -out a feeble, wailing sound like the cry of some dying animal. But -nothing more could threats, or even an attempt at coaxing, elicit. Capet -would not move; would not come forth and show himself to the new tutor. -Laurent took a candle, and held it inside the bars of the noxious cage; -he beheld, crouching on a bed in the furthest corner of the dungeon, the -body which was confided to his guardianship. Sickened with the sight, he -turned away. There was no appliance at hand for forcing open the door or -the grating. Laurent at once sent in an account of what he had seen, and -demanded that this remnant of child-life, that he was appointed to watch -over, should be examined by proper authority. The next day, July 30, some -members of the Sûreté Générale came to the Tower. M. de Beauchesne tells -us what they saw: “They called to him through the grating; no answer. -They then ordered the door to be opened. It seems there were no means of -doing it. A workman was called, who forced away the bars of the trap so -as to get in his head, and, having thus got sight of the child, asked -him why he did not answer. Still no reply. In a few minutes the whole -door was broken down, and the visitors entered. Then appeared a spectacle -more horrible than can be conceived--a spectacle which never again can -be seen in the annals of a nation calling itself civilized, and which -even the murderers of Louis XVI. could not witness without mingled pity -and fright. In a dark room, exhaling a smell of death and corruption, -on a crazy, dirty bed, a child of nine years old was lying prostrate, -motionless, and bent up, his face livid and furrowed by want and -suffering, and his limbs half covered with a filthy cloth and trowsers -in rags. His features, once so delicate, and his countenance, once so -lively, denoted now the gloomiest apathy--almost insensibility; and his -blue eyes, looking larger from the meagreness of the rest of his face, -had lost all spirit, and taken, in their dull immovability, a tinge of -gray and green. His head and neck were eaten up (_rongés_) with purulent -sores; his legs, arms, and neck, thin and angular, were unnaturally -lengthened at the expense of his chest and body. His hands and feet were -not human. A thick paste of dirt stuck like pitch over his temples, and -his once beautiful curls were full of vermin, which also covered his -whole body, and which, as well as bugs, swarmed in every fold of the -rotten bedding, over which black spiders were running.… At the noise of -forcing the door the child gave a nervous shudder, but barely moved, -not noticing the strangers. A hundred questions were addressed him; he -answered none of them. He cast a vague, wandering, unmeaning look at his -visitors, and at this moment one would have taken him for an idiot. The -food they had given him was still untouched; one of the commissioners -asked him why he had not eaten it. Still no answer. At last the oldest -of the visitors, whose gray hairs and paternal tone seemed to make an -impression on him, repeated the question, and he answered in a calm but -resolute tone: ‘Because I want to die!’ These were the only words which -this cruel and memorable inquisition extracted from him.” - -Barras, the stuttering, pleasure-loving noble of Provence, “a terror -to all phantasms, being himself of the genus Reality”--Barras, who had -stood, like a bewildered, shipwrecked man while the storm-wind was -whirling blood-waves round about him, now enters and beholds the royal -victim whom it has taken nearly eighteen months of Simon the Cordwainer’s -treatment “to get rid of”--perishing, but still alive in his den of -squalor, darkness, and fright. His knees were so swollen that his ragged -trowsers had become painfully tight. Barras ordered them to be cut -open, and found the joints “prodigiously swollen and livid.” One of the -municipals, who had formerly been a surgeon, was permitted to dress the -sores on the head and neck; after much hesitation a woman was employed -to wash and comb the child, and at Laurent’s earnest remonstrance a -little air and light were admitted into the damp room; the vermin were -expelled as far as could be, an iron bed and clean bedding replaced -the former horrors in which the boy had lain so many months, and the -grated door was done away with. These were small mercies, after all, -and to which the vilest criminal had a right. All the other rigors of -his prison were maintained. He was still left to partial darkness and -complete solitude. Laurent, after a while, wearied the municipals into -giving him leave to take him occasionally for an airing on the leads. The -indulgence was perhaps welcome, but the child showed no signs of pleasure -in it; he never spoke or took the smallest notice of anything he saw. -Once only, when on his way to the leads, he passed by the wicket which -conducted to the rooms that his mother had occupied; he recognized the -spot at once, gazed wistfully at the door, and, clinging to Laurent’s -arm, made a sign for them to go that way. The municipal who was on guard -at the moment saw what the poor little fellow meant, and told him he -had mistaken the door; it was, he said, at the other side. But the child -had guessed aright. The kind-hearted Laurent began soon to feel his own -confinement, almost as solitary as the prince’s, more than he could -bear. He petitioned to have some one to assist him in his duties, and, -owing to some secret influence of the royalists, a man named Gomin, who -was at heart devoted to their cause, was appointed. The only benefit -which the young prisoner derived from the change of his jailers was that -civility and cleanliness had replaced insolence and dirt. For the rest, -he was still locked up alone, never seeing any one except at meal times, -when the two guardians and a municipal were present, the former being -often powerless to control the insulting remarks and gratuitous cruelty -of the latter. So the wretched days dragged on, silent, monotonous, -miserable. Meanwhile, Paris was breathing freely after the long night -of Terror. The Fraternity of the Guillotine was well-nigh over, and the -_Jeunesse dorée_ had flung away the red caps and the _Carmagnole_, and -was disporting itself with a light heart in gaudy attire of the antique -cut. Fair _citoyennes_ discarded the unbecoming and therefore, even to -the most patriotic among them, odious costume of the republic, and decked -themselves out in flowing Greek draperies, binding their hair with gold -and silver fillets like Clytemnestra and Antigone, and replacing the -_sabots_ of the people with picturesque sandals, clothing their naked -feet only in ribbons, despite the biting cold of this memorable winter. -The death-beacons one by one had been quenched, not by nimble hands, -like the lights of the ballroom or the gay flame of the street, but in -blood dashed freely over their lurid glare. Terrified men were emerging -from their holes and hiding-places; nobles were returning from exile; -there was a sudden flaming up of merriment, an effervescence of luxury, -an intoxicating thirst for pleasure, a hunger to eat of the good things -of life, of which the reign of _sans-culottism_ had starved them. There -were gay gatherings in all ranks; in the highest the _bals des victimes_, -where the guests wore a badge of crape on their arm, as a sign that they -had lost a near relative on the guillotine--none others being admitted. -So, while the waltzers spun round to the clang of brass music and in -the blaze of wax-lights, and all the world was embracing and exchanging -congratulations, like men escaped from impending death, the tragedy in -the Tower drew to its end unheard and unheeded. The King of La Vendée -ate his dinner of “_bouilli_ and dry vegetables, generally beans”; the -same at eight o’clock for supper, when he was locked up for the night, -and left unmolested till nine next morning. One day there came a rough, -blustering man to the prison, who flung open the doors with much noise, -and talked like thunder. His name was Delboy. He chanced to arrive at -the dinner-time. “Why this wretched food?” cried the noisy visitor. -“If _they_ were still at the Tuileries, I would help to starve them -out; but here they are our prisoners, and it is unworthy of the nation -to starve them. Why these blinds? Under the reign of equality the sun -should shine for all. Why is he separated from his sister? Under the -reign of fraternity why should they not see each other?” Then addressing -the child in a gentler tone, he said, “Should you not like, my boy, to -play with your sister? If you forget your origin, I don’t see why the -nation should remember it.” He reminded the guardians that it was not the -little Capet’s fault that he was his father’s son--it was his misfortune; -he was now only “an unfortunate child,” and the “nation should be his -mother.” The only advantage the unfortunate child derived from this -strange visit was that the lamp of his dungeon was lighted henceforth -at dark. Gomin asked this favor on the spot, and it was granted. The -commissioners were continually changed--a circumstance which proved a -frequent cause of suffering and annoyance to the captive, who was the -victim of their respective tempers, often fierce and cruel as those of -his jailers of the earlier days. These accumulated miseries were finally -wearing out his little remnant of strength. The malady which for some -time past gave serious alarm to his two kind-hearted friends, Laurent -and Gomin, increased with sudden rapidity, and in the month of February, -1795, assumed a threatening character. He could hardly move from extreme -weakness, and had lost all desire to do so. When he went for his airing, -Laurent or Gomin had to carry him in their arms. He let them do so -reluctantly; but he was now too apathetic to resist anything. The surgeon -of the prison was called in, and certified that “the little Capet had -tumors on all his joints, especially his knees; that it was impossible -to extract a word from him; that he never would rise from his chair or -his bed, and refused to take any kind of exercise.” This report brought -a deputation of members of the Sûreté Générale, who were so horrified at -the state of things they found that they drew up the following appeal -to their colleagues: “For _the honor of the nation_, who knew nothing -of these horrors; for that of the Convention, which was, in truth, also -ignorant of them; and even for that of the guilty municipality of Paris -itself, who knew all and was the cause of all these cruelties, we should -make no public report, but only state the result in a secret meeting of -the committee.” This confession is revolting enough; but it might find -some shadow of excuse, if, after hiding the cruelties for the sake of -shielding the wretches who had sanctioned them, these deputies had taken -steps to repair the wrong-doing, and to alleviate the position of the -victim; but, as far as the evidence goes, nothing of the sort was done. - -The tomb-like solitude to which the young prince had so long been -subjected, added to the chronic terror in which he had lived from the -time of his coming under Simon’s tutelage, had induced him to maintain -an obstinate, unbroken silence. He could not be persuaded to answer a -question, to utter a word. Yet it was evident enough that this did not -proceed from stupidity or insensibility, but that his faculties still -retained much of their native vivacity and sensitiveness. Gomin was so -timid by nature that, in spite of his affection for his little charge, -he seldom ventured on any outward expression of sympathy, afraid he -should be detected and made, like so many others, to pay the penalty of -it. One day, however, that he chanced to be left quite alone with him, -he felt safe to let his heart speak, and showed great tenderness to the -child; the boy fixed a long, wistful look on his face, and then rose and -advanced timidly to the door, his eyes still fastened on Gomin with an -expression of entreaty too significant to be misunderstood. “No, no,” -said Gomin, shaking his head reluctantly; “you know _that_ cannot be.” -“_Oh! I must see her_,” cried the poor child. “_Oh! pray, pray let me -see her just once before I die!_” Gomin made no answer but by his look -of pity and regret, and, going up to the child, led him gently from -the door. The young prince threw himself on the bed with a gesture of -despair, and remained there, senseless and motionless, so long that -his guardian at one moment, as he confessed afterwards, feared he was -dead. Poor child! The longing to see his mother had of late taken the -shape of a hope, and he had been busy in his mind as to how it could -possibly be realized; this had been an opportunity, he thought, and the -disappointment overwhelmed him. Gomin said that, for his part, the sight -of the boy’s grief nearly broke his heart. The incident, he believed, -hastened the crisis, that was now steadily advancing. A few days after -this occurrence a new commissary came to inspect the prisoner, and, after -eyeing him curiously, as if he had been a strange variety of animal, he -said out loud to Laurent and Gomin, who were standing by, “That child -has not six weeks to live!” Fearing the shock these words might cause -the subject of them, the guardians ventured to say something to modify -their meaning; the commissary turned on them, and with a savage oath -repeated, “I tell you, citizens, in six weeks he will be an idiot, if he -is not dead!” When he left the room, the young prince gazed after him -with a mournful smile. The sentence, brutally delivered as it was, had -no fears for him; presently a few teardrops stole down his cheeks, and -he murmured, as if speaking to himself, “And yet I never did any harm to -anybody.” - -A new affliction now awaited him. The kind and faithful Laurent left -him. His post in the Tower, repulsive from the first, had become utterly -insupportable to him of late, and on the death of his mother he applied -to be liberated from it. When he came to bid farewell to the unhappy -child, whose lot he had endeavored to soften as far as his power -admitted, the prince squeezed his hand affectionately, _looked_ his -regret at him, but uttered no word. - -Laurent was replaced by a man named Lasne, formerly a soldier in the -old Gardes Françaises, now a house-painter. For the first few weeks -after his arrival the young prince was mute to him, as he had been to -his predecessor, until the latter’s persevering kindness had disarmed -timidity and mistrust. A trifle at last broke the ice. Lasne was in the -habit of talking to his little charge, making kindly remarks, or telling -stories that he thought might amuse him, never waiting for any sign of -response. One day he happened to tell him of something that occurred -when he, Lasne, had been in the old guard, and, being on guard at the -Tuileries, had seen the Dauphin reviewing a regiment of children which -had been formed for his amusement, and of which he was colonel. The boy’s -countenance beamed with a sudden ray of surprise and pleasure, and he -exclaimed in a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard, “And didst thou -see me with my sword?” Lasne answered that he had, and from this forth -they were fast friends. Bolder, though scarcely more sympathizing, than -either Laurent or Gomin, Lasne determined to apply at headquarters for -some decisive change in the prince’s treatment. He induced his colleague -to join him in signing a report to the effect that “the little Capet was -indisposed.” This was inscribed on the Temple register; but no notice was -taken, and in a few days they both again protested in stronger terms: -“The little Capet is seriously indisposed.” No notice being taken of -this, the brave men wrote a third time: “The life of little Capet is in -danger!” This finally brought a response. M. Desault, one of the first -physicians in Paris, was sent to visit the young prince. He had come too -late, however; the malady which had carried off the elder Dauphin had -taken too deep a hold on the child’s life to be now arrested or overcome. -Nothing could induce the prince to answer a question or speak a word to -the doctor or in his presence; and it was only after great difficulty, -and at the earnest entreaties of his two guardians, that he consented -to swallow the medicines prescribed. By degrees, however, as it always -happened, the persistent kindness and sympathizing looks and words of M. -Desault conquered his suspicions or timidity; and though he never plucked -up courage to speak to him, the municipals being always present, he would -take hold of the doctor’s coat, and thus express a desire for him to -prolong his visit. This lasted three weeks. - -Among the commissaries there was a M. Bellenger, an artist, who was -deeply touched by the pitiable condition of the child, and one day, -thinking to give him a moment’s diversion, he brought a portfolio of -drawings, and showed them to him while waiting in his room for M. Desault -to come. The novel amusement seemed to interest him very little. He -looked on listlessly, as M. Bellenger turned over the sketches for his -inspection; then, as the doctor did not appear, the artist said, “Sir, -there is another sketch that I should have much pleasure in carrying -away with me, if it were not disagreeable to you.” The deferential -manner, coupled with the title “monsieur,” so long a foreign sound to the -captive’s ear, startled and moved him. “What sketch?” he said, for the -first time breaking silence. “Your features, if it were not disagreeable -to you, it would give me great pleasure.” “Would it?” said the child and -he smilingly acquiesced. M. Bellenger completed his sketch, and still -no doctor appeared; he took leave of the prince, saying he would come -at the same hour the following day. He did so; but M. Desault was again -unpunctual. The time for his visit elapsed, and he neither came nor sent -a message. The commissary suggested that some one should be despatched -to inquire the reason of his absence; but even so simple a step as this -Lasne and Gomin dared not venture on without direct orders. They were -discussing what had best be done, when a new commissary arrived and -satisfied all inquiries: “There is no need to send after M. Desault; -he died yesterday.” This sudden death was the signal for the wildest -conjectures. It was rumored that the physician had been bribed to poison -the prince, and then in remorse had poisoned himself. In times like -those such a report was eagerly accepted, fed as it was by the mystery -which surrounded the inmate of the Tower, and the vague stories afloat -concerning the character of the ill-omened dungeon and the people who now -ruled there. - -But there was no foundation for the story in actual facts. M. Desault -was a man of unimpeachable integrity, whose entire life gave the lie to -so odious a suspicion. “The only poison which shortened my brother’s -life,” says Mme. Royale, “was filth, made more fatal by cruelty.” The -death of the kind and clever physician, from whatever cause it arose, was -a serious loss to the forsaken sufferer in the Temple. He remained for -several days without medical care of any sort, until, on the 5th of June, -M. Pelletan, surgeon of one of the large hospitals, was named to attend -him. It would seem as if the race of tigers was dying out, except in the -ranks of the patriot municipals; for all who by accident approached the -poor child in these last days were filled at once with melting pity, -and found courage to give utterance to this feeling aloud. M. Pelletan -remonstrated with the utmost indignation on the darkness and closeness -of the room where his patient was lodged, and on the amount of bolting -and barring that went on every time the door was opened or shut, the -violent crash being injuriously agitating to the child. The guardians -were willing enough to do away with the whole thing, but the municipals -observed that there was no authority for removing the bars or otherwise -altering the arrangements complained of. “If you can’t open the window -and remove these irons, you cannot at least object to remove him to -another room,” said the doctor, speaking in a loud and vehement tone, as -he surveyed the horrible precincts. The prince started, and, beckoning -to this bold, unknown friend, forgot his self-imposed dumbness, and -whispered, drawing M. Pelletan down to him: “Hush! If you speak so loud, -_they_ will hear you; and I don’t want them to know I am so ill; they -would be frightened.” He was alluding to the queen and Mme. Elizabeth, -whom he believed still living in the story above. Every one present -was moved by the tender thoughtfulness the words betrayed, and the -commissary, carried away by sympathy for the unconscious little orphan, -exclaimed: “I take it upon myself to authorize the removal, in compliance -with Citizen Pelletan’s instruction.” Gomin, nothing loath, immediately -lifted the patient in his arms, and carried him off to a bright room in -the little tower, which had been formerly the drawing-room of the keeper -of the archives, and was now hurriedly prepared for the accommodation of -this new inmate. His eyes had been so long accustomed to the gloom that -they were painfully dazzled by the sudden change into the full sunshine. -He hid his face on Gomin’s shoulder for a while, but by degrees he became -able to bear the light, and drew long breaths, opening out his little -hands as if to embrace the blessed sunshine, and then turned a look of -ineffable happiness and thanks on Gomin, who still held him in his arms -at the open window. When eight o’clock came, he was once more locked up -alone. - -Next day M. Pelletan came early to see him; he found him lying on his -bed, and basking placidly in the sunny freshness of the June air that -was streaming in upon him. “Do you like your new room?” inquired the -doctor. The child drew a long breath. “Oh! yes,” he said, with a smile -that went to every heart. But even at this happy crisis the sting of the -old serpent woke up, as if to remind the victim that it was not dead. -At dinner-time a new commissary, a brute of the name of Hébert, and full -worthy of that abominable name, burst into the room, and began to talk in -the coarse, boisterous tones once so familiar to the captive. “How now! -Who gave permission for this? Since when have _carabins_ governed the -republic? This must be altered! You must have the orders of the Commune -for moving the wolf-cub.” The child dropped a cherry that he was putting -to his lips, fell back on his pillow, and neither spoke nor moved till -evening, when he was locked up for the night, and left to brood alone -over the terrible prospect which Hébert’s threats had conjured up. - -M. Pelletan found him so much worse next day that he wrote to the Sûreté -Générale for another medical opinion; and M. Dumangier was ordered to -attend. Before they arrived the prince had a fainting fit, which lasted -so long that it terrified his guardians. He had, however, quite recovered -from it when the physicians came. They held a consultation; but it was a -mere form. Death was written on every lineament of the wasted body. All -that science could do was to alleviate the last days of the fast-flitting -life. The two medical men expressed surprise and anger at the solitude -to which the dying child was still subjected at night, and insisted on a -nurse being immediately provided. It was not worth the “nation’s” while -to refuse anything now. The order for procuring the nurse was at once -given; but that night the old rule prevailed, and the patient was again -locked up alone. He felt it acutely; the merciful change that had been -effected in so many ways had revived his hopes--the one hope to which -his young heart had been clinging in silence, fondly and perseveringly. - -When Gomin said good-night to him, he murmured, while the big tears ran -down his face, “Still alone, and my mother in the other tower!” He was -not to be kept apart from her much longer. When Lasne came next morning, -he thought him rather better. The doctors, however, were of a different -opinion; they found him sinking rapidly, and despatched a bulletin to the -Commune to this effect. - -At 11 in the forenoon Gomin came to relieve Lasne by the bedside of the -captive. They remained a long time silent; there was something solemn -in the stillness which Gomin did not like to break, and the child -never was the first to speak. At last Gomin, bending tenderly towards -him, expressed his sorrow at seeing him so weak and exhausted. “Oh! be -comforted,” replied the prince in a whisper; “I shall not suffer long -now.” Gomin could not control his emotion, but dropt on his knees by the -bedside, and wept silently; the child took his hand and pressed it to -his lips, while Gomin prayed. This was the only ministry the son of S. -Louis was to have on his deathbed--the tears of a turnkey, the prayers -of a poor, ignorant son of toil; but angels were there to supplement -the unconsecrated priesthood of charity, weeping in gentle pity for the -sufferings that were soon to cease. Bright spirits were hovering round -the prisoner’s couch, tuning their harps for his ears alone. - -Gomin raising his head from its bowed attitude, beheld the prince so -still and motionless that he was alarmed lest another fainting fit had -come on. “Are you in pain?” he asked timidly. “Oh! yes, still in pain, -but less; the music is so beautiful!” Gomin thought he must be dreaming. -There was no music anywhere; not a sound was audible in the room. “Where -do you hear the music?” he asked. “Up there,” with a glance at the -ceiling. “Since when?” “Since you went on your knees. Don’t you hear it? -Listen!” And he lifted his hand, and his large eyes opened wide, as if -he were in an ecstasy. Gomin remained silent, in a kind of awe. Suddenly -the child started up with a convulsive cry of joy, and exclaimed, “I hear -my mother’s voice amongst them!” He was looking towards the window, his -lips parted, his whole face alight with a wild joy and curiosity. Gomin -called to him, twice, three times, asking him to say what he saw. He did -not hear him; he made no answer, but fell back slowly on his pillow, and -remained motionless. He did not speak again until Lasne came to relieve -Gomin. Then, after a long interval of silence, he made a sign as if he -wanted something. Lasne asked him what it was. - -“Do you think my sister could hear the music?” he said. “How she would -like it!” He turned his head with a start towards the window again, his -eyes opening with the same expression of joyous surprise, and uttered -a half-inarticulate exclamation; then looking at Lasne, he whispered: -“Listen! I have something to tell you!” Lasne took his hand, and bent -down to hear. But no words came--would never more come from the child’s -still parted lips. He was dead. - -So ended the tragedy of the Temple. There is nothing more to tell. Why -should we follow the ghastly story of the stolen heart, deposited in the -“vase with seventeen stars,” then surreptitiously abstracted by the -physician’s pupil, until all faith in the authenticity of the alleged -relic evaporates? - -Neither is it profitable to discuss the controversy which arose over -the resting-place of the martyred child; for even in his grave he was -pursued by malignant disputations. Enough for us to hear and to believe -that the son of the kings of France was accompanied to the grave by a few -humane municipals and by his faithful friend Lasne; and that his dust -still reposes in an obscure spot of the Cemetery of S. Margaret, in the -Faubourg St. Antoine, undisturbed and undistinguished under its grassy -mound beneath the shadow of the church close by. - - -SUBSTANTIAL GENERATIONS. - -II. - -It is customary with most of the peripatetic writers to assume that the -Aristotelic hypothesis of substantial generations, as understood by -S. Thomas and by his school, cannot be rejected without upsetting the -whole scholastic philosophy. Nothing is more false. Suarez, than whom no -modern writer has labored more successfully in defending and developing -the scholastic philosophy, rejects the fundamental principle of the -Aristotelic theory, and maintains that no generation of new compound -substances is possible, unless the matter which is destined to receive a -new form possess an entity of its own, and be intrinsically constituted -of act and potency, contrary to the universal opinion of the peripatetic -school. “The first matter,” says he, “has of itself, and not through its -form, _its actual entity of essence_, though it has it not without an -intrinsic leaning towards the form.”[58] And again: “The first matter has -also of itself and by itself _its actual entity of existence_ distinct -from the existence of the form, though it has it not independently of -the form.”[59] That these two propositions clash with the Aristotelic -and Thomistic doctrine we need not prove, as we have already shown that -neither S. Thomas nor Aristotle admitted in their first matter anything -but the mere potency of being; and although Aristotle sometimes calls the -first matter “a substance” and “a subject,” he expressly warns us that -such a substance is in potency, and such a subject is destitute of all -intrinsic act.[60] Hence it is plain that the first matter of Suarez is -not the first matter of the peripatetics; whence it follows that the form -which is received in such a matter is not a strictly substantial form, -since it cannot give the first being to a matter having a _first_ initial -being of its own. Hence the Suarezian theory, though full of peripatetic -spirit, and formulated in the common language of the peripatetic school, -is radically opposed to the rigid peripatetic doctrine, and destroys its -foundation. “If the first matter,” says S. Thomas, “had any form of its -own, it would be something in act; and consequently such a matter would -not, at the supervening of any other form, acquire its first being, but -it would only become such or such a being; and thus there would be no -true substantial generation, but mere alteration. Hence all those who -assumed that the first subject of generation is some kind of body, as air -or water, taught that generation is nothing but alteration.”[61] This -remark of the holy doctor may be well applied to the Suarezian theory; -for in such a theory the first matter is “something in act” and has “a -form of its own.” And, therefore, whoever adopts the Suarezian theory -must give up all idea of truly substantial generations. Yet no one who -has a grain of judgment will pretend that Suarez, by framing his new -theory, upset the scholastic philosophy. - -The truth is that, as there are two definitions of the substantial form -(_quæ dat primum esse materiæ: quæ dat primum esse rei_), so also there -are two manners of understanding the so-called “substantial” generation; -and, whilst Aristotle and his followers _assumed_ without any good -proof[62] that the specific form of a generated compound gives the -first being to the matter of the compound, and is, therefore, a strictly -substantial form, the modern school _demonstrates_ from the principles -of the scholastic philosophy, no less than from positive science, that -the specific form of a physical compound does not give the first being -to the matter of the compound, but only to the compound nature itself; -and, therefore, is to be called an _essential_ rather than a truly and -strictly substantial form.[63] - -The primitive material substance, which is constituted of matter and -substantial form, cannot but be physically simple--that is, free from -all composition of parts--though it is metaphysically compounded, or (as -we would prefer to say) _constituted_ of act and potency. This being the -case, it evidently follows that all substance physically compounded must -involve in its essential constitution something else besides the matter -and the substantial form; for it must contain in itself both that which -gives the first being to the physical components, and that which gives -the first being to the resulting physical compound. - -Hence in all substance which is physically compounded of material parts -there are always two kinds of formal constituents. The first kind belongs -to the components, the second to the compound. The first consists of -the substantial forms by which the components are constituted in their -substantial being; which forms must actually remain in the compound; -for the substantial being of the components is the material cause of -the physical compound, and is the sole reason why the physical compound -receives the name of substance. The second is the principle by which -the first components, or elements, are formed into a compound specific -nature. In other terms, the specific compound is “a substance,” because -it is made up of substances, or primitive elements, constituted of matter -and _substantial_ form; whilst the same specific compound is “a compound” -and is “of such a specific nature,” owing to the composition, and to -such a composition, of the primitive elements. This composition is the -_essential_ form of the material compound. - -We may here remark that the substantial forms of the component elements, -taken together, constitute what may be called the _remote_ formal -principle of the compound essence (_principium formale quod, seu -remotum_), whilst the specific composition constitutes the _proximate_ -formal principle of the same compound essence (_principium formale quo, -seu proximum_). For, as each primitive element is immediately constituted -by its substantial form, so is the physically compound essence -immediately constituted by its specific composition. - -It is hardly necessary to add that the matter which is the subject of the -specific composition is not the first matter of Aristotle, but a number -of primitive substances, and that these substances are endowed with -real activity no less than with real passivity, and therefore contain -in themselves such powers as are calculated to bind together the parts -of the compound system, in this or in that manner, according to the -geometric disposition and the respective distances of the same. For, -as the power of matter is limited to _local_ action, it is the _local_ -disposition and co-ordination of the primitive elements that determines -the mode of exertion of the elementary powers, inasmuch as it determines -the special conditions under which the Newtonian law has to be carried -into execution. On such a determination the specific composition and the -specific properties of the compound nature proximately depend. - -The composition of matter with matter is confessedly an accidental -entity, and arises from accidental action. It would, however, be a -manifest error to pretend that such a composition is an _accidental -form_ of the compound nature. For nothing is accidental to a subject but -what supervenes to it; whereas the composition does not supervene to -the compound, but enters into its very constitution. On the other hand, -the composition does not deserve the name of _substantial form_ in the -strict sense of the word, since it does not give the first being to the -matter it compounds. We might, indeed, call it a substantial form in a -wider sense; for in the same manner as a compound of many substances is -called “a substance,” so can the form of the substantial compound be -called “substantial.” But to avoid the danger of equivocation, we shall -not use this epithet; and we prefer to say that the specific composition -is the _natural_ or the _essential_ form of the material compound, so -far at least as there is question of compounds _purely_ material. This -essential or natural form may be properly defined as _the act by which a -number of physical parts or terms are formed into one compound essence_, -or, more concisely, _the act which gives the first being to the specific -compound_; which latter definition is admitted by the schoolmen, though, -as interpreted by them, it leads to no satisfactory results, as we shall -see presently. - -The first physical compound which possesses a permanent specific -constitution is called “a molecule.” Those physicists who assume matter -to be intrinsically extended and continuous, by the name of molecule -understand a little mass filling the space occupied by its volume, -hard, indivisible, and unchangeable, to which they also give the name -of “atom.” But this opinion, which is a relic of the ancient physical -theories, is fast losing ground among the men of science, owing to the -fact that molecules are subject to internal movements, and therefore -composed of discrete parts. Such discrete parts must be simple and -unextended elements, as we have demonstrated. Hence a molecule is nothing -but _a number of simple elements_ (some attractive and some repulsive) -_permanently connected by mutual action in one dynamical system_. We -say _permanently connected_; because no system of elements which lacks -stability can constitute permanent substances, such as we meet everywhere -in nature. Yet the stability of the molecular system is not an absolute, -but only a relative, unchangeableness; for, although the bond which -unites the parts of the molecular system must (at least in the case of -primitive molecules) remain always the same _in kind_, it can (even in -the case of primitive molecules) become different _in degree_ within -the limits of its own kind. And thus any molecule can be altered by -heat, by cold, by pressure, etc., without its specific constitution -being impaired. A molecule of hydrogen is specifically the same at two -different temperatures, because the change of temperature merely modifies -the bond of the constituent elements, without destroying it or making -it specifically different; and the same is true of all other natural -substances. - -The _material_ constituent of a molecular system is, as we have said, -a number of primitive elements. These elements may be more or less -numerous, and possess greater or less power, either attractive or -repulsive; on condition, however, that attraction shall prevail in the -system; for without the prevalence of attraction no permanent composition -is possible. - -The _formal_ constituent of a molecular system, or that which causes -the said primitive elements to be a molecule, is the determination by -which the elements are bound with one another in a definite manner, and -subjected to a definite law of motion with respect to one another. Such a -determination is in each of the component elements the resultant of the -actions of all the others. - -The matter of the molecular system is _disposed_ to receive such a -determination, or natural form, by the relative disposition of the -elements involved in the system. Such a disposition is local; for the -resultant of the actions by which the elements are bound with one another -depends on their relative distances as a condition. - -The _efficient cause_ of the molecular system are the elements -themselves; for it is by the exertion of their respective powers that -they unite in one permanent system when placed under suitable mechanical -conditions. The original conditions under which the molecules of the -primitive compound substances were formed must be traced to the sole will -of the Creator, who from the beginning disposed all things in accordance -with the ends to be obtained through them in the course of all centuries. - -Molecules may differ from one another, both as to their matter and as to -their form. They differ in matter when they consist of a different number -of primitive elements, or of elements possessing different degrees of -active power or of a different proportion of attractive and repulsive -elements. They differ as to their form, when their constitution subjects -them to different mechanical laws; for as the law of movement and of -mutual action which prevails within a molecule is a formal result of its -molecular constitution, we can always ascertain the difference of the -constitution by the difference of the law. - -It is well known that the law according to which a system of material -points acts and moves can be expressed or represented by a certain -number of mathematical formulas. The equations by which the mutual -dynamical relations of the elements in a molecular system should be -represented are of three classes. Some should represent the _mutual -actions_ to which such elements are subjected at any given moment of -time; and these equations would contain differentials of the second -order. Other equations should represent the _velocities_ with which such -elements move at any instant of time; and these equations would contain -differentials of the first order. Other equations, in fine, should -determine the _place_ occupied by each of such elements at any given -moment, and consequently the figure of the molecular system; and these -last equations would be free from differential terms. The equations -exhibiting the mutual actions must be obtained from the consideration of -positive data, like all other equations expressing the conditions of a -given problem. The equations exhibiting the velocities of the vibrating -elements can be obtained by the integration of the preceding ones. The -equations determining the relative position of the elements at any moment -of time will arise from the integration of those which express the -velocities of the vibrating points. Had we sufficient data concerning -the internal actions of a molecule, and sufficient mathematical skill to -carry out all the operations required, we would be able to determine with -mathematical accuracy the whole constitution of such a molecule, and all -the properties flowing from such a constitution. This, unfortunately, we -cannot do as yet with regard to the molecule of any natural substance in -particular; and, therefore, we must content ourselves with the general -principle that those molecular systems are of the same kind whose -constitution can be exhibited _by mathematical formulas of the same -form_, and those molecules are of a different kind whose constitution -is represented _by mathematical formulas of a different form_. This -principle is self-evident; for the formulas by which the mechanical -relations of the elements are determined cannot be of the same form, -unless the conditions which they express are of the same nature; whereas -it is no less evident that two molecular systems cannot be of the same -kind when their mechanical constitution implies conditions of a different -nature. - -Two molecules of the same kind may differ _accidentally_--that is, as -to their mode of being--without any essential change in their specific -constitution. Thus, two molecules of hydrogen may be under different -pressure, or at a different temperature, without any specific change. In -this case, the mechanical relations between the elements of the molecule -undergo an accidental change, and the equations by which such relations -are expressed are also accidentally modified, inasmuch as some of the -quantities involved in them acquire a different value; but the form -of the equations, which is the exponent of the specific nature of the -substance, remains unchanged. - -From these remarks four conclusions can be drawn. The first is that -molecules consisting of a different number of constituent elements always -differ in kind. For it is impossible for such molecules to be represented -by equations of the same form. - -The second is that a molecule is _one_ owing to the oneness of the -common tie between its constituent elements, and to their common and -stable dependence on one mechanical law. Hence a molecule is not _one -substance_, but _one compound nature_ involving a number of substances -conspiring to form a permanent principle of actions and passions of a -certain kind. In other terms, a molecule is not _unum substantiale_, but -_unum essentiale_ or _unum naturale_. - -The third is that the specific form of a molecule admits of different -degrees within the limits of its species. This conclusion was quite -unknown to the followers of Aristotle; and S. Thomas reprehends Averroës -for having said that the forms of the elements (fire, water, air, -and earth) could pass through different degrees of perfection, whilst -Aristotle teaches that they are _in indivisibili_, and that every change -in the form changes the specific essence.[64] Yet it is evident that -as there can be circles, ellipses, and other curves having a different -degree of curvature, while preserving the same specific form, so also can -molecules admit of a different degree of closeness in their constitution -without trespassing on the limits of their species. So long as the -changes made in a molecule do not interfere with the conditions on which -the form of its equations depends, so long the specific constitution -of the molecule remains unimpaired. Mathematical formulas are only -artificial abridgments of metaphysical expressions; and their accidental -changes express but the accidental changes of the thing which they -represent. On the other hand, it is well known that the equations by -which the specific constitution of a compound system is determined can -preserve the same form, while some of the quantities they contain receive -an increase or a decrease connected with a change of merely accidental -conditions. - -The fourth conclusion is that a number of primitive molecules of -different kinds may combine together in such a manner as to impair more -or less their own individuality by fixing themselves in a new molecular -system of greater complexity. Likewise, a molecular system of greater -complexity is susceptible of resolution into less complex systems. These -combinations and resolutions are the proper object of chemistry, which is -_the science of the laws, principles, and conditions of the specific -changes of natural substances_, and to which metaphysicians must humbly -refer when treating of substantial generation, if they wish to reason on -the solid ground of facts. - -We have thus briefly stated what we hold to be the true scientific and -philosophic view of the constitution of natural substances; and as we -have carefully avoided all gratuitous assumptions, we feel confident that -our readers need no further arguments to be convinced of its value as -compared with the hypothetical views of the old physicists. As, however, -the conclusions of the peripatetic school concerning the constitution -and generation of natural substances have still some ardent supporters, -who think that the strictly substantial generations and corruptions are -demonstrated by unanswerable arguments, we have yet to show that such -pretended arguments consist of mere assumption and equivocation. - -The first argument in favor of the old theory may be presented under -the following form: “Every natural substance is _unum per se_--that -is, substantially one. Therefore no natural substance implies more -than _one_ substantial form.” The antecedent is assumed as evident, -and the consequent is proved by the principle that “from two beings in -act it is impossible to obtain a being substantially one.” Hence it is -concluded that all natural substances, as water, flesh, iron, etc., have -a substantial form which gives to the first matter the being of water, of -flesh, of iron, etc. - -This argument, instead of proving the truth of the theory, proves its -weakness; for it consists of a _petitio principii_. What right has the -peripatetic school to assume that every natural substance is _unum per -se_ substantially? A substance physically simple is, of course, _unum -per se_ substantially; but water, flesh, iron, and the other natural -substances are not physically simple, since they imply quantity of mass -and quantity of volume, which presuppose a number of material terms -actually distinct, and therefore possessing their distinct substantial -forms. No compound substance can be _unum per se_ as a substance; it can -be _unum per se_ only as a compound essence; and for this reason every -natural substance contains as many _substantial_ forms as it contains -primitive elements, whereas it has only one _essential_ form, which gives -the first being to its compound nature. This _one_ essential form is, as -we have explained, the specific composition of its constituent elements. - -The principle “From two beings in act it is impossible to obtain a being -_substantially_ one” is perfectly true; but it will be false if, instead -of “substantially,” we put “essentially”; for all essences physically -compounded result from the union of a certain number of actual beings, -and yet every compound essence is _unum per se_ essentially, though not -substantially. For, as _unum per accidens_ is that which has something -superadded to its essential principles, so _unum per se_ is that which -includes nothing in itself but its essential principles; and consequently -every essence, as such, is _unum per se_, whether it be physically simple -or not--that is, whether it be one substance or a number of substances -conspiring into a specific compound. Hence flesh, water, iron, and every -other natural substance may be, and are, _unum per se_, notwithstanding -the fact that they consist of a number of primitive elements and contain -as many substantial forms as components. - -It is therefore manifest that this first argument has no strength. No -ancient or modern philosopher has ever proved that any natural substance -is _substantially_ one. To prove such an assertion it would be necessary -to show that the physical compound is physically simple; which, we -trust, no one will attempt to show. Even Liberatore, whose efforts to -revive among us the peripatetic theory have been so remarkable, seems to -have felt the utter impossibility of substantiating such an arbitrary -supposition by anything like a proof, as he lays it down without even -pretending to investigate its value. “True bodies,” says he--“that is, -bodies which are substances, and not mere aggregates of substances--are -essentially constituted of matter and substantial form.”[65] Indeed, if -a body is not an aggregate of substances, it must be evident to every -one that the essence of that body is exclusively constituted of matter -and substantial form. But where is a body to be found which is not an -aggregate of substances--that is, of primitive elements? The learned -author omits to examine this essential point, clearly because there are -neither facts in science nor arguments in philosophy by which it can -be settled favorably to the peripatetic view. Thus the whole theory of -substantial generations, understood in the peripatetic sense, rests on a -mere assumption contradicted, as we know, by natural science no less than -by metaphysical reasoning. - -The second argument of the peripatetic school is as follows: When the -matter has its first being, all form supervening to it is accidental; for -the matter which has its first being cannot receive but a being _secundum -quid_--that is, a mode of being which is an accident. But the natural -substance cannot be constituted by an accidental form. Therefore the -form of the natural substance does not supervene to any matter having -its first being, but itself gives the first being to its matter, and -therefore is a strictly substantial form. - -Our answer is very plain. We admit that, when the matter has its first -being, all supervening form is accidental _to it_; and we admit, also, -that the composition of matter with matter is an accidental entity, -and gives to the matter an accidental mode of being. This, however, -does not mean that the specific composition is an _accidental form_ -of the compound nature. Composition, as compared with substance, is -an accident; but, as compared with the essence of the compound, is an -_essential_ constituent, as we have already remarked; for it is of the -essence of all physical compounds to have a number of substances as their -matter, and a specific composition as their form. In other terms, the -essence of a physical compound involves substance and accident alike; -but what is an accident of the component substances is not an accident -of the compound essence. Hence the proposition, “The natural substance -cannot be constituted by an accidental form,” must be distinguished. If -“natural substance” stands for the primitive substances that constitute -the matter of the compound nature, the proposition is true; for all -such substances have their strictly substantial forms, as is obvious. -If “natural substance” stands for the compound nature itself, inasmuch -as it is a compound of a certain species, then the proposition must -be subdistinguished. For, if by “accidental form” we understand an -accident of the component substances, the proposition will be false; -for, evidently, the compound nature is constituted by composition, and -composition is an accident of the components. Whilst, if the words -“accidental form” are meant to express an accident of the compound -nature, then the proposition is true again; for the composition is not an -accidental, but an essential, constituent of the compound, as every one -must concede. Yet “essential” is not to be confounded with “substantial”; -and therefore, though all natural substances must have their essential -form, it does not follow that such a form gives the first being to the -matter, but only that it gives the first being to the specific compound -inasmuch as it is such a compound. Had the peripatetics kept in view, -when treating of natural substances, the necessary distinction between -the essential and the strictly substantial forms, they would possibly -have concluded, with the learned Card. Tolomei, that their theory was “a -groundless assumption,” and their arguments a “begging the question.” -But, unfortunately, Aristotle’s authority, before the discoveries of -modern science, had such a weight with our forefathers that they scarcely -dared to question what they believed to be the cardinal point of his -philosophy. But let us go on. - -A third argument in favor of the old theory is drawn from the -constitution of man. In man the soul is a substantial form, the root of -all his properties, and the constituent of the human substance. Hence -all other natural substances, it is argued, must have in a similar -manner some substantial principle containing the formal reason of their -constitution, of their natural properties, and of their operations. “The -fact that man is composed of matter and of substantial form shows,” says -Suarez, “that in natural things there is a substantial subject naturally -susceptible of being informed by a substantial act. Such a subject (the -matter) is therefore an imperfect and incomplete substance, and requires -to be constantly under some substantial act.”[66] Whence it follows that -all natural substance consists of matter actuated by a substantial form. - -This argument, according to Scotus and his celebrated school, is based -on a false assumption. Man is not _one substance_, but _one nature_ -resulting from the union of two distinct substances, the spiritual and -the material; and to speak of a _human substance_ as one is nothing less -than to beg the whole question. Every one must admit that the human -soul is the _natural_ form of the animated body, and that, inasmuch as -it is a substance and not an accident, the same soul may be called a -“substantial” form; but, according to the Scotistic school, to which we -cannot but adhere on this point, it is impossible to admit the Thomistic -notion that the soul gives the first being to the matter of the body, -so as to constitute _one substance_ with it; and accordingly it is -impossible to admit that the soul is a strictly “substantial” form in -the rigid peripatetic sense of the word; and thus the above argument, -which is based entirely on the unity of human _substance_, comes to -naught. - -This is not the place to develop the reasons adduced by the Scotists -and by others against the Thomistic school, or to refute the arguments -by which the latter have supported their opinion. We will merely remark -that, according to a principle universally received, by the Thomists no -less than by their opponents (_Actus est qui distinguit_), there can be -no distinct substantial terms without distinct substantial acts; and -consequently our body cannot have distinct substantial parts, unless it -has as many distinct substantial acts. And as there is no doubt that -there are in our body a great number of distinct substantial parts (as -many, in fact, as there are primitive elements of matter), there is no -doubt that there are also a great number of distinct substantial acts. -It is not true, therefore, that the human body (or any other body) is -constituted by _one_ “substantial” form. The soul is not defined as the -_first act of matter_, but it is defined as _the first act of a physical -organic body_; which means that the body must possess its own _physical_ -being and its _bodily_ and _organic_ form before it can be informed by -a soul. And surely such a body needs not receive from the soul what it -already possesses as a condition of its information; it must therefore -receive that alone in regard to which it is still potential; and this is, -not the first act of being, but the first act of life. But if the soul -were a strictly “substantial” form according to the Thomistic opinion, it -should be _the first act of matter_ as such, and it would have no need -of a previously-formed physical organic body; for the position of such -a form would, of itself, entail the existence of its substantial term. -We must therefore conclude that the human soul is called a “substantial” -form, simply because it is a substance and not an accident,[67] and -because, in the language of the schools, all the “essential” forms have -been called “substantial,” as we have noticed at the beginning of this -article. We believe that it is owing to this double meaning of the -epithet “substantial” that both S. Thomas and his followers were led to -confound the natural and essential with the strictly substantial forms. -They reasoned thus: “What is not accidental must be substantial”; and -they did not reflect that “what is not accidental may be _essential_,” -without being substantial in the meaning attached by them to the term. - -But since we cannot here discuss the question concerning the human soul -as its importance deserves, let us admit, for the sake of the argument, -that the human soul gives the first being to its body, and is thus a -strictly substantial form in the sense intended by our opponents. It -still strikes us that no logical mind can from such a particular premise -draw such a general conclusion as is drawn in the objected argument. Is -it lawful to apply to inanimate bodies in the conclusion what in the -premises is asserted only of animated beings? Or is there any parity -between the form of the human nature and that of a piece of chalk? The -above-mentioned Card. Tolomei well remarks that “such a pretended -parity is full of disparities, and that from the human soul, rational, -spiritual, subsistent, and immortal, we cannot infer the nature of those -incomplete, corruptible, and corporeal entities which enter into the -constitution of purely material things.”[68] - -That “all natural substances must have some substantial principle” we -fully admit. For we have shown that in every natural compound there are -just as many substantial forms as there are primitive elements in it, and -therefore there is no doubt that each point of matter receives its first -being through a strictly substantial form. But these substantial forms -are the forms of the components; they are not the _specific form_ of the -compound. Nor do we deny that the properties of the compound must be -ultimately traced to some substantial principle; for we admit the common -axiom that “the first principle of the being is the first principle of -its operations”; and thus we attribute the activity of the compound -nature to the substantial forms of its components. But we maintain that -the same components may constitute different specific compounds having -different properties and different operations, according as they are -disposed in different manners and subjected to a different composition. -This being evident, we must be allowed to conclude that the proximate and -specific constituent form of a compound inanimate nature is nothing else -than its specific composition. - -Our opponents cannot evade this conclusion, which annihilates the whole -peripatetic theory, unless they show either that there may be a compound -without composition, or that in natural things there is no material -composition of substantial parts. The first they cannot prove, as a -compound without composition is a mere contradiction. Nor can they prove -the second; for they admit that natural substances are extended, and it -is evident that there can be no material extension without parts outside -of parts, and therefore without material composition. - -As to the passage of Suarez objected in the argument, two simple remarks -will suffice. The first is that “the fact that man is composed of matter -and substantial form does _not_ show that in other natural things there -is a substantial subject naturally susceptible of being informed by a -substantial act”; unless, indeed, the epithet “substantial” be taken in -the sense of “essential,” as we have above explained. But, even in this -case, there will always be an immense difference between such essential -forms, because the form of a human body must be a substance, whilst -the form of the purely material compounds can be nothing else than -composition. The second remark is that, as the first matter, according to -Suarez, has its own entity of essence and its own entity of existence, -“the substantial subject naturally susceptible of being informed” has -neither need nor capability of receiving its _first_ being; whence it -follows that such a substantial subject is never susceptible of being -informed by a truly and strictly substantial form. We know that Suarez -rejects this inference on the ground that the entity of matter, according -to him, is incomplete, and requires to be perfected by a substantial -form. But the truth is that no strictly substantial form can be conceived -to inform a matter which has already an actual entity of its own; for -the substantial form is not simply that which _perfects the matter_ (for -every form perfects the matter), but it is that which _gives to it the -first being_, as all philosophers agree. On the other hand, it might be -proved that the matter which is a subject of natural generations is not -an _incomplete_ substantial entity, and that the intrinsic act by which -it is constituted, is not, as Suarez pretends, an act _secundum quid_, -but an act _simpliciter_; it being evident that nothing can be in act -_secundum quid_ unless it be already in act _simpliciter_; whence it is -manifest that the _first_ act of matter cannot be an act _secundum quid_. - -It would take too long to discuss here the whole Suarezian theory. Its -fundamental points are two: The first, that the matter which is the -subject of natural generations “has an entity of its own”; the second, -that “such an entity is substantially incomplete.” The first of these two -points he establishes against the peripatetics with very good reasons, -drawn from the nature of generation; but the second he does not succeed -in demonstrating, as he does not, and cannot, demonstrate that an act -_secundum quia_ precedes the act _simpliciter_. For this reason we -ventured to say in our previous article that the first matter of Suarez -corresponds to our primitive elements, which, though unknown to him, are, -in fact, the first physical matter of which the natural substances are -composed. What we mean is that, though Suarez intended to prove something -else, he has only succeeded in proving that the matter of which natural -substances are composed is as true and as complete a substance as any -primitive substance can be. And we even entertain some suspicion that -this great writer would have held a language much more conformable to -our modern views, had he not been afraid of striking too heavy a blow -at the peripatetic school, then so formidable and respected. For why -should he call “substantial” the forms of compound bodies, when he knew -that the matter of those bodies had already an actual entity of its own? -He certainly saw that such forms were by no means the substantial forms -of S. Thomas and of Aristotle; but was it prudent to state the fact -openly, and to draw from it such other conclusions as would have proved -exceedingly distasteful to the greatest number of his contemporaries? -However this may be, it cannot be denied that the Suarezian theory, -granting to the matter of the bodies an entity of its own, leads to the -rejection of the truly substantial generations, and to the final adoption -of the doctrine which we are maintaining in accordance with the received -principles of modern natural science. But let us proceed. - -The fourth argument in favor of the old theory is the following: If the -components remain _actually_ in the compound, and do not lose their -substantial forms by the accession of a new substantial form, it follows -that no new substance is ever generated; and thus what we call “new -substances” will be only “new accidental aggregates of substances,” and -there will be no substantial difference between them. But this cannot be -admitted; for who will admit that bread and flesh are _substantially_ -identical? And yet who can deny that from bread flesh can be generated? - -We concede most explicitly that no new “substance” is, or can be, ever -generated by natural processes. God alone can produce a substance, and -he produces it by creation. To say that natural causes can destroy the -substantial forms by which the matter is actuated, and produce new -substantial forms giving a new _first_ being to the matter, is to endow -the natural causes with a power infinitely superior to their nature. The -action of a natural cause is the production of an accidental act; and -so long as “accidental” does not mean “substantial,” we contend that no -substantial form can originate from any natural agent or concurrence of -natural agents. It is therefore evident for us that no “substance” can -ever arise by natural generation. - -But, though this is true, it is evident also that from pre-existing -substances “a new compound nature” can be generated by the action of -natural causes. These new compound natures are, indeed, called “new -substances,” but they are the _old_ substances under a _new_ specific -composition; that is, they are not new as substances, though they form -_a new specific compound_. To say that such a compound is “a merely -accidental aggregate of substances” is no objection. Were we to maintain -that _one single substance_ is an accidental aggregate of substances, -the objection would be very natural; but to say, as we do, that _one -compound essence_ is an aggregate of substances united by accidental -actions, is to say what is evidently true and unobjectionable. Yet we -must add that the composition of such substances, accidental though it be -to them individually, is _essential_ to the compound nature; for this -compound nature is a special essence, endowed with special properties -dependent proximately on the special composition, and only remotely on -the substantial forms of the component substances. - -That there may be “no substantial difference” between two natural -compounds is quite admissible; but it does not follow from the argument. -It is admissible; because a different specific composition suffices to -cause a different specific compound; as is the case with gum-arabic -and cane-sugar, which consist of a different combination of the same -components. Yet it does not follow from the argument; because the -specific composition of different compounds may require, and usually -does require, a different set of components--that is, of substances; -which shows that there is also a _substantial_ difference between natural -compounds, although their essential form be not the substantial form of -the peripatetics. - -Lastly, we willingly concede that bread and flesh are not substantially -identical; but we must deny that their substantial difference arises -from their having a different substantial form. Bread and flesh are -different specific compounds; they differ essentially and substantially, -or formally and materially, because they involve different substances -under a different specific composition. To say that bread and flesh are -_the same matter_ under two different substantial forms would be to give -the lie to scientific evidence. This we cannot do, however much we may -admire the great men who, from want of positive knowledge, thought it the -safest course to accept from Aristotle what seemed to them a sufficient -explanation of things. On the other hand, is it not strange that our -opponents, who admit of no other substantial form in man, except the -soul, should now mention a substantial form of flesh? To be consistent, -they should equally admit a _substantial_ form of blood, a _substantial_ -form of bone, etc. Perhaps this would help them to understand that -the epithet “substantial,” when applied to characterize the forms of -material compounds, has been a source of innumerable equivocations, and -that the schoolmen would have saved themselves much trouble, and avoided -inextricable difficulties, if they had made the necessary distinction -between _substantial_ and _essential_ forms. - -The arguments to which we have replied are the main support of the -peripatetic doctrine; we, at least, have not succeeded in finding any -other argument on the subject which calls for a special refutation. We -beg, therefore, to conclude that the theory of strictly substantial -generations, as well as that of the constitution of bodies, as held by -the peripatetic school, rest on no better ground than “assumption,” or -_petitio principii_, as Card. Tolomei reluctantly avows. There would -yet remain, as he observes, the argument from authority; but when it is -known that the great men whose authority is appealed to were absolutely -ignorant of the most important facts and laws of molecular science, and -when it is proved that such facts and laws exclude the very possibility -of the old theory,[69] we are free to dismiss the argument. “Were S. -Thomas to come back on earth,” says Father Tongiorgi, “he would be a -peripatetic no more.” No doubt of it. S. Thomas would teach his friends a -lesson, by letting them know that his true followers are not those who -shut their eyes to the evidence of facts, that they may not be disturbed -in their peripateticism, but those who imitate him by endeavoring to -utilize, in the interest of sound philosophy, the positive knowledge of -their own time, as he did the scanty positive knowledge of his. - -But we have yet an important point to notice. The ancient theory is -wholly grounded on the possibility of the eduction of new substantial -forms out of the potency of matter; hence, if no truly substantial -form can be so educed, the theory falls to the ground. We have already -shown that true substantial forms giving the first being to the matter -cannot naturally be educed out of the potency of matter.[70] This would -suffice to justify us in rejecting the peripatetic theory. But to -satisfy our peripatetic friends that we did not come too hastily to such -a conclusion, and to give them an opportunity of examining their own -philosophical conscience, we beg leave to submit to their appreciation -the following additional reasons. - -First, all philosophers agree that the matter cannot be actuated by a -new form, unless it be _actually_ disposed to receive it. But actual -disposition is itself an accidental form; and all matter that has an -accidental form has also _a fortiori_ a substantial form. Therefore -no matter is actually disposed to receive a new form, but that which -has actually a substantial form. But the matter which has actually a -substantial form is not susceptible of a new substantial form; for the -matter which has its first being is not potential with regard to it, but -only with regard to some mode of being. Therefore no new form truly and -strictly substantial can be bestowed upon existing matter. - -Secondly, if existing matter is to receive a new substantial form, its -old substantial form must give way and disappear, as our opponents -themselves teach, by natural corruption. But the form which gives -the first being to the matter is not corruptible. Therefore no truly -substantial form can give way to a new substantial form. The minor of -this syllogism is easily proved. For all natural substances consist -of simple elements, of which every one has its first being by a form -altogether simple and incorruptible. Moreover, the substantial form of -primitive elements is a product of creation, not of generation; the term -of divine, not of natural, action; it cannot, therefore, perish, except -by annihilation. The only form which is liable to corruption is that -which links together the elements of the specific compound; but this is a -natural and essential, not a strictly substantial, form. - -Thirdly, the form which gives the first being to the matter is altogether -incorruptible, if the same is not subject to alteration; for alteration -is the way to corruption. But no form giving the first being to the -matter is subject to alteration. For, according to the universal -doctrine, it is the matter, not the form, that is in potency to receive -the action of natural agents. The form is an active, not a passive, -principle; and therefore it is ready to act, not to be acted on; which -proves that substantial forms are inalterable and incorruptible. We are -at a loss to understand how it has been possible for so many illustrious -philosophers of the Aristotelic school not to see the open contradiction -between the corruption of strictly substantial forms and their own -fundamental axiom: “Every being acts inasmuch as it is in act, and -suffers inasmuch as it is in potency.” If the substantial form is subject -to corruption, surely the substance suffers not only inasmuch as it is in -potency, but also, and even more, inasmuch as it is in act. We say “even -more,” because the substance would, inasmuch as it is in act, suffer the -destruction of its very essence; whereas, as it is in potency, it would -not suffer more than an accidental change. It is therefore manifest that -the corruption of substantial forms cannot be admitted without denying -one of the most certain and universal principles of metaphysics. - -Fourthly, if the natural agents concerned in the generation of a new -being cannot produce anything but accidental determinations, nor -destroy anything but other accidental determinations, then, evidently, -the form which is destroyed in the generation of a new thing is an -accidental entity, as also the new form introduced. But the efficient -causes of natural generations cannot produce anything but accidental -determinations, and cannot destroy anything but other accidental -determinations. Therefore in the generation of a new being both the -form which is destroyed and the form which replaces it are accidental -entities. In this syllogism the major is evident; and the minor is -certain, both physically and metaphysically. For it is well known that -the natural agents concerned in the generation of a new substance have -no other power than that of producing local motion; also, that the -matter acted on has no other passive potency than that of receiving -local motion. Hence no action of matter upon matter can be admitted -but that which tends to give an accidental determination to local -movement; and if any cause be known to exert actions not tending to -impart local movement, we must immediately conclude that such a cause is -not a material substance. On the other hand, all act produced belongs -to an order of reality infinitely inferior to that of its efficient -principle; so that, as God cannot efficiently produce another God, so -also a contingent substance cannot efficiently produce another contingent -substance; and a substantial form cannot efficiently produce another -substantial form; but as all that God efficiently produces is infinitely -inferior to him in the order of reality, so all act produced by a created -substance is infinitely inferior to the act which is the principle of -its production.[71] It is therefore impossible to admit that the act -produced, and the act which is the principle of its production, belong -to the same order of reality; in other terms, they cannot be both -“substantial”; but while the act by which the agent acts is substantial, -the act produced is always accidental. And thus it is plain that no -natural agent or combination of natural agents can ever produce a truly -substantial form. - -A great deal more might be said on this subject; but we think that our -philosophical readers need no further reasonings of ours to be fully -convinced of the inadmissibility of the Aristotelic hypothesis concerning -the constitution and the generation of natural substances. Would that the -great men who adopted it in past ages had had a knowledge of the workings -of nature as extensive as we now possess; their love of truth would have -prompted them to frame a philosophical theory as superior to that of the -Greek philosopher as fact is to assumption. As it is, we must strive to -do within the compass of our means what they would have done much better, -and would do if they were among the living, with their gigantic powers. -We cannot hold in metaphysics what we have to reject in physics. To say -that what is true in physics may be false in metaphysics is no less an -absurdity than Luther’s proposition, that “something may be true in -philosophy which is false in theology.” - - -THE MODERN LITERATURE OF RUSSIA.[72] - -The history of Russia, during the course of the last twenty years, has -entered upon a new era. It also has had its 19th of February,[73] its -day of emancipation; and from the hour when it was permitted to treat -of the times anterior to the reign of the Emperor Nicholas, although -still maintaining a certain reserve, it has lost no time in profiting by -the benefit of which advantage has been eagerly taken. A multitude of -writings, more or less important, which have since then been published, -prove that, in order to become fruitful, it only needed to be freed from -the ligatures of the ancient censure; and it is wonderful to note the -large number of publications with which the history of the last century -finds itself enriched in so short a space of time, besides the documents -of every description that were never previously allowed to see the light -of day, but from which the interdict has been removed that for so long -had condemned them to the dust and oblivion of locked-up archives. - -Nor has this been all. The riches of this new mine were sufficiently -plentiful to supply matter for entire collections. Societies were formed -for the purpose of arranging and publishing them without delay, in order -to satisfy the legitimate desire of so many to know the past of their -country, not only from official digests, but from the original sources of -information. It will suffice to name the principal collections created -under the inspiration of this idea, such as the _Russian Archives_, and -also the _XVIIIth and XIXth Centuries_, of M. Bartenev, guardian of the -Library of Tcherkov; the _Old Russian Times_ (_Russkaïa Starina_), of -M. Semevski; the _Historical Society of the Annalist Nestor_, formed at -Kiev, under the presidency of M. Antonovitch; the _Collection of the -Historical Society of St. Petersburg_, under the exalted patronage of the -czarovitch; without enumerating the periodical publications issued by -societies which were already existing, as at Moscow and elsewhere. - -To arrange in some degree of order the rapid notice which is all we must -permit ourselves, and laying aside for the present any consideration of -periodical literature, we will mention, in the first place, the works -upon Russian history in general, ecclesiastical and secular; then the -various memoirs and biographies; concluding with bibliography, or the -history of literature. - -I. GENERAL HISTORY OF RUSSIA.--Amongst the works which treat of this -subject, that of M. Soloviev indisputably occupies the first place. -His _History of Russia from the Earliest Times_ (_Istoria Rossiis -drevneichikh vremen_) advances with slow but steady pace, and has at this -time reached its twenty-third volume, embracing the second septennate -of the Empress Elizabeth, which concludes with the year 1755--a year -memorable in the annals of Russian literature, as witnessing the -establishment of the first Russian university, namely, that of Moscow. -It is not surprising that this subject has inspired the author, who is -a professor of the same university, to write pages full of interest. -With regard to what he relates respecting the exceedingly low level of -civilization to which the Russian clergy had at that time sunk, other -authors have made it the subject of special treatises, and with an -amplitude of development which could not have found place in a general -history. M. Soloviev’s method is well known--_i.e._, to turn to the -advantage of science the original documents, for the most part inedited, -and frequently difficult of access to the generality of writers. But does -he always make an impartial use of them? This is a question. The manner -in which he has recounted the law-suit of the Patriarch Nicon--to cite -this only as an example--does not speak altogether favorably for the -historian; besides, his history is too voluminous to be accessible to the -generality of readers; and when it will be finished, who can divine? - -For this reason a complete history, in accordance with recent -discoveries, and reduced to two or three volumes, would meet with a warm -welcome. That of Oustrialov is already out of date; the little abridgment -of M. Soloviev is too short; and the work of M. Bestoujev-Rumine remains -at its first volume, the two which are to follow, and which have been -long promised, not having yet appeared. - -M. Kostomarov, who has just celebrated the 25th year of his literary -career, is also publishing a _History of Russia, Considered in the Lives -of its Principal Representatives_,[74] of which the interest increases -as the period of which it treats approaches our own. Two sections have -already appeared. The first, which is devoted to the history of the house -of S. Vladimir, embraces four centuries; the second, as considerable as -its predecessor in amount of matter, comprises no more than the interval -of about a century--that is to say, the reigns of Ivan the Terrible, his -father, and his grandfather (1462-1583). Faithful to the plan he has -adopted, the author relates the life and deeds of the most remarkable -men, whether in the political or social order: thus, in the second -section, after the historical figures of Ivan III., Basil, and Ivan IV., -we have the Archbishop Gennadius, the monk Nilus Sorski, whom the Russian -Church reckons among her saints: the Prince Patrikeïev, the celebrated -Maximus, a monk of Mt. Athos, and, lastly, the heretic Bachkine with his -sectaries. The first volume will be terminated by the third section, -which will conclude the history of the house of Vladimir. - -This history meets with a violent opponent and an implacable judge in the -person of M. Pogodine, the veteran of Russian historians. The antagonism -of these two writers, M. Pogodine and M. Kostomarov, is of long standing. -But never have polemics taken a more aggressive tone than on the present -occasion; and the aggression is on the part of M. Pogodine, who accuses -his adversary of nothing more nor less than mystifying the public and -corrupting the rising generation; of having arbitrarily omitted the -origin and commencement of the nation; of throwing, by preference, into -strong relief all the dark pages of the history; and, lastly, declares -him to be guilty of venality. To these charges M. Kostomarov replies -that his censor is playing the part of a policeman rather than of a -critic; that his arguments, like his anger, inspire him with pity; and -that the most elementary rules of propriety forbid him to imitate his -language. Coming to historical facts, he explains the reasons for his -silence on the _pagan_ period of Russian history; for treating the call -of Rurik as a fable, together with a multitude of other stories of the -ancient chronicles; for seeing in the Varangian[75] princes nothing -but barbarians, and the pagans of this period the same. He also brings -proofs to show that Vladimir Monomachus was really the first to seek -allies among the tribes of the Polovtsis; that Vassilko caused the whole -population of Minsk to be exterminated; and that Andrew Bogolubski -was not by any means beloved by the people, as had been stated by M. -Pogodine--these three subjects being among the principal points of -dispute. - -But we have no desire to pursue any further details which cannot -in themselves have any interest for the public, although, taken in -connection with the histories of the antagonistic authors, they may -be suggestive. For instance, it is not easy to forget what the ardent -professor of Moscow relates of himself with reference to certain of his -fellow-countrywomen who had embraced the Catholic faith. Being at Rome, -he tells us (and his words depict in a lively manner the character of his -zeal) that he felt himself strongly tempted to _seize by the hair_ two -Russian ladies[76] whom he saw crossing the Piazza di Spagna to enter -a Catholic church. He is said to be at this time preparing a _Campaign -against Adverse Powers_, in which he combats “historic heresies.” - -But the services rendered by M. Pogodine to the national history are -undoubtedly great. We may notice a new one in his _Ancient History of -Russia before the Mongolian Yoke_,[77] in which, after grouping the -Russian principalities around that of Kiev as their political centre -anterior to the invasion of the Mongols, he also gives the separate -history of each. In the second volume the church, literature, the state, -manners, and customs, are treated upon in turn, and form a series -of pictures traced by a skilful hand, closing with a terribly-vivid -description of the Tartar invasion. - -II. PARTICULAR OR INDIVIDUAL HISTORY.--It is about two years since -historical science in Russia sustained a loss in the death of M. -Pékarski, who had scarcely reached his forty-fifth year. This laborious -and learned writer, who, in so short a space of time, produced an unusual -number of important works,[78] died after having just completed his -_History of the Academy of Sciences_. This work contains about eighteen -hundred pages. After a solid introduction there follow the biographies -of the first fifty members of the Academy, all of whom were foreigners, -to which succeed those of Trediakovski and Lomonosov. In glancing over -these biographies one is struck with the preponderance of the German -element, the Academy, at its commencement, being almost exclusively -composed of learned men of that nation. With the reign of Elizabeth the -Russian party began to take the lead, and it was Lomonosov, the son of a -fisherman of Archangelsk, who was the life and soul of it, as a learned -man, an historian, and a poet. Pékarski mentions some curious details -respecting the correspondence between Peter I. and the Sorbonne, touching -the reunion of the Russian Church with Rome. It is to be wished that -the documents treating of this matter, and which are preserved in the -archives of the academy, might be published. - -III. ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY.--After the _History of the Russian Church_, -by Mgr. Macarius, the present Metropolitan of Lithuania, which has -just reached its seventh volume, the first place is due to that by M. -Znamenski, entitled _The Parochial Clergy in Russia, subsequent to the -Reform of Peter I._[79] In presence of the Protestant reforms which -are in course of introduction into the official church by the Russian -government, M. Znamenski’s book offers an eminently practical interest, -and it is greatly to be wished that those in power would profit by its -serious teaching. The author advances nothing without producing his -proofs, drawn from official documents, which he has taken great pains to -search for and consult wherever they were to be found. - -His work is divided into five chapters, the first of which treats of the -“Nomination of the Parochial Clergy.” Down to the middle of the XVIIIth -century its members were chosen on the elective system; it is the ancient -mode of nomination, which existed also in the Catholic Church. But from -the middle of the XVIIIth century this gave place, in Russia, to the -_hereditary_ system, which has become one of the distinctive features of -the Russian communion,[80] and in which may be found the cause of the -separation and the spirit of caste which from that time began to isolate -the clergy from the rest of society, and made them in all respects a body -apart. - -This spirit of caste still subsists, though not in so perceptible a -degree as formerly. One inevitable consequence of this Levitism was the -difficulty of quitting the caste when once a person belonged to it, as -the author develops in his second chapter (pp. 176-354). In the third, -he treats of the “Civil Rights of the Clergy,” and there depicts the -revolting abuses in which the secular authorities allowed themselves with -regard to the unfortunate clergy. The arbitrary injustice to which they -were subjected during the whole of the XVIIIth century, and of which the -still vivid traces remained in the time of the Emperor Alexander I., -appears almost incredible. For instance, a poor parochial incumbent, -having had the misfortune to pass before the house of the principal -proprietor of the place without having taken off his hat to that -personage, who was on the balcony with company, was immediately seized, -thrust into a barrel, and thus rolled from the top of the hill on which -the seignorial dwelling was situated, into the river which flowed at -its base. His death was almost instantaneous. Justice, as represented -in that quarter, being informed of this new species of murder, found -itself unequal to touch the little potentate, and hushed up the affair. -Similar horrors were by no means rare in the XVIIIth century. In the -fourth chapter (pp. 507-617) the author speaks of the “Relations of the -Clergy with the Ecclesiastical Authorities”; and although the picture he -draws is somewhat less sombre than the preceding, still it is melancholy -enough. Venality the most systematic, and rigor that can hardly be said -to fall short of cruelty, were, for more than half a century, the most -prominent features of the ecclesiastical government. No post, however -small or humble, could be obtained without the imposition of a purely -arbitrary tax; and these taxes formed in the end a very considerable -amount. As for the spirit of the government, its fundamental maxim was -to _hold down_ the lower clergy _in humility_ (_smirenié_)--a formula -which was imprinted on the very bodies of the unfortunate victims. -The slightest fault or error on their part was punished by corporal -chastisements so severe that the sufferer sometimes expired under the -blows. Priests were treated by their chief pastors as beings on a level -with the meanest of slaves. One of these _vladykas_ (which is the name by -which the Russian bishops are designated) condemned his subordinates to -dig fish-ponds on his estate, which ponds were to be so shaped as to form -on a gigantic scale the initials (E. B.) of his lordship’s name.[81] - -The failure of resources, so materially diminished by the cupidity of -their superiors, forced the parochial clergy to contrive for themselves -an income by means more or less lawful. Besides the legal charges, they -invented various small taxes on their own behalf; or, when all else -failed, they begged their bread from their own parishioners, who were -apt to be more liberal of reproaches than of alms. The well-being of the -secular clergy being one of the questions under consideration by the -present government, the author has devoted to it much of his last chapter. - -Such is the general plan of this book, which must be read through to give -an idea of the humiliating degradation to which the hapless clergy were -for more than a century condemned, thanks to the anomaly of institutions -still more than to the abuses practised by individuals. When the source -is corrupt, can the stream be pure? - -But all this relates to the “Orthodox” of the empire. That which is -more directly interesting to the Catholic reader will be found in works -respecting the Ruthenian[82] Church, which is at this time attracting the -attention of the West. - -The _History of the Reunion of the Ancient Uniates of the West_,[83] by -M. Koïalovitch, Professor of the Ecclesiastical (Orthodox) Academy of the -capital, repeats the faults of all the numerous writings, whether books, -pamphlets, or articles, which have issued from his pen in the course of -the last ten years, and which are painfully remarkable for their spirit -of partiality, their preconceived ideas, their self-contradictions, -and their hatred of the Catholic faith. An organ of the press of St. -Petersburg has expressed a desire that the documents upon which this -author professedly rests three-fourths of his last book, while purposely -neglecting all extraneous sources whatever, whether political or -diplomatic, should be given to the public, which would then be enabled -to judge for itself how far the statements based upon them are to be -trusted. Nor can any obstacle exist in the way of such publication, -as was shown by the work of Moroehkine on the reunion of the Uniates -in 1839, equally compiled from official documents of unquestionable -importance, which were then edited for the first time. - -It is impossible not to be struck with the strange coincidence of so many -publications upon union with the painful events which are taking place at -the present time in the Diocese of Khelm, and which had evidently been -preparing long beforehand. Books have their _raison d’être_--a reason -for their appearance at particular periods. It is said, even, that M. -Koïalovitch is at the head of a school of opinion, and that his disciples -can be pointed out without difficulty. Thus, Rustchinski is the author -of a study on the _Religious Condition of the Russian People according -to Foreign Authors of the XVIth and XVIIth Centuries_; Nicolaïevski has -written on _Preaching in the XVIth Century_; Demaïanovitch, on _The -Jesuits in Western Russia, from 1569 to 1772_, at which latter year -the thread of their history is taken up and continued by Moroehkine; -Kratchkovski, on the _Interior State of the Uniate Church_ (1872); and -Stcherbinski has given the history of the Order of S. Basil. But we must -not prolong the catalogue, which, however, is by no means complete. Never -has so much literary activity been known in the “Orthodox” communion as -now, if, perhaps, we except the first times of the union. - -But before passing on to another head we must not fail to mention, as -one of the principal representatives of the literary movement of the -XVIth century, the celebrated namesake and predecessor of the present -Metropolitan of Mesopotamia, _i.e._, Archbishop Macarius, to whom we -are indebted for the monumental work known as the _Great Menology_, and -which is a species of religious encyclopædia, containing, besides the -lives of the saints for every day in the year, the entire works of the -early fathers, as well as ascetic, canonical, and literary treatises. -The Archæographic Commission of St. Petersburg has undertaken the -republication, in its integrity, of this colossal work, of which only -three quarto volumes in double columns have at present appeared. - -IV. BIOGRAPHIES.--As we have already remarked, it is interesting to -observe the eagerness with which the Russian people welcome everything -that tends to throw light upon their past. For instance, what is usually -drier than a catalogue? And yet the one compiled by M. Méjov has already -reached four thousand copies. It is true that his _Systematic Catalogue_ -(of original documents) combines various qualities that are somewhat rare -in publications of this description. It is not, however, desirable that a -taste for the mere reproduction of inedited manuscripts should be carried -too far; the interests of science demanding rather that they should be -made use of in the production of works aspiring to greater completeness, -and suited to meet the requirements of modern criticism. - -A certain number of works have already been written in accordance with -this idea. That of M. Tchistovitch, entitled _Theophanes Procopovitch -and his Times_, may be given as a model, as may also the excellent study -of M. Ikonnikov on Count Nicholas Mordinhov, one of the remarkable men -who flourished in the reign of the Emperor Alexander I. and Nicholas. -Various memoirs of this personage had previously appeared in different -collections, but no one before the young professor of Kiev had taken -the trouble to study the original sources upon which alone an authentic -life could be written, to reduce them to system, and give them a living -form. It is not only the opinions and theories of the count which are -given, but those also of contemporary society and the persons by whom -he was surrounded, those of the latter being occasionally too lengthily -developed. M. Ikonnikov was also, some years ago, the author of an -interesting work, entitled _The Influence of Byzantine Civilization -on Russian History_ (Kiev: 1870). And this leads us to mention a book -recently published by M. Philimonov, vice-director of the Museum of Arms, -on _Simon Ouchakov and the Iconography of his Time_. - -The name of this artist has scarcely been heard in the West. Born -in 1626, he early evinced a talent for painting, and at the age of -twenty-two was admitted into the number of iconographists appointed by -the czar; his specialty consisting in making designs, more particularly -for the gold-work appropriated to religious uses. Of his paintings, -the earliest bears the date of 1657. M. Philimonov passes in review -all his later productions, accompanying each with a short but careful -notice, and dwelling chiefly upon the two which he considers the -masterpieces of Russian iconography at that period, namely, the painting -of the Annunciation and that of Our Lady of Vladimir. Besides these -two principal paintings, Ouchakov left a quantity of others, most of -which bear his name, with the date of their completion, although these -indications are not needed, his pictures being easily recognizable. He -may, in fact, be considered as at the head of a new school of painting, -taking the middle line between the conventional Muscovite iconography -and the paintings of the West; between the inanimate and rigid formalism -of the one and the living variety of the other; and thus inaugurating -the new era in religious art which manifested itself in Russia with -the opening of the XVIIth century, and permitting the introduction of -a realism which the ancient iconographers were wholly ignorant of, -and would have considered it detrimental to Oriental orthodoxy to -countenance. Ouchakov was ennobled, in honor of his talents, and died in -1656, at the age of sixty, in the full enjoyment of public esteem. - -In connection with the subject of art, we may add that M. Philimonov has -just issued an elegant edition of the _Guide to Russian Iconography_, -which teaches the correct manner in which to represent the saints. The -text of this work, which is for the first time published in Russian, has -been furnished by three of the most ancient manuscripts known to exist, -one of which formerly belonged to the Church of S. Sophia of Novogorod. -Fully to comprehend the text, however, it is necessary to have together -with it, for constant reference, some pictorial guide, as, for instance, -the one published by M. Boutovski. The two works explain and complete -each other, as both alike refer to about the same period; but, also, both -should be consulted in subordinate reference to the Greek _Guide_, if the -reader is to be enabled to separate the Byzantine element from that which -is specially characteristic of Russian iconography. - -In connection with general literature mention must be made of the -fabulist, Khemnitzer, whose complete works and correspondence have -been edited by Grote, together with a biography, composed from -previously-unpublished sources. After the vast labor of editing the works -of Derjavine, those of Khemnitzer would be in comparison a mere amusement -to the learned and indefatigable academician. - -V. JOURNALS AND MEMOIRS.--The _Journal of Khrapovski_ (1782-1793), -published by M. Barsoukov, who has enriched it with a biographical notice -and explanatory notes, appears for the first time in its integrity, -and accompanied by a _catalogue raisonné_ of all the personages who -find themselves mentioned in the text. This journal derives its special -interest and value from the position of the author, who for ten years -was attached to the _personal_ service of the Empress Catherine II. -(_Chargé des Affaires Personnelles_), and who, being thus admitted into -the interior and home-life of the court, noted down day by day, and -sometimes hour by hour, all that he there saw or heard. This is certainly -not history; but an intelligent historian will sometimes find there, in a -sentence spoken apparently at random, the germ of great political events -which were accomplished later. - -The _Journal of Lady Rondeau_, wife of the English resident-minister at -the court of the Empress Anne, is the first volume of foreign writers on -the Russia of the XVIIIth century, edited with notes by M. Choubinski. -The idea of publishing the accounts of foreigners on the Russian Empire -merits encouragement, and, if well carried out, will shed new light on -numberless points which an indigenous author would leave unnoticed, but -which have a real interest in the eyes of a stranger. If it should be -objected that foreigners judge superficially and partially, it is none -the less true that the worth of their impressions arises precisely from -the diversity of country and point of view. Besides, all strangers could -not, without injustice, be alike charged with lightness and inexactitude. -The memoirs of Masson on the court of Catherine II. and of Paul I. are -quoted by the Russians themselves as a striking proof to the contrary; -no single fact which he mentions having been disproved by history. The -merit of Lady Rondeau’s book is increased by the notice, in form of an -appendix, which is added by her husband, on the character of each of the -principal personages of the court. - -We conclude this rapid and imperfect summary by mentioning the _Catalogue -of the Section of Russica_, or writings upon Russia in foreign -languages--a work of which the initiation is due to the administrators of -the Public Library of St. Petersburg, and forming two enormous volumes. -To give some idea of the riches accumulated in the section of _Russica_, -perhaps unique in the world, and of which the formation commenced in -1849, it will suffice to say that the number of works enumerated in the -catalogue reaches the figures 28,456, _without reckoning_ those composed -in Lithuanian, Esthonian, Servian, Bulgarian, Greek, and other Oriental -languages, which will together form a supplementary volume. Besides -original works, the catalogue indicates all the translations of Russian -books, and enumerates all the periodicals which have appeared in Russia -in foreign languages. - -The works are arranged in alphabetical order; but at the end of the -second volume we find an analytical table, commencing with history, the -historical portion being the most considerable one in the section of -_Russica_. Thus the literary treasures possessed by the principal library -of the empire are henceforward made known with regard to each branch of -the sciences in relation to Russia. If to this we add the _Systematic -Catalogue_ of M. Méjov, mentioned above, we possess the historic -literature of Russia in its completeness. - - -THE FIRST JUBILEE. - -Almighty God, who has “ordered all things in measure and _number_ and -weight” (Wisd. xi. 21), and who teaches us, under the guidance of his -church, to observe sacred times and seasons, has brought around again the -Holy Year of Jubilee, during which an extraordinary indulgence is granted -by the Pope, that sinners being led to repentance, and the just increased -in grace, each one can hear it said to himself: “In an _acceptable time_ -I have heard thee” (Is. xlix. 8). - -We will not touch here upon the nature or doctrine of indulgences, -more than to give a definition of our Jubilee, viz., a solemn plenary -remission of such temporal punishment as may still be due to divine -justice after the guilt of sin has been forgiven, which the Sovereign -Pontiff, in the fulness of apostolic power, makes at a stated period to -all the faithful, on condition of performing certain specified pious -works; empowering confessors to absolve for the nonce in reserved cases -and from censures not specially excepted, and to commute all vows not -likewise excepted into other salutary matter. Our Holy Father, Pius -IX., by an Encyclical Letter dated from S. Peter’s on the vigil of last -Christmas, has announced that, the year 1875 completing the cycle of -time determined by his predecessors for the recurrence of the Jubilee, -he declares it the Holy Year, and sets forth the conditions of the same, -with other circumstances of ecclesiastical discipline usual on so rare an -occasion of grace. - -The origin of the word _jubilee_ itself is uncertain. It is a Hebrew -term that first occurs in the twenty-fifth chapter of Leviticus: “And -thou shalt sanctify the fiftieth year, … for it is the year of Jubilee.” -Josephus (_Antiquit._, iii. 11) says that it means _liberty_, by which -his annotators understand that discharge among the Jews from debts -and bondage, and restitution to every man of his former property, as -commanded by the law. The more common opinion derives it from _jobel_, -a ram’s horn, because the Jubilee year was ushered in by the blasts -of the sacred trumpets, made of the horns of the ram. Pope Boniface -VIII. is erroneously supposed by many to have instituted the Christian -Jubilee; for he only restored what had already existed, and reduced it -substantially to its present form; inasmuch as there had been from an -early period a custom among Christians of visiting Rome at the turn of -every succeeding century, in the hope of obtaining great spiritual favors -at the tomb of S. Peter, and perhaps also with the idea of atoning in -some measure for the superstitious secular games which during the reign -of Augustus the _Quindecimviri_ (a college of priests) announced as -having been given once in every century in memory of the foundation of -the Eternal City, and which, after consulting the Sibylline books in -their care, they prevailed upon the emperor to celebrate again. Mgr. -Pompeo Sarnelli, Bishop of Bisceglie in 1692, treats of the secular year -of the heathen Romans and the Jubilee of their Christian descendants -together, as though one were in some respect a purified outgrowth of -the other. He says: “But the Christians, to change profane into sacred -things, were accustomed to go every hundredth year to visit the Vatican -basilica, and celebrate the memory of Christ, who was born for the -redemption of the world; so that the Holy Year was the sanctification -of the profane centenary in the lapse of time; but in its spiritual -benefits it perfected the effects of the Jubilee kept by the Jews every -fiftieth year for temporal advantages” (_Lettere Ecclesiast._, x. 50). -Macri also, in his _Hiero-lexicon_ (1768), says: “We believe that the -popes who have always endeavored (when the nature of the thing permitted) -to alter the vain observances of the Gentiles into sacred ceremonies for -the worship of God, in order to eradicate the superstitious secular year -of the Romans, established our Holy Year of Jubilee, and enriched it -with indulgences.” Of the connection between our Jubilee and that of the -Jews Devoti (_Inst. Can._, ii. p. 250, note) remarks that their fiftieth -year “aliquo modo imago fuit Jubilæi, quem postea Romani Pontifices -instituerunt--” was in some wise a figure of that Jubilee which, at a -later period, the Roman pontiffs instituted. - -Benedetto Gaetani of Anagni (Boniface VIII.) had been elected pope -at Naples on Dec. 24, 1294, and was residing in Rome at the close of -the century, when he heard towards Christmas that many pilgrims were -approaching the city, who came, they said, to gain the indulgence which -an ancient tradition taught could be obtained there every hundredth -year, at the beginning of a new century. Although search was made in the -pontifical archives for some record of a concession of special indulgence -at such a period, none was found; but witnesses of established veracity -assured the pope that they had heard of this indulgence, and that it was -connected with a visit to the tomb of S. Peter. - -Brocchi in his _Storia del Giubbileo_, page 6, mentions among the -venerable persons examined before the pope and cardinals one man 107 -years old, and another--a noble Savoyard--over 100 years old, who both -made deposition that as children they had been brought to Rome by their -parents, who had often reminded them not to omit the pilgrimage of the -next century, if they should live so long. Two very aged Frenchmen -from the Diocese of Beauvais also deposed to having come to Rome on -the strength of a like centennial tradition of which they had heard -their fathers speak. The chronicler William Ventura of Asti (born in -1250) writes that at the beginning of the year 1300 an immense crowd -of pilgrims, coming to Rome from the East and from the West, used to -throng about the pope and cry out: “Give us thy blessing before we die; -for we have learnt from our elders that all Christians who shall visit -on the hundredth year the basilica where rest the bones of the apostles -Peter and Paul can obtain absolution of their sins and the remission -of any penance that might still be due for them” (apud Muratori, _Rer. -Ital. Script._, xi. 26). Boniface VIII. then called a consistory, and on -the advice of the cardinals determined to issue a bull confirming the -grant of indulgence, did such really exist; and in any case offering a -plenary indulgence to all who, contrite, should confess their sins and -visit at least once a day for thirty days--not necessarily consecutive, -if Romans; if strangers, only for fifteen days in the same manner--the -two basilicas of the holy apostles SS. Peter and Paul during the course -of the year 1300. This interesting bull, which is usually cited by its -opening words, _Antiquorum habet fida relatio_, and may be seen in any -collection of canon law among the _Extravagantes Communes_ (lib. v. -De Pœn. et Rem., c. 1), is short and elegantly condensed--for which -reason, perhaps, an old glossarist calls it “epistola satis grossè -composite”--and, although written before the revival of Latin letters, -compares favorably with the verbose composition of later documents. It -was probably drawn up by Sylvester, the papal secretary, who is named -as writer of the circular-letter sent in the pope’s name to all bishops -and Christian princes to acquaint them with the measure taken, and -invite them to exhort the faithful of their dioceses and their loyal -subjects to go on the pilgrimage Romeward. The pope published his bull -himself on the 22d of February, 1300, being the feast of S. Peter at -Antioch, by reading it aloud from a richly-draped _ambon_ erected for the -occasion before the high altar in S. Peter’s, which had a very different -appearance from the domed and cross-shaped structure that we now admire, -as lovers of architectural elegance; for as antiquarians we must regret -the venerable building which was a _basilica_ in form as well as in name. -When Boniface had finished, he descended, and went up in person to the -altar to deposit upon it the bull of indulgence in homage to the Prince -of the Apostles, whose successor he was, and not unworthily maintained -himself to be. Then returning to his former place, while the cardinals -stood with bended head around it and beneath him, he gave his solemn -blessing to an immense number of pilgrims, who, filling the church and -overflowing into the square in front, reverentially knelt to receive it. -Truly, the hearts of the people were with that man, although the hands -of princes were against him. A most interesting memorial of this very -scene has been preserved to us through sack and fire for nearly six -hundred years in the shape of a painting by the celebrated Giotto--a -portrait, too, and not a fancy sketch--which is the only portion saved -of the beautiful frescos with which he ornamented the _loggia_ built by -Boniface at S. John Lateran. It represents the pope in the act of giving -his benediction to the people between two cardinals (or, as some critics -think, two prelates), one of whom holds a document in his hand--evidently -meant for the bull of Jubilee by an artist’s license, to specify more -distinctly the circumstance; for it was then actually on the altar--while -the other looks down upon the crowd over the hanging cloth on which the -Gaetani arms are emblazoned. This specimen of higher art of the XIVth -century was for a long time preserved in the cloister of S. John, until -a representative of the Gaetani (now ducal) family had it carefully set -up against one of the pilasters of the church, and protected with a glass -covering, in 1786, where it may still be seen, although it is not often -noticed according to its merits. - -Our chief authorities for the details of this Jubilee are the pope’s -nephew, James Cardinal Stefaneschi; the Chronicler of Asti (generally -quoted as _Chronicon Astense_); and the Florentine merchant and Guelph -historian, John Villani, who died of the plague in 1348. All were -eye-witnesses. - -The cardinal wrote on the Jubilee in prose and verse. His work, _De -centesimo, seu Jubilæo anno Liber_, is published in the _Biblioth. Max. -Patrum_, tom. xxv. He is the earliest writer to use the word _jubilee_, -which is not found in the pope’s bull, but must have been common at -the period, for others use it. A sententious specimen of the cardinal -deacon’s prose style may be interesting; it contains a good sentiment, -and is not bad Latin, although the German Gregorovius, in his _History -of Rome in the Middle Ages_, speaks of “die barbarische Schrift des -Jacob Stefaneschi”--“that barbarous opuscule of James Stefaneschi”: -“Beatus populus qui scit Jubilationem; infelices vero qui torpore, vel -temeritate, dum alterius sibi forsan ævum Jubilæi spondent, neglexerint” -(cap. xv.)--“Blessed is the people that profiteth by this season of -remission; but unhappy are the slothful and presumptuous ones who, -promising themselves another Jubilee, neglect it.” His hexameters, -however, are undoubtedly execrable; for instance: - - “Discite, centeno detergi crimina Phœbo, (!) - Discite, si latebras scabrosi criminis ora - Depromunt, contrita sinu, dum circulus anni - Gyrat, perque dies quindenos exter, et Urbis - Incola tricenos delubra patentia Patrum - Ætherei Petri, Pauli quoque gentibus almi - Doctoris subeant, ubi congerit urna sepultos.” - -Cardinal James of the Title of S. George _in Velabro_ was one of the -most distinguished men of Rome; “famous,” as Tiraboschi says (_Letterat. -Ital._, v. 517), “not less for his birth than for his learning.” His -mother was an Orsini. He died in 1343. - -As soon as the grant of this great indulgence was noised abroad an -extraordinarily large number of pilgrims set out from all parts of Italy, -from Provence and France, from Spain, Germany, Hungary, and even from -England, although not very many from that country, which was then at -war. They came of every age, sex, and condition: children led by the -hand or carried in the arms, the infirm borne in litters, the knightly -and those of more means on horseback, while not a few old people were -seen, Anchises-like, supported on the shoulders of their sons. _The -Chronicle of Parma_ (quoted by Gregorovius, _Geschichte der Stadt Rom im -Mittelalter_, v. p. 549) says that “every day and at all hours there was -a sight as of a general army marching in and out by the Claudian Way,” -which brought the pilgrims into the city after joining the Flaminian Way -at the gate now represented by the Porta del Popolo; and the Chronicler -of Asti has to use the words of the Apocalypse to describe the throngs -that gathered about the roaring gates. “I went out one day,” he says, -and “I saw a great crowd which no man could number.” The whole influx of -pilgrims, including men and women, during the year, was computed by the -Romans at over two millions; while Villani, who was a careful observer, -writes that about thirty thousand people used to enter and leave the city -every day, there being at no time less than two hundred thousand within -the walls over and above the fixed population. But the pilgrimage was -especially one of the poor to the tomb of the Fisherman; and all writers -on it have remarked, in noticing the fervent enthusiasm of the common -people, the cold reserve and absence of their royal masters. Only the -Frenchman Charles Martel, titular King of Hungary, came; it is presumable -more to obtain the pope’s good-will in the dispute about the succession -to the throne than from piety. The nearest approach to royalty after him -was Charles of Valois, who came accompanied by his family and a courtly -retinue of five hundred knights, and doubtless hoped to receive the crown -of Sicily from Boniface, if he could expel the usurping Aragonese. - -So many thousands of pilgrims, citizens and strangers, went day and -night to S. Peter’s that not a few were maimed, and some even trampled -to death, in the struggling crowd of goers and comers that met at the -crossing of the Tiber over the old Ælian bridge leading to the Leonine -city. To obviate such disasters in future, the wide bridge was divided -lengthwise by a strong wooden railing, thus forming two passages, of -which the advancing and returning pilgrims took respectively the one -on their right. The poet Dante, who is strongly supposed to have been -in Rome for the Jubilee, although there is no proof either in the -_Divine Comedy_ or the _Vita Nuova_ that he was, may have written as an -eye-witness when he describes this very scene of the passing but not -mingling streams of human beings in the well-known lines: - - “Come i Roman, per l’esercito molto, - L’anno del giubbileo, su per lo ponte - Hanno a passar la gente modo tolto; - Che dall’ un lato tutti hanno la fronte - Verso’l castello, e vanno a Santo Pietro-- - Dall’ altra sponda vanno verso’l monte.”[84] - - --_Inferno_, xviii. - -The castle here mentioned is, of course, Sant’ Angelo; and the hill is -probably Monte Giordano, in the heart of the city, which, although, from -the grading of the surrounding streets, is now only a gentle rise graced -by the Gabrielli palace, was a high and strongly-fortified position in -the XIVth century. Among all the relics seen by the pilgrims in Rome, -the Holy Face of our Lord, or Cloth of Veronica, which is preserved -with so much veneration in S. Peter’s, seems to have attracted the most -attention. By order of the pope it was solemnly shown to the people -on every Friday and on all the principal feasts throughout the year of -Jubilee. The great Tuscan has also sung of this, which he possibly saw -himself: - - “Quale è colui che forse di Croazia - Viene a veder la Veronica nostra, - Che per l’antica fama non si sazia, - Ma dice nel pensier, fin che si mostra; - Signor mio Gesù Cristo, Dio verace, - Or fu sì fatta la sembianza vostra?”[85] - - --_Paradiso_, xxxi. - -A modern economist might wonder how a famine was to be averted, with -such a sudden and numerous addition to the population of the city. The -foresight of the energetic pope, whose family also was influential in -the very garden of the Campagna, among those hardy laborers of whom -Virgil sung, “Quos dives Anagnia pascit,” had early in the year caused -an immense supply of grain, oats, meat, fish, wine, and other sorts -of provision for man and beast to be collected from every quarter and -brought into the city, where it was stored and guarded against the -coming of the pilgrims. The provisions were abundant and cheap. The -Chronicler of Asti, it is true, complains of the dearness of the hay or -fodder for his horse; but as he thought _tornesium unum grossum_ (equal -to six cents of our money) too high for his own daily lodging and his -horse’s stabling, without bait, we must think either that the means -of living in Italy in those days were incredibly low, or that Ventura -was very parsimonious. It is the testimony of all the writers on this -Jubilee that, except an inundation of the Tiber, which threatened for a -few days to cut off the train of supplies for the city, everything was -propitious to the comfort and piety of the faithful. The roads through -Italy leading to Rome were safe, at least to the pilgrims, to whom a -general safe-conduct was given by the various little republics and -principalities of the Peninsula; and if the Romans did grow rich off of -the strangers, there was good-humor on both sides, and not the slightest -collision. Indeed, the Romans (who perhaps gained the Jubilee before the -great body of the pilgrims had arrived; at least we know that those out -of the northern parts of Europe timed their departure from home so as to -avoid the sweltering southern heat) seem to have shown some indifference -to the spiritual favors offered; as Gregorovius--who, however, is -anti-papal--with a quiet sarcasm says: “They left the pilgrims to pray -at the altars, while they marched with flaunting banners against the -neighboring city of Toscanella”; and Galletti, in his _Roman Mediæval -Inscriptions_ (tom. ii. p. 4), has published a curious old one on this -martial event, the original of which is now encased in one of the inside -walls of the Palazzo dei Conservatori (this name may have been changed -by the present usurpers) on the Capitoline hill, where it was set up -under Clement X. in 1673. As it is most interesting for its synchronism -with the first Jubilee, and the insight it gives us into the mixed sort -of fines imposed by the descendants of the conquerors of the world upon -a subjugated people in the middle ages--bags of wheat, a bell, the city -gates, eight lusty fellows to dance while their masters piped, and a -gentle hint that there was _no salt sown_--we think it might well appear -(doubtless for the first time) in an American periodical. The original -being in the abbreviated style of the XIVth century, we have modernized -it to make it more intelligible to the reader: - - “Mille trecentenis Domini currentibus annis - Papa Bonifacius octavus in orbe vigebat - Tunc Aniballensis Riccardus de Coliseo - Nec non Gentilis Ursina prole creatus - Ambo senatores Romam cum pace regebant - Per quos jam pridem tu Tuscanella fuisti - Ob dirum damnata nefas, tibi dempta potestas - Sumendi regimen est, at data juribus Urbis - Frumenti rubla bis millia ferre coegit - Annua te Roma vel libras solvere mille - Cum Deus attulerit Romanis fertilitatem - Campanam populi, portas deducere Romam - Octo ludentes Romanis mittere ludis-- - Majori pœna populi pietate remissa. - Sunt quoque communis servata palatia Romæ - Dummodo certe ruant turresque palatia muri - Si rursus furere tentent fortassis in Urbem - Vel jam prolata nolint decreta tenere - In æde reponatur sacra pro tempore guerræ - Tempore vel caro servanda pecunia prorsus.” - -The meaning of the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth lines is that, since -the Romans have land enough to give them their daily bread, but do not -object to any amount of _quattrim_ (coin), if the vanquished should -prefer, they may pay once for all a thousand pounds in money, instead of -the annual tribute of two thousand sacks of grain--with freight charges -to destination; and the last lines signify that a sum is laid up in the -chapel to be used to carry on another war if the Tuscanellans should -again machinate against the City--as Rome was proudly called--or refuse -to fulfil the stipulations. - -The pilgrims of the Jubilee generally made a small offering at the altars -of the two basilicas, although no alms were required as a condition of -gaining the indulgence; and it is particularly from a _naïve_ passage of -one of them in his valuable chronicle that Protestants and Voltaireans -have taken occasion to deride the Jubilees as mere money-making affairs; -and even the Catholic Muratori (_Antichità Italiane_, tom. iii. part ii. -p. 156) carps at the inimitable description of so Romanesque a scene as -that of two chatting clerics raking in the oblations of the _forestieri_; -but Cenni, the annotator of this great work of the Modenese historian -in the Roman edition of 1755, which we use, aptly remarks here that if -writers will look only at the bad side of the many and almost innumerable -events that have occurred in this low world of ours, and illogically -conclude from a particular to the universal, they will discover that art -of putting things whereby what has generally been considered good and -laudable will appear thereafter worthy only of censure. The Chronicler -of Asti, certainly with no great thought of what people would think five -hundred years after he was mouldering in his grave, simply writes of the -pilgrims’ donations: “Papa innumerabilem pecuniam ab eisdem recepit, quia -die ac nocte duo clerici stabant ad altare sancti Petri, tenentes in -eorum manibus rastellos rastellantes pecuniam infinitam.” - -Although we believe that the honest Chronicler of Asti deserves credit -for taking notes at the Jubilee, yet this very passage, read in -connection with the other one about the dearness of his living, shows us -that he was one of those pious but penurious souls who, if he had lived -in our day, and a gentleman called on him for a subscription, would beg -to be permitted to wait until the list got down very low. The Protestant -Gregorovius has shown that these exaggerated offerings “were for the most -part only small coin, the gift of common pilgrims”; while the Catholic -Von Reumont (_Geschichte der Stadt Rom_, vol. ii. p. 650) has calculated -that this “infinite amount of money” was only after all equal to about -two hundred and forty thousand Prussian thalers, which would make no more -than one hundred and seventy-five thousand, two hundred dollars. When the -pope knew how generous were the offerings of the faithful, he ordered the -entire sum to be expended on the two basilicas, in buying property to -support the chapter of the one and the monastery attached to the other, -and in those thousand and more other expenses which only those who have -lived in Rome can understand to be necessary to support the majesty of -divine worship within such edifices. Surely, it was better, in any case, -that the money of the pilgrims should go for the glory of the saints -and the embellishment of God’s temples than be exacted at home by cruel -barons and ruthless princes to carry on their petty wars or strengthen -their castles. - -Mr. Hemans (no friend to our Rome), in his _Mediæval Christianity and -Sacred Art_ (vol. i. p. 474), says, after mentioning these “heaps of -coins”: “If much of this went into the papal treasury, it is manifest -that the expenditure from that source for the charities exercised -throughout this holy season must also have been great.” This is a lame -statement; because, although on the one hand the large subventions of the -pope to the poor pilgrims are certain, on the other there is no proof -whatever that _any_ alms they gave went into his “treasury.” The pope, -indeed, having at heart the comfort of the strangers and the beauty of -the city, put up many new buildings and made other improvements, such as -the beautiful Gothic _loggia_ of S. John of Lateran, which the greatest -painter of the age was commissioned to decorate with frescos (Papencordt, -_Rom im Mittelalter_, p. 336). It is perhaps from a traditionary -knowledge of these architectural propensities of the pope during the -Jubilee year, and of his endowments to the basilicas, that so many -people have quite erroneously believed the sombre but picturesque old -farm-buildings of Castel Giubileo, which crown the green and lonely hill -where more than two thousand years ago the Arx of Fidenæ stood a rival -to the Capitol of Rome, to be a memorial of, and to get its designation -from, this Jubilee of A.D. 1300. Even Sir Wm. Gell (_Top. of Rome_, p. -552) repeats the old story. But the more careful Nibby (_Dintorni di -Roma_, vol. ii. p. 58) has demonstrated, with the aid of a document in -the archives of the Vatican basilica, that the name of this place between -the Via Salaria and the Tiber, five miles from Rome, is derived from that -of a Roman family which acquired the site (previously called Monte Sant’ -Angelo) and built the castle in the XIVth century; and that it did not -come into the possession of the chapter of S. Peter until the 16th of -December, 1458, when it was bought for the sum of three thousand golden -ducats. So much for an instance of jumping at conclusions from a mere -similarity of name, put together with something else, which is so common -a fault of antiquaries. - - -GREVILLE AND SAINT-SIMON. - -Mr. Charles Greville was not a La Bruyère,[86] but, as he appears in -his _Memoirs_, he might have sat very well for that portrait of Arrias -which the inimitable imitator of Theophrastus has drawn in his chapter -on society and conversation: “Arrias has read everything, has seen -everything; at least he would have it thought so. ’Tis a man of universal -knowledge, and he gives himself out as such; he would sooner lie than -be silent or appear ignorant of anything.… If he tells a story, it is -less to inform those who listen than to have the merit of telling it. -It becomes a romance in his hands; he makes people think after his own -manner; he puts his own habits of speaking in their mouths; and, in fine, -makes them all as talkative as himself. What would become of him and of -them, if happily some one did not come in to break up the circle and -contradict the whole story?” - -This exact picture of the late clerk of H.B.M. Privy Council might have -been written the morning after his _Memoirs_ appeared in the London -bookstores, instead of nearly two hundred years ago. It is at once a -proof of the penetrating genius of La Bruyère, and a photograph every one -will recognize of the author of the journal which has lately made so much -noise in society. This clever Newmarket jockey--_rebus Newmarketianis -versatus_, as he says of himself--to whom every point of the betting book -is familiar, carelessly refreshes his jaded intellect with the _Life -of Mackintosh_, as he rides down in his carriage to the races. With -affable profusion he scatters broadcast to the mob of readers scraps of -Horace and Ovid, mingled with the latest odds on the Derby. He has seen -everything from S. Giles’s to S. Peter’s, and, with the _blasé_ air of a -man at once of genius and fashion, proclaims “there is nothing in it.” He -knows everything, from the most questionable scandal of the green-room to -the best plan of forming a cabinet; such second-rate men as Melbourne, -Palmerston, and Stanley he sniffs at with easy disdain; and if at times -he gently bemoans a few personal deficiencies, it is with a complacent -conviction that it needed only a little early training to have made him a -Peel, a Burke, or a Chatham! That he would “sooner lie than be silent,” -one needs only remember his infamous stories about Mrs. Charles Kean and -Lady Burghersh; his calumnies against George IV. and William IV.--the -masters whose gracious kindness he repaid by bribing their _valets_ -for evidence against them--his unfounded attacks upon Peel, Stanley, -O’Connell, and Lyndhurst; his slanders even against obscure men, like -Wakley and others. As to his habit of “making people think after his own -manner,” and putting “his own mode of speaking in their mouths,” the -profanity and vulgarity which disfigure his pages are the best evidence. - -That this is a true estimate of the merits of _The Greville Memoirs_ -is now generally admitted. The most respectable critical exponents of -English opinion have united in condemning the bad taste and breach of -trust which made either their composition or publication possible. It -needs no refinement of reasoning to prove that the expressions everywhere -so freely quoted from this journal are such as could not honorably be -uttered by any gentleman holding the office Mr. Greville did. Readers -will easily be found for them, either from a love of sensation or because -of the illustration they offer of the character of the persons described -or the writer; but nothing can condone their real offensiveness. Such, -however, was far from being the first opinion of the press. The leading -English journal, in two lengthy reviews such as rarely appear in its -columns, handled Mr. Greville’s work with a delicacy, an admiration, -a regretful and half-tender daintiness of touch for the author, that -promised everything to the reader. This criticism was followed by a -general outburst of applause on the part of the press, which soon began -to waver, however, when it was found that the best section of English -society regarded the book with disapproval. - -So conscious, indeed, were the American publishers of its intrinsic -lack of interest or literary merit that one firm has presented it to -the public with nearly all the political portions left out and the -private gossip retained. “It is said,” says the _Saturday Review_ not -long ago, “that an American compiler has published a pleasant duodecimo -volume containing only those passages which may be supposed to gratify a -morbid taste.” The London critic intended, no doubt, to be pungent and -satirical; but how innocuously does such satire fall upon the head of the -average “compiler”! - -If Mr. Greville has not made good his claim to stand among the masters -of his craft, least of all is he to be named in the same day with the -prince of memoir-writers--Saint-Simon; unless, indeed, it be to point -the moral that more is needed for excellency in such an art than an -inquisitive mind and a biting pen. Yet Mr. Greville’s opportunity was -great--greater, probably, than will happen to any other memoir-writer for -some generations to come. Like Saint-Simon, he began active life in an -age of great events and great men. Whatever may be said of the pettiness -of the regency, of its profligacy and mock brilliancy, no one can forget -that those were days of great perils; of vast struggles, military and -civil; of giants’ wars, and of a race of combatants not unworthy to take -part in them. Nor were the twenty years succeeding--which make up, as -we may roughly say, that portion of his journal now printed--wanting -in great interests and momentous events. The age which gave birth to -Catholic Emancipation and the Reform Bill, while it still numbered -among its chiefs the veterans of the great Continental war, could not -fail to offer subjects for treatment that would be read eagerly by all -succeeding times. If Saint-Simon witnessed the culmination of the glories -of the reign of Louis XIV., and saw De Luxembourg and Catinat, the last -survivors of that line of victorious marshals beginning with the great -Condé and Turenne, who had carried the lilies of France over Europe, -not less was it Greville’s fortune to converse familiarly with the great -duke who, repeating the triumphs of Marlborough, had beaten down the arms -of the empire in a later age. And if Saint-Simon lived also to see the -disasters, the weakness, the desolation, and bankruptcy of his country -which succeeded the long splendor of his youth, Greville too looked on as -a spectator, almost, one might say, as a registrar, at the hardly less -terrible civil struggles and social depression which threatened to rend -the kingdom asunder. - -Both were of noble families, although the Duc de Saint-Simon was the head -of his house, and Mr. Greville only a cadet of his. Both were courtiers; -and although Saint-Simon’s position as a peer of France lifted him far -above Greville’s in his day, who was rather a paid servant of the crown -than strictly a courtier, yet the very office of the latter gave him -advantages which the elder memoir-writer did not always possess. Here, -however, all parallel ceases. The radical incapacity of Mr. Greville’s -mind to lift him above the common race of diarists prevents all further -comparison. He had neither the genius of assimilation nor description -to make the portraits of men and manners live, like Saint-Simon’s, in -the gallery of history. His informants are _valets_, his satire mere -backbiting, his reflections trivial, his descriptions a confused mass of -petty details. - -It is not proposed here to weary the reader with long quotations from a -work which so many already have read or skimmed over. Nor do we intend, -on the other hand, to follow the fashion of some critics, and carefully -gather up all the points which might be woven into an indictment against -Mr. Greville’s honor or candor or wit. Such a task would be endless; it -would take in almost every other page of his volumes. But that it may be -seen that the unfavorable opinion which, after a careful examination, we -have been led--much to our disappointment--to entertain of his work is -not misplaced, we shall proceed to give some passages that sustain, in -our judgment, the correctness of the view we have taken. - -Charles C. F. Greville was, as his editor, Mr. H. Reeve, informs us, the -eldest son of Mr. Charles Greville, grandson of the Earl of Warwick, -and Lady Charlotte Bentinck, daughter of the Duke of Portland. He was -born in 1794. At the age of nineteen he was appointed private secretary -by Earl Bathurst, and almost at the same time family influence procured -for him a clerkship in the Board of Trade. Both offices had comfortable -salaries attached to them; neither of them any duties. Thus at the outset -of his career, fortunate in his family influence and his friends, Mr. -Greville was started, fairly equipped, on the road of life. Unencumbered -by any responsibility, nor weighed down by that sharp and bitter load -of poverty that men of humbler birth have commonly to carry on their -galled shoulders, while they strive to gain an insecure foothold on -the slippery road to fame or fortune, he had every incentive and every -advantage to secure success. A subject for thanksgiving, shall we say, to -this accomplished sinecurist? By no means! Years afterwards he bemoans -the fact that he had nothing to do, no spur to honorable ambition. He -forgot that at the same or an earlier age Saint-Simon, whom he appears -to have read only to copy his sometimes coarse language, was handling -a pike as a volunteer in the service of his king, and carrying sacks -of grain on his shoulders to the starving troops in the trenches at -Namur, disdaining those little offices into which Greville insinuated -himself as soon as he left college. Or if it be said--what no man could -then (1812) predict--that the war was nearly over, and there was little -prospect of another, what was there to prevent him from seeking a place -in Parliament--not hard to gain with his family influence--and there -carving out for himself a place like that of Burke, to whom he sometimes -lifts his eyes? The truth is, to use a vulgar phrase, Mr. Greville had -“other fish to fry.” He knew well he had other easier and more profitable -game to follow. He was scarcely of age when the influence of his uncle, -the Duke of Portland, obtained for him the sinecure office of Secretary -of Jamaica, a deputy being allowed to reside in the island; better still, -the same influential relative secured him the reversion of the clerkship -of the Council! Henceforward not the camp nor parliamentary struggles -occupied Mr. Greville’s mind; the glorious task of “waiting for a dead -man’s shoes,” varied by the congenial study of the stables, occupied that -powerful intellect which, in these _Memoirs_, looks down with contempt -on all the names most distinguished in European statesmanship during -the first half of this century. The office fell to him in 1821, and he -continued to hold it for nearly forty years. The net income of the two -offices, we are elsewhere informed, amounted to about four thousand -pounds; and as he died worth thirty thousand pounds, the charitable -supposition of the _Quarterly Review_ is that “probably he was a gainer -on the turf.” He died in 1865. - -The bent of Mr. Greville’s genius was early shown. - - “Sunt quos curriculo pulverem Olympicum - Collegisse juvat.” - -The clerk of the Council was one of them. The blue ribbon of the turf, -not parliamentary honors or the long vigil of laborious nights--except -over the card-table--was the centre around which his ambition and -aspirations circled. Early smitten by the betting fever, he became as -nearly a professional turfman as the security of his office would permit; -and there is something ludicrous in those expressions of regret, which -have drawn such tender sympathy from his critics, that he gave himself up -to the passion instead of becoming the scholar or statesman he is always -hinting he might have been. Mr. Greville, in fact, makes the blunder of -supposing that the craving for fame is equivalent to the faculty for -winning it. Not the turf, but original defect of capacity, hindered him -from being more than he was--a clerk with a taste for gambling, held -in check by a shrewd eye for the odds. His contemporary, the late Lord -Derby, whom he seldom lets pass without a sneer in these _Memoirs_, was -an example showing that, had true genius existed, a taste for the turf -without participation in gambling, need not have prevented him from -becoming both an accomplished scholar and a brilliant statesman. - -An early entry in Mr. Greville’s journal gives the measure of the man. -Under date of February 23, 1821, he says: - -“Yesterday the Duke of York proposed to me to take the management of his -horses, which I accepted. Nothing could be more kind than the manner in -which he proposed it.” - -“March 5.--I have experienced a great proof of the vanity of human -wishes. In the course of three weeks I have attained the three things I -have most desired in the world for years past, and upon the whole I do -not feel that my happiness is increased.” - -This is a good example, but far from the best of its kind, of that vein -of apparently philosophical reflection running here and there through his -journal, with which Mr. Greville deliberately intended, we believe, to -hoodwink the critics, and in which anticipation he has been wonderfully -successful. Coolly examined, it resolves itself as nearly as possible -into a burlesque. His reflections, as La Bruyère says elsewhere of a like -genius, “are generally about two inches deep, and then you come to the -mud and gravel.” What were the three highest objects of human ambition in -the mind of this ardent young man of twenty-seven, with the world before -him to choose from? 1st. A berth in the civil service to creep into for -the rest of his life. 2d. The place of head jockey and trainer in the -prince’s stables. 3d. Unknown. - -Alas! poor Greville, that the bubble of life should have burst so soon, -leaving thee flat on thy back in a barren world, after having thus airily -mounted to such imperial heights! Had either Juvenal or Johnson known thy -towering ambition and thy fall, he would have placed thee side by side -with dire Hannibal or the venturous Swede “to point a moral or adorn a -tale”! - -It is wonderful, however, how easily the diarist lays aside his -philosophic tone to take up the more congenial _rôle_ of a spy upon the -kings whose names are so ostentatiously displayed on his title-page, and -from whose service alone he derived all the consideration he had. - -On January 12, 1829, Lord Mount Charles comes to him for some -information. Thereupon, under the guise of friendship and confidence, -he avows with a curious shamelessness that he proceeded to interrogate -his visitor about George IV.’s private life and habits. When he has got -all he wants out of the unsuspecting Mount Charles, he sets it down in -his journal and winds up with this reflection, everywhere quoted: “A -more contemptible, cowardly, selfish, unfeeling dog does not exist than -this king.” These were strong words to apply to a sovereign whose bread -he was eating, and who had always personally treated him with marked -confidence and kindness. Perhaps those who read Mr. Greville’s journal -with attention, and note the slow portrait he therein unconsciously draws -of himself, will be better able to judge where the terms more aptly -apply. As a work of art, indeed, the journalist’s picture of himself is -far superior to anything else in his book. Touch by touch he elaborates -his own character. It is not a flattering one; it was never revealed to -the artist. How pitiably does this coarse generalization of Greville’s -compare with the fine but vigorous and indelible strokes of Saint-Simon’s -pencil in his portrait of Louis XIV.! It is not a character, but a gross -and clumsy invective. - -But Mr. Greville had already plumbed a lower depth of baseness in his -prurient eagerness for details. - -August 29, 1828.--“I met Bachelor, the poor Duke of York’s old servant, -and now the king’s _valet de chambre_, and he told me some curious things -about the interior of the palace. But he is coming to call on me, and I -will write down what he tells me then.” On the 16th of September he sent -for Bachelor, and had a long conversation with him, drawing out all he -could from the valet about his master’s habits. - -May 13, 1829.--“Bachelor called again, telling me all sorts of details -concerning Windsor and St. James.” - -What a picture for the author of Gil Blas! It reminds one of some of -those Spanish interiors the novelist has so deftly painted, where valet -and adventurer put their heads together, scheming how best to open some -rich don’s purse-strings, or ensnare his confidence before beginning some -villanous game at his expense. If these be the springs of history, Clio -defend us against her modern sister! - -What makes all this prying the more indefensible is that Mr. Greville was -without need of it even for the composition of these _Memoirs_. Elsewhere -he boasts of the “great men” he has known. And it is true that he knew -them; and had his ability equalled his opportunity, enough sources of -information were honorably open to him to have made his journal valuable -and interesting. But the truth is, Mr. Greville loved to dabble in dirty -waters, as he has elsewhere plainly shown in his book. - -A large part of these volumes--the major part of them, indeed--is taken -up with political gossip. It would not be correct to give it any higher -title. Its weight as a contribution to history, to use La Bruyère’s -illustration, would be about two ounces. It consists chiefly of what he -gathered at the council-table. But disloyal as this tampering with his -oath may have been, his singular inaptitude to gather what was really -important hardly offers even the poor excuse of interesting his readers -in its results. The consideration of the eccentricities and sarcasms of -his _bête noir_, the chancellor (Lord Brougham), during a large portion -of the time covered by this journal, generally puts to flight in Mr. -Greville’s mind all other topics. The rest of his political reminiscences -are made up of conversations with the actors in the parliamentary scenes -here presented; but even these lose the greater part of their value from -his inveterate habit of confounding his own opinions and language with -those of the person he happens to be “interviewing.” This confusion in -Mr. Greville’s mind between what he thought and said and what others -thought and said has been fully exposed by the numerous letters which -have been drawn forth in England from the survivors of the persons named -in his _Memoirs_ or from their friends. Mr. Greville adds very little to -our knowledge of the events of the period he treats of. Nearly everything -of importance in his journal has been anticipated. The correspondence of -William IV. and Lord Grey, the life and despatches of Wellington, and the -lives of Denman, Palmerston, and others, have left little to be supplied -of this era of English history. - -One of the most curious features--we might almost say the distinguishing -feature--in a work full of curious traits of levity, conceit, and -immature judgment, is the universal tone of depreciation in which the -author speaks of the men of his acquaintance. This is not confined to -ordinary personages who lived and died obscure, but embraces, as we -have heretofore said, a large number of the names most illustrious in -statesmanship and diplomacy in his times. Lord Althorpe, Melbourne, the -late Earl Derby, Graham, Palmerston, O’Connell, Guizot, Thiers--one -scarcely picks out a single name of eminence that he has not attempted to -belittle. His opinions and prophecies have been in every instance flatly -contradicted by events. Of Palmerston especially--of his stupidity, his -ignorance, his lightness, his general want of capacity, and the certainty -that he would never rise to be anybody--he is never done speaking -slightingly. It is true that the late English premier passed through many -years of obscurity in office, making, perhaps, some sort of excuse for -Mr. Greville’s blindness; but this example is not an isolated one. The -late Lord Derby comes in for an almost equal share of it, although he is -allowed the possession of some brains--a claim denied to his after-rival. -Mr. Greville is equally impartial in discoursing about crowned heads -and plain republicans. His neat and finely-pointed satire stigmatized -the king whose paid servant he was as a “blackguard,” a “dog,” and a -“buffoon”; and he held his nose, as in the case of Washington Irving, did -any “vulgar” American democrat come “between the wind and his nobility.” - -Those of Mr. Greville’s subjects who have virtues are imbeciles; those -who have talent are adventurers or knaves. He appears to have centred -all the admiration of which he was capable upon Lord de Ros, a young -nobleman absolutely unknown outside a small English circle. Mr. Greville -seems, in fact, to have been one of those men who seek, and sometimes -gain, a certain reputation for sagacity by depreciating everybody around -them. Of the late Lord Derby he says: “He (Stanley) must be content with -a subordinate part, and act with whom he may, he will never inspire real -confidence or conciliate real esteem.” In another place, in summing up a -conversation with Peel, he accuses him (Stanley), by direct implication, -of being “a liar and a coward,” although he puts these ugly words in -another’s mouth. How far these predictions and this estimate were just -history has already decided. High and low all dance to the same music -in Mr. Greville’s journal. On September 10, 1833, speaking of a speech -of William IV.--not very wise, perhaps, but natural enough under the -circumstances--he says: “If he (William IV.) was not such an ass that -nobody does anything but laugh at what he says, this would be important. -Such as it is, it is nothing.” - -The circumstances that influenced his pique are sometimes of the most -trivial character. Under date September 3, 1833, he notes that the king -complained that no one was present to administer the oath to a new -member of the Privy Council whom Brougham had introduced. “And what is -unpleasant,” he says, “the king desires a clerk of the council to be -present when anything is going on.” _Inde iræ._ A few days afterwards, in -a notice of the prorogation of Parliament, he thus revenges himself for -the king’s implied censure: - -“He (William IV.) was coolly received; for there is no doubt there -never was a king less respected. George IV., with all his occasional -popularity, could always revive the external appearance of loyalty when -he gave himself the trouble.” Thus one master, who was a “dog,” is made -to do duty on occasion against an other who was an “ass.” But this is not -all he has to say of the same monarch. At page 520, vol. ii., summing up -his character after his death, he says: - -“After his (William IV.’s) accession he always continued to be something -of a blackguard and something more of a buffoon. It is but fair to his -memory at the same time to say that he was a good-natured, kind-hearted, -and well-meaning man, and that he always acted an honorable and -straightforward, if not always a sound and discreet, part.” - -That this statement, that “never was there a king less respected,” -was false, it needs hardly the popular verdict about William IV. to -prove. Mr. Greville contradicts himself on page 251 of the same volume, -where he notes the “strong expressions of personal regard and esteem” -entertained for the king by such competent witnesses as two of his -ministers, Wellington and Lord Grey. Even their testimony is not needed. -Whatever may have been William IV.’s private weakness and foibles, the -regret felt for him was general, and the esteem for his character as a -popular sovereign publicly expressed. In any case, the indecency in Mr. -Greville’s mouth of the expressions he makes use of is too plain to need -argument. Speaking, in one place, of Lord Brougham and referring to the -chancellor’s habit of sarcasm, he says: - -“He reminds me of the man in _Jonathan Wild_ who couldn’t keep his hand -out of his neighbor’s pocket, although there was nothing in it, nor -refrain from cheating at cards, although there were no stakes on the -table.” - -This description is true enough, in another sense, of Mr. Greville -himself. A Sir Fretful Plagiary, he could see no man succeed without -carping at him, nor resist criticising another’s performance for the sole -reason that he had no hand in it. Noting the appearance of a political -letter by Lord Redesdale, he says: “There is very little in it.” This -single phrase gives the key to his character and the tone of his journal. -At page 69, vol. ii., he sums up the whole subject of Irish national -education in the profoundly-disgusted remark that there is nothing more -in it than “whether the brats at school shall read the whole Bible or -only parts of it.” - -Page 105, vol. ii.: “O’Connell is supposed to be horribly afraid of the -cholera.” “He dodges between London and Dublin” to avoid it, “shuns -the House of Commons,” and neglects his duties. On pages 414-15: “He -(O’Connell) is an object of execration to all those who cherish the -principles and feelings of honor”--a high-toned remark, coming from a -man of such delicate honor that, according to his own confession, he had -no scruple in greasing the palm of a king’s valet for the secrets of his -master’s bed-chamber; who avows without a blush that he deliberately led -Lord Mount Charles, and Lord Adolphus Fitzclarence into confidences he -there and then meant to betray; who in these _Memoirs_ is continually -invading the privacy of homes in which he was a guest; and who, finally, -takes advantage of his official position under oath to disclose -the conversations of the Privy Council! Surely, no juster piece of -self-satire was ever written! - -“’Tis a man of universal knowledge,” says La Bruyère. His familiarity -with constitutional law would lead him to unseat the bench. Judges Park -and Aldersen, famous lawyers, known to all the courts, are “nonsensical” -in a decision they come to about the sheriff’s lists. Mr. Justice Park is -“peevish and foolish.” - -His loose way of damaging private character is not less remarkable. To -give a single instance: he gives a _bon mot_ about a certain Mr. Wakley, -a parliamentary candidate of the day, who was forced to bring an action -against an insurance company, which resisted the claim on the ground -that the plaintiff was concerned in the fire. No further information is -given--the verdict of the jury or the judgment. But Mr. Greville thus -coolly concludes: - -“I forget what was the result of the trial; but that of the evidence was -a conviction of his instrumentality.” A “conviction” by whom? By Mr. -Greville--who “forgets the result of the trial”! There is nothing to show -that the friends or family of this Mr. Wakley are not still living to -suffer from this unsupported libel. “Jesters,” says a French humorist, -“are wretched creatures; that has been said before. But those who injure -the reputation or the fortunes of others rather than lose a _bon mot_, -merit an infamous punishment; this has not been said, and I dare say it.” - -His “blackguards” are not all seated on a throne. His hatred of the “mob” -was greater, if possible, than his envy of his superiors. “Odi profanum -vulgus et arceo” is the head-line of all his pages. Look at this entry, -where the whole character of the man breaks forth irresistibly: - -“Newmarket, October 1, 1831.--Came here last night, to my great joy, to -get holidays, and leave reform and politics and cholera for racing and -its amusements. Just before I came away I met Lord Wharncliffe, and asked -him about his interview with radical Jones. This _blackguard_ considers -himself a sort of chief of a faction, and one of the heads of the -_sans-culottins_ of the present day.” - -From radical Jones to Washington Irving is but a step for Mr. Greville’s -nimble pen. The one is--what he says; the other, essentially “vulgar.” -The same “vulgarity” offends his delicate taste in Thiers, Macaulay, and -a score of others “the latchet of whose shoes he was unworthy to loose.” -Is it to be wondered at that the venerable pontiff Pius VIII. (page 325, -vol. i.) fails to satisfy this fastidious critic? The pope, however, -escapes tolerably well. As a matter of course, “there is nothing in him”; -but the distinguished urbanity and refined wit of the condescending Mr. -Greville is satisfied to pronounce him a good-natured “twaddle.” These -large airs of superior wisdom and refinement, this tone of pitying -kindness, which Mr. Greville adopts towards the most illustrious men in -Europe of his day, remind us of nothing so much as the majestic demeanor -of the _burgo_, or great lord of Lilliput, who harangued Capt. Gulliver -the morning after his arrival in that island. “He seemed to me,” says -Capt. Gulliver, “to be somewhat longer than my middle finger. He acted -every part of an orator, and I could observe many periods of threatening, -and others of promises, pity, and kindness.” - -The distinguished author of these _Memoirs_ was not always, however, -as we have seen, in the same amiable mood that the _burgo_ afterwards -manifested. After lashing each one of the persons he has known, -separately and in turn, in the words which we have quoted, in another -passage his acquaintances are all collected in a group and dashed off -with graphic effect. - -October 12, 1832.--Immediately after an entry giving a conversation with -the accomplished Lady Cowper, he says: “My journal is getting intolerably -stupid and entirely barren of events. I would take to miscellaneous and -private matters, if any fell in my way. But what can I make out of such -animals as I herd with and such occupations as I am engaged in?” A week -after, at Easton, besides Lady Cowper, he names some other “animals”: -“The Duke of Rutland, the Walewskis, Lord Burghersh and Hope--the usual -party,” he exclaims with a sigh. Sad fate! The adventurous Capt. Gulliver -elsewhere, in a letter to his cousin Sympson, says: “Pray bring to your -mind how often I desired you to consider, when you insisted on the -motive of Public Good, that the Yahoos were a species of animals utterly -incapable of amendment by precept or example.” - -Such appear to have been the melancholy reflections forced upon the mind -of Mr. _Houyhnhnm_ Greville by the _Yahoos_ he tells us he was compelled -to “herd with”! Ever and anon he turns a regretful eye to the nobler -race he was suited to, and lets us into the secret of the company and -occupations that relieved him from the desolating _ennui_ of uncongenial -society. - -“June 11, 1833.--At a place called Buckhurst all last week for the Ascot -races. A party at Lentifield’s; racing all the morning; then eating, -drinking, and play at night. I may say with more truth than anybody, -_Video meliora proboque, deteriora sequor_.” - -“Not at all,” it might have been answered. “A jockey and gamester _ab -ovo usque ad mala_. Fortune has now placed thee in the rank kind nature -fitted thee to adorn, had not a too avid uncle snatched thee therefrom, -and dry mountains of crackling parchment and red tape crushed thy -yearning ardor for the loose boxes and the paddock!” - -“March 27.--Jockeys, trainers, and blacklegs are my companions, and it -is like dram-drinking: having once entered upon it, I cannot leave it, -although I am disgusted with the occupation all the time.” Truly a long -and fond “disgust,” since it lasted from his eighteenth year until his -death! - -“While the fever it excites is raging and the odds are varying, I can -neither read nor write nor occupy myself with anything.” - -Let us not be unjust to Mr. Greville. Kings, pontiffs, statesmen, and -authors may have been “blackguards” or “vulgar buffoons,” the most -refined society of both sexes in England a “herd” of _Yahoos_; but that -he was not insensible to real merit, that he had a true appreciation of -the good and the beautiful when he found it, one single example, shining -out in these many pages of depreciation, proves beyond peradventure. In -the flood of universal cynicism that pours over them, one man there is at -least who lifts his head above the waters--one other gentle Houyhnhnm, -fit companion for Mr. Greville, possessing all that wisdom and discretion -denied to the rest of the world, and, more wonderful still, that elegant -taste the fastidious critic finds nowhere else. This phenomenon is Mr. -John Gully, prize-fighter retired! “Strong sense,” “discretion,” “reserve -and good taste”--these are the encomiums heaped upon him; to crown all, -“remarkably dignified and graceful in his manners and actions.” Ah! poor -Macaulay, or thou, gentle Diedrich Knickerbocker, where wanders now thy -ghost, condemned for thy “vulgarity” to pace the borders of the sluggish -Styx, while the “champion heavy-weight” is ferried over to immortality by -this new Charon of gentility? - -We decline to soil our pages with any of Mr. Greville’s impure stories. -Those who have seized on the book for the purpose of reading them must -have been sadly disappointed if they hoped to find in them a doubtful -amusement. Not a scintilla of wit relieves their baseness. Their vileness -is equalled only by their dulness. They are simply falsehoods from -beginning to end. Where Mr. Greville, with a singular depravity, does -not himself admit them to be false while wilfully publishing them, they -have been elsewhere fully and indignantly disproved. In a single word, as -Mrs. Charles Kean aptly says in her letter published in the _Times_, “the -grossness was in Mr. Greville’s mind,” not in the conduct of those he -slanders. - -If it be said that our criticism upon these volumes and their author has -been too unsparing; that the old saying, _De mortuis nil nisi bonum_, -should have inspired a smoother tone, the answer is given by Mr. Greville -himself. “Memoirs of this kind,” he said in a conversation held some time -before his death with his editor, Mr. Reeve, “ought not to be locked up -till they had lost their principal interest by the death of all those -who had taken any part in the events they describe.” In other words, the -diseased vanity and cynicism which made him rail at everybody while -he lived made him unwilling to lose the pleasure by anticipation of -wounding everybody after his death. The shallow eagerness to have himself -talked about after he was gone made him insensible to those ideas which -seem to have animated Saint-Simon, who was content to look forward to -an indefinite time for the publication of his _Memoirs_, desiring them -rather to be a truthful and interesting contribution to history than a -hasty means of venting his passing spleen. Mr. Greville has indeed been -talked about sufficiently; but that the conversation would be pleasing to -him, could he hear it, is more doubtful. - -One thing at least is to be commended in Mr. Greville--his style. This, -for certain uses, is admirable. It is easy and plain. He is a master -of that part of the art of writing which Horace describes in the 10th -_Satire_: - - “Interdum urbani, parcentis viribus atque - Extenuantis eas consulto.” - -His is “the language of the well-bred man,” the pure English of the -society in which he lived. We do not take account here of his occasional -coarseness, and even oaths--these were of the character of the man, not -of his style. The latter, for purposes of correspondence, or even a short -diary, might generally be taken for a model. Any single page will be read -with pleasure. But as, on the other hand, he neglects the other side of -the Venusian’s advice, seldom rising to “support the part of the poet or -rhetorician,” these closely-printed volumes eventually become tiresome to -the reader. Even good English will grow monotonous if it has nothing else -to sustain it. - -Little room is left to speak of the greatest of French memoir-writers, -or perhaps of any literature--Saint-Simon. A few remarks may be jotted -down, having reference chiefly to the points of contrast suggested by the -Greville _Memoirs_. Of the substance and texture of Saint-Simon’s great -and voluminous work, as it unrolls itself slowly before us--the opening -splendor, the daring, the eccentricities, the wit, and the vices of the -courts under which he lived; the prodigies of baseness and monuments of -heroic virtue that rear themselves opposed in that marvellous age; the -long line of portraits, dark, lurid, threatening, radiant, gentle, so -full of surprises to the student of history as ordinarily written; the -turning of the fate of campaigns by the caprice of an angry woman; the -crippling of fleets by the jealousy of a minister; the desolation of -whole provinces by the corruption of intendants; the closing scenes of -profligacy and bankruptcy under the regency--many pages would be required -to give even an outline. The analysis of his genius and character would -make a distinct essay. Sainte-Beuve and other masters of criticism have -labored in the field; yet the soil is so rich that humbler students -will still find enough to repay them. We indicate the landmarks of the -country, without entering on it. Nor would we be supposed to endorse or -give our sanction to many of the opinions and sentiments Saint-Simon so -freely gives utterance to. His Gallicanism, which he shared with the -court; his sympathy with the Jansenist leaders, if not with their heresy; -his violent hatred of the Jesuits--these are blots on his work that cover -many pages. - -The Duc de Saint-Simon was born in 1675. During the lifetime of his -father he bore the name of the Vidame de Chartres, and in a subsequent -passage of his _Memoirs_, relating to the birth of his own eldest son, -he gives a highly characteristic account of the title. At his first -appearance at court the king was already privately married to Mme. de -Maintenon, the widow Scarron, whose character and astonishing fortunes -are nowhere more vividly described than in the pages of Saint-Simon. -Louis XIV. was at the summit of his glory. Henceforward, though none -could then foresee it, the course was all down-hill. Saint-Simon in his -first campaigns accompanied the king into Flanders. Some discontent about -promotion, to which he believed himself entitled, caused him to retire -from the service. Henceforward he continued to live chiefly at court, -having already begun the composition of his _Memoirs_. On the death of -his father, the confidential adviser of Louis XIII., even under the -ministry of the famous Cardinal Richelieu, he succeeded to the title and -the government of Blaye. At this early age he was accustomed secretly to -visit the monastery of La Trappe for meditation and retreat. His gravity -and seriousness of mind are everywhere felt through his _Memoirs_, -although these qualities do not lessen the pungency of his style, nor -blunt the _bon mots_ of the court, or his graphic description of the -surprising adventures of the men of his day. He married Mlle. de Durfort, -the daughter of Marshal de Durfort. This union was one of singular -happiness, interrupted only by her death. - -The death of the Dauphin, the pupil of Fénelon, destroyed the hopes -that were opening up before Saint-Simon of becoming the chief minister -of the next reign. Under the regency he continued to be the intimate -and sometimes confidential adviser of the Duke of Orleans, although -supplanted in state affairs by Cardinal Dubois. His embassy to Madrid to -negotiate the marriage of the young king, Louis XV., with the Infanta of -Spain, is well known. After the death of the regent he retired to his -château of La Ferté-Vidame, where chiefly he continued henceforward to -live in retirement, composing his immortal _Memoirs_. He died in Paris -in 1755. Having known the subtle sway of a Maintenon, he lived to see -the audacious empire of the Pompadour; and having served in his first -campaigns under Luxembourg, he witnessed before his death the Great -Frederick launch his thunderbolts of war, and the rise of Prussia among -the great powers of Europe. - -To attempt, in these few concluding remarks, to give any criticism of -Saint-Simon’s great work would be a hopeless task. Its character is so -many-sided, even contradictory, that any single judgment about it would -be deceptive. We were impelled to connect the author’s name with that of -the later memoir-writer by the contrasts which irresistibly suggested -themselves. - -Stated broadly, the main distinction between Saint-Simon and such writers -as Greville and his kind is this: that Saint-Simon presents a connected -narrative, flowing on largely, fully, evenly, abundantly, like a majestic -river sweeping slowly past many varieties of scenery; while Greville -gives nothing more than a hodge-podge diary, with no connection except -the illusory one of dates, a jumble of short stories, petty details, -and ill-natured remarks, bubbling like a noisy brook over stones and -shingle, often half lost in the mud and sand, and not unlikely to end -in a common sewer. It follows that, while it is difficult to remember -particular events or conversations in Greville’s journal, many scenes -from Saint-Simon remain for ever fixed in the memory. Take, for instance, -one--not the most striking--that of the death of Monseigneur. Who -can forget the picture of the old king, in tears, only half-dressed, -hastening to the bedside of his son; the sudden terror of the prince’s -household; the flight of La Choin, hastily gathering up her jewelry; the -row of officers on their knees in the long avenue, crying out to the king -to save them from dying of hunger; the well-managed eyes of the courtiers -at Marly! - -Greville is cynical or satirical by dint of the child’s art of using hard -words. Saint-Simon seldom, comparatively speaking, puts on the garb of -a cynic; but his narrative, with scarcely any obtrusion of the writer, -often becomes a satire as terrible as that of some passages of Tacitus, -or, in another vein, of Juvenal. - -Many of the historical characters introduced into these works are no -favorites of ours; but our purpose in this article has been, not to -discuss them, but rather the capacity and good taste, or otherwise, of -their critics. - -Sainte-Beuve, in one of his felicitous periods, expresses the wish that -every age might have a Saint-Simon to chronicle it. As a paraphrase of -this remark, it might be said that it is to be wished no other age may -have a Greville to slander it. - - -DOM GUÉRANGER AND SOLESMES.[87] - - -I. - -The church in France has just sustained a severe loss in the death of -Dom Guéranger, the illustrious Abbot of Solesmes, who, on the 30th of -January last, rendered up his soul to God in the noble abbey which he had -restored at the same time that he brought back the Benedictine Order to -France; and where, during the last forty years of his life, he had lived -in the practice of every monastic virtue, and in the pursuit of literary -labors which have rendered him one of the oracles of ecclesiastical -learning. - -We are not about to enter into details of the religious life of the -venerable abbot. It belongs rather to those who have been its daily -witnesses to trace its history; but we feel that it may be of interest -to touch upon certain features of the character and public works of this -humble and patient religious, this vigorous athlete, the loss of whom is -so keenly felt by the Holy Father, whose friend and counsellor he was, -and by the church, of which he was the honor and the unwearied defender. - -Dom Guéranger, in mental temperament, belonged to that valiant generation -of Catholics who, after 1830, energetically undertook the cause of -religion in their unhappy country, more than ever exposed to the attacks -of the Revolution. The university had become a source of antichristian -teaching; the press everywhere overflowed with evil and daring scandals -of every kind were rife. A new generation of Jacobins had sprung from -the old stock, and were eager to invade everything noble, venerable, and -sacred; legal tyranny threatened to do away with well-nigh all liberty of -conscience, while the government, either not daring or not desiring to -sever itself from the ambitious conspirators to whom it owed its being, -allowed free course to the outrages and persecutions against the church. -It was the most critical and ominous period of the century, and French -society was rapidly sinking into an abyss. - -One man, who had foreseen all this evil, and whose genius would have -probably sufficed victoriously to combat it, had he only possessed -the virtue of humility, was M. de Lamennais. Happily, the pleiades -of chosen minds whom he had gathered around him did not lose courage -after the melancholy defection of their brilliant master. The three -most illustrious of these shared among them the defence of the faith -against the floods of unbelief that threatened to overwhelm the country. -Montalembert remained to defend the church in the public assemblies; -Lacordaire adopted as his own the words of S. Paul to his disciple, -_Prædica verbum, insta opportune, importune_,[88] and succeeded so -effectually that he brought back the robe of S. Dominic into the -pulpit of Notre Dame, amid the applause of the conquered multitude; -Guéranger felt that prayer and sound learning were the two great wants -of society. The number of priests was insufficient for the labors of the -sacred ministry. The needs of the time had indeed called forth some few -weighty as well as brilliant apologists; but deep and solid learning -as yet remained buried in the past, and the patient study so necessary -for the polemics of the present and the future threatened indefinitely -to languish. It was to this point, therefore, that the Abbé Guéranger -directed his especial attention, and he it was who was chosen of God to -rekindle the expiring, if not extinguished, flame. - -He was led to this sooner than he himself had perhaps anticipated, and -by a circumstance which rather appeared likely to have disturbed his -projects. Solesmes, which, up to the Revolution, had been a priory -dependent on S. Vincent de Mans, had just been sold to one of those -“infernal bands” who in the course of a few years destroyed the greatest -glories of France. Everything was to be pulled down: the cloister of -eight centuries and the church, renowned for the admirable sculptures now -doomed to fall beneath the “axe and hammer”; the authorities of the time -doing nothing to check the devastation effected by the bandits who were -rifling their country after having assassinated her. - -The Abbé Guéranger could not endure to witness the annihilation of so -much that was sacred and venerable; besides, the ruins of Solesmes were -especially dear to him, and had been the favorite haunt of his early -childhood and youth, so much so that from this and other characteristic -circumstances he was at that period known among his school comrades -at Le Sablé as _The Monk_. In concert with Dom Fontaine and other -ecclesiastics of the neighborhood he rescued the abbey from the hands -of its intending destroyers. It had already suffered considerably from -the Revolution, but remained intact in all essential particulars. He -spent the winter of 1833 at Paris, going about the city in his monk’s -habit--which at that time had become a novelty--and knocking at every -door, without troubling himself about the religious opinions or belief of -those to whom he addressed himself. The sceptical citizens of the time -amused themselves not a little at his expense; but the learned world -received with distinction the energetic young priest who was so bent -upon giving back the Benedictine Order to France. He never once allowed -any obstacles to hinder or discourage him in the prosecution of his -undertaking. In 1836 he repaired to Rome, there to make his novitiate; -and, after a year passed in the Benedictine Abbey of San Paolo Fuora -Muri, he pronounced his solemn vows, and occupied himself in preparing -the constitutions of Solesmes. These, on the 1st of September, 1837, were -approved by Pope Gregory XVI., who at the same time raised the Priory of -Solesmes into an abbey, and authoritatively nominated Dom Guéranger to be -its first abbot. - -Solesmes and the grand Order of S. Benedict were thus restored to France. -The new abbot was soon surrounded by men nearly all of whom have taken -a distinguished rank in learning and science, and during forty years -the austere discipline and deep and extensive studies of the sons of S. -Benedict flourished under his able rule. - -Dom Guéranger, moreover, restored Ligugé, the oldest monastery in -France, built in 360 by S. Martin of Tours. He also founded the Priory of -S. Madeleine at Marseilles, and at Solesmes the Abbey of Benedictine Nuns -of S. Cecilia. - -The attention he bestowed upon these important foundations did not hinder -this indefatigable religious from amassing the treasures of erudition -which he dispensed with so much ability in defence of the truth and of -sound doctrine. To the end of his life his pen was active either in -writing the numerous works which have rendered his name so well known, -or in correcting the errors of polemics and answering his adversaries -when the interests of religion required it; habitually going straight -to the point in his replies, fearlessly attacking whatever was false or -mistaken, and never allowing any approach to a compromise with error. The -defence of the church was his constant and engrossing thought, and no -important controversy arose but he was sure to appear with the accuracy -of his learning and the always serious but unsparing process of a logic -supported by a thorough acquaintance with doctrine and facts. - -The Abbot of Solesmes was endowed with a large amount of prudence and -good sense. When his former companions of La Chesnaie undertook to -popularize “liberal Catholicism,” the precise creed of which has never -yet been ascertained, and the unfailing results of which have been -scandal and division, he undertook to bring back the church in France to -unity of prayer by writing his book entitled _Institutions Liturgiques_, -which, exhibiting in all their beauty the forgotten rites and symbols, -succeeded in securing for them the appreciation they merit; so that -from that time the liturgy in France began to disengage itself from the -multiplicity of particular observances. - -In this matter Dom Guéranger had engaged in no trifling combat, his -opponents being many and powerful; but he energetically defended his -ground, and did not die until he had seen his undertaking crowned with -full success by the restoration of the Roman liturgy in France. - -Besides these liturgical labors, which chiefly occupied him, and his -_Letters_ to the Archbishops of Rheims and Toulouse, as likewise to Mgr. -Fayet, Bishop of Orleans, in defence of the _Institutions_, he undertook -the _Liturgical Year_, which, unfortunately, was left unfinished at -his death. His _Mémoire_ upon the Immaculate Conception was included -among those memorials sent to the bishops by the Sovereign Pontiff on -the promulgation of the dogma. His _Sainte Cécile_, remarkable for -its historical accuracy, as well as for its excellence as a literary -composition, is a finished picture of Christian manners during the -earliest centuries. - -When the Vatican Council was sitting, Dom Guéranger appeared for the -last time in the breach. Confined a prisoner by sickness, but intrepid -as those old captains who insist on being borne into the midst of the -fight, he wished to take part in the great debate which was being carried -on in the church. He fought valiantly, and answered the adversaries -of tradition by his work on _The Pontifical Monarchy_, defending Pope -Honorius against the attacks of an ill-informed academician. - -We are unable to give a complete list of the writings of Dom Guéranger, -numerous articles having been published by him in the _Univers_--notably -those on Maria d’Agreda and the reply to an exaggerated idea of M. -d’Haussonville on the attitude of the church under the persecution of -the First Bonaparte. We will only name, in concluding this part of the -subject, his _Essais sur le Naturalisme_, which dealt a heavy blow to -free-thinking; his _Réponses_ upon the liturgical law to M. l’Abbé David, -now Bishop of St. Brieuc; and a _Défense des Jesuites_. - -Should it be asked how the Abbot of Solesmes could find the time for so -many considerable works, the answer is given in the _Imitation_: _Cella -continuata dulcescit_. He had made retreat a willing necessity for -himself, and, being in the habit of doing everything in its proper time, -he had time for everything without need of haste. - -From the day that he became Abbot of Solesmes he was scarcely ever seen -in the world, never absenting himself without absolute necessity or from -obedience. Of middle height, decided manner, with a quick eye and serious -smile, Dom Guéranger attracted those who came to him by the simplicity -and kindness of his reception, and those who sought his advice by the -discerning wisdom of his counsels. High ecclesiastical dignities might -have been his had he not preferred to remain in the seclusion of his -beloved abbey. - -He leaves behind him something far better than even his books, in -bequeathing to the church and to society a family of monks strongly -imbued with his spirit, and destined to perpetuate the holy traditions -which he was the first to revive in his native land. - -The imposing ceremonies of the funeral of Dom Guéranger, which took -place on the 4th of February at the Abbey of Solesmes, were conducted by -the Bishops of Mans, Nantes, and Quimper; there were also present the -Abbots of Ligugé, La Trappe de Mortagne, Aiguebelle, and Pierre-qui-Vire, -besides more than two hundred priests of La Sarthe. - -The remains of the reverend father, clothed in pontifical vestments, -with the mitre and crozier, were exposed in the church from the evening -of the 30th (Saturday) for the visits of the faithful, crowds of whom -came from all the country round, in spite of the exceeding inclemency of -the weather, to pay their last respects and to be present at the funeral -of the illustrious man, who, during his forty years’ residence among -them, had made himself so greatly beloved. Just before the close of the -ceremony, when the Bishop of Mans invited those present to look for the -last time upon the holy and beautiful countenance of the departed abbot, -who had been a father to many outside as well as within the cloister -walls, a general and irrepressible burst of sobs and tears arose from the -multitude which thronged the church. - -Among those present were many noble and learned friends of the deceased, -besides the mayor and municipal council of Solesmes, and also of Sablé -(Dom Guéranger’s native place), a deputation of the marble-workers of the -district, and people of every class. - - -II. - - “La voyez vous croitre, - La tour du vieux cloitre?” - -Before concluding our notice we must devote a page or two to the “Old -Cloister Tower,” which is discernible from a considerable distance, with -its four or five stories and its heraldic crown rising above the walls of -the ancient borough of Solesmes. The abbey itself next appears in sight, -majestically seated on the slope of a wide valley, through which flows -the Sarthe, on a level with its grassy borders. - -The locality, which is pleasing rather than picturesque, is fertile, -animated, and cheerful. Besides several châteaux of recent construction, -which face the abbey from the opposite side of the river, may be seen, at -some distance off, the splendid convent of Benedictine Nuns, built some -years ago by a lady of Marseilles, and on the horizon appears the Château -of Sablé, with its vast terraces and (according to the country-people) -its three hundred and sixty-five windows. - -The Abbey of Solesmes, founded about the year 1025, has preserved, in -spite of several reconstructions, the architectural arrangement, so -suitable for community life, copied by its first monks from the Roman -houses of the order. The enclosure consists of a quadrangle, with an -almost interminable cloister, out of which are entrances into the -church, the chapter-house, the refectory, the guest-chamber, and all the -places of daily assembly. There silence and recollection reign supreme. -Excepting only during the times of recreation, no sound is to be heard -save the twittering of birds, the sound of the _Angelus_ or some other -occasional bell, or the subdued voice of a monk who, with some visitor, -is standing before a sculptured saint, or examining the fragments of some -ancient tomb. - -It is chiefly the abbey church which attracts the curiosity and interest -of artists and antiquaries. There is not an archæologist who has not -heard of the “Saints of Solesmes,” as the groups of statues and symbolic -sculptures are called which fill the chapels of the transept from roof -to pavement. These wonderful works, executed for the most part under the -direction of the priors of Solesmes, form one of the finest monuments of -mediæval sculpture to be found in France. They are mystic and somewhat -mannered in style, but of bold conception, vigorously expressed. - -A multitude of personages, sacred, historical, or allegorical, -intermingle with coats-of-arms, heraldic devices, bandrols, and all the -details of an ornamentation of which the skilfully-studied arrangement -corrects the redundance, which would otherwise be confused. This, -however, is but the purely decorative portion; the principal works being -enshrined in deep niches or recesses, in which may be seen groups of -seven or eight figures, the size of life, and wonderfully effective in -attitude and action. - -In a low-vaulted crypt resting on pillars, to the right, is represented -the Entombment. This group, which is the earliest in date, having been -executed in 1496 under the direction of Michel Colomb, “habitant de Tours -et tailleur d’ymaiges du roy,” is the most considerable, and perhaps also -the most striking. All the figures, ten in number, have impressed on -their countenances and movements the feeling of the dolorous function in -which they are engaged. Most of them are represented in the costume, and -probably with the features, of persons of the time. Joseph of Arimathea -in particular has the look and bearing of the lord of the place, or, it -may be, of the prior of the monastery. But nothing attracts the attention -more than a little statue with features so refined that it might have -descended from the canvas of Carlo Dolci. It is the Magdalen, seated in -the dust; the elbows supported on the knees, the hands joined, the eyes -closed. All her life seems concentrated in her soul; and that is absorbed -in penitence and prayer, grief, love, and resignation--she is as if still -shedding her sanctified odors at the Saviour’s feet. - -The left transept is devoted to the honor of the Blessed Virgin. She has -fallen asleep in the Lord, surrounded by the apostles. Then follow her -burial, her Assumption, and finally her glorification. She tramples under -foot the dragon, who, with bristling horns and claws, vainly endeavors -to reach her. He is bound for a thousand years. This subject, rarely -attempted, is here powerfully treated; all these heads, with horrible -grimaces, appear to be howling and blaspheming in impotent fury--_Et -iratus est draco in mulierem_[89]--but the Woman is raised on high, and -with her virginal foot tramples on the enemy of mankind. Facing this -subject are the patriarchs and prophets, in niches royally decorated. -This work was executed in 1550 by Floris d’Anvers, after the plan given -by Jean Bouglet, Doctor of the Sorbonne, and Prior of Solesmes. - -But time would fail us to describe all these remarkable sculptures, -which so narrowly escaped destruction or desecration at the hands of the -revolutionists. The First Napoleon had the idea of transporting them -to some museum as curiosities of art. It would have been a sacrilege, -and one which, alas! has been too often perpetrated in other countries -besides France. But what Catholic that visits the garden even, to say -nothing of the museum, of the ancient monastery of Cluny (now Musée de -Cluny, at Paris), is not pained at seeing saints and virgins, angels and -apostles, more or less shattered and dismembered, torn from their places -in the sanctuary, and figuring as statues on the lawn, or mere groups of -sculpture picturesquely placed to assist the effect of the gardener’s -arrangement of the shrubs and flower-beds? - -Bonaparte, however (after testing with gimlet and saw the hardness of the -stone), found himself obliged to leave the “Saints of Solesmes” where -they were, as, unless the whole were to be ruined, the entire transept -would have had to be transported all in one piece, every part of this -immense sculptured fresco being connected and, as it were, enwound with -the other portions, and each detail having only its particular excellence -in the completeness of the rest. - -It is amid the ceremonies of Solesmes that those who enter into the -spirit of Christian art can penetrate more deeply into the meaning of the -vast poem carved upon the walls of the church. During the simple recital -of the psalms, as in the most solemn and magnificent ceremonies, there is -a striking harmony between the decoration and the action, the one being a -commentary on the other. The monks, motionless in their carven stalls, or -disposed on the steps of the altar, seem to make one with the Jerusalem -in stone, while the saints in their niches may almost be imagined to sing -with the psalmody and meditate during the solemn rites at which they are -present. At the most solemn moment of the Mass, when clouds of incense -are filling the holy place, the mystic dove descends, bearing between -her silver wings the Bread of Heaven, and, when it is deposited in the -pyx, mounts again into her aerial shrine, which is suspended from a lofty -cross. - -This custom of elevating the tabernacle between heaven and earth was not -the only one in which the venerable abbot exactly copied the ancient -rites. The ceremonies of Solesmes are full of the spirit of the church’s -liturgy, and the community formed by his teaching and example will not -fail to perpetuate the pious and venerable observances which he was the -first to restore in France. - - -LEGEND OF THE BLUMISALPE. - -There was a time when around this mountain, now covered with perpetual -snow, swarms of bees produced aromatic honey; fine cows, pasturing the -entire year in the green fields, filled the dairy-women’s pails with rich -milk; and the farmer by trifling labor obtained abundant harvests. But -the inhabitants of this fertile country, blinded by the splendor of their -fortune, became proud and haughty. They were intoxicated with the charms -of wealth; they forgot that there are duties attached to the possession -of wealth--the duties of hospitality and of charity. Instead of using -their treasures judiciously, they employed them solely in ministering to -a more luxurious idleness, and in a continual succession of festivities. -They closed their ears to the supplications of the unfortunate, and sent -the poor from their doors; and God punished them. - -One of these proud, rich men built on the verdant slopes of the -Blumisalpe a superb château, intending to reside there, surrounded by -his unworthy associates. Every morning their baths were filled with the -purest milk. - -The terraced steps of the gardens were made, according to the legend, of -finely-cut blocks of excellent cheese. This Sardanapalus of the mountains -had inherited all his father’s vast domains, and, whilst he revelled in -this manner in his rich possessions, his old mother was living in want in -the seclusion of the valley. One day the poor old woman, suffering from -cold and hunger, supplicated his compassion. She told him that she was -living alone in her cabin, unable to work; indigent, without assistance; -infirm, without support. She begged him to grant her the fragments of -his feast, a refuge in his stables; but, deaf to her entreaties, he -ordered her to leave. She showed him her cheeks, wrinkled by grief more -than by age; her emaciated arms, that had carried him in his infancy; he -threatened to command his attendants to drive her away. - -The poor woman returned to her cabin, overwhelmed with grief by this -cruel outrage. She tottered through his beautiful grounds with bowed -head, and sighs that she could not restrain burst from her oppressed -heart, and bitter tears streamed from her eyes. God counted the mother’s -tears. - -She had scarcely arrived at her hut when the avenging storm came. - -The château of the ignominious son was struck by lightning, his treasures -were consumed by the flames, from which he himself did not escape, and -his companions perished with him. - -Those fields, that once yielded so abundantly, are now covered with -a mass of snow that never melts. On the spot where his mother vainly -implored his compassion, the rent earth has opened a frightful abyss; -and where her tears then flowed now, drop by drop, fall the tears of the -eternal glaciers. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS - - THE YOUNG CATHOLIC’S ILLUSTRATED FIFTH READER. Pp. 430, 12mo. - THE YOUNG CATHOLIC’S ILLUSTRATED SIXTH READER AND SPEAKER. - By Rev. J. L. Spalding, S.T.L. Pp. 477, 12mo. New York: The - Catholic Publication Society, 9 Warren Street. 1875. - -These books have been prepared with great care and rare tact. We have -examined, from time to time, the various Readers which are used in this -country, and the Young Catholic’s Series is certainly the best which we -have seen. But the Fifth and Sixth Readers of this series are especially -good, and we are confident that they are destined to become the standard -Readers of the Catholic schools of the United States. They are indeed -more than reading-books: they are collections of choice specimens of -English literature, in prose and poetry, so arranged as to present every -variety of style, that opportunity may be given to the pupil to cultivate -all the different forms of vocal expression. - -In the Fifth Reader the attention of the young Catholic is called to the -history of the church in the United States by the attractive biographical -notices of some of the most distinguished bishops and archbishops of -this country; and, as an introduction to the Sixth, we have a brief but -exhaustive treatise on elocution. We have not the space to enter into -a minute criticism of these books; but we have expressed our honest -conviction of their excellence, and we are quite sure that their own -merits will open for them a way into Catholic schools throughout the land. - - PAX. THE SYLLABUS FOR THE PEOPLE: A Review of the Propositions - condemned by His Holiness Pope Pius IX., with Text of the - Condemned List. By a Monk of S. Augustine’s, Ramsgate, author - of _The Vatican Decrees and Catholic Allegiance_. New York: The - Catholic Publication Society. 1875. - -This is an almost necessary complement to the publications forming the -Gladstone controversy, the original being so frequently referred to by -Mr. Gladstone and his reviewers. - -We cannot do better than quote the editor’s preface, by way of comment: - -“The Syllabus of Pius IX. has been the subject of so many misconceptions -that a plain and simple setting forth of its meaning cannot be useless. -This is what I have tried to do in the following pages. A vindication or -defence of the Syllabus was, of course, out of the question in so small -a compass; but I think that more than half the work of defence is done -by a simple explanation. During the ten years just completed since its -promulgation, much has occurred to show the wisdom that dictated it. -The translation I have given is the one authorized by His Eminence the -Cardinal Archbishop of Dublin.” - - POSTSCRIPT TO A LETTER ADDRESSED TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF - NORFOLK, ON OCCASION OF MR. GLADSTONE’S RECENT EXPOSTULATION, - AND IN ANSWER TO HIS “VATICANISM.” By John Henry Newman, D. D., - of the Oratory. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. - 1875. - -In this _Postscript_ Dr. Newman pulverizes the different statements of -Mr. Gladstone’s rejoinder, one by one. The blunders of the ex-Premier are -not surprising, seeing that he attempts to write about matters in which -he is not well informed, but they are certainly very gross. Dr. Newman -has taken him by the hand with a very gentle smile on his countenance, -but he has broken his bones as in a vise. - - PERSONAL REMINISCENCES. By Moore and Jerdan. Edited by Richard - Henry Stoddard. New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Company. 1875. - -This small and dainty-looking little volume is one of the “Bric-a-Brac” -Series. Its two hundred and eighty-eight pages profess to give us the -“personal reminiscences” of Moore and Jerdan. They give nothing more -than such extracts from the original as have taken the fancy of the -editor. Whether that fancy has always been wise in its choice is fairly -open to question. There is much of Moore’s reminiscences omitted that -might have been very profitably inserted, at least in exchange for many -things which have found their way into the volume. It is Moore “bottled -off,” so to say, and given out in small doses. The experiment is not -very satisfactory. Moore suffered irretrievably in his biographer, Lord -John Russell, of whose “eight solid volumes,” as Mr. Stoddard says, “the -essence is here presented to the reader.” Lord Russell will be credited -with many blunders in after time, and very grave ones some of them; but -never did he make a more exasperating mistake than in undertaking the -editing of Moore’s _Memoirs, Journal, and Correspondence_, in rivalry -of Moore’s own admirable biography of Byron. Readers of _Personal -Reminiscences_ must be prepared to meet with a vast quantity of nonsense -and trash. But much of this constitutes the chief value of such works. In -the jottings down of daily journals no one expects to meet with profound -reflections and labored thoughts. They are rather, in the hands of such -men as Moore, “the abstract and brief chronicle of the time” in which -they are made. Moore’s witty and graceful pen was just adapted to such -work as this. Whoever or whatever was considered worth seeing in the -world in which he lived and moved as one of its chief ornaments, he saw, -and set down in his private journal. Bits of this Mr. Stoddard gives us -in the present volume; but those who care for this kind of literature -at all will prefer the whole to such parts as have pleased the editor; -and the whole does possess an intrinsic value to which the present -volume does not pretend. Mr. Stoddard’s preface is not encouraging. He -seems to write under protest that his valuable time should be consumed -in this kind of work. “I cannot put myself in the place of a man who -keeps a journal in which he is the principal figure, and in which his -whereabouts, and actions, and thoughts, and feelings are detailed year -after year,” says Mr. Stoddard; and the obvious comment is: “Very -probably; but no one has asked Mr. Stoddard to do anything so foolish.” -Persons who keep “journals,” however, are not in the habit of keeping -them for other people. “I cannot put myself in the place of Moore,” -insists Mr. Stoddard, with unnecessary pertinacity, “who seems to have -never lost interest in himself.” The comment again is very obvious: -Mr. Stoddard is a very different man from Mr. Moore. The truth is, Mr. -Stoddard does not like either Moore or his poetry. “The reputation which -had once been his had waned.” “A new and greater race of poets than the -one to which he belonged had risen.” “_Lalla Rookh_ was still read, -_perhaps_, but not with the same pleasure as _The Princess_ or _The Blot -on the Scutcheon_. Moore had ‘ceased to charm.’” Such statements as these -Mr. Stoddard would seem to consider self evident facts of which no proof -is needed. And he would be astonished were some one to ask him to point -out the “new and greater race of poets” which has arisen since Moore’s -death. Still more would he be astonished if asked to point out, not “a -race of poets,” but a single member of the race whose writings are more -read, whose name and fame are better known, who is “greater,” than Moore. -He would be thunderstruck were he informed that for a hundred who had -read _Lalla Rookh_ not twenty had read _The Princess_, knew its author -or of its existence, and not ten knew even of the name of the other -poem mentioned. Altogether, though Mr. Stoddard’s preface is short, -it is certainly not sweet, and both himself and the reader are to be -congratulated at his not having extended it. - - OUR LADY’S DOWRY; or, How England Gained and Lost that Title. A - compilation by the Rev. T. E. Bridgett, of the Congregation of - the Most Holy Redeemer. London: Burns & Oates. 1875. (New York: - Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) - -This book is among the most delightful and the most valuable which it has -been our good-fortune to meet with. It establishes not only the fact of -England having been called “throughout Europe Our Lady’s Dowry,” but her -right to the glorious title. - -Those who imagine what is known to-day as Catholic devotion to Our Lady -a thing of comparatively modern growth, or, again, that it can only -bloom luxuriantly in the sunny climes of Spain and Italy, will find both -illusions dispelled in these pages. The old Anglo-Saxon love of Mary was -as warm and tender as any of which human hearts are capable. And instead -of finding our English ancestors behind us in this devotion, we must -rather own ourselves behind them. - -We would gladly give our readers an analysis of Father Bridgett’s -“compilation,” but this cannot be done except in an elaborate review. -Suffice it to say that never was a “compilation” (as the author modestly -calls it) less like what is ordinarily understood by the term--we mean in -point of interest and style. - -We subjoin a passage from Chapter V. on “Beads and Bells” (p. 201). We -think the information it contains will be new to almost all: - -“The word ‘bead’ has undergone in English a curious transformation of -meaning. It is the past participle of the Saxon verb _biddan_, to bid, -to invite, to _pray_. Thus in early English it is often used simply for -_prayers_, without any reference whatever to their nature or the mode -of reciting them. To ‘bid the beads’ is merely to say one’s prayers. -‘Bidding the beads’ also meant a formal enumeration of the objects of -prayer or persons to be prayed for. Beadsmen or beads-women are not -necessarily persons who say the Rosary, but simply those who pray for -others, especially for their benefactors. - -“But as a custom was introduced in very early times of counting prayers -said, by the use of little grains or pebbles strung together, the name -of prayer got attached to the instrument used for saying prayers; and in -this sense the word beads is commonly used by Catholics at the present -day. - -“Lastly, the idea of prayer was dropped out altogether in Protestant -times, and the name of ‘beads’ was left attached to any little perforated -balls which could be strung together merely for personal adornment, -without any reference to devotion.” - - BULLA JUBILÆI 1875; seu, Sanctissimi Domini nostri Pii Divina - Providentia Papæ IX. Epistola Encyclica: Gravibus Ecclesiæ, cum - Notis, Practicis ad usum Cleri Americani. Curante A. Konings, - C.SS.R. Neo-Eboraci: Typus Societatis pro Libris Catholicis - Evulgandis. MDCCCLXXV. - -The reverend clergy will be grateful to Father Konings for this -convenient and beautiful edition of the text of the bull announcing the -present Jubilee, and for the accompanying notes. - - SEVEN STORIES. By Lady Georgiana Fullerton. Baltimore: Kelly, - Piet & Company. 1875. - -This is a handsome reprint of a work the English edition of which was -noticed, on its first appearance, in these pages. - - READINGS FROM THE OLD TESTAMENT. Arranged with Chronological - Tables, Explanatory Notes, and Maps. For the Use of Students. - By J. G. Wenham, Canon of Southwark. London: Burns & Oates. - 1875. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) - -The title of the work is almost a sufficient description of its contents. -The primary object of the book is to give a consecutive history of the -events related in the Old Testament, in the words of Holy Scripture. It -includes a history of the patriarchs from the beginning to the birth -of Moses; of the Israelites from the birth of Moses to the end of the -Judges; of the Kings from the establishment of the kingdom to its end; -and of the Prophets from B.C. 606 to the birth of Christ, embracing an -account of the prophetic writings. - - - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XXI., No. 123.--JUNE, 1875. - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by Rev. I. T. -HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington D. C. - - -SPECIMEN CHARITIES. - -Charity is generally acknowledged to be, particularly by those who do -not practise it, the greatest of the virtues. Judged by this standard, -everything connected with it ought to command a special interest. Among -ourselves the most practical form of it is exhibited in the institutions -provided for the care of that large section of society that may be -classed as the unfortunate. It is only natural to suppose, then, that -the reports of these institutions would be caught up and studied with -avidity by the public, who in some shape or form pay for and support -them. Nothing, however, is further from the truth. It is safe to say -that not one man out of every hundred ever sees a report of any single -institution, or ever dreams even of the existence of such a thing. - -This indifference to how our money goes is one of the chief causes of -the gross peculations and frauds that startle and shock the public mind -from time to time. Where scrutiny is not close and constant, the conduct -of those who have reason to expect scrutiny is apt to be proportionately -loose and careless. There is no intention in saying this to arraign the -managers of public institutions with loose and careless conduct in the -discharge of their duties and the dispensing of the large sums of money -confided to their care. All that we would say is that the public is too -inert in the matter. A sharp lookout on officials of any kind never does -harm to any one. It will be courted by honest men, while it hangs like -the sword of Damocles over the heads of the dishonest. At all events, it -is the safest voucher for activity, zeal, and honesty on all sides. - -The reports of several of the institutions best known to the public in -this city have been examined, and the result of the investigation will -be set forth in this article. It may be said here that perhaps a chief -reason for the general apathy of the public regarding these reports is -due to the reports themselves. As a rule, they seem to be drawn up with -the express purpose of giving the least possible information in the most -roundabout fashion. The very sight of them warns an inquirer off. While -he is solely intent on finding out what such and such an institution -does for its inmates, what it has done, what it purposes doing, how -it is conducted, what it costs, what it produces, what success it can -point to in plain black and white, and not in general terms, he is -almost invariably treated to homilies on charity; to dissertations on -the growing number of the poor and the awfulness of crime; to tirades -on the public-school question; to highly-colored opinions on the duty -of enforcing education; to extracts from letters that, for all he can -determine, date from nowhere and are signed by no one. Such is a fair -description of the average “report” of any given charity or public -institution, as any conscientious reader who is anxious for a sleepless -night and morning headache may convince himself by glancing at the first -half-dozen that come in his way. - -This is much to be regretted. Little more than a year ago public inquiry -was stimulated by the public press to examine into the record of the -institutions that for years and years have been absorbing vast sums of -money, with no very apparent result. Grave charges were then made and -substantiated by very ugly figures, showing that the cost of the majority -of institutions was enormously in excess of the good effected. It was -charged that the statistics were not clear, that the managers shirked -inquiry, that the salaries were enormously disproportionate to the work -done--in a word, that the least benefit accrued to those for whom the -institutions were founded, erected, and kept a-going. Suspicion speedily -took possession of the public mind that what went by the name of public -charity was nothing more nor less than a system of organized plunder. - -That opinion is neither endorsed nor gainsaid here. The result of such -investigations as have been made of reports drawn up for the past year -have been simply set forth, so that every reader may judge for himself -as to the benefits accruing to the public from the institutions in their -midst which every year absorb an aggregate of several millions of public -and private funds. - -The institutions whose reports have been examined are for children of -both sexes and of all creeds. Some of them are more, some less, directly -under State control. All, at least, are under State patronage. Their aim -and purport is to relieve the State of a stupendous task--the care and -future provision for children who, without such care and provision, would -in all probability go astray, and become, if not a danger, at least a -burden, to the State. On this ground the State or city, or both together, -make or makes to each one certain apportionments and awards of the public -moneys. Those apportionments and awards are not in all cases equal either -in amount or in average. It is not claimed here that they are necessarily -bound to be equal either in amount or in average. The gift is practically -a free gift on the part of the State, although between itself and the -institutions the award made partakes of the nature of a contract. So -much is allowed for the care of State wards. What may be fairly claimed, -however, is that the awards of the State should be regulated by justice -and impartiality. Most money ought to be given where it is clear that -most good is effected by it. This system of award does not prevail. - -Again, as these institutions undertake the entire control of their -inmates, and to a great extent their disposal after leaving, they are -charged with the mental, moral, and physical training of those inmates. A -vast number of the children are in all cases of the Catholic faith. - -As the general question of religion in our public institutions was -dealt with at length in the April number of THE CATHOLIC WORLD, there -is no need of returning to it here further than to remind our readers -that the moral training of Catholic children in public institutions is -utterly unprovided for. Our main questions now are: What do our public -institutions do for the public? What do they do for the inmates? How much -does it cost them to do it? Whence does the money that sustains them -come, and whither does it go? - -It is far easier to put these questions than to obtain a satisfactory -answer to them. Of the fitness of putting them and the importance of -answering them fully and fairly no man can doubt. They are equally -important to the public at large, to the State, and to the institutions -themselves. It is fitting and right that we know which institutions do -the best work in the best way; which merit the support of the public and -of the State; which, if any, are concerned chiefly about the welfare of -their inmates; which, if any, are concerned chiefly about the welfare of -their officers and directors. Let us see how far the _Fiftieth Annual -Report of the Managers of the Society for the Reformation of Juvenile -Delinquents_ may enlighten us on these interesting points. - -In this institution there were received during the year (1874) seven -hundred and twenty-four children, of whom six hundred and thirty-six -were new inmates. The total number in the institution for the year was -one thousand three hundred and eighty-seven. The average figure taken -on which to calculate the year’s expenditure is seven hundred and -forty. Whence the children come may be inferred from the words of the -superintendent’s report (page 38): “By its charter the House of Refuge -is authorized to receive boys under commitment by a magistrate from the -first three judicial districts, and girls from all parts of the State. -The age of subjects who may be committed is limited to sixteen years.[90] -State Prison Inspectors have power to transfer young prisoners from -Sing Sing prison, under seventeen years of age, to this institution, if -in their judgment they are proper subjects for its discipline.… Prior -to 1847 this was the only place, except the prisons, in the State, -authorized to receive juvenile delinquents. At that time the Western -House of Refuge was organized at Rochester, and boys from the fourth, -fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth judicial districts were directed, by -the act under which that institution was organized, to be sent there. -The State Prison Inspectors may transfer young prisoners from the State -prisons of Auburn and Dannemora to the Western House, the same as from -Sing Sing here. The United States courts, sitting within the State, -may commit youthful offenders under sixteen years of age to either -institution. The expense for the support of these is paid by the United -States government. Girls from all parts of the State are sent to this -house, there being no female department at the Western House.” - -The expenses for support of the (average) seven hundred and forty -children for 1874 amounted to $103,524 23, according to the -superintendent’s report. To defray this, there was contributed in all -$74,968 61 of public moneys, in the following allotments: - - By Annual Appropriation, $40,000 00 - By Balance Special Appropriation, 10,500 00 - On account Special Appropriation, 1874, 10,000 00 - By Board of Education, 7,468 61 - By Theatre Licenses, 7,000 00 - ----------- - $74,968 61 - -There is one remark to be made on these figures, which have been copied -item by item from the report. They do not tally with the report of the -State Treasurer. In his report the award to the society is set down as -$66,500. There is evidently a mistake somewhere. A small item of $6,000 -is missing from the report of the society. Where can it have gone? -The president himself, Mr. Edgar Ketchum, endorses the figures of the -superintendent and treasurer. He tells us (page 14) that the receipts for -1874, “from the State Comptroller, annual and special appropriations,” -are $60,500; but there is that page 34 of the annual report of the State -Treasurer, which sets it down plumply at $66,500. There will doubtless be -forthcoming an excellent explanation of this singular discrepancy between -the reports. The State Treasurer may have made the mistake; but, if not, -one is permitted to ask, is this the kind of arithmetic taught in the -Society for the Reformation of Juvenile Delinquents? - -The remaining deficit is covered by “labor of the inmates”--which is -rated at $41,594 48--sale of waste articles, etc. There is no mention -whatever made of private donations. With an exception that will be noted, -there is not a hint at such a thing throughout the sixty-eight pages of -the report. If private donations were received at this institution during -the year, the donors will search the fiftieth annual report in vain -for any account of them. Attention is called to this point, because in -every other report examined the private donations have been ample, duly -acknowledged, and accounted for; but the managers of the Society for the -Reformation of Juvenile Delinquents observe silence on this subject. - -Looking to see how the money went, we find the largest item of the -expenses set down as $44,521 62, for “food and provisions.” The next -largest item is $34,880 52, for salaries--as nearly as possible one-third -of the whole expense. This is a very important item. One-third of the -entire expenses, and considerably over half the net cost for the support -of the institution during the year, was consumed in salaries. Into the -various other items it is not necessary to go, as in these two by far -the largest portion of the expenses is accounted for. The sum of the -remainder for “clothing,” “fuel and light,” “bedding and furniture,” -“books and stationery for the schools and chapel,” “ordinary repairs,” -and “hospital,” amounts only to $27,555 84, or over $7,000 less than the -salaries; while “all other expenses not included” in what has already -been mentioned amount only to $23,339 23. - -As this is the fiftieth annual report, the managers of the institution -have thought it a fitting time to publish a review of the work done -during the last half-century and of the cost of its doing. The “financial -statement for fifty years” informs us that “the cost for real estate -and buildings for the use of the institution, including repairs and -improvements,” was $745,740 31. This amount was paid “in part by private -subscriptions and donations”--the solitary mention to be found of -anything of the kind throughout the report--and the remainder “by money -received for insurance for loss by fires, money received from sale of -property in Twenty-third Street, New York, and by State appropriations.” -The amount of private subscriptions and donations was $38,702 04; thus -leaving $707,038 27, by far the greater portion of which, it is to be -presumed, was paid by State appropriations. - -So far for the real estate and buildings for fifty years. Let us now look -at the cost of support for the same period. - -Including every item of expense, except for the grounds and buildings, -the sum total is $2,106,009 16. Of this $767,189 31 was paid from labor -of the inmates and sale of articles; the remaining $1,338,819 85 was -paid “from moneys received from appropriations made by the State and by -the city of New York, from the licenses of theatres, from the excise and -marine funds.” In short, with the exception of the $38,702 04 already -mentioned as coming from private subscriptions and donations, of the -money received from sale of property in Twenty-third Street, New York, -and the amount earned by the inmates, the State has covered the entire -expenses of the Society for the Reformation of Juvenile Delinquents -since its founding, fifty years ago. Those expenses, according to their -own showing, were $2,045,868 12. Thus it is within the truth to say that -this society has received $2,000,000 from the State within the last fifty -years, one-third of which amount, if the figures for last year be a fair -gauge, was consumed in salaries. - -Such has been the cost--a weighty one. What is the result? What has been -achieved by this immense outlay?--for immense it is. We are informed (p. -39) that “when a child is dismissed from the house, an entry is made -under the history, giving the name, residence, and occupation of the -person into whose care the boy or girl is given. Pains are taken, by -correspondence and otherwise, to keep informed of their subsequent career -as far as possible, and such information when received, whether favorable -or unfavorable, is noted under the history.” - -The result may be given briefly: Fifteen thousand seven hundred and -ninety-one children have passed through the institution in fifty years. -Of these thirty-eight per cent. have been heard from “favorably,” -fourteen per cent. “unfavorably,” while forty-eight per cent. are -classified as “unknown.” Thus it is seen that not nearly one-half have -turned out well; a very considerable number have turned out badly; and of -a larger number than either--of almost half, in fact--nothing is known. -And it has taken about three millions of dollars (a far higher figure if -the private donations, of which no account is given, ranked for anything) -to achieve this magnificent result! - -We have only one comment to offer. If, with the practically unlimited -means at their disposal, the managers of the society can do nothing -better for and with the children than they have done after fifty years -of trial, the experiment is, to say the least, a costly failure. Indeed, -it is not at all extravagant to assert that, taking into consideration -the migratory habits of our people and the ups and downs of life, these -children, if allowed to run their own course, would, were it possible -to follow up their histories, probably show as high a percentage of -“favorable” as this society has been able to show. In the proud words of -the superintendent’s report, “The results of half a century of labor in -the cause of God and humanity are now before us!”[91] - -An institution similar to the one just examined is the New York Juvenile -Asylum, whose _Twenty-second Annual Report_ is published. Unlike its -predecessor, it acknowledges “the readiness with which the necessary -funds, beyond those received from the public treasury, are supplemented -by private beneficence.” It has a Western agency, whose business it is -to “procure suitable homes for children placed under indenture, and -conduct the responsible work of perpetuated guardianship, which forms the -distinguishing feature of our chartered obligations” (_Report_, p. 12). -We are informed that “an analysis of the treasurer’s report confirms the -uniform experience of the board, that the appropriations from the city -treasury of $110, and from the Board of Education of about $13 50, per -annum, for each child, are inadequate to the support of the institution -on its present required scale of superior excellence.” - -The treasurer’s report is a study. The expenses for the year (1874) were -$95,976 83. Of this sum $67,452 05 is set down plumply as for “salaries, -wages, supplies, etc., for Asylum.” How much of it was devoted to -“salaries,” how much to “wages,” how much to “supplies,” and how much to -“etc.,” whatever that financial mystery may mean, is left to conjecture. -A similar entry for the House (connected with the asylum) amounts to -$16,875 59; and a third, for the Western agency, to $5,303 18. By this -happy arrangement there only remain some two thousand odd dollars to be -accounted for, and the balance-sheet pleasantly closes, leaving the -reader as wise as ever on the important query, Who gets the lion’s share -of the money, the children or the managers? - -To cover the expenses of the year, the corporation gave $68,899 40; the -Board of Education, $8,833 23. Thus public moneys covered the great bulk -of the annual expense. The carefully-confused figures of the treasurer -make it impossible to say whether or not a judicious paring of the -“salaries, wages, etc.,” might not have enabled the same moneys to cover -it all and still leave a balance in the bank. - -As it is hopeless to investigate how the money went, item by item, let us -turn to the children for whose benefit it was given. - -The whole number in the Asylum and House of Reception at the beginning of -the year was 617; received during the year, 581; discharged, 585; average -for the year, 617. Of the discharged, 9 were indentured, 103 sent to the -Western agency, 466 discharged to parents and friends. - -The managers are very strongly in favor of placing the children in -“Western homes,” and doubtless most persons interested in the question -of caring for these children would agree with them, could satisfactory -evidence only be given of the actual advantages of the plan. But such -evidence is not furnished by any of the reports we have examined. This -asylum, for instance, has been sending children West year after year, and -yet the superintendent informs us, as a piece of special news, that “in -the early part of November last the superintendent went to Illinois, for -the purpose of becoming better acquainted with the practical workings of -the agency, and visiting the children sent West in their new homes.” -This is given as an event in the workings of the institution. In other -words, the children sent out were left absolutely to the Western agent, -who may have been a very worthy and conscientious person, or who may have -been nothing of the kind. The amount expended on the Western agency would -not seem to indicate any very extensive or arduous labors. The result -of the superintendent’s trip was a visitation of twenty-five children, -and, on the strength of that very limited number of visits and the -representations of the agent, he states that “it was evident that great -care was taken and good judgment exercised in providing children with the -best of homes and looking after their general welfare.” - -The Western agent himself reports: “For sixteen years the Asylum has -been sending to Illinois, and placing in families as apprentices, -those who have become permanently its wards, and during that time two -thousand three hundred and ninety-nine have been thus cared for. Their -employers have been required to make a legal contract in writing, binding -themselves to provide suitably for their physical comfort during their -minority, instruct them in a specified trade, allow them to attend school -four months in each year, _give them moral and religious training_, -and make a stipulated payment of clothing and money at the expiration -of their apprenticeship.… The Asylum is required by its charter to see -that the terms of every contract are faithfully performed throughout the -entire period of the apprenticeship.” - -Of course these conditions are very favorable to the children, provided -only that they are carried out. That they are always carried out is -doubtful, and the number of complaints made by both children and -employers, mentioned incidentally, tend to strengthen this doubt. Then as -regards the “moral and religious training”: What in the case of Catholic -children such training is likely to be may be inferred from the fact that -the Catholic religion is proscribed in the Asylum and House, as also from -the fact mentioned by the agent himself (p. 42) that among the employers -“prejudiced against indentures,” “occasionally one objects to them _on -the ground of conscientious scruples_;” “but,” he adds, “it rarely occurs -that they cannot be prevailed upon to comply with our regulations in this -particular.” - -What the Western “Home” is may be judged from the following pregnant -sentence of the agent’s report: “I am not instructed by the committee, -nor would it be well to make it an attractive rendezvous, and the -children are neither drawn to it by factitious allurements nor encouraged -to make a protracted stay.” The unsolicited testimony on this point may -be taken as unimpeachable. He admits that “instances of wrongs frequently -come to our knowledge, and doubtless many others exist of which we -have not been made aware.” Accordingly, “to prevent such abuses,” “an -additional agent has _recently_ been engaged, who will be employed -exclusively as a visitor.” This additional agent commenced service -“about five weeks” from the date of the Western agent’s report; but -“unprecedentedly stormy weather and difficult travelling have rendered it -impossible for him to enter upon his special work.” And such is all the -practical information furnished us concerning the Western branch of this -institution, notwithstanding that “every employer and every apprentice is -_written to_ at least once annually.” - -The report of the agent tells us really little or nothing. Indeed, its -tone is not at all sanguine. His “time has been too fully occupied to -accomplish much in the way of gathering statistics of what is, in my -belief, a demonstrable fact: that, with as few exceptions as occur among -other children, asylum wards become reputable and prosperous citizens.” -No doubt; proof will be given afterwards that this belief is well -founded, but not as regards the institution in question. In its case, -unfortunately, the demonstration is the one thing wanting. - -The total number of children admitted to the institution from 1853 to -1873 is 17,035, of whom 12,975 were of native, 3,820 of foreign birth. -Ireland contributed 2,006; France, 71; Spain, 6; Italy, 75; South -America, 5; Austria, 5; all of whom may be safely classed as Catholics. -Of the native-born New York alone contributed eleven thousand five -hundred and seventy-one, all the other States together adding only one -thousand three hundred and ninety-six. The number of native-born children -of Irish parents in the State of New York within the last twenty years -may be left to easy conjecture. One thing is certain: that the faith of -all the Catholic children admitted to this institution was, while they -remained in it, and as long as they remained under its supervision, -proscribed, while they were compelled to conform to the Church -Established in Public Institutions. There is no financial statement for -the twenty years. - -The Children’s Aid Society has also published its _Twenty-second Annual -Report_. This is one of the most extensive organizations in the city, -and has quite a net-work of homes, lodging-houses, and industrial -schools connected with it, as well as a Western agency similar in its -office to that already noticed. Although not, in the accepted sense, a -“public institution,” it depends in a great measure on State aid for its -support. It professes to be superior in its mode of work to any public -institution. That point is too extensive to enter upon here. We merely -pursue our plan of searching its own record to see what it has done. -One of its chief aims may be gathered from the following statement of -the report (page 4): “The plan which this society has followed out so -persistently during twenty-two years, of saving the vagrant and neglected -children of the city, by placing them in carefully-selected homes in -the West and in the rural districts, is now universally admitted to be -successful. It has not cost one-tenth part of the expense which a plan -demanding support in public institutions would have done, and has been -attended by wonderfully encouraging moral and material results.” - -As it is impossible within present limits to examine every detail of -this extensive report, which fills 96 pages, we pass at once to the -treasurer’s figures. The expenses for the past year amount to $225,747 -92. To cover this the city and county of New York contributed $93,333 -34; the Board of Education, $32,893 95; being a total of $126,227 29 -contributed from the public moneys. The rest is made up by private -donations, legacies etc. - -As an illustration of the difficulties to be met with in trying to -extract the gist of the various reports, the following sentence from the -one in hand may serve. In describing “the year’s work” the superintendent -says (p. 8): “The labors of charity of this society have become so -extended and multifarious that it is exceedingly difficult to give any -satisfactory picture of them.” If this is his opinion, what is ours -likely to be? However, we will make such use of the limited means at our -disposal as may tend to give some idea of the workings of this society. - -The “industrial schools” constitute a prominent feature of it. There are -twenty-one of them and thirteen night schools. They give occupation to -eighty-six salaried teachers and a superintendent, and to a volunteer -corps of seventy ladies in addition. The volunteers, we are informed, -“produce results of which they have no adequate idea themselves.” The -industries taught in these “industrial schools” are not brought out very -prominently. The army of teachers, regulars and volunteers together, -have acted upon “an average number” of 3,556, and an aggregate number -of 10,288. Dropping the volunteers, that gives each of the eighty-six -“salaried teachers” just 41 and the 30/86th part of a child to devote his -or her sole attention to during the year. It is for these schools that -the Board of Education awarded the $32,893 95 already mentioned. - -The schools alone consume of the whole expenses of the society for the -year $70,509 88, which is divided in the following pleasing manner: - - Rent of school-rooms, $11,455 25 - Salaries of superintendent and 86 teachers, 39,202 33 - Food, clothing, fuel, etc., 19,852 30 - -That is to say, the salaries of the school superintendent and 86 teachers -for 3,556 children cost considerably more than rent, food, clothing, -fuel, children, and everything else put together. This is worse even -than the Society for the Reformation of Juvenile Delinquents, whose -officers were modestly contented with a good third of the whole amount -of money spent on the institution. But here at the present ratio more -than one-half is absorbed in salaries. The public seems to labor under an -idea that the institutions which they so cheerfully support are intended -chiefly for the benefit of poor children. It is to be hoped that their -eyes may at last be opened to their fatal mistake. At all events, in -the present instance it is clear that the schools are less intended to -instruct the children than to support the teachers. The very liberal -allowance granted to these schools by the Board of Education falls -miserably below the teachers’ salaries. - -The cheerfulness with which these figures are contemplated by the -officers of the society is positively exhilarating. We are informed (p. -45) that “the annual expense of twenty-one day and thirteen evening -schools, with salaries of superintendent and eighty-six teachers, -would be an intolerable burden to the society, did not the city pay -semi-annually a certain sum for each pupil, as allowed by law.” The -number of pupils paid for by the city is, of course, 10,288--“a gain over -last year of 704.” Here is a sample of how the list is made up: - - No. on Average - Rolls. Attend’ce. - Fifty-third Street School, 1,212 260 - Fifty-second Street School, 561 199 - Park School, 807 301 - Phelps School, 417 80 - Girls’ Industrial School, 298 91 - Fourteenth Ward School, 650 219 - Water Street School, 101 31 - -And so they go on. Comment is unnecessary. It is to be taken for granted -that the average attendance here given by the society is not likely to -be below the mark. Taking it then as correct, it may be left to honest -men to judge whether half the number of teachers would not be amply -sufficient. As to the question of salaries, it is needless to remark -further upon that. Who can resist the piteous appeal of the treasurer -after closing the account of the “thirty-four” schools? “Surely, then,” -he says, “this branch of the society’s work may claim the merit of -economy when considered in detail, although the aggregate cost is large.” - -Mention of salaries occurs twice after. Five “executive officers” are -paid $8,944 14; five “visitors,” $3,944 06. The total “current expenses” -are set down at $174,821 38. Thus, as seen, salaries already absorb more -than a quarter of the current expenses, and the chief salaried officers -of the institution, as well as another small army of inferior officials, -remain to be portioned off. No mention is made of them in the treasurer’s -figures. Nor will it do to average the salaries of the superintendent -and eighty-six teachers of the schools, setting them down at the modest -allowance of $450 a head, granting, as seems incredible, considering -the number of pupils, that the number of teachers is accurately given. -The point is plain to all men: There is no need for such a number of -teachers. Some of them, it is to be presumed, are only employed in -the night-schools; consequently their salaries would be considerably -diminished. The salaries are not all equal, and, even were they all -equal, the amount of work done would be too costly at the price. To say -that twenty-one schools and eighty-seven teachers, with a contingent of -seventy volunteers, are needed for 3,446 children is simple nonsense. - -Judging by what we have seen, if one-fourth the moneys spent on the -Children’s Aid Society is devoted exclusively to the children, both -children and public are to be congratulated on the self-denial of the -management. It is for those who support the society to consider how long -this state of things is to continue. - -Among other benevolent works undertaken by the society is an Italian -school, for the special benefit of the poor little Italian children -decoyed from their homes to labor and beg for _padroni_ and such like in -this city and elsewhere throughout the country. There can be no doubt -about the religion of these children. The report informs us that this -school is under the care of the “Italian School Young Men’s Association.” -Their “collection of books has been enlarged by the contributions of -friends, and the reading-room will soon contain a large assortment of -Italian books forwarded by the Italian government, who, with provident -care, watches over our work and furthers the benevolent purposes of the -Children’s Aid Society.” - -The object of organizing such a school is evident. There is no incentive -so effective with the large majority of Protestant hearts, nothing so -well calculated to draw contributions from their pockets, as the hope to -“convert to Christianity” Papist children. This school is intended for -just such a purpose, and the society would be the last in the world to -deny it. “The increase of _newly-arrived_ children attests the popularity -of the school. The benevolence of our patrons continues to make itself -unceasingly felt in various ways, more especially at the Christmas -festival, when the congregation of _the First Presbyterian Church_--Dr. -Paxton’s--come almost in a body to gladden our children with useful and -substantial gifts, and an outpouring of unmistakable Christian sympathy” -(page 32). - -The Western agency of this society is on a par with that already -examined. The number of miles travelled by the agents is given, as -also the number of children placed out. The very names of the agents -bristle with activity. They are: Messrs. Trott, Skinner, Fry, Brace, and -Gourley. The warm temperament of Mr. Fry, “the resident Western agent,” -may be judged from the opening of his report. He writes from St. Paul, -Minnesota, under date October 18, 1874, to tell us: “I am up among the -saints, and ought to feel encouraged; but it seems such a hopeless task -to convey to others the happiness and contentment I witness in my rounds -of visitation that I always commence my annual report with a degree of -hesitation.” - -There are many passages of equal beauty with this, but unfortunately Mr. -Fry’s pious enthusiasm is not exactly what is called for. What we want -to know is what has actually been done with the 1,880 boys and the 1,558 -girls whom we are informed by the report “have been provided with homes -and employment” during the year. Men and women to the number of 242 and -305 respectively were sent out also during the year. Of the entire 3,985, -657 were Irish, 28 French, 13 Italian, 8 Poles, 10 Austrians--all of whom -may be set down as Catholics. The “American born” were 1,866, the German, -879. Of these also a fair percentage were probably Catholic. What has -become of them and of all? What has become of the 36,363 who have been -sent out in the same manner by the same society since 1853? How many -prospered? How many failed? How many died? How many turned out well? How -many ill? What was done for the Catholic portion of the emigrants? It is -absurd to put such questions to Mr. Fry, who is “up among the saints,” -“wrapped in the third heaven” of S. Paul. A man in such an exalted state -of terrestrial beatitude cannot be expected to descend to such sublunary -matters as those presented. Consequently, Mr. Fry contents himself with -vague generalities and a few specimen letters of the kind characterized -at the beginning of this article. - -However, “Mr. Macy and his clerks in the office have kept up, as usual, -a vast correspondence with the thousands of children sent out by us. We -unfortunately can have room but for a few of the numerous encouraging -letters that have been received.” We may be permitted to give one, which -will explain itself and also what is in store for the Catholic children -cared for by this society. Needless to say, it does not find a place in -the report which we have been examining. It is, however, an authentic -copy, as Mr. Macy himself will testify, if necessary. - -Mr. Macy’s letter, or the letter signed by him, needs a little -explanation, most of which will be supplied by the letter from the -“American Female Guardian Society,” which is also given. The story in -brief concerns two Catholic children, a boy and girl, whose mother -was dead and whose father was called away to the late war. They fell -into the hands of the Female Guardian Society, who handed them over to -the Children’s Aid Society to be “provided with homes in the West” or -elsewhere. The boy was sent to a Protestant in Dubuque, Iowa, the girl -to a Methodist family in the State of New York. After returning from the -war and coming out of hospital the father was anxious to learn something -of his children. His efforts were futile until, as said in the letters, -he interested the Society of S. Vincent de Paul in the matter. After such -trouble as may be imagined the society succeeded in gaining possession of -the children. _They had both become, or rather been made, Protestants_, -and hated the very mention of their religion. The following letters are -exact copies of the originals: - - AMERICAN FEMALE GUARDIAN SOCIETY, - 29 E. 29th Street, - and - HOME FOR THE FRIENDLESS - 30 E. 30th St., N. Y. - - May 14th, 1874. - - Mr. Wilson: - - DEAR SIR: Very unexpectedly to us, a few days since the father - of Edward Nugent, came to the Home, to inquire about his - children, we had not seen him for six years, and as he had not - even written during that time, we supposed he was dead; he has - been in the Hospital it appears most of the time, is lame, - having been injured in the feet during the war, he is not able - to take care of his children, yet still claims he has a right - to know where they are, though _we_ do not feel after all these - years he has any claim at all, but we learned something of - importance yesterday, which explains why he wants to know the - children’s whereabouts, it seems he is a Catholic, and has been - to the priests with his story about us whom they call heretics, - and the priests have influenced him to demand the children, so - we felt it our duty to let you know how the matter stands, for - they are very persistent, and may send some one in that part - of the country to ask the neighbours around there, if such a - boy is in that neighbourhood, and if they can get him, no other - way they will steal him, so if you have become attached to the - child, and would desire to save his soul from the power of the - destroyer of souls, we would say to you it would be better for - you to send the boy away for a year from you, that you could - say truthfully you do not know where he is; _when fourteen_ - he can choose his own guardian, then if he chooses you, no - power can take him from you. Had he been fully committed to - us they would have no right to interfere, but as he was not, - they will do all in their power to get him from you, we would - feel very sorry to have them find him, as we dread Catholic - influence more than the bite of the rattle-snake, for that only - destroys the body while the other destroys the immortal soul, - too precious to be lost; if you have become attached to that - dear boy, save him from the power of the fell-destroyer, and - the conscious approving smile of your Heavenly Father will be - your reward. I cannot say what course they will pursue, but if - you wish the child, you must be very guarded how you act, and - must _not_ confide in anyone, not even your own brother what - your plans are, act cautiously, but decidedly. Please write - immediately on receipt of this, and let us know what your - course will be, as we feel the deepest interest in the matter. - Yours truly, - - (Signed) - - MRS. C. SPAULDING, - For “Home Managers.” - - Please send Mr. Wilson’s first name. - - [Verbatim copy, even to italics and punctuation.] - - -LETTER NO. II. - - CHILDREN’S AID SOCIETY, - No. 19 East Fourth St., - - NEW YORK, May 19th, 1874. - - [Writing to Mr. Williams, who had charge of the boy Edward - Nugent, in relation to the father of the boy.] - - “He has recently called at the Home for the Friendless for - information in relation to Eddie and has interested the Society - of St. Vincent de Paul to hunt up and return Eddie. They have - begun to look into the matter and I presume that you will hear - from them one of these days. We wrote to you some time ago that - you had better have Eddie bound to you by the authorities and - hope that you did so. I feel that Eddie has a good home and do - not care to have him disturbed. It would be cruel to him and - wrong by you and so I trust you will do what you can to prevent - it. Please let me hear from him and you.” - - Yours truly, - - (Signed) J. MACY, Asst. Sec’y. - -To comment on the letter of the “Female Guardians” or the easy -conscience of the “Children’s Aid Society” would be “to gild refined -gold”; certainly, in the case of Mrs. C. Spaulding, “to paint the -lily.” Honest-minded men of any creed may now understand why it is that -Catholics who have any faith in their religion at all, who believe it -in their conscience to be the only true religion, demand in the name of -justice that associations and institutions of this character be thrown -open to the ministers of their religion, or that the State, to prevent -all that is shameful and horrible in proselytism, imitate all civilized -states, and adopt the denominational system of charities, which, as will -be shown in the case of Catholics at least, will not only not cost it a -penny more, but considerably less, and with results astounding in their -contrast. - -We have now examined three of our principal institutions with a view to -their cost and results. With the exception of the two letters quoted, no -information has been used which is not presented in public reports. It -is seen that the Society for Juvenile Delinquents expends one-third of -its resources in salaries; the Children’s Aid Society, as far as it is -possible to base an opinion on its loose and incomplete figures, perhaps -three-fourths; while the figures of the Juvenile Asylum are too confused -to allow of any judgment in the matter at all. The results as affecting -the children, in the first instance, are avowedly far from satisfactory; -in the second and third instances no attempt is made to give such -results, though the inferences to be drawn from such evidence as is given -are far from hopeful. And so, unless a radical change is effected in -the training and management of the institutions, matters are likely to -continue. The excuse of inexperience in the management cannot hold here -with half a century at the back of one and over twenty years at the back -of the other two. The moral training of the children is in all instances -distinctly and avowedly Protestant. As shown sufficiently in a previous -article, there is no such thing possible as a religious education which -is “non-sectarian.” Consequently, Catholic children, who form a large -contingent of the inmates of these institutions, are subjected to a -course of instruction and moral training which is a gross and persistent -violation of the rights of conscience and of the constitution of the -State, and to this training have they been subjected ever since the -institutions were first founded. The only means of adjusting this grave -difficulty, of righting this great wrong, is to follow out the plan -which prevails in every civilized country with the exception of our own, -of either adopting the denominational system, or at least of allowing -free access to the clergymen of the religious denomination professed by -the children. The means of adjusting the salaries so as to bear a more -rational proportion to the work done is for the public to consider. - -The effects of the denominational system are exemplified in the New -York Catholic Protectory, which has just presented its _Twelfth Annual -Report_. An examination of its working cannot fail to be instructive, -inasmuch as it was founded expressly to meet the difficulty noticed -above concerning the Catholic inmates of public institutions. From the -beginning it has been looked on rather as an enemy than a friend by those -who work the engine of the State. At the very least it was regarded as -a suspicious intruder into ground already occupied. It was Catholic, -therefore sectarian; therefore not a State institution, and consequently -not to be supported by the State. State funds could not go to teach -Catholic doctrine. But we need not repeat the arguments against it. They -are too well known, and are met once for all by the provision in the -constitution allowing liberty of conscience and freedom of worship to all -members of the State. If moral and religious training be provided for -children in all our public institutions, it is against all conscience, -law, right, and the spirit of the American people at large to convert -that moral and religious training into a system of proselytizing, no -matter to what creed. In the case of Catholic children such a system, as -known and shown, has prevailed from the beginning; and the first step -in the reformation of a Catholic child has been to seek by every means -possible to make it a renegade from its faith. - -At the opening of the year there were in the Protectory 1,842 children; -during the year 2,877; average (entitled to per capita contributions), -1,871. To their support all that was contributed of public moneys was -the _per capita_ allowance for each child, which is common to all the -children of the institutions examined. Nothing was allowed by the Board -of Education, although the children are educated; nothing by “special -appropriations”; nothing from “theatre licenses”; nothing from “excise -funds”--nothing in a word, from any source at all, save the bare _per -capita_ allowance. - -This is not an exceptional instance, but the normal relation between -the Catholic Protectory and the State. Within the twelve years of its -existence the whole amount of State aid received by it, through share of -charity fund, special grants, or from whatever source, has amounted to -$93,502 08--that is to say, at not $8,000 per annum--while its entire -grant for building purposes was $100,000. - -The current expenses for the past year were $211,349 87. This includes -all outlays, except for the construction of buildings or other permanent -improvements. The _per capita_ allowance, received from the comptroller -covered $192,339 22 of this amount. It is to be borne in mind that this -allowance would have been paid for the children in any case, whatever -institution they had entered. Consequently, it is no favor at all to -the Protectory. The remaining $19,010 65 had to be met by the charity -of private individuals or not met at all. Of course the labor of the -inmates and the produce of the farm covered a considerable sum; but the -age of the children admitted to the Protectory is limited to fourteen -years, and the vast majority of them are considerably under fourteen, -and consequently cannot contribute by their labor so efficiently as the -inmates of the Society for Juvenile Delinquents, whose average age runs -so much higher. - -But the expenses by no means ended here. The Protectory is still -really in course of erection. The aggregate expenditures during the -past year for buildings and permanent improvements, “all of which were -indispensable for the carrying out of the mandate of the State in the -shelter and protection of its wards,” were $107,491 65. To this heavy -sum State and city contributed nothing at all. The bare _per capita_ -allowance was the only public money received to aid in the sheltering, -educating, clothing, and feeding of these wards of the State; while to -all other public institutions, even to institutions not strictly public, -liberal special grants or appropriations from special funds were made. -The Catholic Protectory alone was left to meet a bill of $126,502 30 as -best it might. - -In its struggle for existence the Protectory has had little in the -shape of aid for which to thank the State. There was great fear even -within the present year that the _per capita_ allowance would also be -withdrawn, avowedly because the Protectory was a Catholic institution, -and consequently without the range of assistance from public funds. This -is highly conscientious, no doubt. But the report of the State Treasurer -for the past year shows grant after grant to seminaries and “sectarian” -(to use the orthodox word) institutions of every kind, with the sole -exception of those professing the Catholic faith. A glance at the whole -work done by the Protectory and the aid afforded it by the State shows -the following: - -It has been twelve years in existence. Within that period it has -“sheltered, clothed, afforded elementary education, and given instruction -in useful trades” to 8,771 children. This work cost in the aggregate -for current, expenses $1,257,189 41. To this sum the State contributed -through the comptroller out of the city taxes $1,057,578 66. This was -merely the _per capita_ allowance still. There remained, consequently, -for current expenses $199,610 75 to be paid by whatever means possible. - -But the Protectory had to be built. Land had to be purchased, buildings -to be erected, and so on. In a word, the Protectory, like all other -institutions, had to grow, while there was a ravenous demand, as there -continues to be, for admission within its walls. In these twelve years -the outlays for land, buildings, and other permanent improvements -amounted to $806,211 74. The amount of contracts now being carried to -completion on the girls’ building, new gas-house, etc., is over $100,000. -To help to meet this necessary sum of $906,211 74 the State made a -munificent grant for building purposes of $100,000; while all its other -grants, of whatever kind, amounted to just $93,502 28. This left another -little bill for the Protectory to meet of $912,320 21 by the best means -it could. Is it to be wondered at that there rests on the institution a -floating debt of some $200,000, which seriously threatens its existence? -Our wonder is, with the encouragement which it has received from the -State and city, that it continues to exist at all. Private charity has -been its mainstay thus far; but private charity has always an abundance -of pressing demands on it, and may at any time give out, for the very -best of reasons, in a case where there is really no great call for -private charity at all. The children thus cared for, for whom these -vast sums have been paid, would have had in any case to be supported -by the State, and would have proved a costlier burden than in their -present hands. All we urge is that the State be just; that it assist this -institution in the same manner in which it assists other institutions, -by grants from the same funds, by appropriations from the same sources, -without cavil about religion or no religion. The crime of instructing -these children in their own religion is evidenced in the results -achieved. Of the 8,771 who have passed through the Protectory since -its opening, _exactly two have turned out badly_. So much for Catholic -education and mental and moral training. - -We have reserved for the last an examination of the salaries. The entire -amount expended on salaries for the officers and employés of every -branch of the institution is $20,736 51; that is, between one-tenth and -one-eleventh of the sum total of the current expenses of the year. This -is the year’s pay of all officials and employés of an institution which -cared for and sheltered within its walls for that period 2,877 children. -Contrast this with the $34,880 52 paid the officials and employés of the -Society for Juvenile Delinquents for the care during the same period of -1,387 children, and the $39,202 33 paid by the Children’s Aid Society for -the teachers of 3,556 children. Contrast the result of the labors of each -society. Then contrast the sums lavished by city and State from special -appropriations and funds on societies whose chief claim for such special -grants consists in their devoting so large a portion of their means -to salaries, with their persistent deafness to the urgent appeals of a -society which has only good to show everywhere and an army of workers -such as the Brothers and Sisters, whose salary is embraced in their food -and dress. Let us look at these things, and blush at our pretensions -to justice and liberality. Why, it is not even honesty. We are too -conscientious to grant a penny out of the educational fund to Catholic -children educated by Catholics, while we give thousands freely for the -stowing away of Catholic children in asylums that pervert them and can -give no account of their stewardship. It is time to drop “conscience,” -that counterfeit so recently and so admirably described by Dr. Newman, -and fall back on common-sense. Of the institutions here examined the -Catholic Protectory combines beyond comparison the greatest economy with -the most extraordinarily successful results as affecting the wards of -the State. Such an institution has a solemn and the truest claim on the -heartiest co-operation and favor of the State. - - -THE BLIND BEGGAR. - - I cannot pass those sightless eyes, - Or, if I pass them, I return, - Led by resistless sympathies - Above their rayless orbs to yearn, - And place within the outstretched palms - The patiently-awaited alms. - - Then, as my footsteps homeward speed. - I dare with moving lips to pray - That God, who knows my inmost need, - May guide me on my darkened way, - And place within my outstretched palms - The patiently-awaited alms. - - -ARE YOU MY WIFE? - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” “PIUS VI.,” -ETC. - -CHAPTER V. - -Angélique was having a field day of it, and there was nothing she liked -better. It was an event when Sir Simon dropped in at The Lilies toward -supper-time, and announced his intention of staying to take pot-luck; -but this evening’s entertainment was a very different affair from these -friendly droppings-in, and Angélique was proportionately flurried. Like -most people who have a strong will and a good temper, she was easy to -live with; her temper was indeed usually so well controlled that few -suspected her of having one. But on occasions like the present they -were apt to find out their mistake; it was not safe to come in her way -when she had more than one extra dish on hand. Franceline knew this; -and after such interference in the way of whipping the eggs and dusting -the glass and china as Angélique would tolerate, she took herself off -to the woods for the remainder of the afternoon. There was a cleared -space where the timber had been cut down in spring, and here she settled -herself on the stem of a felled tree, and opened her book. It can hardly -have been a very interesting one; for, after turning over a few pages, -she began to look about her, and to listen to the contralto recitative -of a wood-pigeon with as much attention as if that familiar _dilettante_ -performance had been some striking novelty. It was not long, however, -before sounds of a very different sort broke on her ear. Some one was -crying passionately, filling the wood with shrieks and sobs. Franceline -started to her feet and listened; she could distinguish the shrill -treble of a child’s voice, and, hurrying on in the direction from whence -it proceeded, she soon came upon a little girl, the daughter of a poor -woman of the neighborhood, called Widow Bing. The child was lying in a -heap on the ground, her basketful of school-books and lunch spilt on the -grass beside her, while her little body and soul seemed literally torn to -pieces by sobs. - -“Why, Bessy, what’s the matter?” cried Franceline. “Have you hurt -yourself?” - -“No-o-o-o!” gasped Bessy, without lifting her head. - -“Have you broken something?” - -“No-o-o-o!” - -“Has anything happened to mammy?” - -“No-o-o, but something’s a-goin to.” And the child raised her head for a -louder scream, and let it drop again with a thud on the ground. - -“What’s going to happen to her? Tell me, there’s a good child,” coaxed -Franceline, crouching down beside the little, prostrate figure, and -trying to make it look up. “If it hasn’t happened, perhaps it will never -happen. I might prevent it, or somebody else might.” - -A dim ray of consolation apparently dawned out of this hypothesis on -Bessy’s mind; she lifted her head, and, after suppressing her sobs, -exclaimed: “Mammy’s a-goin’ to be damned, she is!” - -“Good gracious, child, what a dreadful thing for you to say!” exclaimed -Franceline, too much shocked by the announcement to catch the comical -side of it at once. “Who put such a naughty thing into your head?” - -“It’s Farmer Griggs as said it. He says as how he knows mammy’s a-goin’ -to be damned!” And the sound of her own words was so dreadful that it -sent Bessy into a fresh paroxysm, and she shrieked louder than before. - -“He’s a wicked man, and you mustn’t mind him,” said Franceline; “he knows -nothing about it!” - -“Ye-e-es he does!” insisted Bessy. “He-e-s not wicked; … he prea-a-a-ches -every Sunday at the cha-a-a-pel, he does.” - -“Then he preaches very wicked sermons, I’m sure,” said Franceline, who -saw an argument on the wrong side for Farmer Griggs’ sanctity in this -evidence. “You must leave off crying and not mind him.” - -But Bessy was not to be comforted by this negative suggestion. She went -on crying passionately, until Franceline, finding that neither scolding -nor coaxing had the desired effect, threatened to tell Miss Bulpit, and -have her left out from the next tea and cake feast; whereupon Bessy -brightened up with extraordinary alacrity, gathered up her books and -her dry bread and apple, and proceeded to trot along by the side of -Franceline, who soothed her still further by the promise of a piece of -bread and jam from Angélique, if she gave up crying altogether and told -her all about mammy and Farmer Griggs. An occasional sob showed every now -and then that the waters had not quite subsided; but Bessy did her best, -and before they reached The Lilies she had given in somewhat disjointed -sentences the following history of the prophecy and what led to it. The -widow Bing--who, for motives independent of all theological views, had -recently joined the Methodist Connection, of which Farmer Griggs was -a burning and shining light--had been laid up for the last month with -the rheumatism, and consequently unable to attend the meeting; but last -Sunday, being a good deal better, though still unequal to toiling up-hill -to the chapel, which was nearly half an hour’s walk from her cottage, -she had compromised matters by going to church, which was within ten -minutes’ walk of her. This scandal spread quickly through the Connection, -and was not long coming to Farmer Griggs’ ears, who straightway declared -that the widow Bing had thrown in her lot with the transgressors, and -was henceforth a castaway whose name should be blotted out. This fearful -doom impending over her mother had just been made known to Bessy by -Farmer Griggs’ boy, who met her tripping along with her basket on her -arm, and singing to herself as she went. The sight of the child’s gayety -under such appalling circumstances was not a thing to be tolerated; so -he conveyed to Bessy in very comprehensible vernacular the soothing -intelligence that her mother was “a bad ’un as was gone over to the -parson, as means the devil, and how as folk as was too lazy to come to -chapel ’ud find it ’arder a-goin’ down to the bottomless pit, where there -was devils and snakes and all manner o’ dreadful things a-blazin’ and -a-burnin’ like anythink!” - -All this Franceline contrived to elicit from Bessy by the time they -reached The Lilies, where they found Miss Merrywig sitting outside the -kitchen-window in high confabulation with Angélique, busy inside at her -work. The day was intensely hot, and the sun was still high enough to -make shade a necessity of existence for everybody except cats and bees; -but there sat Miss Merrywig under the scorching glare, with a large -chinchilla muff in her lap. - -“A muff!” cried Franceline, standing aghast before the old lady. “Dear -Miss Merrywig, you don’t mean to say you want it on such a day as this! -Why, it suffocates one to look at it.” - -“Yes, my dear, just so. As you say, it suffocates one to look at it,” -assented Miss Merrywig, “and I assure you I didn’t find it at _all_ -comfortable carrying it to-day; but I _only_ bought it yesterday, and I -wanted to let Angélique see it and hear her opinion on it, you see. I -went in to Newford yesterday, and they were selling off at Whilton’s, the -furrier’s, and this muff struck me as _such_ a bargain that I thought I -could _not_ do better than take it. Now, what _do_ you think I gave for -it? Don’t _you_ say anything, Angélique; I want to hear what mademoiselle -will say herself. Now, just look well at it. Remember how hot the weather -is; as you say, the sight of fur suffocates one, and that makes _such_ -a difference. My dear mother used to say--and she _was_ a judge of fur, -you know; she made a voyage to Sweden with my father in poor dear old Sir -Hans Neville’s yacht, and that gave her such a knowledge of furs--you -know Sweden _is_ a great place for all sorts of furs--well, she used to -say, ‘If you want the value of your money in fur, buy it in the summer.’ -I only just mention that to show you. But you can see for yourself -whether I got the full value in this one. You see it is lined with -satin--and such splendid satin! As thick as a board, and _so_ glossy! And -it’s silk all through. I just ripped a bit here at the edge to see if it -was a cotton back; but it’s all pure silk. The young man of the shop was -so _extremely_ polite, and _so_ anxious I should understand that it _was_ -a bargain, he called my attention to the quality of the satin--which was -_really_ very kind of him; for of course that didn’t matter to _him_. -But they are wonderfully civil at Whilton’s. I remember buying some -swan’s-down to trim a dress when I was a girl and I was bridesmaid to -Lady Arabella Wywillyn--they lived at the Grange then--and it _was_, -I must say, a most excellent piece of swan’s-down, and cleaned like -new. I asked the young man if he remembered it--I meant, of course, the -marriage. Dear me, what a sensation it did make! But he did not, which -was of course natural, as it was long before he was born; but I thought -he might have heard the old people of the place speak of it. Well, now -that you’ve examined it, tell me, what _do_ you think I gave for it?” - -Franceline was hovering on the brink of a guess, when Angélique, who had -returned to her saucepans, suddenly reappeared at the window, and, spying -Bessy’s red face staring with all its eyes at the chinchilla muff--which -looked uncommonly like a live thing that might bite if the fancy took it, -and was best considered from a respectful distance--called out: “What’s -that child doing there?” Franceline, thankful for the timely rescue, -began to pour out volubly in French the story of Farmer Griggs and the -widow Bing. - -“It’s a shame these sort of people _should_ be allowed to terrify the -poor people,” said Miss Merrywig when she had taken it all in. “I -_wonder_ the vicar does not do something. He _ought_ to take steps to -stop it; there’s no saying what _may_ be the end of it. But dear Mr. -Langrove is _so_ kind and so _very_ much afraid of annoying anybody!” - -While Miss Merrywig was delivering this opinion Angélique was making good -the bread-and-jam promise for Bessy, who stood watching the operation -with distended eyes through the open window, and saw with satisfaction -that the grenadier was laying on the jam very thick. - -“Now, you’re not going to cry any more, and you’re going to be a good -girl?” said Franceline before she let Bessy seize the tempting slice that -Angélique held out to her. - -Bessy promised unhesitatingly. - -“Stop a minute,” said Franceline, as the child stretched up on tiptoe -to clutch the prize. “You must not repeat to poor, sick mammy what that -naughty boy said to you. Do you promise?” But the proximity of bread -and jam was not potent enough to hurry Bessy into committing herself -to this rash promise. What between the sudden vision of “devils and -snakes a-blazin’ and a-burnin’” which the demand conjured up again, and -what between the dread of seeing the bread and jam snatched away by the -grenadier, who stood there, brown and terrible, waiting a signal from -Franceline, her feelings were too much for her; there was a preparatory -sigh and a sob, and down streamed the tears again. - -“I’d better go home with her, and tell the poor woman myself,” said -Franceline, appealing to Miss Merrywig. - -“Yes, you come ’ome and tell mammy!” sobbed the child, who seemed to have -some vague belief in Franceline’s power to avert the threatened doom. - -“I dare say that will be the safest way, and I’m sure it’s the kindest,” -said Miss Merrywig; “but it _will_ be a dreadfully hot walk for you on -the road, my dear, with _no_ shelter but your sunshade. I had better go -_with_ you. I don’t mind the heat; you see I’m _used_ to it.” Franceline -could not exactly see how this fact of Miss Merrywig’s company would -lessen the heat to her; but it was meant in kindness, so she assented. -The meadowlands went flowering down to the river, richly planted with -fine old trees, and only separated from the garden and its adjoining -fields by an invisible iron rail, so that the little cottage looked as if -it were in the centre of a great private park. A short cut through the -fields took you out on the road in a few minutes, and the trio had not -gone far when they saw Mr. Langrove walking at a brisk pace on before -them, his umbrella tilted to one side to screen him from the sun, that -was striking him obliquely on the right ear. Franceline clapped her hands -and called out, and they soon came up to him. - -“What are you doing down here, may I ask? Having your face burned, eh?” -said the vicar familiarly. - -Franceline burst out with her story at once. The vicar made a short, -impatient gesture, and they all walked on together, Bessy holding fast by -Franceline’s gown with one hand, while the other was doing duty with the -bread and jam. - -“Really, my _dear_ Mr. Langrove,” broke in Miss Merrywig, “you _ought_ -to take steps; excuse me for saying so, but you _really_ ought. It’s -quite dreadful to think of the man’s frightening the poor people in this -way. You really _should_ put a stop to it.” - -“My good lady,” replied the vicar, “if you can tell me how it’s to be -done, there’s nothing will give me greater pleasure.” - -“Well, of course you know best; but it seems to me something ought to -be done. The poor people are all falling into dissent as fast as they -can; it’s quite melancholy to think of it--it _really_ is. You’ll excuse -me for saying so--for it must be _very_ painful to your feelings, and I -never _do_ interfere with what doesn’t concern me; though of course what -concerns you, as our pastor, and the Church of England, _does_ concern -us, all of us--but I really think you _are_ too forbearing. You ought to -enforce your authority a _little_ more strictly.” - -“Authority!” echoed the vicar with a mild, ironical laugh. “What -authority have I to enforce? Show me that first!” - -“Dear _me_! But an ordained minister of the church, the church of the -realm--surely, _that_ gives you authority?” - -“Just as much as you and other members of the church choose to accredit -me with, and no more,” said Mr. Langrove, with as much bitterness in -the emphasis as he was capable of. “If Griggs thinks fit to set himself -up as a preacher, and every man, woman, and child in my parish choose -to desert me and go over to him, I can no more prevent them than I can -prevent their buying their sugar at market instead of getting it from the -grocers.” - -“And who is Monsieur Greegs?” inquired Franceline, who was backward in -gossip, and knew few of the local notabilities except by sight. - -“Monsieur Griggs is a very respectable farmer, a shrewd judge of cattle, -who knows a great deal about the relative merits of short-horns and the -Devonshire breed, and all about pigs and poultry,” said the vicar with -mild sarcasm. - -“And he is a minister too!” - -“After a fashion. He elected himself to the office, and it would seem -he has plenty of followers. He started services on week-days when he -found that I had commenced having them on Fridays, and drew away the -very portion of the congregation they were specially intended for; and -he preaches on Sundays. You have a sample of his style here,” nodding at -Bessy, who was licking her fingers with great gusto, having finished her -last mouthful. - -“Is it not dreadful!” exclaimed Miss Merrywig. “And the people _are_ so -infatuated; they actually tell me that they understand this man better -than their clergymen, that he speaks plainer to them, and understands -better what they want, and that sort of thing. They don’t care about -doctrine, you see, or controversy; they like to be talked to in a kind -of conversational way by one of their own class who speaks bad grammar -like themselves. They tell you to your face that they don’t understand -the clergyman--I assure you they do; that his sermons are too learned, -and only fit for gentle folk. You see they _are_ so ignorant, the poor -people! It’s very melancholy to think of.” - -“They like better to be told they’ll go to hell and be damned, if they -go to their own church; they ought not to be allowed to go to hear such -things. I’ll speak to widow Bing, and make her promise me she’ll never go -there again,” said Franceline peremptorily. - -“No, no, my dear child; you mustn’t do anything of the kind,” said the -vicar quickly. “No one has a right to meddle with the people in these -things; if she likes to go to the dissenters, no one can prevent her.” - -“But if she was fond of going into the gin-shop and getting tipsy, you’d -have a right to meddle and to prevent her, would you not?” inquired -Franceline. - -“That’s a different thing,” said the vicar, who in his own mind thought -the parallel was not so very wide of the mark. - -“I can’t see it,” protested Franceline with an expressive shrug. “If you -have a right to prevent their bodies from getting tipsy, and killing -themselves or somebody else perhaps, why not their souls?” - -The vicar laughed a complacent little laugh at this cogent reasoning of -his young friend. “Unfortunately,” he said, “we have no authority for -interfering with people in the management of their souls in this country. -Such a proceeding would be quite unconstitutional; the state only -legislates for the salvation of their bodies.” - -“Dear me, just _so_!” ejaculated Miss Merrywig. “I remember my dear -mother telling me that a very clever man--I’m not sure if he _wasn’t_ -a member of Parliament, but anyhow he made speeches _in_ public--and -he said--I really think it _was_ an electioneering speech just at the -time the Catholic Emancipation bill was being passed--that in this -_free_ country every man had a right to go to the devil his _own_ way. -How exceedingly shocking! To think of people’s going to the devil at -all! But that’s just it. They prefer to go their _own_ way, and, as you -say, the law can’t prevent them. It’s entirely a question of personal -influence, you see.” - -“Then perhaps Sir Simon could do something,” suggested Franceline; “he’s -master here, and he makes everybody do what he likes. Why don’t you speak -to him, monsieur?” - -“He might do something, perhaps, if anybody could; but, unfortunately, he -does not see it,” observed the vicar. - -“I’ll speak to him. I’ll make him see it,” said Franceline, who flew with -a woman’s natural instinct to arbitrary legislation as the readiest mode -of redressing wrongs, and had, moreover, a strong faith in her own power -of making Sir Simon “see it.” - -“But is this not rather--of course you know best, only it _does_ strike -me that it is a case for the bishop’s interference _rather_ than the -squire’s,” said Miss Merrywig. She was a remnant of the old times when a -bishop could hold his own; that was before ritualism came into vogue. - -“Yes,” cried Franceline, with sudden exultation, “of course it’s the -bishop who must do it. You ought to write to him, monsieur!” - -Mr. Langrove smiled. “The bishop has no more power to interfere with the -proceedings of my parishioners than you have.” - -“Then what has he power to do? What are bishops good for?” demanded the -obtuse young Papist. - -But Mr. Langrove, being a loyal “churchman,” was not going to enter -on such slippery, debatable ground as this. He was happily saved from -the disagreeable process of beating about the bush for an answer by -the fact of their being close by widow Bing’s door, from which there -issued distinctly a twofold sound as of somebody crying and somebody -else exhorting. Bessy no sooner caught it than she swelled the chorus of -lamentation by breaking forth into a loud cry. If there was any weeping -to be done, Bessy was not the one to be behindhand. And now she was -resolved to do her very best; for perhaps the prophecy was already coming -true, and mammy was beginning to be a prey to the snakes and devils. - -“Stay here and keep that child quiet,” said the vicar hastily. “I hear -Miss Bulpit’s voice. I had better go in alone.” - -“He is greatly to be pitied, poor Mr. Langrove! I think,” said -Franceline, as she turned back with Miss Merrywig. “I think you all ought -to write to the bishop for him.” - -“Oh! that _would_ be a scandal! Besides, you heard him say the bishop -could not help him,” said the old lady. - -“What a blessed thing it is to be a Catholic!” exclaimed Franceline, -laughing. “_We_ have no farmers’ boys or anybody else meddling with our -priests; but then we have the Pope, who settles everything, and everybody -submits. You ought to invite the Pope to come over and deliver you from -all your troubles!” - - * * * * * - -The table was spread on the grass-plot in front of the cottage. -Franceline had made it pretty with ferns and flowers, and then sat down -under the porch, in her white muslin dress and pink sash, to converse -with her doves while waiting for Sir Simon and his two friends. Her -doves were great company to her; she had been so used to talking to them -ever since she was a child, complaining to them of her small griefs and -telling them of her little joys, that she came to fancy they understood -her, and took their plaintive coo or their little crystal laughter as -an intelligible and sympathetic response. One of the soft-breasted, -opal-winged little messengers is upon her finger now, clutching the -soft white perch sharply enough with its coral claws, and answering -her caresses with that low, inarticulate sighing that sounds like the -yearning of an imprisoned spirit. Franceline took some seed out of a box -on the window-sill beside her, and began to feed it out of her hand, -watching the little, pearly head bobbing on her palm with a smile of -tenderest approval. At the sound of footsteps crunching the gravel at the -back of the cottage she rose, still feeding her dove, to go and meet the -gentlemen. But there was only one. - -“I fear I am before my time,” said Mr. de Winton, “but I expected to find -the others here before me.” (O Clide, Clide! what prevarication is this?) -“They went out about half an hour ago, and told me to meet them in the -Beech walk, where we were to come on together. Have I come too soon?” - -“Oh! not at all,” said the young girl graciously; “my father will come -out in a moment, and I am not very busy, as you see!” - -“You are fond of animals, I perceive.” - -“Animals! Oh! don’t call my sweet little doves animals,” retorted -Franceline indignantly. “That’s worse than papa. When they coo too much -and disturb him, and I take their part, he always says: ‘Oh! I’m fond -of the birds, but they are noisy little things’! The idea of speaking of -them as ‘the birds’! It hurts my feelings very much.” - -“Then pray instruct me, so that I may not have the misfortune to do so -too!” entreated Clide. “Tell me by what name I must call them.” - -“Oh! you may laugh. I am used to being laughed at about my doves; I don’t -mind it,” said Franceline with a pretty toss of her small, haughty head. - -“I am not laughing at you; I should be very sorry to call anything you -loved by a name that hurt you,” protested the young man with a warmth -that made Franceline look up from her dove at him; the fervor of the -glance that met her did not cause her to avert her eyes, and brought -no glow over her face. Three of the doves came flying down from the -medlar-tree, scattering the starry-white blossoms in their flight. After -making a few circles in the air, one perched on Franceline’s shoulder, -and two alighted on her head. Clide thought it was the prettiest picture -he had ever seen; and as he watched the soft little creatures nestling -into the copper-colored hair, he wondered if this choice of a nest did -not betray a little cunning, mingled with their native simplicity. But -Franceline could not see the performance from this picturesque point of -view. The two on her head were fighting, each trying to push the other -off. She put up her hand to chase them away, but the claws of one got -entangled in her hair, and the more it struggled, the more difficult -it became to escape. Clide could not but come to her assistance; he -disengaged the tenacious rose-leaves very deftly from the glossy meshes, -and set the prisoner free. - -“Naughty little bird!” said Franceline, shaking back her flushed face, -and smoothing the slightly-dishevelled braids; and then, without a word -of thanks to her deliverer, or otherwise alluding to the misconduct of -her pets, she walked on towards the summer-house, and broke out into -observations about the beauties of the neighborhood, asking her companion -what he had seen and how he liked the country round Dullerton. She spoke -English as fluently as a native, with only a slight foreign accentuation -of the vowels that was too piquant to be a blemish; but every now and -then a literal translation reminded you unmistakably that the speaker was -a foreigner. - -Clide thought the accent and the Gallicisms quite charming; he was, -however, a little startled when the young lady, in pointing out the -various places of the surrounding parts, and telling him who owned them, -informed him very gravely that the pretty Mrs. Lawrence, who lived in -that Elizabethan house with a clock-tower rising behind the wood, was -thirty years younger than her rich husband, and had married him for his -“propriety,” as she was very poor and had none of her own. - -Franceline noticed the undisguised astonishment caused by this -announcement, and, blushing up with a little vexation, exclaimed: “I -mean for his property! You know in French _propriété_ means property.” -But after this she insisted on talking French. Clide protested he liked -English much better, and vowed that she spoke it in perfection; but it -was no use. - -“English is too serious for conversation, and too stiff,” said -Franceline, revenging herself for her blunder on the innocent medium of -it, as we are all apt to do. “It is only fit for sermons and speeches. In -French you can talk for an hour without saying anything, and it doesn’t -matter. French is like a light, airy little carriage that only wants a -touch to send it spinning along, and, once going, it will go on for ever; -but English is a stagecoach, stately and top-heavy, and won’t go without -passengers to steady it and horses to draw it. Foolish thoughts always -sound so much more foolish in English than in French. People who are not -serious and wise should always talk French.” - -“Ah! merci, now I see why you insist on my talking it,” said Clide, -laughing. - -“It would have been a rash judgment; I could not tell whether you were -wise or not.” - -“I dare say you are right, though it never occurred to me before,” he -remarked deprecatingly. “Our robust Anglo-Saxon is rather a clumsy -vehicle for conversation compared with yours.” - -“I did not call it clumsy; I said stately,” corrected Franceline. - -Clide began to fear he was making himself disagreeable; that she was -taking a dislike to him. Happily, before he committed himself further, -M. de la Bourbonais came out and joined them. He was soon followed by -Sir Simon and the admiral, and the little party sat down to Angélique’s -_chefs-d’œuvre_ under the shade of the medlar-tree, with the doves -sounding their bugle in the adjoining copse. The sun was setting, and -sent a stream of orange and rose colored light into the garden and over -the group at the table; a breeze came up from the river, fluttering the -strawberry leaves and Franceline’s hair, and blowing the heavy scent of -new-mown hay into her face. It happened--of course by chance, unless -that far-sighted old Angélique had a hand in it--that Clide was seated -next to her; and as the leg of the long table made a space between her -and Sir Simon, it was natural that the two young people should be thrown -on their own resources for conversation, while their elders at the -other end talked incessantly of old times and people that neither Clide -nor Franceline cared about. It was the first time in her life that she -found herself the object of direct homage and attention from a young -yet mature man, and the experience was decidedly pleasant. Clide was -determined to efface the bad impression that he imagined he had made, and -to win Franceline’s good graces or die in the effort. It was not a very -difficult task, and the zest with which he set about it proved that it -was not a disagreeable one. He bent all the energies of his mind to the -sole end of interesting and entertaining her, and soon the undisguised -pleasure that shone in the listener’s face showed that he was succeeding. -With that instinct which quickens the perception of young gentlemen in -Clide de Winton’s present state of mind, he was not long in hitting upon -the subjects that most excited her curiosity. She had never been beyond -the woods of Dullerton since she was of an age to observe things, and -it was like a flight in a balloon over all these far-off countries to -be carried there in imagination by the vivid descriptions of one who -had seen them all. Clide began to wonder at himself as he went on; he -had never suspected himself of such brilliant conversational powers as -he was now displaying. He was surprised to see how much the dreamy, -dark eyes had read about the various countries he spoke of, and what -an enlightened interest she took in the natural history of each. She -wanted to know a great deal about the splendid tropical birds that have -no voices, and about the albatross and other marvellous inhabitants of -the skies in far-away lands; and Clide lent himself with the utmost -condescension to her catechising. But when he came to talking of Rome and -the Catacombs, the eyes kindled with a different sort of interest. - -“And you saw the very spot where S. Cecilia was buried, and S. Agatha, -and S. Agnes, who was only thirteen when she was martyred? Oh! how I envy -you. I would walk all the way barefooted from this to see those sacred -places. And the Colosseum, where the wild beasts tore the martyrs to -pieces!” She clasped her hands and looked at him with the look of awe and -wonder that we might bestow on some one who had seen a vision. “And the -tombs of the apostles, and the prison where S. Peter was when the angel -came and set him free?” - -“Yes, I saw them all; it was a great privilege,” said Clide, conscious of -realizing for the first time how great. - -“Indeed it was!” murmured Franceline, as if speaking to herself; then -suddenly looking up at him, “Did it not make you long to be a martyr?” - -Clide hesitated. The temptation to answer “yes” was very strong. The -dark, appealing eyes were fixed on him with an expression that it was -dreadful to disappoint; but he was too honest and too proud to steal her -approval under false colors. - -“No, I am afraid I did not. I saw it all too much from the historical -point of view. The triumphs of the Christian heroes were mixed up in -my memory with too many classical associations; and even if it had not -been so, I confess that the phase of martyrdom recalled by the Colosseum -and the Catacombs is not the one to stir my slow heroic pulses. There is -too much of the ghastly physical strife on the one hand, and of wanton -cruelty on the other; the contemplation rather shocks and harrows than -stimulates me. I did once feel something like what you describe, but it -was not in Rome.” - -“Where was it?” inquired Franceline eagerly. - -“It was in Africa, amongst a tribe of savages. I remember feeling it -would be a grand use of a man’s life to devote it to rescuing them from -their deplorable state of mental darkness and physical degradation; and -that if one died in the struggle, like Francis Xavier, an outcast on the -sea-shore, forsaken by every visible helpmate, it would be as noble a -death as a man could wish to die.” - -“I wonder you did not follow the impulse,” said Franceline. “You might -have converted thousands of those poor savages, and been a second S. -Francis Xavier. It must have been a great struggle not to try it.” - -Clide did not laugh, but went on gravely dipping his strawberries into -sugar for a moment, and then said: - -“No, I can’t pretend even to the negative glory of a struggle. I am -ashamed to say the desire was a mere transient caprice. I got the length -of spending ten days learning the language, and by that time the dirt -and stupidity and cruelty of the neophytes had done for my apostolic -vocation; the debased condition of the poor creatures was brought home -to me so fearfully that I gave it up in disgust. I dare say it was very -cowardly, very selfish; but, looking back on it, I can’t help feeling -that the savages had no great loss. It takes more than an impulse of -emotional pity to make a hero of the Francis Xavier type; one can’t be an -apostle by mere willing and wishing.” - -“Yes, but one can,” denied Franceline; “that is just the one kind of hero -that it only wants will to be. One cannot be a warrior or a poet, or that -kind of thing, because that requires genius; but one may be a martyr or -an apostle simply by willing. Love is the only genius that one wants; it -was love that turned the twelve fishermen into apostles and heroes, you -know.” - -“Just so; but I didn’t love the savages.” - -“Perhaps you would if you had tried.” - -“Do you think it is possible to love any one by trying?” - -“Well, I don’t know; if they were very unhappy and wanted my love very -much, I think I might.” - -Clide stole a quick glance at her; but Franceline was peeling a pear, -and evidently an undue portion of her thoughts were concentrated on that -operation and a care not to let the juice run on her fingers. “Then you -think it was very wicked of me not to have loved those savages?” he began -again. - -“I don’t say it was wicked. If they were so very dirty and cruel, it must -have been hard enough; but you might have found another tribe that would -have been more lovable, and that wanted quite as much to be civilized and -converted--nice, simple savages, like wild flowers or dumb animals, that -would have been docile and grateful, perhaps revengeful too; but then -when they were Christians they would have conquered that--” - -Clide laughed outright. - -“I don’t think your vocation for converting the savages is so very much -superior to mine,” he said; “it certainly would not have lived through my -three days’ novitiate.” - -Franceline looked at him, and laughed too--that clear, ringing laugh of -hers, that was so contagious; they both felt very young together. - -“And what was your next vocation?” she asked, perfectly unconscious of -any indiscretion. “What are you going to do now?” - -“This morning my mind was made up to go abroad again in a few days, and -recommence my old life of busy idleness; but your father has upset all my -plans.” - -“My father!” - -“Yes. It ought not to surprise you much; it is not likely to be the first -time that M. de la Bourbonais has proved the good genius of another. He -was kind enough to let me talk to him of myself, and to give my folly the -benefit of his wisdom; he made me feel that I was leading a very selfish, -good-for-nothing sort of life, and showed me how wrong it was; in fact, -he did for me what I wanted to do for the savages. He taught me what my -duty was, and I promised him I would try to do it.” - -“Ah! then perhaps you are going to be a hero after all,” said Franceline, -a gleam of enthusiasm sparkling in her face again. - -“I fear not; at least, it will be a very prosaic, humdrum sort of -heroism. I am going to stay at home, and try to be useful to a few people -in a quiet way on my own property.” - -“Oh! I am so glad. Then we shall see you again. You’ll be sure to come -and see Sir Simon sometimes, will you not?” - -“Yes, I will come in any case to see M. de la Bourbonais,” said Clide. -“His advice will be invaluable to me; and he was so kind as to promise -that he would always be glad to give it to me.” - -The sweet dimples broke out with a blush of pleasure and pride in -Franceline’s face; it was a delight to her to hear any one speak so of -her father, and Clide had seen so many wise and clever people in his -travels that his admiration and respect implied a great deal. If the -young man had been a Talleyrand bent on attaining some diplomatic end, he -could not have displayed greater cunning and tact. - -“It’s a great come down from the grand African scheme, you see,” he -observed, laughing; “but under such good guidance there is no saying what -I may not achieve. I may turn out a hero in the end.” - -“If you do your duty perfectly, of course you will,” replied Franceline -confidently. “Papa says the real heroes are those that do their duty best -and get no praise for it.” - -“Oh! but I should like a little praise; you would not grudge me a -little now and then if I deserved it?” And the look that accompanied -the question would have most fully explained the praise he coveted, if -Franceline had not been as unlearned in that species of language as one -of her doves. - -“Bless me! how beautiful that child is!” said the admiral in a _sotto -voce_. “Just look at her color; did you ever see anything to come up to -it? It reminds me of that tinted Hebe that we went to see together in -Florence; you remember, Harness?” - -The excitement of talking had brought an exquisite pink glow into -Franceline’s cheeks, and made her eyes sparkle with unwonted brilliancy. -Her father listened to the flattering outburst of the old sailor with a -bright smile of satisfaction, not venturing to look at Franceline, lest -he should betray his acquiescence too palpably. - -“And she’s the very picture of health too!” remarked the admiral. - -At this Raymond turned and looked at her. - -“How like her mother she is!” said Sir Simon, appealing to him; but he -had no sooner uttered the words than he wished himself silent. The smile -died immediately out of M. de la Bourbonais’ face, and a sharp spasm of -pain passed over it like a shadow. Sir Simon guessed at once what caused -it: the bright and delicate color, that the admiral had aptly compared to -the transparency of tinted marble, reminded him of Armengarde when death -had cast its terrible beauty over her. - -“Like her in beauty and in many other things,” resumed the baronet in -a careless, abstracted tone. “But, happily, Franceline does not know -what delicacy means; she has never known a day’s illness in her life, I -believe.” - -But this reassuring remark did not bring back the smile into the father’s -face; he fixed his eyes on Franceline with an uneasy glance, as if -looking for something that he dreaded to see there. - -“She must find this place dull, pretty little pet,” observed the admiral, -who saw nothing to check his admiring comments. - -“It never occurred to me before, but I dare say she does,” assented the -baronet; “and she’s old enough now to want a little amusement. We ought -to have thought of that already, Raymond; but we’re a selfish lot, the -best of us. We forget that we were young ourselves once upon a time. -I’ll tell you what it is, De Winton, we’ll carry the child off one of -these days to London, and show her the sights and take her to the opera. -You’d like that, Franceline, would you not?” And shifting his chair -to the other side of the table, he set himself down by her side in an -affectionate attitude. - -The project was discussed with great animation, Franceline being -evidently delighted with it. - -“My step-mother was to be in town next week,” said Clide, “and I’m sure -she would be very happy to give her services as chaperon, if you have not -any more privileged person in view.” - -“That’s not a bad idea. I had not thought of that. I’m glad you mentioned -it. I’ll write to her this very night,” said Sir Simon. “Meantime, it -strikes me that it would be a very good thing if you learned to ride, -Miss Franceline; it’s a disgrace to us all to think of your having -entered your eighteenth year without being taught this accomplishment. We -must set about repairing your neglected education at once. How about a -pony, Clide? Which of the nags would suit best, do you think?” - -“I should say Rosebud would be about the nicest you could find for a -lady; she’s as gentle as a lamb, and as smooth-footed as a cat.” - -“Rosebud!” echoed M. de La Bourbonais. “Mon cher…” - -“Yes, I think you’re right,” said Sir Simon, completely ignoring the -interruption. “Rosebud is a gem of a lady’s horse. We’ll have a few -private lessons in the park first, and let her canter over the turf -before we show off in public.” - -“Mon cher Simon,” broke in Raymond again, “it cannot be thought of. -Franceline would not like it; she does not care, I assure you.…” - -“O petit papa!” cried Franceline with a little, entreating gesture. - -“Ah! is it so indeed? But, my child, consider…” - -“Consider, Monsieur le Philosophe, that you don’t understand the matter -at all; you just leave it to us to settle, and attend to what De Winton -is saying to you.” - -This last was a difficult injunction, inasmuch as the admiral was saying -nothing. “Come along with me out of the reach of busybodies, Franceline,” -he continued, and, drawing her arm within his own, they walked off to -the summer-house, where Clide, without being invited, followed them. -There was a long and most interesting conference, which terminated in -Franceline’s standing on tiptoe to be kissed by her old friend, and -declaring that it was very naughty of him to spoil her so. - - * * * * * - -“Show him in,” said the vicar, laying down his pen, and a stout, -rosy-cheeked, fair-haired young man in corduroys and top-boots was -ushered into the study. - -“Well Griggs, I’m glad to see you. Sit down,” said Mr. Langrove in the -bland, familiar tone of kindness that put simple folk at ease with him -directly. “You’ve come to consult me on a matter of importance, eh?” - -“Of importance,” echoed the farmer, twirling his round hat between his -knees and contemplating his boots--“of great importance, sir.” - -“Well, let me hear what it is. If I can help you in any way, you may -count upon me,” replied the vicar encouragingly, drawing his chair a -little nearer. - -“Thank you, I don’t want help,” he said with a significant emphasis. “I -know where to look for it when I do,” turning up his eyes sanctimoniously -to heaven. - -“Certainly, that help is ever at hand for us. But what is your business -with me?” - -“You’ll not take it amiss if I speak frankly, sir. We can none of us -do more than bear testimony to the truth, according to our lights,” -explained the farmer; and, Mr. Langrove having by a grave nod acceded to -this proposition, he resumed: “You contradicted yourself in the pulpit -last Sunday. It’s been repeated to me that you found fault with my -teaching concerning faith and works; and so, for sake of them as look to -me for guidance, I came up to hear what views you held on that head, as -the gospel of the day said: ‘And every man shall be judged according to -his works.’ Now, sir, it appears to me the end of the sermon was a flat -contradiction of the beginning.” - -“Can you name the contradictory passages?” demanded the vicar, after an -imperceptible start. - -“Well, I can’t say as I can,” admitted the farmer; “but I’d know them if -I heard them.” - -Mr. Langrove rose, and took down a large manuscript volume from a shelf -directly over his head. Opening it at random, his eye fell upon the text: -“Learn of me, for I am meek and humble of heart.” He lingered on it -for a second, then turned over the leaves, and, having found the place -he wanted, he read aloud the first and last few pages of the preceding -Sunday’s sermon. - -“Where do you see the contradiction?” he inquired, looking up and laying -his hand on the page. - -“Well, as you read it now, I can’t say it sounds much amiss,” replied Mr. -Griggs, lifting his feet and bringing them down again with a dubious -thud. “I expect the fault was in the way of saying it. You don’t speak -plain enough; if you spoke plainer, folks would most likely understand -you better. Many as have joined the Connection say as it was that as -drove them to us. They couldn’t understand you; they often came away -puzzled.” - -A transient flush rose and died out in the vicar’s face, and his lips -trembled a little. But Farmer Griggs did not notice this; he was looking -at his boots, and pondering on the wisdom of his own words. Mr. Langrove -had been pretty well trained to forbearance of late years, and, though -he was too humble-minded and too honest to pretend to be indifferent -to the humiliating interference he had to suffer, he was surprised to -find how keenly he smarted under the present one, and mortified to feel -how alive the old man was in him, in spite of the many blows he had -dealt him. He never, since he was a school-boy, was conscious of such a -strong desire to kick a fellow-creature; and this rising movement was no -sooner strangled by an imperious effort of self-control than it rose up -instantaneously in the milder form of an impulse to open the door and -show his visitor out. Before this second rebellion of the old man was put -down, Farmer Griggs, mistaking the vicar’s momentary silence for a tacit -acknowledgment of his shortcomings, observed: - -“It’s a solemn thing to break the word; and the plainer and simpler one -speaks the better it is for those that hear it, though it mayn’t be such -a credit for them that speak it. There’s them that say you think more -about making a fine sermon than doing good to souls--which is no better -than spiritual pride. You can’t shut folks’ mouths, no more than you can -stop the river from running; they will say what they think.” - -“Yes, and that is why we are commanded to think no evil,” rejoined the -vicar. “We are too ready to judge of other people’s motives, when in all -conscience we are hard set enough to judge our own. If we go to church -to pick holes in the sermon, as you say, we had better stay away. The -preacher may be a very poor one, but, trust me, while he does his best, -those who listen in the right spirit will learn no harm from him; those -who have not that spirit would do well to ask for it, and meantime to -study the chapter of S. James on the use of the tongue.” - -The vicar rose, as if to intimate that the audience was at an end. - -“Well, there may be something in that,” remarked the farmer, rising -slowly; “but, for my own part, I never had much opinion of James. Paul -is the man; if it hadn’t been for Paul, it’s my belief the whole concern -would have been a failure.[92] Good-morning, sir.” And without waiting -to see the effect of this startling announcement of his private views, -Farmer Griggs bowed himself out. - -“And these are the men who take the word out of our mouths! Did he come -of his own accord, or was he set on to it by Miss Bulpit?” was the -vicar’s reflection, as he stood watching the farmer’s retreating figure -from the window. “It is more than I can bear; some steps must be taken. -It’s high time for Harness to interfere; it’s too bad of him if he -refuses.” - -Mr. Langrove took up his hat, and went straight to the Court. - -“Depend upon it,” said Sir Simon when the clergymen had related the -recent interview--“depend upon it, Griggs is too shy a chap to have done -it on his own hook; take my word for it, there is a woman at the bottom -of it.” - -“That is just what makes it so serious. Griggs is a poor, ignorant, -conceited fellow that one can’t feel very angry with; one is more -inclined to laugh at him and pity him. But it is altogether unpardonable -in such a person as Miss Bulpit; it’s her being at the bottom of it that -makes the case hard on me.” - -Sir Simon agreed that it was. - -“Then what do you advise me to do? What steps are you prepared to take?” -asked Mr. Langrove. - -“My advice is that we leave her alone,” replied Sir Simon. “We’re none of -us a match for womankind. She circumvented me about that bit of ground -for the Methodist chapel. She’s too many guns for both of us together, -Langrove; if you get into a quarrel with the old lady, she’ll raise -the parish against you with port wine and flannel shirts, and you’ll -go to the wall. After all, why need you worry about it! Let her have -her say. They love to hear themselves talk, women do; you can’t change -them, and you wouldn’t if you could. Come, now, Langrove, you know you -wouldn’t. Halloo! here’s something to look at!” And he started from his -semi-recumbent attitude in the luxurious arm-chair, and went to the open -window. It was a charming sight that met them. Two riders, a lady and a -gentleman, were cantering over the sward on two magnificent horses, a bay -and a black. - -“Is that Franceline?” exclaimed Mr. Langrove, forgetting, in his surprise -and admiration, the annoyance of having his grievance pooh-poohed so -unconcernedly. - -“Yes. How capitally the little thing holds herself! She only had three -lessons, and she sits in her saddle as if it were a chair. Let’s come out -and have a look at them!” - -They stepped on the terrace. But Clide and Franceline were lost to view -for a few minutes in the avenue; presently they emerged from the trees -and came cantering up the lawn, Franceline’s laugh sounding as merry as a -hunting-horn through the park. - -“Bravo! Capital! We’ll make a first-rate horse-woman of her by-and-by. -She’ll cut out every girl in the county one of these days. And pray who -gave you leave to assume the duties of riding-master without consulting -me, sir?” - -This was to Clide, who had sprung off his horse to set something right in -his pupil’s saddle and adjust the folds of her habit, which had nothing -amiss that any one else could see. - -“They told me you were engaged, so I did not like to disturb you,” he -explained. - -“I should very much like to know who told you so,” said Sir Simon, with -offensive incredulity. - -“My respected uncle is the offender, if offence there be; but now that -you are disengaged, perhaps you would like to take a canter with us. I’ll -go round and order your horse?” - -“No, you sha’n’t. I don’t choose to be taken up second-hand in that -fashion; you’ll be good enough to walk off to The Lilies, and tell the -count I have something very particular to say to him, and I’ll take it as -a favor if he’ll come up at once.” - -Clide turned his horse’s head in the direction indicated. - -“No, no; you’ll get down and walk there,” said Sir Simon. “If he sees you -on horseback, he may suspect something, and that would spoil the fun.” -The young man alighted, and gave his bridle to be held. - -“I don’t see why I shouldn’t hold it in the saddle,” said the baronet -after a moment; “and we will take a turn while we’re waiting.” He vaulted -into Clide’s vacant seat with the agility of a younger man. - -“Well, a pleasant ride to you both!” said Mr. Langrove, moving away. “You -do your master credit, Franceline, whoever he is; and the exercise has -given you a fine color too,” he added, nodding kindly to her. - -“Oh! it’s enchanting!” cried the young Amazon passionately. “I feel as if -I had wings; and Rosebud is so gentle!” - -“Look here, Langrove,” called out Sir Simon, backing his powerful black -horse, and stooping towards the vicar, “don’t you go worrying yourself -about this business; it’s not worth it. They are a parcel of humbugs, the -whole lot of them. I know Griggs well--a hot-headed, canting lout that -would be much better occupied attending to his pigs. It would never do -for a man like you to come into collision with him. Let those that like -his fire and brimstone go and take it; you’ve a good riddance of them. -And as to the old lady, keep never minding. You’ll do no good by crossing -her; she’s a harmless old party as long as you let her have her own way, -but if you rouse her there will be the devil to pay.” - -M. de la Bourbonais had been kept out of the secret of the riding -lessons. He had heard nothing more of the scheme since that evening at -supper, and, with Angélique in the plot, it required no great diplomacy -to manage the trying on of the riding habit, that had been made by the -first lady’s dressmaker in London, brought down for the purpose; so that -the intended surprise was as complete as Sir Simon and his accomplices -could have wished. - -“Comment donc!”[93] he exclaimed, breaking out into French, as usual -when he was excited. “What is this? What do I see? My Clair de lune[94] -turned into an Amazon!” And he stood at the end of the lawn and beheld -Franceline careering on her beautiful, thoroughbred pony. “Ah! Simon, -Simon, this is too bad. This is terrible!” he protested, as the baronet -rode up; but the smile of inexpressible pleasure that shone in his face -took all the reproach out of the words. - -“Look at her!” cried Sir Simon triumphantly; “did you ever see any one -take to it so quickly? Just see how she sits in her saddle. Stand out of -the way a bit, till we have another gallop. Now, Franceline, who’ll be -back first?” - -And away they flew, Sir Simon reining in his more powerful steed, so as -to let Rosebud come in a neck ahead of him. - -“Simon, Simon, you are incorrigible! I don’t know what to say to you,” -said Raymond, settling and unsettling the spectacles under his bushy -eyebrows. - -“Compliment me; that’s all you need say for the present,” said Sir Simon. -“See what a color I’ve brought into her cheeks!” - -“O petit père! it is so delightful,” exclaimed Franceline, caressing the -hand her father had laid on Rosebud’s neck. “I never enjoyed anything so -much. And I’m not the least fatigued; you know you were afraid it would -fatigue me? And is not Rosebud a beauty? And look at my whip.” And she -turned the elegant gold-headed handle for his inspection. - -“Mounted in gold, and with your cipher in turquoise! Ah! you are nicely -spoiled! Simon, Simon!” What more could he say at such a moment? It would -have been odious to show anything but gratitude and pleasure, even if he -felt it. This, then, was the end of the earnest midnight conference, and -the distinct promise that Rosebud and Nero should be sold! The animal -that would have paid half a lawful and urgent debt was to be kept for -Franceline, and he must sanction the folly; to say nothing of the rigging -out of that young lady in a complete riding suit of the most expensive -fashion. Well, well, it was no use protesting now, and it was impossible -to deny that the exquisitely-fitting habit and the dark beaver hat set -off her figure and hair in singular perfection. The bright, healthy glow -of her cheeks, too pleaded irresistibly in extenuation of Sir Simon’s -extravagance. - -“Shall we ride down to The Lilies? I should like Angélique to see me. She -would be so pleased,” said Franceline, appealing to Sir Simon. - -“You think she would? Silly old woman! very likely; but I want to have -a talk with your father, so Clide must go and take care of you.” And -the baronet slipped off his horse, which Mr. de Winton, with exemplary -docility, at once mounted. The two young people set off at a canter, -Franceline turning round to kiss her hand to her father, as they plunged -into the trees and were lost to sight. - -It would be useless to attempt to describe the effect of the apparition -on Angélique: how she threw up her hands, and then flattened them between -her knees, calling all the saints in Paradise to witness if any one had -ever seen the like; and how nothing would satisfy her but that they -should gallop up and down the field in front for her edification; and the -astonishment of a flock of sheep which the performance sent scampering -and bleating in wild dismay backwards and forwards along with them; and -how, when Franceline’s hair came undone in the galloping, and fell in -a golden shower down her back, the old woman declared it was the very -image of S. Michael on horseback, whom she had seen trampling down the -dragon in an Assyrian church. When it was all over, and Franceline had -gone upstairs to change her dress, Clide tied the horses to a tree, and -completed his conquest of the old lady by asking her to show him that -wonderful casket he had heard so much about. She produced it from its -hiding-place in M. de la Bourbonais’ room, and, reverently unwrapping -it, proceeded to tell the story of how the papers had been rescued, and -how they had been burned, watching her listener’s face with keen eyes -all the while, to see if any shadow of scepticism was to be detected in -it; but Clide was all attention and faith. “There are people who think -it clever to laugh at the family for believing in such a story,” she -observed; “but, as I say, when a thing has come down from father to son -for nigh four thousand years, it’s hard not to believe in it; and to my -mind it’s easier to believe it than to think anybody could have had the -wit to invent it.” And Clide having agreed that no mere human imagination -could ever indeed have reached so lofty a flight, Angélique called his -attention to the ornamentation of the casket. “Monsieur can see how -unlike anything in our times it is,” pointing to the antediluvian vipers -crawling and writhing in the rusty iron; “and all that is typical--the -snakes and the birds and the crooked signs--everything is typical, as -Monsieur le Comte will tell you.” - -“And what is it supposed to typify?” asked Clide, anxious to seem -interested. - -“Ah! I know nothing about that, monsieur!” replied Angélique with a -shrug; and lest other questions of an equally indiscreet and unreasonable -nature should follow, she covered up the casket and carried it off. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -“CHIEFLY AMONG WOMEN.” - -BY AN AMERICAN WOMAN. - -Mr. Gladstone, in his _Political Expostulation_, makes use of the -following expression in regard to the growth of the Catholic Church in -England: “The conquests have been chiefly, as might have been expected, -among women.” That the ex-premier intended this as a statement of fact -rather than a sneer is very probable; for he evidently endeavors to -employ the language of good manners in his controversies, unlike his -predecessors in polemics during the XVIIth and XVIIIth centuries. The -debate between him and his distinguished antagonists in the English -hierarchy bears, happily, little resemblance to that between John Milton -and Salmasius concerning the royal rights of Charles I. But that, -nevertheless, there is a sneer in the quoted expression is scarcely to be -denied; and that this sneer had a lodgment in Mr. Gladstone’s mind, and -escaped thence by a sort of mental wink, if not by his will, is beyond -doubt. The pamphlet bears all the internal as well as external marks of -haste; it is only a piece of clever “journalism”--written for a day, -overturned in a day. “Mr. Gladstone lighted a fire on Saturday night -which was put out on Monday morning,” said the London _Tablet_. But the -sneer, whether wilful or not, stands, and cannot be erased or ignored; -and it is worth more than a passing consideration. It is an indirect and -ungraceful way of saying that the Catholic Church brings conviction more -readily to weaker than to stronger intellects; and that because the -“conquests” are “chiefly among women,” the progress of the church among -the people is not substantial, general, or permanent. We presume that -this is a reasonable construction of the expression. - -Whether the first of these propositions be true or not is not pertinent -to the practical question contained in the second. We will only remark, -in passing it over, that there stands against its verity a formidable -list of giant male intellects for which Protestantism and infidelity -have failed to furnish a corresponding offset. Students of science and -literature and lovers of art will not need to be reminded of the names. -That Catholic doctrine is intellectual in the purest and best sense -there are the records of nineteen centuries of civilization and letters -to offer in evidence. But what Mr. Gladstone invites us to discuss is -the power of women in propagating religion. In arriving at a correct -estimate we must review, with what minuteness the limits of an article -will permit, the part that women have had in the establishment of -religion, the intensity, the earnestness, the zeal, the persistence--for -these enter largely into the idea of propagation--with which women have -accepted and followed the teaching of the church, and the ability they -have exhibited and the success they have achieved in the impression of -their convictions upon others. We must take into account the relative -natural zealousness of the sexes; for zeal, next to grace, has most to do -with the making of “conquests.” We must remember the almost invincible -weapon which nature has placed in the hands of the weaker sex for -approaching and controlling men; the beautiful weapon--affection--which -mother, wife, sister, daughter, wield, and for which very few men know of -any foil, or against which they would raise one if they did. If we admit, -to conciliate Mr. Gladstone, that religion is an affair of the heart as -well as of the head, he will be gracious enough in return, we apprehend, -to concede that women must be potential agents in its propagation. - -Surely, it is only thoughtlessness which enables well-read men to assign -to women an insignificant place in the establishment of religion, or -their reading must have been too much on their own side of the line. -Even the pagans were wiser. They recognized the potency of women with -an intelligence born of nothing less correct than instinct. Their -mythological Titans were equally divided as to sex. A woman was their -model of the austerest of virtues--perpetual celibacy. A woman was their -goddess of wisdom, and, as opposed to man, the patroness of just and -humane warfare. A woman presided over their grain and harvests. Every -Grecian city maintained sacred fire on an altar dedicated to Vesta, the -protectress of the dearest form of human happiness--the domestic. It -was from Hebe the gods accepted their nectar. The nine tutelary deities -of the æsthetic--the Muses--were women. So were the Fates--who held the -distaff, and spun the thread of life, and cut the thread-- - - “Clotho and Lachesis, whose boundless sway, - With Atropos, both men and gods obey.” - -Splendor, Joy, and Pleasure were the Graces. It was a woman who first set -the example of parental devotion--Rhea concealing from their would-be -destroyers the birth of Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto. It was a woman who -first set the example of conjugal fidelity--Alcestis offering to die -for Admetus. It was from a woman’s name, Alcyone, we have our “halcyon -days”--Alcyone, who, overcome by grief for her husband, lost at sea, -threw herself into the waves, and the gods, to reward their mutual love, -transformed them into kingfishers; and when they built their nests, the -sea is said to have been peaceful in order not to disturb their joys. It -was a woman who dared to defy a king in order to perform funeral rites -over the remains of her brother. It was a woman, Ariadne, who, to save -her lover, Theseus, furnished him the clew out of the Cretan labyrinth, -although she abolished thereby the tribute her father was wont to extort -from the Athenians. In all that was good, beautiful, and tender, the -pagans held women pre-eminent; and whether we agree with the earliest -Greeks, who believed their mythology fact; or with the philosophers of -the time of Euripides, who identified the legends with physical nature; -or prefer to accept the still later theory that the deities and heroes -were originally human, and the marvellous myths terrestrial occurrences -idealized, the eminence of the position accorded to women is equally -significant. Woman was supremely influential, especially in all that -related to the heart. She had her place beside the priest. She was the -most trusted oracle. She watched the altar-fires. She was worshipped in -the temples, and homage was paid to her divinity in martial triumphs and -the public games. Whatever was tender and beneficent in the mythical -dispensation was associated with her sex. She was the goddess of every -kind of love. Excess, luxury, brute-power, were typified by men alone. -The pagans knew that love was the most potent influence to which man was -subject; and love with them was but another name for woman. “It is in the -heart,” says Lamartine, “that God has placed the genius of women, because -the works of this genius are all works of love.” Plautus, the pagan -satirist, offered his weight in gold for a man who could reason against -woman’s influence. Emerson, a very good pagan in his way, appreciates -the subtlety, the directness, and the impervious character of such an -influence in the making of conquests. “We say love is blind,” he writes, -“and the figure of Cupid is drawn with a bandage around his eyes--blind, -because he does not see what he does not like; but the sharpest-sighted -hunter in the universe is Love, for finding what he seeks, and only that.” - -Woman holds a very prominent place in the religious history of the Jews. -Two books of the Old Testament were written in her exaltation--the -Book of Ruth and the Book of Esther--while in the others she is found -constantly at the side of man, exercising in religious affairs a -recognized power. Patriarchs acknowledge her influence; she is addressed -by the prophets. It was Anna who departed not from the Temple, but -served God with fastings and prayers night and day. It was to a mother’s -prayers that Samuel was granted. Sarah is honored by mention in the New -Testament as a model spouse, and the church has enshrined her name and -her virtues in the universal marriage service. Miriam directed the -triumphant processions and inspired the hosannas of the women of Israel, -and was their instructress and guide. As it was then, as now, the custom -of the Israelites to separate the men from the women in public worship, -Miriam was looked up to as the appointed prophetess of her time. Micah, -the prophet, speaking in the name of God, says to the Jews: “I brought -thee up out of the land of Egypt, and I sent before thee Moses and Aaron -and Miriam.” That she had been appointed by the Lord, conjointly with -her brothers, to rescue her people from servitude, appears from her own -words in Numbers: “Hath the Lord indeed spoken only by Moses? Hath he -not spoken also by us?” It is needless to allude to the esteem in which -Naomi and Ruth were held. The widow of Sarepta fed the prophet Elijah -when she had reason to believe that in so doing she would expose her son -and herself to death by famine. The Second Epistle of S. John was written -to a woman. The reverence and affection with which the writers in the New -Testament speak of the Blessed Virgin Mary are too familiar for more than -allusion. The women who followed Our Lord were singularly heroic, and the -influence which they exerted upon their associates and upon all who came -in contact with them must have been correspondingly strong. Woman never -insulted, denied, or betrayed Christ: - - “Not she with trait’rous kiss her Saviour stung, - Not she denied him with unholy tongue; - She, while apostles shrank, could danger brave-- - Last at his cross, and earliest at his grave.” - -S. Paul himself commends the women who labored with him in spreading the -Gospel. It was Lois and Eunice who taught the Scriptures to Timothy. -It was in response to the appeals of women that many of the greatest -miracles were wrought; Elijah and Elisha both raised the dead to life at -the request of women; and Lazarus was restored by Our Lord in pity for -his sisters. It was to a woman our Lord spoke the blessed words, “Thy -sins be forgiven thee; go in peace.” It was a woman whose faith led her -to touch the hem of his garment, confident that thereby she would be made -whole. It was a woman whom he singled out as the object of his divine -love on the Sabbath day, in spite of the malicious remonstrances of the -Jews. Almost his last words on the cross had a woman for their subject. -It was women who followed him with most unflagging devotion; and it was -women whom he first greeted after his resurrection. - -We come now to women in the church militant. The question is no longer, -What have women been in religion? but, What have they done? Does the -record which they have made for themselves in the propagation of -Christianity justify the sneer of the ex-premier? The implication in Mr. -Gladstone’s quoted sentence is that, because the church in England has -found her conquests thus far “chiefly among women,” the Catholic faith is -not making such progress in that country as should create apprehension. -He thus raises the issue of woman’s potentiality in religion. - -We venture to suggest that there is no department of human endeavor in -which she is so powerful. - -Woman’s power in the present and the future, as a working disciple -of Our Lord, is reasonably deducible from her past. We may not argue -that to-morrow she shall be able to bring others to the knowledge and -service of God, if, throughout the long yesterday of the church, she was -indifferent or imbecile. She has little promise if she has not already -shown large fulfilment. We may not look to her zeal at the domestic -hearth and in cultivated society for fruits worthy an apostle, if, in -the crimson ages of Christianity, her sex made no sacrifices, achieved -no glory. We may doubt the strength of her intellect, as applied to the -science of religion, if the past furnishes no testimony thereof; and we -may accept, with some indulgence towards its author, the ex-premier’s -sneer upon her efficiency in the active toil of the church, if, in the -past, she has not been alert and successful in its various forms of -organized intelligence, humanity, and benevolence. - -What, then, are the facts? Did women, in the early days, submit to -torture and death, side by side with men, rather than deny their faith -in Christ? Was their faith, too, sealed with their blood? Did women -share the labor and the danger of teaching the truths of religion? -Did they, when such study was extremely difficult, and required more -intellect because it enjoyed fewer aids than now, devote themselves -to the investigation and elaboration of sacred subjects? Have they -contributed anything to the learning and literature of the church? Have -they gone into uncivilized countries as missionaries? Have they furnished -conspicuous examples of fidelity to God under circumstances seductive or -appalling? Have they founded schools, established and maintained houses -for the sick, the poor, the aged, the orphan, the stranger? Have they -crossed the thresholds of their homes, never to re-enter, but to follow -whithersoever the Lord beckoned? Has their zeal led them into the smoke -and rush of battle, into the dens of pestilence, into squalor and the -haunts of crime? Have they proved by evidence which will not be disputed -that, to win others to their faith, they have given up everything--they -can give up everything--that their faith is dearer to them than all else -on earth? - -Then, surely, a faith which has made its progress even “chiefly among -women” has made a progress as solid as if it were chiefly among men, for -no greater things can man do than these. - -It is neither possible nor desirable, in an article of narrow limits, -to enumerate the women who have taken even a prominent part in the -establishment of Christianity through the various agencies which the -church has employed. The notice of each class must be brief, and we shall -not formally group them; the testimony will be valid enough, even in a -cursory presentation. What have women done to prove their ability to -propagate the faith? - -Beginning in the days of the apostles, we find the blood of women flowing -as freely as that of men in vindication of the Christian creed. If -men joyfully hastened to the amphitheatre, so did they. If men meekly -accepted torture and ignominy, so did they. If men defied the ingenuity -of cruelty and smiled in their agony, so did they. If men resigned human -ambition, surrendered possessions, and abandoned luxury, so did they. The -annals of the martyrs show, with what degree of accuracy it is difficult -now to determine, that if either sex is entitled to higher distinction -for the abandonment of everything that human nature holds dear, in order -to follow Christ even to ignominious death, the pre-eminence is in favor -of the weaker sex. It is impossible to read a chapter of martyrology from -the inauguration of persecution until its close without finding therein -the names of noble and gentle women illuminated by their own blood. - -Contemporaneous with S. Paul is Thecla, who was held in so great -veneration in the early ages of Christianity “that it was considered the -greatest praise that could be given to a woman to compare her with S. -Thecla.” She was skilled in profane and sacred science and philosophy, -and excelled in the various branches of polite literature. She is -declared one of the brightest ornaments of the apostolic age; and one of -the fathers “commends her eloquence and the ease, strength, sweetness, -and modesty of her discourse.” She was distinguished for “the vehemence -of her love for Christ,” which she displayed on many occasions with the -courage of a martyr and “with a strength of body equal to the vigor of -her mind.” She was converted by S. Paul about the year 45. Resolving -to dedicate her virginity and life to God, she broke an engagement of -marriage, and, in despite of the remonstrances of her parents and the -entreaties of her betrothed, who was a pagan nobleman, devoted herself -to the work of the Gospel. At length authority placed its cruel hand -upon her. She was exposed naked in the amphitheatre; but her fortitude -survived the shock undaunted. The lions forgot their ferocity and licked -her feet; and S. Ambrose, S. Chrysostom, S. Methodius, S. Gregory -Nazianzen, and other fathers confirm the truth of the statement that she -emerged from the arena without harm. She was exposed to many similar -dangers, but triumphantly survived them. She accompanied S. Paul in many -of his journeys, and died in retirement at Isaura. The great cathedral of -Milan was built in her honor. - -Visitors to Rome are taken to the Church of S. Prisca, built on the -original site of her house--the house in which S. Peter lodged. Prisca -was a noble Roman lady who, on account of her profession of Christianity, -was exposed in the amphitheatre at the age of thirteen. The lions -refusing to devour her, she was beheaded in prison. In the IIId century -we behold S. Agatha displaying a fortitude before her judge which has -never been surpassed by man, and suffering without resistance torture -of exquisite cruelty--the tearing open of her bosom by iron shears. In -the same century Apollonia, daughter of a magistrate in Alexandria, was -baptized by a disciple of S. Anthony, and there appeared an angel, who -threw over her a garment of dazzling white, saying, “Go now to Alexandria -and preach the faith of Christ.” Many were converted by her eloquence; -for her refusal to worship the gods she was bound to a column, and her -beautiful teeth were pulled out one by one by a pair of pincers, as -an appropriate atonement for her crime. Then a fire was kindled, and -she was flung into it. Apollonia preaching to the people of Alexandria -forms the subject of a famous picture by a favorite pupil of Michael -Angelo--Granacci--in the Munich gallery. In the beginning of the IVth -century a Roman maiden, whose name is popularly known as Agnes, gave -up her life for her faith. “Her tender sex,” says a Protestant writer, -“her almost childish years, her beauty, innocence, and heroic defence -of her chastity, the high antiquity of the veneration paid to her, -have all combined to invest the person and character of S. Agnes with -a charm, an interest, a reality, to which the most sceptical are not -wholly insensible.” The son of the Prefect of Rome became enamored of -her comeliness, and asked her parents to give her to him as his wife. -Agnes repelled his advances and declined his gifts. Then the prefect -ordered her to enter the service of Vesta, and she refused the command -with disdain. Chains and threats failed to intimidate her; resort was -had to a form of torture so atrocious that her woman’s heart, but for a -miracle of grace, must have quailed in the pangs of anticipation. She was -exposed nude in a place of infamy, and her head fell “in meek shame” upon -her bosom. She prayed, and “immediately her hair, which was already long -and abundant, became like a veil, covering her whole person from head -to foot; and those who looked upon her were seized with awe and fear as -of something sacred, and dared not lift their eyes.” When fire refused -to consume her body, the executioner mounted the obstinate fagots, and -ended her torments by the sword. She is the favorite saint of the Roman -women; two churches in the Eternal City bear her name; there is no saint -whose effigy is older than hers; and Domenichino, Titian, Paul Veronese, -and Tintoretto have perpetuated her glory. In the previous year, at -Syracuse, Lucia, a noble damsel, refused a pagan husband of high lineage -and great riches, preferring to consecrate herself to a divine Spouse. -Her discarded suitor betrayed her to the persecutors, from whose hands -she escaped by dying in prison of her wounds. Euphemia, who is venerated -in the East by the surname of _Great_, and to whom four churches are -erected in Constantinople, died a frightful death in Chalcedon, four -years after Lucia had perished in Syracuse. So general was the homage -paid her heroism that Leo the Isaurian ordered that her churches be -profaned and her relics be cast into the sea. Devotion found means for -evading the mandate, and the sacred remains were preserved. In the -same year Catherine, a niece of Constantine the Great, was martyred at -Alexandria. From her childhood it was manifest that she had been rightly -named--from καθαρός, pure, undefiled. Her graces of mind and person were -the wonder and admiration of the people. Her father was King of Egypt, -and she his heir. When she ascended the throne, she devoted herself to -the study of philosophy. Plato was her favorite author. It is declared -that her scholarship was so profound, so varied, and so exact that she -confounded a company of the ablest heathen philosophers. The Emperor -Maximin, failing to induce her to apostatize, had constructed four -wheels, armed with blades, and revolving in opposite directions. Between -these she was bound; but God miraculously preserved her. Then she was -driven from Alexandria, scourged, and beheaded. St. Catherine has been -honored for many centuries as the patroness of learning and eloquence. -In art S. Jerome’s name and hers are frequently associated together, as -the two patrons of scholastic theology. She carries a book in her hands, -like S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Bonaventure, to symbolize her learning, -and her statue is to be found in the old universities and schools. She -was especially honored in the University of Padua, the _Alma Mater_ -of Christopher Columbus. In England alone there were upwards of fifty -churches dedicated in her name. The painters have loved to treat her as -the Christian Urania, the goddess of science and philosophy. She afforded -delightful opportunities of genius to Raphael, Guido, Titian, Correggio, -Albert Dürer. In the same century and about the same year Barbara, the -daughter of a nobleman in Heliopolis, was decapitated by her enraged -father on discovering her profession of the Christian faith; Margaret, -who refused to become the wife of a pagan governor, was beheaded at -Antioch; Dorothea was slain in Cappadocia. - -Sometimes the women of these early days walked to martyrdom with -father, husband, brother, or friend; as Domnina and Theonilla; Lucia -with Gemmianus, under Diocletian; Daria with Chrysanthus, Cecilia with -Valerian, Tiburtius, and Maximus; Flora and Mary in Cordova; Dorothea and -her troop of followers; Theodora with Didymus; Victoria and Fortunatus; -Bibiana, a young Roman lady, with her father, mother, and sister, whom -she inspired and sustained. - -Shall we prolong the calendar to show that woman’s courage did not expire -with the fervor of apostolic times? There were Thrasilla and Emiliana, -aunts of Gregory the Great. There was the English abbess, Ebba, who, with -her entire household, perished in the flames of their convent; the noble -Helen of Sweden, who was murdered by her relatives in the XIth century. - -Did women seek the solitude of the wilderness and the perils of the -forest to serve God as hermits and solitaries? They began the practice -of the ascetic life in the apostolic days; they had formed communities -as early as the IId century; many lived in couples, as the anchorets -Marava and Cyra in the first century; some imitated the example of Mary -of Egypt, who spent twenty-seven years in isolation. There were the Irish -hermit, Maxentia in France; and Modneva, in the IXth century, also Irish, -who dwelt for seven years alone in the Island of Trent. S. Bridget of -Ireland had her first cell in the trunk of an oak-tree. - -When we undertake to answer what sacrifices women have made for religion, -it is difficult to frame an adequate reply with sufficient brevity. From -the day that S. Catherine gave up the throne of Egypt until this hour, -women have been sacrificing for the Catholic faith--everything. If the -objects of their attachment are fewer than those of men, their domestic -love is of more exquisite sensibility, and its rupture is in many cases, -not the result of an instant’s strong resolve, but the slow martyrdom of -a lifetime. Nearly all the early heroines of Christianity were women of -high social position, of rich and luxurious homes, and many were noted -for their beauty, their culture, or their address. Some were on the eve -of happy betrothals; yet Eucratis spurns a lover, and Rufina and Secunda -depart from apostate husbands. It was to the courage and self-sacrifice -of their respective wives that the martyrs Hadrian and Valerian are -indebted for their palms. In the IVth century we see the Empress Helen, -mother of Constantine the Great, when fourscore years of age, proceeding -from Constantinople to Palestine for the purpose of adorning churches -and worshipping our Lord in the regions consecrated by his presence. It -was she who discovered the true cross of Christ. In the VIIth century -Queen Cuthburge of England resigned royal pleasures, founded a convent, -and lived and died in it. In the VIIth century Hereswith, Queen of the -East-Angles, withdrew from royalty, and became an inmate of the convent -in Chelles, France. Queen Bathilde, of France, followed her thither as -soon as her son, Clotaire III., had reached his majority, “and obeyed -her superior as if she were the last Sister in the house.” The abbess -herself, who was also of an illustrious family, was “the most humble and -most fervent,” and “showed by her conduct that no one commands well or -with safety who has not first learned and is not always ready to obey -well.” Radegunde, another queen of France, also passed from a court to a -cloister. In the IXth century Alice, Empress of Germany, presented, in -two regencies, the extraordinary power of religion in producing a wise -and efficient administration of political affairs. She was virtually a -recluse living and acting in the splendor of a throne. Is it necessary -to more than allude to S. Elizabeth of Hungary, or to her niece, Queen -Elizabeth of Portugal, who, after a glorious career, to which we shall -allude in another connection, joined the Order of Poor Clares? In the -East, Pulcheria, the empress, granddaughter of Theodosius the Great, -withdrew from a _régime_ in which she was the controlling spirit, and did -not return from her austerities until urgently requested to do so by Pope -S. Leo. At her death she bequeathed all her goods and private estates to -the poor. Queen Maud of England walked daily to church barefoot, wearing -a garment of sackcloth, and washed and kissed the feet of the poor. It -was a queen, Jane of France, who became the foundress of the Nuns of the -Annunciation. - -When we consider the part that woman has had in the formation of the -various religious orders, the temerity of the ex-premier in belittling -her influence assumes still greater proportions. The undeniable fact -that Protestantism has never been able permanently to maintain a single -community of women, either for contemplation or benevolence, proves that -the Catholic Church alone is the sphere in which woman’s religious zeal -finds its fullest and most complete expression; that it is the Catholic -faith alone which thoroughly arouses and solidly supports the enthusiasm -of her nature, and embodies her ardor into a useful and enduring form. -The achievements of women in the religious orders demonstrate that it -is impossible to exaggerate this enthusiasm or to overestimate the -subtle influence which she exerts in society, Catholic and non-Catholic. -Human nature, in whatever creed, bows in involuntary homage to the -woman who has left her home, and father and mother, brother, sister, -and friends, to follow Jesus Christ and him crucified. This instinct -is as old as man. The pagan Greek, the brutal Roman, punished with -almost incredible severity offences against their oracles and vestals. -History furnishes no instance of a nation possessing a religion however -ridiculous, a worship however coarse and senseless, which did not award -exceptional deference to the virgins consecrated to the service of its -gods. Christianity, which emancipated woman from the domestic slavery -in which usage had placed and law confirmed her; which made her man’s -peer by its indissoluble marriage tie; and which compelled courts and -judges to modify barbarous statutes affecting her civil rights as well -as her conjugal relations, has been rewarded by eighteen hundred years -of unflagging zeal and unshrinking heroism. If woman had done nothing in -the household for the church; if she had been indifferent as a wife and -incompetent as a mother; if in the world the sex were merely frivolous, -pretty things, such as Diderot would describe with “the pen dipped in the -humid colors of the rainbow, and the paper dried with the dust gathered -from the wings of a butterfly”; if they had never done anything for -religion except what they have done out of the world--in the shade, as it -were--Christianity would still have been the gainer, civilization would -owe them a vast balance, and the sneer of the ex-premier would be found -to describe only his own bitterness. - -There has been no salic law in the Catholic Church. Her crowns cover -women’s heads as well as men’s; women themselves have vindicated their -right to spiritual royalty. - -The activity of women for the spread of the Gospel began, as we have -seen, in the days of the apostles, when the preaching of Thecla, the -exhortations of many women converts, and the courageous utterances of -those being led to martyrdom, won multitudes to Christ. The monastic -life of woman is as old as that of man. Indeed, our word _nun_, derived -from the Greek νὀννα, passed into the latter language from the Egyptian, -in which it was synonymous with _fair_, _beautiful_. As rapidly as -Christianity moved over the world women joyfully accepted its precepts -and hastened to its propagation. Lamartine says that “nature has given -women two painful but heavenly gifts, which distinguish them, and often -raise them above human nature--compassion and enthusiasm. By compassion -they devote themselves; by enthusiasm they exalt themselves.” These two -gifts find their freest exercise in conventual life, whether strictly -contemplative, as the monastic life in the East was in the beginning, -or contemplative and benevolent, as it became in the West. It was, -therefore, only natural that women of all degrees should listen to the -voice of God summoning them to this state. It was not natural, however, -to sever the domestic ties which nature herself had made and religion -had blessed. It was no easier in the days of Ebba and Bega than in -those of Angela Merici, or S. Teresa, or Catherine McAuley, for the -daughter to bid a final farewell to her home and its endearments for -an existence of self-immolation, of prayer, of obedience, of humility, -and often of hunger and cold, sickness, danger, and want. That women in -large numbers have nevertheless chosen this which the world calls the -worse life and the apostle the better, from the time of the apostles to -the present day, shows that it is in religion they reach the zenith of -their capabilities; for they have made no such sacrifices, they have -achieved no such successes, in art, in science, nor in literature. They -have entered the service of the church through the convent gate, in -despite of difficulties which would often have debarred men even from -the entertainment of the design. Their toil in the convents has been -wholly in the service of mankind. The history of the conventual life -of women is not divisible from that of civilization, and in rapidly -sketching it we shall discover chapters on the progress of religion, the -organization of benevolence, the preservation of learning, and the spread -of education. The assistance which women have rendered to the last two -has not been properly appreciated. - -The catalogue of eminent foundresses is too long to be considered in -detail. Every country, every century, has its list of noble virgins, of -wealthy widows, or of mothers whose maternal duty was done, building -houses for established orders, or, under the authority of the church, -founding additional communities, always with a specific design; for the -church takes no step without an intelligent purpose. Among these women -have been many who were remarkable in more qualities than piety, in other -conditions than social distinction; and it is a fact which will scarcely -bear debate that it has been inside the convents, or, if outside, under -the direction and inspiration of religion, that the mind of woman has -enjoyed freest scope and produced palpable and permanent results. It is -true that there have been great women in profane history, ancient and -modern--a Cleopatra and Semiramis, a Catherine in Russia, an Elizabeth -in England; in literature a De Staël, a “George Sand,” and a “George -Eliot”; in histrionic art, in poetry, and in court circles, many women -have equalled and outshone men; and in science they have significantly -contributed to medicine and mathematics. But the annals of women in -religion reveal the heroic characteristics of the sex developed far -beyond the limit reached in the world. - -We have just mentioned S. Elizabeth, Queen of Portugal. What woman has -surpassed her in perseverance--that most difficult of feminine virtues? -What man has surpassed the utterness of her love for God--that sublimest -of virtues in either sex? At eight years of age she began to fast on -appointed days; she undertook, of her own accord, to practise great -mortifications; she would sing no songs but hymns and psalms; “and from -her childhood she said every day the whole office of the Breviary, in -which no priest could be more exact.” Her time was regularly divided, -after her marriage to the King of Portugal, between her domestic duties -and works of piety. She visited and nursed the sick, and dressed their -most loathsome sores. “She founded,” says Butler, “in different parts -of the kingdom, many pious establishments, particularly an hospital -near her own palace at Coïmbra, a house for penitent women who had been -seduced into evil courses,” thus anticipating the future Sisters of the -Good Shepherd. She built an “hospital for foundlings, or those children -who, for want of due provision, are exposed to the danger of perishing -in poverty or of the neglect or cruelty of unnatural parents.” She won -her ruffianly husband, by patience and sweetness, to a Christian life, -and induced him to found, with royal munificence, the University of -Coïmbra. She averted wars, and reconciled her husband and son when their -armies were marching against each other. She made peace between Ferdinand -IV. and the claimant of his crown, and between James II. of Aragon and -Frederick IV. of Castile. What woman of profane history furnishes so -illustrious and so substantial a record as this? Religion alone supplied -its motive and maintained its progress. - -The foundress of the Poor Clares, S. Clare of Assisium, was the daughter -of a knight, and had to suffer contumely and opprobrium for entering -the religious state instead of accepting proffered marriage. Her sister -and mother were led by her virtues to follow her example, and they -founded houses of the Poor Clares in all the principal cities of Italy -and Germany. They wore no covering on their feet, slept on the ground, -practised perpetual abstinence, and never spoke except when compelled -by necessity or charity. S. Clare’s great fortune she gave to the poor, -without reserving a farthing for herself. What but religion could -suggest, sustain, and crown so martyr-like a life as this? The Little -Sisters of the Poor are now nearest the model which S. Clare became; and -the Little Sister of the Poor is greater in the sight of Almighty God and -in the honest reverence of the human heart than a De Staël or a “Sand”! - -We merely allude to S. Jane Frances de Chantal, the foundress of the -Order of the Visitation, whom our American widow, Mother Seton, foundress -of our Sisters of Charity, so strangely resembled in certain properties -of character and circumstances of life. The conspicuous virtue of these -two women was the same--humility. Space forbids more than allusion -to other noted foundresses--Angela Merici, mother of the Ursulines; -Catherine McAuley, of the Sisters of Mercy; Mme. Barat, foundress of -the Order of the Sacred Heart, whose beatification is in progress; -Nano Nagle, of the Sisters of the Presentation; and those holy, brave, -and zealous women who are to-day leading their respective communities -in every part of the world, whom to name, even in illustration of an -argument, would be to offend. They are exercising within convent walls -the sacrifices which made martyrs. They are sending pioneers of religion -to the frontiers of civilization; equipping hospitals, asylums, and -schools wherever and whenever called; carrying out faithfully on our -continent the example set them by the foundresses of American charitable -institutions; for our first hospital in New France was managed by three -nuns from Dieppe, the youngest but twenty-two years of age; and in 1639 -a widow of Alenson and a nun from Dieppe, with two Sisters from Tours, -established an Ursuline Academy for girls at Quebec. Bancroft says: “As -the youthful heroines stepped on the shore at Quebec they stooped to kiss -the earth, which they adopted as their mother, and were ready, in case of -need, to tinge with their blood. The governor, with the little garrison, -received them at the water’s edge; Hurons and Algonquins, joining in the -shouts, filled the air with yells of joy; and the motley group escorted -the new-comers to the church, where, amidst a general thanksgiving, the -_Te Deum_ was chanted. Is it wonderful that the natives were touched by -a benevolence which their poverty and squalid misery could not appall? -Their education was also attempted; and the venerable ash-tree still -lives beneath which Mary of the Incarnation, so famed for chastened -piety, genius, and good judgment, toiled, though in vain, for the culture -of Huron children.” Could anything but religion enable delicately-reared -women to turn a last look upon the sunny slopes of France, where remained -everything that their hearts cherished, and set out in 1639, in a slow -ship, over an almost unknown ocean, with certain expectation never to -return, and equally certain that in the new land they would encounter -an almost perpetual winter and incur all the perils of the instincts of -savages? What stately woman’s figure rises in profane history to the -height of Mary of the Incarnation? - -The part that woman has had in the building up and the spread of -education has not, so far as we are aware, been adequately written. -Perhaps it never will be; for the materials of at least fifteen centuries -are, for the most part, carefully buried in convent archives, and their -modest keepers shun publicity. The lack of popular knowledge in this -portion of the history of education has induced the erroneous supposition -that woman has done little or nothing for the intelligence of the -race; that, until recently, the sex received slight instruction and -possessed only superficial and effeminate acquirements; and that the free -facilities which women are reaching after indicate an entirely new, an -unwritten, chapter in the culture of the sex. - -Each of these suppositions is unwarranted by facts. Women have shared -in the establishment of educational institutions from the earliest -period of which we have authentic record. Their resources have founded -schools, their talents have conducted them. Whenever, from the days of -S. Catherine to those of Nano Nagle, special efforts have been made to -teach the people, women have furnished their full share of energy and -brains. The opportunities which, even in periods of exceptional darkness -or disturbance, were afforded for the higher education of women, were far -in advance of the standard which prejudice or ignorance has associated -with women in the past; and the increasing demand which we have on every -side for a more substantial and scholarly training for the sex does not -look forward to that which they have never had, but backward to what they -have lost or abandoned. - -Again we find Mr. Gladstone’s sneer answered; for religion--the Catholic -religion--has been the sole inspiration of the part that woman has had in -popular education. The magnitude of that part we will only outline; but -enough will be shown of woman as a foundress, a teacher, and a scholar to -indicate the rank to which she is entitled as an educator, and the motive -which enabled her to attain it. - -There were very few convents for women which were not also schools and -academies for their sex. Many Christian women, even in the days of -the Fathers, were not only skilled in sacred science, but in profane -literature, and these, naturally and inevitably, taught the younger -members of their own households, and, when they entered the service -of the church, became teachers of the children of the people. In the -IVth century Hypatia, invited by the magistrates of Alexandria to teach -philosophy, led many of her pupils to Christianity, although she herself -did not have the grace to embrace it; but her learning induced many -women to profound and elegant study. We have spoken of S. Catherine, -who confuted the pagan philosophers of that city of schools, and whose -condition was the delight of her contemporaries. The mothers and sisters -in those early days were not only willing but able to teach the science -of Christianity and letters. S. Paul himself alludes to the instruction -he received from his mother, Lois, and his grandmother, Eunice. It was -S. Macrina who taught S. Basil and S. Gregory of Nyssa. It was Theodora -who instructed Cosmas and Damian. “Even as early as the IId century,” -says a distinguished scholar, “the zeal of religious women for letters -excited the bile and provoked the satire of the enemies of Christianity.” -S. Fulgentius was educated by his mother. So solicitous was she about -the purity of his Greek accent “that she made him learn by heart the -poems of Homer and Menander before he studied his Latin rudiments.” -It was S. Paula who moved S. Jerome to some of his greatest literary -labors; and the latter assures us that the gentle S. Eustochium wrote -and spoke Hebrew without Latin adulteration. S. Chrysostom dedicated -seventeen letters to S. Olympias; and S. Marcella, on account of her rare -acquirements, was known as “the glory of the Roman ladies.” S. Melania -and S. Cæsaria were noted for their accomplishments. - -Montalembert declares that literary pursuits were cultivated in the VIIth -and VIIIth centuries in the convents in England, “with no less care and -perseverance” than in the monasteries, “and perhaps with still greater -enthusiasm.” The nuns were accustomed “to study holy books, the fathers -of the church, and even classical works.” S. Gertrude translated the -Scriptures into Greek. It was a woman who introduced the study of Greek -into the famous monastery of S. Gall. The erudite author of _Christian -Schools and Scholars_ says that “the Anglo-Saxon nuns very early vied -with the monks in their application to letters.” There is preserved a -treatise on virginity by Adhelm, in the VIIth century, which contains an -illumination representing him as teaching a group of nuns. S. Boniface -directed the studies of many convents of women. - -Hildelitha, the first English _religieuse_, had received her education -at the convent of Chelles, in France, “and brought into the cloisters -of Barking all the learning of that famous school.” This institution, -about five leagues from Paris, was founded by S. Clotilda, and one of its -abbesses in the IXth century was Gisella, a pupil of Alcuin and sister of -Charlemagne. It was in a convent school, that of Roncerai, near Angers, -that Heloise received her education in classics and philosophy; and -Hallam, who finds little to remark concerning convent schools--because, -we presume, their archives were not sought by him--says that the -“epistles of Abelard and Eloisa, especially those of the latter, are, -as far as I know, the first book that gives any pleasure in reading for -six hundred years, since the _Consolation_ of Boethius.” The learning -of S. Hilda was so highly esteemed that “more than once the holy abbess -assisted at the deliberation of the bishops assembled in council or in -synod, who wished to take the advice of her whom they considered so -especially enlightened by the Holy Spirit.” Queen Editha, wife of Edward -the Confessor, taught grammar and logic. - -The scholarly women of the time were not all in England. Richtrude, -daughter of Charlemagne, had a Greek professor. The historian from whom -we have already quoted says, in _Christian Schools and Scholars_, that -the examples of learning in the cloisters of nuns were not “confined -to those communities which had caught their tone from the little knot -of literary women educated by S. Boniface. “It was the natural and -_universal development of the religious life_.” - -Guizot ranks “among the gems of literature” the account of the death of -S. Cæsaria, written by one of her sisters. Radegunde, queen of Clothaire -I., read the Greek and Latin fathers familiarly. S. Adelaide, Abbess -of Geldern, in the Xth century, had received a learned education, and -imparted her attainments to the young of her sex. Hrotsvitha, a nun of -Gandersheim, in the Xth century, wrote Latin poems and stanzas, which -prove, says Spalding, “that in the institutions of learning at that day -classical literature was extensively and successfully cultivated by -women as well as by men.” In the XIIth century the Abbess Hervada wrote -an encyclopedia, “containing,” remarks Mgr. Dupanloup, “all the science -known in her day.” - -Nor were women content to study and teach in their native countries. -When S. Boniface needed teachers in Germany to complete the conversion -and civilization of the country, he endeavored to enlist the enthusiasm -of the English women of learning and piety; and Chunehilt and her -daughter Berathgilt were the first to listen to his appeal. They are -called by the historian _valde eruditæ in liberali scientia_. The Abbess -Lioba, distinguished for her scholarship and her executive ability, -also accepted the invitation of Boniface, and thirty nuns, of whom -she was the head, reached Antwerp after a stormy passage, and were -received at Mentz by the archbishop, who conducted them to the convent -at Bischofsheim, which he had erected for Lioba. S. Boniface declared -that he loved Lioba on account of her solid learning--_eruditionis -sapientia_. Walburga, a subordinate of Lioba, went into Thuringia, and -became abbess of the Convent of Heidesheim, where she and her nuns -cultivated letters as diligently as in their English home. The church -herself watched over these efforts of women to elevate their sex; for the -Council of Cloveshoe, held in 747, exhorts abbesses diligently to provide -for the education of those under their charge. In so great admiration -and affection did S. Boniface hold Lioba that he requested that her -remains might be buried in Fulda, so that they might together await the -resurrection. Lioba survived the saint twenty-four years, during which -she erected many convents and received signal assistance from Charlemagne. - -The convent schools maintained by these disciples of S. Boniface were -not the only ones in which women obtained more culture than is accorded -to them in our own boastful time. At Gandersheim the course of study -included Latin and Greek, the philosophy of Aristotle, and the liberal -arts. One of the abbesses of this convent was the author of a treatise -on logic “much esteemed among the learned of her own time.” It would be -easy enough to continue this record; to carry on the chain of woman’s -assistance--always under the guidance of religion--in the educational -development of Europe. It is not easy to avoid dwelling on the aid -she rendered in the foundation of colleges; of the standing which she -attained in the universities, where, both as student and professor, she -won with renown and wore with modesty the highest degrees and honors. - -The catalogue of that metropolis of learning, the University of Bologna, -a papal institution, contains the names of many women who appeared -to enviable advantage in its departments of canon law, medicine, -mathematics, art, and literature. The period which produced Vittoria -Colonna, who received, her education in a convent, discovers Properzia -de’ Rossi teaching sculpture in Bologna; the painter Sister Plautilla, -a Dominican; Marietta Tintoretto, daughter of the “Thunder of Art,” -herself a celebrated portrait-painter, whose work possessed many of -the best qualities of her father’s; Elizabeth Sirani, who painted and -taught in Bologna; and Elena Cornaro admitted as a doctor at Milan. -We find a woman architect, Plautilla Brizio, working in Rome in the -XVIIth century, building a palace and the Chapel of S. Benedict. In -the papal universities, as late as the XVIIIth century, women took -degrees in jurisprudence and philosophy; among them, Victoria Delfini, -Christina Roccati, and Laura Bassi, in the University of Bologna, and -Maria Amoretti in that of Pavia. In 1758 Anna Mazzolina was professor of -anatomy in Bologna, and Maria Agnesi was appointed by the pope professor -of mathematics in the University of Bologna. Novella d’Andrea taught -canon law in Bologna for ten years. A woman was the successor of Cardinal -Mezzofanti as professor of Greek. Statues are erected to the memory of -two women who taught botany in the universities of Bologna and Genoa. -It is well to mention these facts as a sufficient reply to the flippant -charge, too frequently made, that the Catholic Church is “opposed” to the -higher education of women. - -The relation of women in religion to the education and refinement of the -present day can be lightly passed over. In the convent schools in every -part of the world young women receive the best education now available -for their sex. The demands of society have affected the curriculum. It -is not as abstract or classical or thorough as in the time of Lioba and -Hrotsvitha, but it is the best; and it will return to the classical -standard as quickly as women themselves make the demand. In a word, -the orders of teaching women in the Catholic Church are, we repeat, a -sufficient answer to Mr. Gladstone’s sneer at the status of women in -religion. It was out of these that arose Catherine of Sienna--orator, -scholar, diplomate, saint. Of these was S. Teresa, whom Mgr. Dupanloup -characterizes as one of the greatest, if not the greatest, prose writers -in the Spanish literature. Of these have been hundreds, thousands, of -women, who, moved by the Spirit of God to his service, have found within -convent-walls opportunities for culture which society denies, and who, in -the carrying out of his divine will, have made more sacrifices, attained -higher degrees of perfection, and lived lives of sweeter perfume and -nobler usefulness, than the mind of Mr. Gladstone appears to be able to -conceive. A religion which makes conquests enough among women, since it -can inspire, control, and direct them thus, is the religion which must -conquer the world. - -Finally, Mr. Gladstone forgot the subtle power of mother and wife, and -the marriage laws of the Catholic Church. The mother’s influence for good -or evil, but especially for good, to which she most inclines, is second -to none that moves the heart of man. Whether it be Cornelia, pointing -to the Gracchi as her jewels; or Monica, pursuing and persuading S. -Augustine; Felicitas, exhorting her seven sons to martyrdom; or the -mothers of S. Chrysostom, S. Basil, and S. Anselm, converting their -children to firmness in holiness; or whether it be the untutored mother -of the savage, or the unfortunate head of a household setting an -unwomanly example, the mother’s voice, issuing from the quivering lips -or coming back silently from the tomb, is heard when all other sounds of -menace, of appeal, of reproach, or of tenderness fail to reach the ear. -Every mother makes her sex venerable to her son. The mother’s love is -above all logic; it destroys syllogisms, refutes all argument. It cannot -be reasoned against; and when the salvation of the child is the motive, -there is no power given to man to withstand its seduction. “It shrinks -not where man cowers, and grows stronger where man faints, and over the -wastes of worldly fortune sends the radiance of its quenchless fidelity.” -Christ himself upon the cross was not unmindful of his mother; yet he was -God! Says the greater Napoleon, “The destiny of the child is always the -work of the mother.” To the end of time she will be, as she has ever been, - - “The holiest thing alive.” - -The faith of the mothers, if they believe in it, must become the faith -of the sons and the daughters. That the Catholic mother believes, even -Mr. Gladstone will hesitate to deny. In no faith but the Catholic have -mothers accompanied their sons to martyrdom. In no faith but the Catholic -is the mother taught to believe, while still a child at her mother’s -breast, that she will be held responsible for the eternal welfare of -her children; that they must be saved with her, or she must perish with -them. For this salvation she will toil and pray and weep; for this she -will spend days of weariness and nights without sleep; for this religion -will keep her heart brave, and her lips eloquent, and her hand gentle and -strong. For this she will work as neither man nor woman works for aught -else; and for this she will lay down her life, but not until the sublime -purpose is accomplished! That done, she is ready to die. For - - “Hath she not then, for pains and fears, - The day of woe, the watchful night, - For all her sorrow, all her tears, - An over-payment of delight?” - -If the mothers of England become Catholic, England becomes Catholic. -The law is of nature. Love must win, if talent partly fails; for even -in heaven the seraphim, which signifies love, is nearer God than the -cherubim, which signifies knowledge. - - -ON A CHARGE MADE AFTER THE PUBLICATION OF A VOLUME OF POETRY - -(WRITTEN NEAR WINDERMERE.) - - Beautiful Land! They said, “He loves thee not!” - But in a church-yard ’mid thy meadows lie - The bones of no disloyal ancestry. - To whom in me disloyal were the thought - Which wronged thee. For my youth thy Shakspeare wrought; - For me thy minsters raised their towers on high; - Thou gav’st me friends whose memory cannot die:-- - I love thee, and for that cause left unsought - Thy praise. Thy ruined cloisters, forests green, - Thy moors where still the branching wild deer roves, - Dear haunts of mine by sun and moon have been - From Cumbrian peaks to Devon’s laughing coves. - They love thee less, be sure, who ne’er had heart - To take, for truth’s sake, ’gainst thyself thy part. - - AUBREY DE VERE. - - -STRAY LEAVES FROM A PASSING LIFE. - -CHAPTER III. - -AU REVOIR.--THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. - -We showed Kenneth such wonders as Leighstone possessed, and his visit was -to us at least a very pleasant one. My father was duly informed of his -harboring a Papist in his house, and, though a little stiff and stately -and a little more reserved in his conversation for a day or two, he could -not be other than himself--a hospitable and genial gentleman. And then -Kenneth was so frank and manly, so amiable and winning, that I believe, -had he solemnly assured us he was a cannibal, and avowed his voracious -appetite for human flesh, not a soul would have felt disturbed in the -company of so good-looking and well-bred a monster. Perhaps, after all, -had we questioned our hearts, the capital sin of Papistry lay in its -clothes. Papistry was to my father, and more or less to all of us, the -Religion of Rags. Leighstone had no Catholic church, and its Catholic -population was restricted to a body of poor Irish laborers and their -families, who were most of them the poorest of the poor, and tramped -afoot of a Sunday to a wretched little barn of a church eight miles -away, which was served by a priest of a large town in the neighborhood. -However much of the devil there might be among them, there was certainly -little of what is generally understood by the world and the flesh. Yes, -theirs was a Religion of Rags, and it was at once odd and sad to see how -rags did congregate around the Catholic church--an excellent church -indeed for them and their wearers, but not exactly the place to drive -to heaven in in a coach-and-four. It was a positive shock to my father -to find so fine a young man as Kenneth Goodal a firm believer in the -Religion of Rags. Of course he knew all about the Founder of Christianity -being born in a stable, and so on; but that was a great and impressive -lesson, not intended exactly to be imitated by every one. Princes in -disguise may play any pranks they please. Once the beggar’s cloak is -thrown off, everything is forgiven. We quite forget that hideous hump -of Master Walter in the play when, just before the curtain drops, he -announces himself as “now the Earl of Rochdale.” Indeed, it was a kind -of social offence to see a young man of breeding, blood, and bearing, -such as Kenneth Goodal, take his place among the rank and file, the army -of tatterdemalions, that made up the modern Church of Rome, as it showed -itself to the eyes of English respectability. Irish reapers, men and -maid-servants, cooks, beggars, the halt, the lame, and the blind--these -made up the army of modern Crusaders. S. Lawrence himself was very well, -but S. Lawrence’s treasures were very ill. The descendants of Godfrey -de Bouillon, the mail-clad knights of the Lion-Hearted Richard, my -ancestor Sir Roger, all made a very respectable body-guard for a faith -and a church; but the followers of Peter the Hermit, the lower layer -of society, the lazzaroni--these were certainly uninviting, and gave -the religion to which they belonged something of the aspect of a moral -leperhood, to be separated from the multitude, and not even sniffed afar -off. Yet here was a handsome young gallant like Kenneth Goodal plunging -deep into it, with eye of pride and steadfast heart, and a strange faith -that it was the right thing to do. It was positively perplexing, and -before Kenneth left us my father had another attack of gout. - -Kenneth had the skill and good taste never to obtrude unpleasant -discussions. The only thing about him was a certain tone in his -conversation that made you feel, as decidedly as though you saw it -written in his open face, that he sailed under very pronounced colors. It -was no pirate, no decoy flag hung out to lure stray craft into danger, -and give place at the last moment to the death’s head and cross-bones. -It was the same in all weather and in all seas. “The Crusades only ended -with the cross,” he had said to me in our first conversation together; -and it seemed that I saw the cross painted on his bosom, and borne -about with him wherever he went--a very Knight-Hospitaller in the XIXth -century. In our long rambles together he and I had many a hard tussle. -I was the only one with whom he conversed on religious subjects at all, -and when he went away he left the leaven working. The good seed had been -sown, whether on stony ground, or among thorns, or on the good soil, God -alone could tell. - -We missed him greatly when he went. He was so thorough an antiquarian -and such a capital chess-player that my father was irritated at his -absence, and had a second attack of the gout. Nellie was looking forward -and already making preparations for the visit we had promised to pay his -mother at Christmas; and as for me, I had lost my _alter ego_, and spent -more time than ever in the churchyard. Even Mattock noticed the frequency -of my visits; for he said to me one morning, as I watched him digging a -fresh grave: “Ye’re a-comin’ here too often, Master Roger. Graveyards and -graves and what’s in ’em is loike enough company for me, but not for sich -as ye. It an’t whoalsome, it an’t. Corpses grows on a man, they doos, and -weighs him down in spoite of himself. I doant know what I should a-done -these twenty-foive year, only for the drams I takes. I couldn’t a-kep up, -I couldn’t. There’s somethin’ about churchyeards and graves, a kind o’ -airthiness loike, that creeps into a man’s veins, as the years come on -him, that at times I doant seem to know exactly which is the livin’ and -which is the dead. We’re all airth, Payrson Knowles says, and Payrson -Knowles is a knowledgable man; but he doant come here too often. I know -we’re all airth; for an’t I seen it? An’t I seen the body of as putty a -young gal as was ever kissed under the mistletoe stretched out and laid -in her grave afore the New Year dawned, and turned her out a year or so -after, a handful o’ bones ye might take in a shovel and putt in a basket, -and a doag wouldn’t look at em? Ay, many a sich! I’ve seen ’em set in -rows in the pews within thear, and seen ’em go a-flirtin’ and a-smirkin’ -out through yon gate; and when the cholera cum, I’ve laid ’em row by row -i’ the airth here. I’ve got used to it, bless ye, and could a’most tell -their bones. I knows ’em all, and doant mind it a bit; and I shall feel -kind a-comfortable when my son, whom I’ve brought up to the bizness and -eddicated a-purpose for it, lays me by the side on ’em, yonder in that -corner where the sun shines of an evenin’. But sich thoughts an’t for -you, Master Roger. Git ye out into the sun, lad, and play while ye may. -There’s no sort o’ use in forestallin’ yer time. Ye an’t brought up to be -a grave-digger, and ye’ve no sort a-business here. Its onlooky, I tell -ye, its onlooky. Graves is my business, not yourn. So git ye gone, Master -Roger.” - -One effect came from my cogitations with myself and my conversations with -Roger: I no longer went to church. Indeed, I had not been too regular -an attendant at the Priory for some time past. Still, when, as not -unfrequently happened, my father was laid up with the gout, I escorted -Nellie to church as in the old days, and thus sufficiently sustained the -Herbert reputation for that steady devotion to public duties that was -looked for from the leading family in the place; and though Mr. Knowles, -who was a frequent visitor at our house, grew a little chilly in his -reception of me when we met--I used to be a great favorite of his--he had -never undertaken to mention my delinquency to me. There was a certain -warmth in his agreement with my father, when that good gentleman broke -out on his favorite subject of the young men of the day, that was very -different from the old, deprecatory manner in which Mr. Knowles would -refer to the hot blood of youth, and the danger of keeping it too much -in restraint. I came to the resolution that I would go to no church any -more until I went to some church once for all; until I was satisfied -that I believed firmly and truly in the worship at which I assisted. -Anything else seemed to me now a sham that I could no more endure than -if I set up a Chinese image in my own chamber, and burned incense before -it. This was all very well for one Sunday or two. But my father’s attack -was at this time unusually prolonged; and when, Sunday after Sunday, I -conducted Nellie to the church-door, and there left her, to meet and -escort her home when service was over, my strange conduct, unknown to -myself, began to be remarked in Leighstone, and assumed the awful aspect -in a small place of studied bad example. Poor Nellie did not know what to -make of me; far less Mr. Knowles. It seemed that some silly young men of -the town, taking their cue from me, thought it the fashionable thing to -conduct their relatives to the church-door, leave them there, and often -spend the interval in somewhat boisterous behavior outside that on more -than one occasion disturbed the services; so that at length Mr. Knowles -was compelled to mention the matter in general terms from the pulpit, and -came out with quite a stirring sermon on the influence of bad example -on the young by those who, if respect for God and God’s house had no -weight with them, might at least pay some regard to what their position -in society, not to say in their own circle, required. Poor Nellie came -home in tears that day, and I joked with her on the unusual eloquence of -Mr. Knowles. The final upshot of it all was a visit on the part of that -reverend gentleman to my father, who was just recovering from his attack; -and as ill-luck would have it, I walked into the room just at the moment -when my poor father, between the twinges of conscience and the twinges of -a relapse resulting from Mr. Knowles’ eloquent and elaborate monologue on -my depravity, had reached that point of indignation that only needs the -slightest additional pressure to produce an immediate explosion. - -“What is this I hear, sir?” he asked me immediately in a tone that sent -all the Herbert blood tingling through every vein in my body, the more so -that I observed the look of righteous indignation planted on the jolly -visage of Mr. Knowles. “What is this I hear? That you refuse to go to -church any more, and that, as a natural consequence, the whole parish is -following your example?” - -“The whole parish!” I ejaculated in amazement. - -“Yes, sir; and what else should they do when the heads of the parish -neglect their duty as Christians and as English gentlemen?” - -“Do their duty, I suppose; go or stay, as it pleases them,” I responded -sullenly. Mr. Knowles rose up to depart with the air of one who was about -to shake the dust off his feet against me; but my father detained him. - -“Mr. Knowles, will you oblige me by remaining? I have put up with this -boy’s insolence too long. It must end somewhere. It shall end here.” He -was white and trembling with rage; but his tone lowered and his voice -grew steady as he went on. I was alarmed for his sake. - -“Look here, sir. There is no more argument in a matter of this kind -between you and your father. There is no argument in a question of plain -and positive duty. Your family has been and still is looked up to in this -town; and rightly so, Mr. Knowles will permit me to add.” Mr. Knowles -bowed a gracious but solemn assent. “I have attended that church since I -was a child, as my father did before me, and as the Herberts have done -for generations, as befitted loyal and right-minded gentlemen. You have -done the same until recently. What has come over you of late I don’t -know, and, indeed, I don’t care. What I do care about is that I have -a position to sustain in this town, and a public duty to perform. The -Herberts are now, as they have ever been, known to all as a staunch, -loyal, church-going, God-fearing race. As the head of the family I -insist, and will insist while I live, that that character be maintained. -When I am gone, you may do as you please. But until that event occurs you -will take your old place by the side of your father and sister, or find -yourself another residence. Mr. Knowles, oblige me by staying to dinner.” - -I was not present at dinner that day. I saw that expostulation was -useless, and accordingly held my tongue. I knew of old that there was -a certain pass where reasoning of any kind was lost on my father, -and a resolution taken at such a moment was irrevocably fixed. Like -father, like son. Even while he was addressing me I had quietly -resolved at all hazards to disobey his order. So much for all my fine -cogitations regarding the rules of right and wrong. Their first outcome -was a deliberate resolve at any hazard to disobey a loving and good -parent, backed up by all the spiritual power of the church and things -established, as represented in the person of Mr. Knowles. What my precise -duty under the circumstances was I am not prepared to say, although I -know very well that the opinion of that highly respectable authority -known as common-sense would decide the question against me. I was not -yet quite of age. If I belonged to any religion at all, I belonged to -that in which I had been brought up. For a young gentleman who professed -to be so anxious to do what was right, the duty of obedience to his -father in a matter where of all things that father was surely entitled to -obedience, and where the effort to obey cost so little, where the result -as regarded others could not but be satisfactory, not to say exemplary, -looked remarkably like an opportunity of regulating one’s conduct by the -best of rules at once. In fact, everything, according to common-sense, -voted dead against me. On the other hand there lay a great doubt--a doubt -sharpened and strengthened in the present instance by the very natural -resentment of a young gentleman who, perhaps unconsciously, had come to -regard many of his father’s opinions with something very like contempt, -being lectured publicly--the public being restricted to Mr. Knowles--by -that father, as though, instead of having just emerged from his teens, he -were still a schoolboy. Rebellion begins with the incipient moustache. -Those scrubby little blotches of growing hair on the upper lip of youth -mean much more than youth’s laughing friends can see in them. Their -roots are the roots of manhood. As the line grows and strengthens and -defines itself, each new hair marks a mighty step forward into the great -arena to which all boyhood looks with eagerness. It is the open charter -to rights that were not dreamed of before. And if the artist’s skill -can advance its growth by the use of delicate pigments, why, so much -the better. I was a man, and it was a man’s duty to assert himself, to -do what was becoming in a man, whatever the consequence might be. All -which meant that I was determined to rebel. Consequently, I declined to -meet the Reverend Mr. Knowles at dinner. I strolled out, with doubtless -a more independent stride than usual, to study the situation in all its -bearings, and resolve upon my future course of conduct; for in two days -it would be Sunday, and the crisis would have arrived. - -The argument, interesting as it was to myself at the time, would scarcely -prove equally so to the reader, who will thank me for sparing him the -details. Doubtless many a one can look back into his own life and find a -similar instance of resolute disobedience, which, it is to be hoped, he -has as bitterly repented as I did this. Happy is he if he can recall only -one such instance; thrice happy if he is innocent of any! I was moral -coward enough to forestall my sentence by flight. I was young, strong, -and active, though hitherto I had had no very definite object whereon -to exercise my activity. The world was all before me; and the world, as -we all know, wears a very fascinating face to the youth of twenty who -has never yet looked behind the mask and seen all the ugly things that -practical philosophers assure us are to be found there. To him it is a -face wondrous fair; and heaven be thanked for the deception, if deception -it be, say I. The eyes beam with gentleness and love. Not a wrinkle marks -the smooth visage; not a frown disturbs it. On the broad, open brow is -written honesty; on the rosy lips are alluring smiles; in the tones of -the soft, low voice there is magical music. What if some see on that -same brow the mark of Cain; on the lips, cruelty; in the eyes, death; -on all the face a calculating coldness? Such are those who have failed, -who have missed life’s meaning and cast away their chances--youthful -philosophers who have been crossed in love, or voluptuaries of threescore -and ten. But to high-hearted youth the world holds up a magic mirror, -wherein he sees a fairy landscape full of harmony, and peace, and beauty, -and love, all grouped around a central figure surpassing all, beautifying -all--himself and his destiny! - -Yes, I would go out into the world, like the prince in the -fairy-tales--he is always a prince--to seek my fortune. Up to the -present I had done absolutely nothing for myself. Everything had run in -a monotonous groove mapped out according to the conventional rule, as -regularly as a railway, and without even the pleasing excitement of an -accident. Why not begin now? Why not carve out my own destiny--carve is -an excellent term--in my own way? “The world was mine oyster, which with -my sword I’d open.” What though the oyster was rather large, who said he -was going to swallow it? It was the pearl within I sought; perish the -esculent! Who knows what discoveries I may not make, what impenetrable -forests pierce, what lonely princesses deliver from their charmed sleep, -what giant monsters slay on the way, bringing back the spoils some day -to my father--some day! say in six months or so--and, laying them at his -feet, cry out in triumph, “Father, behold the prodigal returned, not like -him of old, who had squandered his inheritance and fed on the husks of -swine, but as a mighty conqueror, the admired of fair women and the envy -of brave men! Father, this mighty potentate is I, Roger, your son, who -would not bow the knee to Knowles!” - -It was a pleasing picture, and took my fancy amazingly. Had any young -friend of mine come to consult me at that moment on a similar project in -his own case, I believe my counsel to him would have been of the sagest. -I would have told him to go home and sleep over the matter; to be a good -boy and not anger a loving parent. I would have advised him that there -is nothing like doing the duty that lies plain before us; that there was -a world of wisdom and of truth in that sage maxim of S. Augustine, _Age -quod agis_--Do what you do; that his schemes were visionary, his plans -those of a schoolboy, who clearly enough knew nothing whatever of the -world (whose depths, of course, I had sounded), who might have read books -enough, but had not the slightest experience of that which is never to -be found in books--real life; that, in pursuit of a passing fancy, he -was neglecting the real business of life, and embarking on a voyage to -Nowhere in the good ship Nothing, and so on. That is the advice I should -have delivered to any of my young friends who were idiots enough to think -that _they_ could venture to set out on such a visionary road alone -and without map or chart to guide them. That is how we should all have -advised our friends. But with ourselves--with ourselves--ah! the case -is different. _We_ can always do what it would be the most presumptuous -folly in others to attempt. _We_ can safely thrust our hand into the -fire, up to the elbow even, where another dare not trust the tip of a -little finger. _We_ can touch pitch, and never show a soil. _We_ can go -down into hell, and come back laughing at the devil, who dare not touch -_us_. What would be moral death to another is a mere tonic to us. And -yet, and yet, He who taught us to pray gave us as a petition: “Father, … -lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” - -My mind was made up; and let me add that the fear of putting my father -to the trying test of acting upon his resolution in my regard had no -small share in shaping my resolve. I did not see him that night, and on -the next day he was confined to his room by an attack that necessitated -calling in the doctor, and kept Nellie, whom I did not wish to see, by -his side most of the day. I felt that I could not meet her eye without -divulging all. I had never done anything that would cause more than a -passing care to those who loved me, and I now moved about the house -as though I were about to commit or had already committed a great -crime. Not accustomed to deception, it seemed to me that any passing -stranger--let alone Fairy Nell, who knew me through and through, and -had counted every hair of that incipient moustache already hinted at -as it came, from whom I had never kept a secret, not even the pigments -laid apart for the cultivation of that same moustache--would have -read in my guilty face, as plainly as though it were written down on -parchment, “Roger Herbert, you are going to run away from home--not a -pleasant excursion, my fine fellow, but a genuine bolt!” I packed up a -few necessaries, and collected such stray cash of my own as I could lay -hands on. The sum seemed a small fortune for a man resolved on entering -on such a resolute life of hard labor of some kind or another as I -had marked out for myself. Long before that was exhausted I should of -course be in a position to provide for myself. How that self-support was -to come about I had not yet exactly decided on; but that was to be an -after-consideration. While I was waiting for the night to come down and -shield my guilty purpose, Nellie stole in from my father’s room to tell -me he was sleeping, and that Dr. Fenwick said a good night’s rest would -relieve him from all danger, and in two or three days he would be himself -again. This comforted me and enabled me to be better on my guard against -the witcheries of Fairy, who came and sat down near me; for she had heard -or guessed at the dispute that had arisen, and, like an angel of a woman, -now that she had tended my father, came to administer a little crumb of -comfort to me before going to bed. What an effort it cost me to appear -drowsy and to yawn! I thought every yawn would have strangled me; but I -was resolved to be on my guard. - -“How dreadfully sleepy you are to-night, Roger!” said the Fairy at last. - -“Am I?” asked the Ogre, with a tremendous yawn. - -“Why, you’ve done nothing but gape ever since I came in. I believe you -are getting quite lazy and good-for-nothing.” - -“I believe so too.” - -“Well, why don’t you do something?” - -“I think I will.” Another yawn. “I’ll go to bed. Ten o’clock, by Jove! -What a shocking hour for well-behaved young ladies to be up! Come, Fairy, -I will do something some day. Is father better?” - -“Yes, he is sleeping quite soundly.” Shaking her head and speaking in a -solemn little whisper: “_O you naughty boy!_” - -Clear eyes, clear heart, clear conscience! How your mild innocence -pierces through and through us, rebuking the secret that we think so -safely hidden in the far-away depths of our souls! That gentle little -reproof of my sister smote me to the heart. - -“Why, Roger, what is the matter with you?” - -“It’s a fly; a--something in my eye--nothing. Let go my hands, Nell.” - -“Look me in the face, sir. You are crying, Roger. You have been -pretending. You were not sleepy a bit. Dear, dear! Don’t go on like that; -you make me cry too.” - -“Nellie, my own darling--Fairy--there, let me blow the candle out. I was -always a coward by candle-light. There, now I can talk. Nellie,” I went -on, clutching her close, her face wet with my tears as well as her own, -and white as marble in the moonlight--“Nellie, I have been an awfully -wicked fellow, haven’t I?” - -“N-no”--sob, sob. - -“Yes, I have; and father is very angry with me, isn’t he?” - -“N-no.” - -“Do you think that if I were to do something very bad you could forgive -me, Nellie?” - -“You c-couldn’t do--anything b-bad--at all.” - -“Well, now listen. I haven’t done much harm, I believe, so far; neither -have I done much good. And now I make you a solemn promise that from this -night out I will honestly try all I can, not only to do no harm, but to -do good--something for others as well as myself. Is that a fair promise, -Nell?” - -“Dear, darling old Roger!” she murmured, kissing me. “I knew he was good -all the time. I know--you needn’t say any more. You are coming to church -with me to-morrow. How pleased papa will be, and how pleased I am! Here, -you shall have my own book to keep as a token of the promise. I’ll run -and fetch it at once.” - -She tripped up-stairs and came back breathless, putting the book in my -hand. - -“There, Roger; that seals our promise. I’ve just written inside, ‘Roger’s -promise to Nellie,’ and the date to remind you. That’s all. And now papa -will be well again. O Roger!”--she came and kissed me again, as I turned -my back to the window--“you have made me so happy. Good-night.” - -I could not trust myself to speak again and undeceive her. I kissed her -and did not look at her any more. I heard her room-door close, and, after -standing a long time where she left me, I followed her up-stairs. I stole -to my father’s door and listened. I could hear his regular breathing; -he was sound asleep. I do not know how long I listened, but at length I -crept away to my own room. My resolution was terribly shaken by Nellie’s -innocent confidence in me. It is so much easier to endure harshness or -suspicion from persons to whom you know you are about to give pain. Why -didn’t she scold me, or turn up her pretty nose at me, or stick a pin -in me, or do something dreadful to me--anything rather than believe me -the best fellow in the world? But, after all, could I not return when I -pleased? I had often been away before for a month or more on a visit to -some friends--for months together at college. Why should I hesitate to go -now? - -Poor Nellie’s book was placed in the very bottom of my bag, and then I -sat down and wrote the following letter: - - “NELLIE: I am going away for a little while--for a month or - more, probably. You must not expect to hear anything of me - within that time. If you do hear of me, it will probably be - through Kenneth Goodal. Indeed, I leave England on Monday, and - my return will depend altogether upon circumstances. Nobody - knows of my going or of my destination--not even Kenneth; so - that it will be useless to make any inquiries. Give my love - to my dear father, and tell him that, wherever I may be, the - thought of him will always accompany me and prevent me from - doing anything unworthy his son and your loving brother, - - ROGER. - - “P.S.--I will keep my promise.” - -This note, sealed and addressed to Nellie, I left upon my table. I waited -until not a sound was to be heard through all the house, and again left -my room to listen at my father’s door. I listened at Nellie’s also. -Nothing could be heard in either. They were sound asleep--dreaming, -perhaps, of me. My window overlooked the garden, and a soft grass-plot -beneath received myself and my bag noiselessly, as I made the drop I had -so often done in play, to the mingled alarm and admiration of Fairy. -After a walk of about five minutes I lit a cigar, and felt somewhat more -companionable than before. The moon had gone down long since, and a faint -flush in the east low down on the horizon betokened the dawn. There was a -keenness in the air and a freshness all around that quickened the blood -and inspirited the faint heart. The sense of freedom awoke in me with -every stride that carried me away from my father’s house out into the -world, whose largeness I was beginning to feel for the first time. There -was something about the whole enterprise of novelty and boldness and -change that grew on me every mile of the way. I thought less and less -of the consternation and grief I might occasion to those I left behind -me, and whose existence was bound up in mine. And striding along in this -frame of mind, I reached Gnaresbridge, where I was not known. My walk of -eight miles had given me a tremendous appetite. I entered the railway -hotel, and, by way of beginning at once my life of privation and economy, -ordered a right royal breakfast, the best the railway hotel could offer. -I then took a first-class ticket for London, engaged a room for one -night at the Charing Cross Hotel, and, finding my own company not of the -liveliest, strolled out into the streets. - -The London streets are beyond measure dull on a Sunday. There is a -constrained air of good-behavior and drilled respectability about the -crowds going to and coming from church at the stated hours that strikes -one with a chill after the bustle and noise of the other six days of the -week. Religion looks so oppressively dull and hopelessly solemn. The -citizens seem to run up the shutters in front of their own persons as -well as of their goods; to bolt and bar and case themselves in a wooden -stolidity of dull propriety that is mistaken for religion. I do not -say that it is not well done; I only say that to me, at least, on this -occasion it was disagreeable. The light spirits I had picked up on the -road dwindled down immediately at sight of the solemn city, with its -solemn crowds. The sombre gray of my surroundings seemed to settle on my -mind and heart like ashes from which every spark had gone out. I fell -a-musing, and involuntarily followed one of the streams of people that -were moving along slowly to some place of worship. I felt sick at heart, -and wished for the morrow to come that was to bear me away somewhere out -of this tame and conventional life, where religion as well as business -followed a fixed routine. Before I knew or had time to think how I -had got there, I found myself in a Catholic church. I knew it to be a -Catholic church by the altar, and the crucifixes, and the Stations of the -Cross around the walls, and the general appearance of the congregation. -There is something about a Catholic congregation that distinguishes -it at once from all others. Heaven seems a happier place somehow from -a Catholic point of view. I had visited Catholic churches before, but -was never present at the Mass, and was about to retire as soon as I -discovered my whereabouts, when curiosity, mingled with the conviction -that I might be as comfortably miserable there as outside, detained me, -and I remained. Somebody directed me to a seat close to the altar, where -I could see everything perfectly. - -The service was varied and full of dignified movements, but I could not -understand its meaning. The singing was good, it seemed to my poor ear; -but I could not say the same for the sermon. A quiet, pious-looking -gentleman preached from the altar a long and, to me, tedious discourse. -He seemed in earnest, however, and now and then his pale, worn face -would light up--once or twice especially when he spoke of the “Mother of -God.” Indeed, I found myself just becoming interested when the sermon -concluded. There was something far more impressive to me than the -priest’s discourse, than the solemn music, than the gleaming lights, than -the slow and reverent movements at the altar, in the congregation itself. -The people preached a silent but most telling sermon. I looked furtively -around, and watched them. Whether they were mistaken or not, whether they -were idolaters or not, there was certainly no sham about them; after all, -there was something thorough about this Religion of Rags. Beyond doubt -they prayed in real, downright earnest. One man differed from another; -one woman from her sister; this one was in rags, that in silks; this -man might be a lord, and his neighbor a beggar; but there was something -common to them all. They seemed, as they knelt there, possessed of one -heart and one soul. They appeared even one body. Their prayer seemed -universal and to pass from one to another out and up to God. All seemed -to _feel_ an Invisible Presence, which, from association, doubtless, -I could have persuaded myself that I also felt. A bell tinkles, once, -twice, thrice; once, twice, thrice again. There is an instantaneous hush; -the low breathing of the organ has ceased; and every head and heart is -bowed down in silent and awful adoration. Involuntarily I also knelt and -bowed. - -Deeply impressed, I left the church at the conclusion of the service, -and seemed to be walking in a dream, when a light touch on my shoulder -startled and recalled me to my senses, while a voice whispered in my ear: - -“Heretic, heretic! what dost thou here?” - -It was Kenneth Goodal who stood smiling before me. The tears sprang to my -eyes, but he was too much himself to notice them. He drew my arm in his, -and led me to a carriage that was waiting near the door of the church. -Within the carriage sat a beautiful lady, whose likeness to Kenneth was -too apparent not to recognize her at once as his mother. “I have brought -you a treasure,” said Kenneth, addressing her; “this is the very Roger -Herbert of whom I have spoken to you so much. Who would have dreamed of -catching my heretic at Mass?” We were rolling along through the dull -streets by this time, but it was wonderful to think how their dulness -had suddenly departed. “Yes, actually at Mass. And I verily believe he -blessed himself and said his prayers like a true Christian. And where of -all places should they plant you but right in front of me?” - -Kenneth’s mother was a sweet lady--just the kind of woman, indeed, I -should have expected Kenneth’s mother to be. To great intelligence and -that keen power of observation so noticeable in her son were added the -charms of a face and person that defied time, while the veil of true -Christian womanhood fell over, softened, and chastened all. She was a -fervent Catholic, who went about doing good. Kenneth laughingly told me -that her conversion had cost him a great deal more trouble and difficulty -than his own; but hers once attained, his father’s followed almost as a -matter of course. Mrs. Goodal had always been so pure and blameless in -her own life that her very excellence constituted a most difficult but -intangible barrier to her son’s theological batteries. Even if she became -a Catholic, what could she be other than she was? she had asked him once. -Of what crimes was she guilty, that she should change her religion at -the whim of a youthful enthusiast? Did she not pray to God every day of -her life? Did she not give alms, visit the sick, comfort the sorrowful, -clothe the naked? What did the Catholic ladies do that she did not? -She was not, and did not mean to become, a Sister of Charity, devoting -herself absolutely to prayer and good works. Her place was in the world. -God had placed her there, and there she would remain, doing her duty to -the best of her ability as a Christian wife and mother. - -It was certainly a hard case, and she was greatly strengthened in her -position by her grand ally, Lady Carpton. Both these excellent women -grieved sorely over Kenneth’s defection; for Kenneth was an especial -favorite of Lady Carpton’s, and had been smiled upon by her fair -daughter, Maud. The two ladies had taken it into their heads that -Kenneth and Maud were admirably matched, and their marriage had long -ago been fixed upon by the respective mammas, who never kept a secret -from each other since they had been bosom friends together at school. -The announcement of Kenneth’s joining the Religion of Rags fell like a -bombshell into the camp of the allies, scattering confusion and dealing -destruction on all sides. Lady Carpton washed her hands of him, and -came to the immediate conclusion that “the boy’s mental obliquity was -inexplicable. The rash and ridiculous step he had taken was fatal to -all his prospects in this life, not to speak of those in the next. He -had inexcusably abandoned the social position for which his connections -and his rational gifts had eminently fitted him. She had been deceived, -fatally deceived, in him. He had destroyed his own future, disgraced his -family, and consigned himself henceforward to a life of uselessness and -oblivion.” - -Lady Carpton, when fairly roused, had an eloquence as well as a temper -of her own. Majestically washing her hands of Kenneth, she immediately -encouraged the attentions of Lord Cheshunt to her daughter. From jackets -upwards Lord Cheshunt had worshipped the very ground upon which Maud -trod, as far as it was given to the soul of Lord Cheshunt to worship -anything or anybody at all. Maud resembled her mother. Great as her -liking--it was never more--for Kenneth had been, her virtuous indignation -was greater. With some sighs, doubtless, perhaps with some tears, she -renounced for ever Kenneth the renegade, and took in his stead, as a -dutiful daughter should do, her share in the lands, appurtenances, -rent-roll, and all other belongings of Lord Cheshunt, with his lordship -into the bargain. It was on her return from the bridal trip that her -mamma, with tears of vexation in her eyes, informed her of the cruel blow -that the friend of her girlhood had dealt her--out of small personal -spite, she was certain. The friend of her girlhood was Mrs. Goodal, who -had actually followed that scapegrace son of hers to Rome--had positively -become a Catholic! And as though to confirm the wretched saying that -misfortunes never come alone, between them they had dragged into their -fatal web that dear, good-natured, unsuspecting Mr. Goodal, just at the -moment when he was about to be returned in High Church interest for his -native borough of Royston. Thus “the cause” had lost another vote, at a -time, too, when “the cause” sadly needed recruiting in the parliamentary -ranks. “My dear,” she said impressively to Maud, “you have had a very -fortunate escape. Who knows what might have become of you? Lord Cheshunt -may not possess that young man’s intellect”--and Maud was already obliged -to confess that superabundance of intellect was scarcely Lord Cheshunt’s -besetting weakness--“but you see to what mental depravity the fatal gift -of intellect may conduct a self-willed young man. Poor dear Lord Byron -is just such another instance. Mark my word for it, Kenneth Goodal will -become a Jesuit yet!”--a fatality that to Lady Carpton’s imagination -presented little short of the satanic. - -I spent a very pleasant day and evening with the Goodals--so pleasant -that it was not until I found myself saying “good-night” to Kenneth in -the street that the occurrences of the last few days flashed upon me. -“You will not forget your promise of coming to-morrow,” he said, as he -was shaking hands. - -“To-morrow! Did I promise to spend to-morrow with you?” I asked. - -“So Mrs. Goodal will assure you on your arrival.” - -“Good heavens! did I make so foolish a promise? I cannot have thought of -what I was saying,” I muttered, half to myself. - -“Well, I will call for you in the morning. By the bye, where are you -staying?” asked Kenneth. - -“No, no. The fact is, I purposed leaving town again immediately. My -visit was merely a flying one. You must make my excuses to your mother, -Kenneth.” - -“She will never hear of them. Traitor! thou hast promised, and thy -promise is sacred.” - -“It was really a mistake. Well, if I decide on remaining in town over -to-morrow, I will come. If--if I should not come, tell your mother how -charmed I was with her, and with your father also. Kenneth, I should be -so glad if she would pay Nellie a visit--my sister, you know. Indeed, I -am very anxious that she should see Nellie as soon as possible.” - -“But you forget again that you owe us a visit. Why not come at once? You -had better stay and send for your father and sister.” - -“Well, I will sleep on the matter. Good-night, old fellow. In the -meanwhile do not forget my request.” - -Again my resolution was terribly shaken. I went over the entire story, -and weighed all the _pros_ and _cons_ of the question, as I walked -back to my hotel. I had not yet even determined where to go, still -less what to do. On arriving at the hotel I went to the smoking-room, -feeling no inclination for slumber. It had only a single occupant--a -naval officer, to judge by his costume. He reached me a light, and made -some conventional remark on the weather, or some such subject. He was a -jovial-looking, red-faced man of about forty or forty-five, with a merry -eye and a pleasant voice, and a laugh that had in it something of the -depth and the strength and the healthy flavor of the sea. My cigar soon -coming to an end, he offered me one of his own with the remark: - -“I like a pipe myself, with good strong Cavendish steeped in rum. The -rum gives it a wholesome flavor. But ashore I always smoke cigars. You -want a stiffish bit o’ sea-breeze up, and then you can enjoy the true -flavor of a pipe of Cavendish. All your Havanas in the world aren’t half -as sweet. But ashore here, why, Lord, Lord! a pipe o’ Cavendish would -smell from one end o’ the city to t’other, and all London would turn up -its nose. So I’m obliged to put up with Havanas,” said the captain (I was -sure he was a captain) ruefully. - -“What is a mortification to you would be a pleasure to many,” I remarked -sagely. - -“Ever been to sea?” he asked abruptly. - -“Never,” I responded laconically. - -He looked at me with a kind of pity in his glance. - -“What! never been outside o’ this cranky little island, where men have -hardly got room to blow their noses?” he asked in amazement. - -“Never,” I responded again. “And what’s more, up to the day before -yesterday I never wished to go.” - -My seafaring friend sighed and smoked in silence. The silence grew -solemn, and I thought he would not condescend to address me again. At -length, however, he said: - -“You’re a Londoner, I guess.” - -I guessed negatively; but not at all abashed at his mistake, he went on: - -“Well, it’s all the same. All Londoners an’t born in London, any more -than all Englishmen are born in England. But they’re all the same. A -Londoner never cares to study any geography beyond his sixpenny map o’ -London. The Marble Arch and Temple Bar, Hyde Park and London Bridge, are -his points o’ the compass. Guild Hall and the Houses o’ Parliament mean -more to him than the East or West Indies, the Himalaya Mountains, North -or South America, or the Pyramids. The Strand is bigger than the equator, -and the National Gallery a finer building than S. Peter’s. Your thorough, -home-bred Englishman is about the most vigorously ignorant man I’ve ever -sailed across; and I’m an Englishman myself who say it. I do believe -it’s their very ignorance that has made them masters of the best part of -the world, and the worst masters the world has ever seen. They never see -or know or believe anything outside of London, and the consequence is, -they’re always making mighty blunders. There, there’s a yarn, and a yarn -always makes me thirsty. What will you drink?” - -I found my new companion a shrewd and observant man under a somewhat -rough coating. He was captain of a steamer belonging to one of the great -lines that ply between England and the United States, and his vessel -sailed for New York the next day. Here was an opportunity of ending at -once all my doubts and hesitations. But on broaching the subject to the -captain I found him grow at once cautious, not to say suspicious. That -fatal admission about my never having been to sea at all told terribly -against me. Then he wanted to know if I had a companion of any kind with -me, which I took to be sailor’s English for asking if it were a runaway -match. Satisfied on this point, he grew more suspicious still. Running -away with a young lass he could understand, and perhaps be brought to -pardon; but if it was not that, then what earthly object could I have in -going to New York all alone? - -“The fact is, youngster,” he blurted out at length, “you see it an’t -all fair and above-board with you. Youngsters like you don’t make -up their minds in half an hour to go to New York; and if they do, -they’ve no business to. If you was a little younger, I should call in a -policeman, and tell him you had run away from home. I don’t want to help -youngsters--nor anybody else, for that matter--to run into scrapes. There -will be some one crying for you, you know, and that an’t pleasant now. -Now, then, out with it, and let’s have the whole story. There’s something -wrong, and a clean breast, like a good sea-sickness, will relieve you. -It’s a little unpleasant at first, but you’ll feel all the better for it -afterwards. Trust an old sailor’s word for that.” - -I do not attempt to give the pleasant nautical terms with which my -excellent friend, the captain, garnished his discourse. However, I told -him my story, sufficiently at least to diminish, if not quite to allay, -the worthy man’s scruples about my projected trip, which, of course, -was only to last until the storm at home blew over. Finally, at a very -early hour in the morning it was resolved that I should make my first -voyage with the captain, and that same day I penned, and in the afternoon -despatched, the following note to Kenneth: - - “MY DEAR KENNETH: By the time you receive this I shall be - on my way to the United States. I said nothing to you of my - plans last night, because, had I done so, I fear they might - not have been put in execution without some unnecessary pain - and difficulties. My chief reason for leaving England is the - great doubt and perplexity that have fallen upon me. Any - hope of clearing up such doubt in Leighstone would be absurd. - There all persons and all things run in established grooves, - and are more or less under the influence of traditions, many - of which have for me utterly lost all force and meaning. A - little rubbing with the world, a little hard work, of which I - know nothing, the sweetness as well as the anxiety of genuine - struggle in places and among persons where I shall be simply - another fellow-struggler, can do no great harm, even if it does - no great good. At all events, it will be a change; and a change - of some kind I had long contemplated. A little difficulty with - my father about not attending church as usual scarcely hastened - my resolution to leave Leighstone. I should feel very grateful - to you if you could assure him of this, as I took the liberty - on leaving of telling my sister that they would next hear of - me in all probability through you. My father’s kind heart and - love for me may lead him to lay too great stress upon what in - reality nowise affected my conduct and feelings towards him. - Time is up, I find, and I can only add that wherever I may go - I shall carry with me, warm in my heart, the friendship so - strangely begun between us. - - “R. HERBERT.” - -I do not purpose giving here the history of my first struggles with the -world, as they contain nothing particularly exciting or romantic. The -circumstances that led to my connection with Mrs. Jinks and Mr. Culpepper -are easily explained. My small fortune disappeared with astonishing -rapidity, and, unless I did something to replenish my dwindling purse -very speedily, there was nothing left save to beg or starve. I would -neither write home nor to Kenneth, being vain enough to believe that -the smallest scrap of paper with my address on it would be the signal -for the emigration by next steamer of half Leighstone, with no other -purpose than to see me, its lost hero. Poverty led me to Mr. Culpepper -among others, and the same stern guardian introduced me to Mrs. Jinks. -I must confess--and the confession may be a warning to young gentlemen -inclined at all to grow weary of a snug home--that any particular romance -attached to my venture very soon faded out of sight. The world was not -quite so pleasant a friend as I had expected. The practical philosophers -were right after all. Dear, dear! how the wrinkles began to multiply in -his face, and what suspicious glances shot out of those eyes, that grew -colder and colder as my boots began to run down at heel, and my elbows -gave indications of a violent struggle for air. It required a vast amount -of resolution to keep me from volunteering to work my passage back to -England. I was often lonely, often weary, often sad, often hungry even. -But lonely, weary, sad, and hungry as I might be, I soon contrived to -become acquainted with others who were many times more sad, lonely, and -weary than I--poor wretches to whom my position at its worst seemed that -of a prince. The most wretched man in all this world is yet to be found. -Of that truth I became more deeply convinced every day. It was a fact -held up constantly before my eyes, and I believe that it did me good. It -was an excellent antidote to anything in the shape of pride. Pride! Great -heavens! what wretched little, creeping, struggling mortals most of us -were; crawling on from day to day, inch by inch, little by little, now -over a little mound that seemed so high, and took such infinite labor to -reach; now down in a little hollow that seemed the very depths, and yet -was only a few inches lower than yesterday’s elevation. There we were, -gasping and struggling for light and food and air day after day. Poverty -reads terrible lessons. It levels us all. Some it softens, while others -it hardens; some it sanctifies, multitudes it leads to crime. - -Not that a gleam of sunshine never came to us. Some stray ray will -penetrate the darkest alley and crookedest winding, and warm and gladden -and give at least a moment’s life and hope and cheerfulness to something, -provided only a pinhole be left open to the heaven that is smiling above -us all the while. I began to make acquaintances, pleasant enough some -of them, others not so pleasant. There was much food for meditation -and mental colloquy in the daily life I was living, but I had no time -for such indulgence. I was compelled to work very hard; for this was -certainly not a vineyard where the laborers were few; and the harvest, -when gathered in, was but a sorry crop at the best. Is not the history of -the human race the record of one long and unsuccessful expedition after -the Golden Fleece? Such stray remnants of it as fell into my hand went -for the most part, for a long time at least, into the treasury of Mrs. -Jinks, who, like a female Atreus, served up my own children, the children -of my brain, or their equivalents, to me at table. Horrid provender! -One week it was an art criticism--dressed up with wonderful condiments -and melted down into mysterious soup, whose depths I shuddered to -penetrate--that sustained the life in me. Another time it was a fugitive -poem that took the form of roast beef and potatoes. A cruel critique on -some poor girl’s novel would give me ill dreams as pork-chops. A light, -brisk, airy social essay would solidify into mutton. And so it went on, -week in week out, the round of the table. An inspiriting life truly, -where your epigrams mean cutlets, and all the brilliant fancies of your -imagination go for honest bread and butter. - -I believe that Mrs. Jinks secretly entertained the profoundest contempt -for me and my calling, mingled with a touch of pity for a young, -strong fellow who had missed his vocation, and who, instead of moping -and groping over ink-pots and scraps of paper, might be earning an -honest living like the butcher’s young man over the way--an intimate -acquaintance and close personal friend of mine who “kept company” with -Mrs. Jinks’ Jane. I ventured once to ask Mrs. Jinks whether she did not -consider literary labor an honest mode of earning a living; but I was not -encouraged to ask a similar question a second time. “She’d knowed littery -gents afore now; knowed ’em to her cost, she had. They was for ever -a-grumblin’ at their board, and nothing was good enough for them, though -they ate more than any two of her boarders put together, and always went -away owin’ her three months, besides a-borrerin’ no end o’ money and -things.” Such was Mrs. Jinks’ experienced opinion of “littery gents.” -She was gracious enough to add: “You know I don’t say this of _you_, -Mr. Herbert. _You_ don’t seem to eat as well as most on ’em. You don’t -grumble at whatever you git. _You_ don’t borrer, and you never fetches -friends home with you at half-past three in the mornin’, as doesn’t know -which is their heads and which is their heels, and a-tryin’ to open the -street-door with their watchkeys; tellin’ Mr. Jinks, who is a temperance -man, the next mornin’, that you’d been to a temperance meetin’ the night -afore, and took too much water. No, Mr. Herbert, I wouldn’t believe _you_ -capable of such goins-on. But that’s because you an’t a reg’lar littery -gent; _you’re_ only what they calls an amatoor.” - -Mrs. Jinks was right; I was only an amateur, though I had a faint -ambition some day of being regularly enrolled in “the profession.” I -flattered myself that I was advancing, however slowly, to that end. More -than a year had now flown by since I had left home. I came to be more and -more absorbed in my work, and the days and months glided silently past -me without my noticing them. This close and intense absorption succeeded -in shutting out to a great extent the thoughts of home. Indeed, I would -not allow my mind to rest on that subject; for when I did, I was quite -unmanned. It was not until I had made sufficient trial of the sweet -bitterness or bitter sweetness, as may be, of what was a hard and often -seemed a hopeless struggle, that I wrote to Kenneth under the strictest -pledge of secrecy, giving him a true and unvarnished account of my life -since we parted, and transmitting at the same time certain evidences -of what I was pleased to accept as the dawn of success in the shape of -sundry articles in _The Packet_ and other journals. He was enjoined -merely to inform them at home that I was in the enjoyment of good health -and reaping a steady income of, at an average, ten dollars a week, which -I hoped soon to be able to increase; and by a continuance of steady work -and the strictest economy I had every hope, if I lived to the age of -Methusaleh, of being in a position to retire on a moderate competency, -and end my patriarchal days in serene retirement and contemplation under -the shade of my own fig-tree. I described Mrs. Jinks and her household -arrangements at considerable length, and did that estimable lady infinite -credit, while I drew a companion picture of Mr. Culpepper that would -have done honor to the journal of which he was the distinguished chief. -But put not your trust in bosom friends! Mine utterly disregarded my -binding pledge, and the only answer I received to my letter was in -Nellie’s well-known handwriting on the occasion and in the manner already -described. - - * * * * * - -That was a stormy passage back to England. We were detained both by -stress of weather and an accident that occurred when only a few days -out. It was the morning of Christmas eve when at length we landed at -Liverpool. The delay had exasperated me almost into a fever. I despatched -a telegram to Nellie announcing my arrival, and that I should be in -Leighstone that evening. The train was crowded with holiday folk: happy -children going home for the Christmas holidays; stout farmers, red and -hearty, hurrying back from the Christmas market; bright-eyed women loaded -with Christmas baskets and barricaded by parcels of every description. -The crisp, cold air seemed redolent of Christmas pudding and good cheer. -The guard wished us a merry Christmas as he examined our tickets. The -stations flashed a merry Christmas on us out of their gay festoons of -holly and ivy with bright-red berries and an ermine fringe of snow, as -we flew along, though it seemed to me that we were crawling. Just as -we entered London the snow began to fall, and I was grateful for it. I -was weary of the clear, cold, pitiless sky under which we had passed. -London was in an uproar, as it always is on a Christmas eve; but the -uproar rather soothed me than otherwise. What I dreaded was quiet, when -my own thoughts and fears would compel me to listen to their remorse -and foreboding. I saw lights flashing. I heard voices calling through -the fog and the snow. Songs were sung, and men and women talked in a -confused and meaningless jargon together. I heard the sounds and moved -among the multitude, but with a far-off sense as in a dream. How I found -my way about at all is a mystery to me, unless it were with that secret -instinct that guides the sleep-walker. I saw nothing but the white snow -falling, falling, white and silent and deadly cold, covering the earth -like a shroud. I remember thinking of Charles I., and how on the day of -his death all England was draped in a snow-shroud. That incident always -impressed me when a boy as so sad and significant. And here was my -Christmas greeting after more than a year’s absence: the sad snow falling -thicker and thicker as I neared home, steadily, solemnly, silently down, -with never a break or quaver in it, mystic, wonderful, impalpable as a -sheeted ghost; and more than a month ago my sister called me away from -another world to tell me that my father was dying. - -“Great God! great God!” I moaned, “in whom I believe, against whom I have -sinned, to whom alone I can pray, spare him till I come.” - -“Leighstone! Leighstone!” rang out the voice of the guard. - -I staggered from the railway carriage, stumbled, and fell. I had tasted -nothing the whole day. The guard picked me up roughly--the very guard who -used to be such a great friend of mine in the old days--a year seemed -already old days. He did not recognize me now. I suppose he thought me -drunk, for I heard him say, “That chap’s beginning his Christmas holidays -pretty early,” and a loud laugh greeted the sally. I contrived to make -my way outside the little station. Not a soul recognized me, and I was -afraid to ask any one for information, dreading the answer that I could -not have borne. Outside the station my strength gave out. My head grew -dizzy; I staggered blindly towards some carriages drawn up in front of -me, and fell fainting at the feet of one of the horses. - -My eyes opened on faces that I did not recognize. Some one was holding up -my head, and there were strange men around me. “Thank God! he recovers,” -said a voice I knew well, and all came back on me in a flash. - -“Kenneth!” I cried, “Kenneth! Is he dead?” - -“Hush, old boy. Take it easy. Rest awhile.” - -His silence was sufficient. - -“My God! I am punished!” I gasped out, and fainted again. - -TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH. - - -THE CARDINALATE. - -I. - -The Senate and Sovereign Council of the Pope in the government and -administration of the affairs of the church in Rome and throughout the -world is composed of a number of very distinguished ecclesiastics who -are called Cardinals. The office and dignity of a member of this body is -termed the Cardinalate. - -There is some dispute among the learned about the precise origin and -meaning of the word cardinal as applied to such a person; but the -commoner opinion derives it from the Latin _cardo_, the hinge of a -door, which is probably correct; but the reason assigned for the -appellation--because the Cardinals are, in a figurative sense, the pivots -around which revolve the portals of Christian Rome--is more descriptive -than accurate. At a comparatively early age the parish priests of the -churches, and later the canons of the cathedrals of Milan, Ravenna, -Naples, and other cities of Italy, also in parts of France, Spain, and -other countries, were called cardinals; and Muratori suggests that the -name was taken in imitation, and perhaps in emulation, of the chief -clergymen of the church in Rome. He thinks that they were so called -at Rome and elsewhere because put in possession of, or immovably -attached--_incardinati_--to certain churches, which was expressed in -low Latin by the verb _cardinare_ or _incardinare_, formed, indeed, -from _cardo_ as above, and the application of which in this sense -receives an illustration from Vitruvius, who writes, in his treatise on -architecture, of _tignum cardinatum_--one beam fitted into another. - -Our oldest authority for the institution of the cardinalate is found in a -few words of unquestionable authenticity in the _Liber Pontificalis_, or -_Lives of the Popes_, extracted and compiled from very ancient documents -by Anastasius the Librarian in the IXth century. It is there written -of S. Cletus, who lived in the year 81, was an immediate disciple of -the Prince of the Apostles, and his successor only once removed: “Hic -ex præcepto beati Petri XXV[95] presbyteros ordinavit in urbe Roma, -mense decembri.” These priests, ordained by direction of blessed Peter, -formed a select body of councillors to assist the pope in the management -of ecclesiastical affairs, and are the predecessors of those who were -afterwards called cardinals of the Holy Roman Church. Hence Eugene IV. -said in his constitution _Non Mediocri_ (_XIX Bull. Mainardi_) that -the office of cardinal was evidently instituted by S. Peter and his -near successors. Again, in the _Life of Evaristus_, who became pope in -the year 100, we read: “Hic titulos in urbe Roma divisit presbyteris.” -To this day the old churches of the city, at the head of which stand -the cardinal-priests, are called titles, and all writers agree that -the designation was given under this pontificate. There is hardly less -difference of opinion about the original meaning of this word than there -is about that of cardinal. Some have imagined that the fiscal mark put on -objects belonging to, or that had devolved upon, the sovereign in civil -administration being called _titulus_ in Latin, the same word was applied -by Christians to those edifices which were consecrated to the service -of God; the ceremonies, such as the sprinkling of holy water and the -unction of oil used in the act of setting them apart for divine worship, -marking them as belonging henceforth to the Ruler of heaven and earth. -Others think that as a special mention was made in the ordination of a -priest of the particular church in which he was to serve, it was called -his title, as though it gave him a new name with his new character; and -this may be the reason of a custom, once universal, of calling a cardinal -by the name of his church instead of by his family name.[96] Father -Marchi, in his work on the _Early Christian Monuments of Rome_, has -given several mortuary inscriptions which have been discovered of these -ancient Roman priests and dignitaries, and from which we take these two: -“Locus Presbyteri Basili Tituli Sabinæ,” and “Loc. Adeodati Presb. Tit. -Priscæ.” After _locus_ in the first and its abbreviation in the second -inscription, the word _depositionis_--“of being laid to rest”--must be -understood. - -Let us here remark with the erudite Cenni that these titled priests were -not such as were afterwards called parish priests or rectors of churches, -with whom they were never confounded, and over whom, as intermediaries -between them and the pope, they had authority. These titulars were -a select body of men not higher in point of _order_, but otherwise -distinct from and superior to those priests who had parochial duties to -perform within certain limits. Whether we believe that cardinal meant -originally one who was chief in a certain church, just as was said (Du -Cange’s _Glossarium_) _Cardinalis Missa, Altare Cardinale_, and as we -say in English, cardinal virtues, cardinal points; or whether we accept -it as one who was appointed to a particular church, it is not true -that the _Roman_ cardinals were so called either because they were the -chief priests--_parochi_--of certain churches, or because they were -attached--_incardinati_--to a title. The great Modenese author on Italian -antiquities has been deceived by similarity of name into stating that the -origin and office of the cardinals of Rome did not differ from that of -those of other churches (Devoti, _Inst. Can._, vol. i. p. 188, note 4). -Observe that the ordination performed by Cletus was done by direction of -blessed Peter; that it was that of a special corps of priests; that it -was not successive, but at one time, and that in the month of December, -the same which an unbroken local tradition teaches is the proper -season[97] for the creation of cardinals, out of respect for the first -example. Now, the pope surely needed no special injunction to continue -the succession of the sacred ministry; we may consequently believe that -the ordination made by him with such particular circumstances was an -extraordinary proceeding, distinct from, although immediately followed -by, the administration of the sacrament of Orders. Therefore if after -the Evaristan distribution of titles the successors of these Cletan -priests came to be called cardinals, it was not so much (accepting -the origin of the _name_ given above) because they were attached to -particular churches as because they were attached _in solidum_ to the -Roman Church, the mother and mistress of all churches, or, better still, -as more conformable to the words of many popes and saints, because they -were attached to (some good authors say incorporated with) the Roman -pontiff. And it is in this figurative but very suggestive sense that Leo -IV. writes of one of his cardinals whom he calls “Anastasius presbyter -_cardinis nostri_, quem nos in titulo B. Marcelli Mart. atque pontif. -ordinavimus” (Labbe, _Conc._, tom. ix. col. 1135). In the same sense -S. Bernard, addressing Eugene III., calls the cardinals his coadjutors -and collaterals, and says (_Ep._ 237) that their business is to assist -him in the government of the whole church, and (_Ep._ 150) that in -spiritual matters they are judges of the world. Not otherwise did Pope -John VIII., in the year 872, write that as he filled in the new law the -office of Moses in the old, so his cardinals represented the seventy -elders chosen to assist him. For this reason cardinals alone are ever -chosen legates _a latere_--_i. e._, _Summi Pontificis_. The cardinals of -Rome, therefore, were not cardinals because they had titles, but just -the contrary. We have been a little prolix on a point that might seem -minute, because there was once a determined effort made in some parts of -France and Italy, especially during the last century, to try to prove -that the cardinals of the Roman Church were no more originally than any -other priests having cure of souls in the first instance, except that by -a fortunate accident they ministered in the capital of the then known -world. This was an attempt to depress the dignity of the cardinalate, or -at least, by implication, to give undue importance to the status of a -parish priest, as though he and a cardinal were once on the same footing. -The like insidious argument would be prepared to show, on occasion, that -the pope himself was in the beginning no more than any other bishop. -The same name was often used in the early church of two persons, but of -each in a different sense; and thus the mere fact of there having been -cardinals in other churches than that at Rome no more diminishes the -superior authority and higher dignity of the Roman cardinalate than the -name of pope, once common to all bishops, lessens the supremacy of the -Roman pontificate. In ecclesiastical antiquities a common name often -covers very different offices. In general, however, the instinct of -Catholics will always be able to make the proper distinction, no matter -how things are called; and the words of Alvaro Pelagio, who wrote his -lachrymose treatise _De Planctu Ecclesiæ_ about the year 1330, show how -different was the popular opinion of the provincial and of the urban -cardinals: “Sunt et in Ecclesia Compostellana cardinales presbyteri -mitrati, et in Ecclesia Ravennate. _Tales cardinales sunt derisui potius -quam honori._” The name of cardinal was certainly in use at the beginning -of the IVth century; for the seven cardinal-deacons of the Roman Church -are mentioned in a council held under Pope Sylvester in 324; and a -document of the pontificate of Damasus in 367, registering a donation -to the church of Arezzo by the senator Zenobius, is subscribed in these -words: “I, John, of the Holy Roman Church, a cardinal-deacon, on the part -of Damasus, praise this act and confirm it.” Among the archives, also, of -S. Mary in Trastevere, there is mention of Paulinus, a cardinal-priest -in 492. The name of cardinal was restricted by a just and peremptory -decree of S. Pius V. in 1567 exclusively to the cardinals of pontifical -creation, and it was only then that the haughty canons of Ravenna dropped -this high-sounding appellation. The idea figuratively connected with the -cardinalship in the edifice of the Holy Roman Church is briefly exposed -by Pope Leo IX., a German, in a letter to the Emperor of Constantinople. -“As the gate itself,” he says, “doth rest upon its post, thus upon -Peter and his successors dependeth the government of the whole church. -Wherefore his clerics are called cardinals, because they are most closely -adhering to that about which revolveth all the rest” (_Labbe_, tom. -ii. _Epist._ i. cap. 22.) The author of an old poem on the Roman court -(_Carmen de Curia Romana_) gives in a few lines the principal points of a -cardinal’s pre-eminence: - - “Dic age quid faciunt quibus est a cardine nomen - Post Papam, quibus est immediatus honor? - Expediunt causas, magnique negotia mundi, - Extinguunt lites, fœdera rupta ligant. - Isti participes onerum, Papæque laborum, - Sustentant humeris grandia facta suis.” - -More completely, however, than anywhere else are the rights, -prerogatives, and dignity of the cardinalate set forth in the 76th -_Constitution_ of Sixtus V., beginning _Postquam ille verus_, of May 13, -1585. - -A fact recorded by John the Deacon in the life of S. Gregory I. shows us -how high was the office and rank of a cardinal, and that to be appointed -to a bishopric was considered a descent from a higher position. He -says that this great pope was always careful to obtain the consent of -a cardinal before appointing him to govern a diocese, lest he should -seem, by removing him from the person of Christ’s Vicar, to give him a -lower place: “Ne sub hujusmodi occasione quemquam _eliminando deponere -videretur_.” That bishops undoubtedly considered the cardinalate, in -the light of influence on the affairs of the whole church and the -prospect of becoming pope, as superior to the episcopate, appears at -an early period, from a canon which it was necessary to make in order -to repress their ambition in this direction. In a council held at Rome -in the year 769 this canon was passed: “Si quis ex episcopis … contra -canonum et sanctorum Patrum statuta prorumpens in gradum Majorum[98] -sanctæ Romanæ Ecclesiæ, id est presbyterorum cardinalium et diaconorum, -ire præsumpserit, … et hanc apostolicam sedem invadere … tentaverit, et -ad summum pontificalem honorem ascendere voluerit, … fiat perpetuum -anathema.” - -There was at one period not a little divergence of opinion about the -precedence of cardinals over bishops; but the matter has long ago been -irrevocably settled. A cardinal, indeed, cannot, unless invested with -the episcopal character, perform any act that depends for its validity -upon such a character, nor can he lawfully invade the jurisdiction -of a bishop; but apart from this his _rank_ in the church is always, -everywhere, and under all circumstances superior to that of any bishop, -archbishop, metropolitan, primate, or patriarch. Nor can it be said -that this is an anomaly, unless we are also prepared to condemn other -decisions of the church; for the precedence of cardinals over bishops has -a certain parity with that of the archdeacons in old times over priests, -which very example is brought forward by Eugene IV. in 1431 to convince -Henry, Archbishop of Canterbury, who had a falling out with Cardinal -John of Santa Balbina: “Quoniam in hujusmodi prælationibus officium -ac dignitas, sive jurisdictio, præponderat ordini, quemadmodum jure -cautum est ut archidiaconus, non presbyter suæ jurisdictionis obtentu, -archipresbytero præferatur” (_Bullarium Romanum_, tom. iii.) But we could -bring a more cogent example from the modern discipline of the church. A -vicar-general, although only _tonsured_, outranks (within the diocese) -all others, because, as canonists say, _unam personam cum episcopo -gerit_; with as much justice, therefore, a cardinal, who is a member -of the pope, whose diocese is the world, precedes all others (we speak -of ecclesiastical rank) within mundane limits. There is one example, -particularly, in ecclesiastical history that shows us how important was -the influence of the Roman cardinals in the whole church, and how great -was the deference paid to them by bishops. After the death of S. Fabian, -in the year 250, the priests and deacons--cardinals--of Rome governed -the church for a year during the vacancy of the see, and meanwhile wrote -to S. Cyprian, bishop, and to the clergy of Carthage, in a manner that -could only become a superior authority, as to how those should be treated -who, having lapsed from the faith during the persecution, now sought to -be reconciled. The holy bishop answered respectfully in an epistle (xxth -edition, Lipsiæ, 1838), in which he gave them an account of his gests and -government of the diocese. Pope Cornelius testifies that the letters of -the cardinals were sent to all parts to be communicated to the bishops -and churches (Coustant, _Ep. RR. PP._ x. 5). It is also very noteworthy -that in the General Council of Ephesus, in 431, of Pope Celestine’s three -legates, the cardinal-priest preceded the two others, although bishops, -and before them signed the acts. Those who say the Breviary according to -the Roman calendar are familiar with the fact that at an indefinitely -early age the cardinals were created (just as now) before the bishops of -various dioceses were named, hence those familiar words: “Mense decembri -creavit presbyteros (tot), diaconos (tot), _episcopos per diversa loca_ -(tot).” - -The importance of a cardinal a thousand years ago can be imagined from -the fact recorded by Muratori (_Annali d’Italia_, tom. v. part. i. pag. -55), that when Anastasius had absented himself from his title for five -years without leave, and was residing in Lombardy, three bishops went -from Rome to invite him back, and the emperors Louis and Lothaire also -interposed their good offices. - -Although all cardinals are equal among themselves in the principal -things, yet in many points of costume, privilege, local office, and rank -there are distinctions and differences established by law or custom, the -most important of which follow from the division of the cardinals into -three grades, namely, of bishops, priests, and deacons. Although the -whole number of suburbicarian sees, of titles, and deaconries amounts to -seventy-two (six for the first, fifty for the second, and sixteen for -the third class), the membership of the Sacred College is limited since -Sixtus V. to the maximum of seventy. There can be no doubt that the -episcopal sees lying nearest to, and, so to speak, at, the very gates of -Rome, have enjoyed from the remotest antiquity some special pre-eminence; -but it is not easy to determine at what epoch their incumbents began -to form a part of the body of cardinals. It is certain only that they -belonged to it in the year 769. These suburban sees all received the -faith from S. Peter himself; and the tradition of Albano is that S. -Clement, who was afterwards pope, had been consecrated by the apostle -and sent there as his coadjutor and auxiliary. The number of these sees -was formerly seven, but for a long time has been only six. The Bishop -of Ostia and Velletri is the first of this order and Dean of the Sacred -College. He has the privilege of consecrating the pope, should he be -only in priest’s orders when elected, and of wearing the pallium on the -occasion. - -The titles of the cardinal-priests are fifty, some being held by -persons who have been consecrated bishops but have no diocese, or by -jurisdictional bishops--_i.e._, those who are at the head of dioceses -and archdioceses. The most illustrious, though not the oldest, of these -is S. Lawrence in Lucina, which is called the first title, and gives its -cardinal precedence--other things being equal--in his class. - -In the life of S. Fabian, who reigned in the year 238, we read that -he gave the districts of Rome in charge to the deacons: “Hic regiones -divisit diaconibus”; and these are supposed to have been the first -cardinal-deacons, or regionary cardinals, as they were long called. This -order is third in rank, but second in point of time when it was admitted -into the Sacred College. The number of cardinal-deacons became fourteen -(one for each of the civil divisions of the city) towards the end of the -VIth century, under the pontificate of S. Gregory the Great. In the year -735 Pope Gregory III. added four and raised the number to eighteen, which -was reduced under Honorius II., in the beginning of the XIIth century, -to sixteen. After various other mutations of number it was fixed as at -present. Until the pontificate of Urban II. in 1088 these cardinals were -denominated by the name of their district or region, except those added -by Gregory III., who were called palatines. After the XIth century they -were called from the name of their deaconries. S. Mary in Via Lata is the -first deaconry. The cardinal-deacons are often in priests’ orders; but -in this case they cannot celebrate Mass in public without a dispensation -from the Pope, but they can say it in their private chapel in presence -of their chaplain. In early times cardinal-deacons held a position of -very singular importance, and the pope was frequently chosen from their -restricted class. Even now some of the highest positions at Rome are -occupied by them. - -Although a cardinal is created either a cardinal-priest or a -cardinal-deacon, there is a mode of advancement even to the chief -suburbicarian see. This is called, in the language of the Curia, -_option_, or the expressing a wish to pass from one order to a higher, or -from one deaconry, title, or see to another. The custom is comparatively -recent, and was looked upon at first with considerable disfavor. It owes -its origin to the schism which Alexander V. attempted to heal in 1409 by -forming one body of his own (the legitimate) and of the pseudo-cardinals -of the anti-pope Benedict XIII. As there were two claimants to the -several deaconries, titles, and sees, he proposed to settle the dispute -by permitting one of them in succession to optate to the first vacant -place in his order. What was meant as a temporary measure became an -established custom under Sixtus IV. (1471-1484). If a cardinal-bishop -be too infirm to perform episcopal duties in the see which he already -fills, Urban VIII. decreed that he cannot pass to another one. If a -cardinal-deacon obtain by option a title before he has been ten years -in his own order, he must take the lowest place among the priests; but -if after that period, he takes precedence of all who have been created -in either of the two orders since his elevation. The favor of option -is asked of the pope in the consistory held next after a vacancy has -occurred, by the cardinal proposing such a change. The prefect of -pontifical ceremonies having previously assured himself that no cardinal -outranking the postulant contemplates the same, the cardinal-priest, -to give an example from this order, rises and says: “Beatissime Pater, -si sanctitati vestræ placuerit dimisso titulo N. transitu ex ordine -presbyterali ad episcopalem, opto ecclesiam N.,” naming his title and the -suburbicarian see that he seeks to occupy. - -These three orders of cardinals certainly had a corporate character at -an early period, and formed what the ancients called a college with its -officers and by-laws; but Arnulf, Bishop of Lisieux in the Xth century, -was the first to call them collectively _Collegium Sanctorum_; hence -in all languages it is now called the Sacred College. A proof that the -cardinals acted together in a public capacity, and of their exalted -dignity, is that they are termed _Proceres clericorum_ by Anastasius in -the _Life of S. Leo III._ In olden times cardinals were strictly obliged -to reside near the pope; and a Roman council, composed of sixty-seven -bishops, held in 853 under S. Leo IV., called in judgment and deposed -the cardinal-priest of S. Marcellus for having contumaciously absented -himself during a long time from his title. This obligation of residence -in the house or palace annexed to the title or the deaconry was somewhat -relaxed in the XIIth century, when bishops of actual jurisdiction began -to be created cardinals. The first example of a bishop governing a -diocese who was made a cardinal is that of Conrad von Wittelsbach, of the -since royal house of Bavaria, Archbishop of Mentz, who was raised to this -dignity by Alexander III. in 1163. - -Innocent III., however, refused a petition of the good people of Ravenna -to let them have a certain cardinal for their archbishop, saying that -he was more useful to Rome and to the church at large where he was than -he could possibly be in any other position. At this period, and until -a considerable time after, it was very rare that a bishop was made a -cardinal without having to resign his diocese and reside _in curia_. - -Leo X. was so strict in his ideas of the duty of cardinals to live near -him that he issued a bull renewing the obligation in very strong terms; -and in 1538 it was proposed to Paul III. to draw up a plan of reform -making it incompatible to govern a diocese and be at the same time a -cardinal, except in the case of the Fathers of the First Order, who, -from the nearness of their sees to Rome, could perform their service to -the pope as his councillors and assistants, and not neglect the faithful -over whom they were placed (Natalis Alexander, _Hist. Eccl._, tom. xvii. -art. 16). No such stringent rule was adopted, and a cardinal might be -this and govern a diocese, if he made it his place of habitual residence, -according to the decree of the Council of Trent (Session xxiii., on Ref., -ch. 1). - -Of the virtue, learning, and other qualities required in a cardinal -of the Holy Roman Church, SS. Peter Damian and Bernard have written -eloquently, and Honorius IV., of the great family of Savelli, once so -powerful in Rome, was inexorable against unworthy subjects, saying that -“he never would raise to the Roman purple any save good and wise men.” -Different popes have made excellent laws on these matters and others -connected with the cardinalate; but in some cases they have been -disregarded, especially those about age and about there not being two -near relatives in the Sacred College at the same time. The practice of -the last hundred years has been above cavil, and the abuses of other ages -have been exaggerated, partly through malice, and partly from not knowing -the secret reasons that popes may have had for creating, for instance, -mere youths--royal youths--cardinals, or conferring the high dignity upon -members of their own family, or upon men who had nothing to recommend -them but the importunate demands of their sovereigns. The hat bestowed -upon S. Charles Borromeo was productive of more good than all the rest of -“nepotism” was able to effect of evil. - -The creation of cardinals is an exclusive privilege of the popes; but -they have sometimes granted the prayers of the Sacred College or of -sovereign princes asking to have the dignity conferred upon certain -subjects. For a long time, especially during the XVIth century, the -governments of France, Spain, Portugal, Poland, and the republic of -Venice were favored by being permitted to name once in each pontificate -a candidate for the cardinalate. This was called a crown nomination. -Clement V. is said (Cancellieri, _Mercato_, p. 105, note 3) to have been -the first to grant to princes the right of petitioning for a hat; and -the sultan Bajazet II. wrote on 28th September, 1494, to Alexander VI., -begging him to make a perfect cardinal of Nicholas Cibo, Archbishop of -Aries, and cousin of Pope Innocent VIII. Clement XII. in 1732 tendered -to James III. (the “Elder Pretender”) the nomination of some subject to -the cardinalate, and he, like a true Stuart, neglecting his countrymen -and those who had suffered in his cause, proposed Mgr. Rivera, whom he -had taken a liking to for little courtesies shown at Urbino. It has long -been a custom for the pope to promote to this dignity a member of the -family or one of that religious order to which his predecessor belonged, -from whom he himself received it. The Italians call this a restitution of -the hat--_Restituzione di capello_. The number of cardinals has greatly -varied at different times. It was generally smaller before than ever -since the XVIth century. The cardinals could, of course, well be all -Romans, as they were in the beginning; but with a change of circumstances -the pontiffs have recognized the propriety of S. Bernard’s suggestive -query to Eugene III.: “Annon eligendi de toto orbe, orbem judicaturi?” -(_De Consid._, iv. 4). In 1331 John XXII. (himself a Frenchman), being -asked by the king to create a couple of French cardinals, replied -that two were too many, and he would make but one, because there were -only twenty cardinals in all, and seventeen of them were Frenchmen. -In 1352, after the death of Clement VI., the cardinals attempted to -restrict the Sacred College to twenty members, on the principle that -a dignity profusely conferred is despised--_communia vilescunt_; but -Urban VI. found himself constrained, by the course of events at the -schism, to create a large number of cardinals, in order to oppose them -to the pseudo-cardinals of Clement VII., and at one creation he made -twenty-nine, all except three being his own countrymen, Neapolitans; so -that the French of another generation were richly paid back for their -former preponderance. From this time the membership of the Sacred College -gradually increased up to the middle of the XVIth century. It is much to -the credit of Pius II. that when the Sacred College in 1458 remonstrated -with him on the number of cardinals, saying that the cardinalate was -going down, and begged him not to increase its membership to any -considerable extent, he told the fathers that as head of the church he -could not refuse the reasonable requests of kings and governments in such -a matter, but that, apart from this, his honor forbade him to neglect -the subjects of other countries than Italy in the distribution of the -highest favors in his gift (_Comment. Pii II._, lib. ii. pp. 129, 130). -Leo X., believing himself disliked by many cardinals, added thirty-one -to their number at a single creation on July 1, 1517, the like of which -the court has never seen before or after; but it had the desired effect. -The Council of Trent ordained (Sess. 24, _De Ref._, c. i.) concerning the -subjects of the cardinalate that “the Most Holy Roman Pontiff shall, -as far as it can be conveniently done, select (them) out of all the -nations of Christendom, as he shall find persons suitable.” This is not -to be understood, however worded, as more than a recommendation to the -pope. Paul IV. (Caraffa, 1555-59), a great reformer, after consulting -the Sacred College and long discussions, issued a bull called the -Compact--_Compactum_--in which he decreed that the cardinals should not -be more than forty; but his immediate successor, Pius IV. (Medici), -acting on the principle that one pope cannot bind another in disciplinary -matters, created forty-six. Sixtus V. in 1585 fixed the number at -seventy in imitation of the seventy elders chosen to assist Moses; and -since then all the popes have respected this precedent. During the long -reign of Pius VII., although, on account of the times, unable to hold -a consistory for many years, he created in all ninety-eight cardinals, -and when he died left ten _in petto_. Although, on the one hand, an -excessive number of cardinals would lessen the importance and lower the -dignity of the office, yet a very small number has occasioned long and -disedifying conclaves, whereby for months, and even years, the Holy See -has been vacant, to the great detriment of the church. This was the case -four times during the XIIIth century, and by a coincidence, each time it -was after a pope who was the fourth of his name, viz., Celestine (1241), -Alexander (1261), Clement (1268), and Nicholas (1292). - -The subject of this article has grown so much under our hands that we are -reluctantly compelled to defer a description of the ceremonies attendant -on the election of cardinals, etc., till the July number of THE CATHOLIC -WORLD. - - -ON THE WAY TO LOURDES. - - “Quacumque ingredimur, in aliquam historiam vestigium - ponimus.”--_Cicero._ - -The most direct route from Paris to Notre Dame de Lourdes crosses the -Bordeaux and Toulouse Railway at Agen, where the pilgrim leaves the more -frequented thoroughfares for an obscurer route, though one by no means -devoid of interest, especially to the Catholic of English origin; for the -country we are now entering was once tributary to England, and at every -step we come, not only upon the traces it has left behind, but across -some unknown saint of bygone times, like a fossil of some rare flower -with lines of beauty and grace that ages have not been able to efface. - -Approaching Agen, we imagined ourselves coming to some large city, so -imposing are the environs. The broad Garonne is flowing oceanward, its -shores bordered by poplars, and overlooked by hills whose sunny slopes -are covered with vineyards and plum-trees. Boats from Provence and -Languedoc are gliding along the canal, whose massive bridge, with its -gigantic arches, harmonizes with the landscape, and reminds one of the -Roman Campagna. The plain is vast, fertile, and smiling; the heavens -glowing and without a cloud. Every hill, like Bacchus, has its flowing -locks wreathed with vines of wonderful luxuriance, and is garlanded -with clusters of grapes, under which it reels with joyous intoxication. -Everywhere are white houses, fair villas, pleasant gardens, and all the -indications of a prosperous country. - -The town does not correspond with its surroundings. It is damp and said -to be unhealthy. The streets are narrow and winding, the houses without -expression. The population is mostly made up of merchants, mechanics, -and _gens de robe_. Here and there we find a noble mansion, a few great -families, and a time-honored name; but the true lords of the place are -the public functionaries, worthy and grave, and clad in solemn black, -quite in contrast with the joyous character of the people. The local -peculiarities of the latter may be studied to advantage in an irregular -square bordered with low arcades--the centre of traffic for all the -villages eight or ten leagues around. Famous fairs are held here three or -four times a year, one for the sale of prunes--and the Agen prunes are -famous--but the most important one is the lively, bustling fair of the -Gravier, which brings together all the blooming grisettes of the region, -who, in festive mood and holiday attire, gather around the tempting -booths. The Gravier was formerly a magnificent promenade of fine old -elms, which Jasmin loved to frequent, and where he found inspiration for -many of his charming poems in the Gascon language--one of the Romance -tongues; for the so-called _patois_ of this part of the country is by -no means a corruption of the French, but a genuine language, flexible, -poetic, and wonderfully expressive of every sweet and tender emotion. -Some of Jasmin’s poems have been translated by our own poet Longfellow -with much of the graceful simplicity of the original. Most of the fine -elms of the Gravier have been cut down within a few years, to the great -regret of the people. - -One of the most striking features of the landscape in approaching Agen -is a mount at the north with a picturesque church and spire. This is the -church of the Spanish Carmelites, who, driven some years ago from their -native country, came to take refuge among the caves of the early martyrs -beside the remains of an old Roman _castrum_ called Pompeiacum. Here is -the cavern, hewn centuries ago out of the solid rock, where S. Caprais, -the bishop, concealed himself in the time of the Emperor Diocletian to -escape from his persecutors. And here is the miraculous fountain that -sprang up to quench his thirst; sung by the celebrated Hildebert in the -XIth century - - “Rupem percussit, quam fontem fundere jussit; - Qui fons mox uber fit, dulcis, fitque saluber, - Quo qui potatur, mox convalet et recreatur.” - -That is to say: “Caprais smote the rock, and forth gushed a fount of -living water, sweet and salutary to those who come to drink thereof,” as -the pilgrim experiences to this day. - -From the top of this mount S. Caprais, looking down on the city, saw -with prophetic eye S. Foi on the martyr’s pile, and a mysterious dove -descending from heaven, bearing a crown resplendent with a thousand -hues and adorned with precious stones that gleamed like stars in the -firmament, which he placed on the virgin’s head, clothing her at the same -time with a garment whiter than snow and shining like the sun. Then, -shaking his dewy wings, he extinguished the devouring flames, and bore -the triumphant martyr to heaven. - -After the martyrdom of S. Caprais, the cave he had sanctified was -inhabited by S. Vincent the Deacon, who, in his turn, plucked the -blood-red flower of martyrdom, and went with unsullied stole to join -his master in the white-robed army above. Or, as recorded by Drepanius -Florus, the celebrated deacon of Lyons, in the IXth century: “Aginno, -loco Pompeiano, passio sancti Vincentii, martyris, qui leviticæ stolæ -candore micans, pro amore Christi martyrium adeptus, magnis sæpissime -virtutibus fulget.” - -His body was buried before S. Caprais’ cave, and, several centuries -after, a church was built over it, which became a centre of popular -devotion to the whole country around, who came here to recall the -holy legends of the past and learn anew the lesson of faith and -self-sacrifice. Some say it was built by Charlemagne when he came here, -according to Turpin, to besiege King Aygoland, who, with his army, had -taken refuge in Agen. This venerable sanctuary was pillaged and then -destroyed by the Huguenots in 1561, and for half a century it lay in -ruins. The place, however, was purified anew by religious rites in 1600; -the traditions were carefully preserved; and every year the processions -of Rogation week came to chant the holy litanies among the thorns that -had grown up in the broken arches. Finally, in 1612, the city authorities -induced a hermit, named Eymeric Rouidilh, from Notre Dame de Roquefort, -to establish himself here. He was a good, upright man, as charitable as -he was devout, mocked at by the wicked, but converting them by the very -ascendency of his holy life. He brought once more to light the tomb of -S. Vincent and S. Caprais’ chair, and set to work to build a chapel out -of the remains of the ancient church. The dignitaries of the town came -to aid him with their own hands, the princes of France brought their -offerings, and Anne of Austria came with her court to listen to the -teachings of the holy hermit. Among other benefactors of the Hermitage -were the Duc d’Epernon, Governor of Guienne, and Marshal de Schomberg, -the first patron of the great Bossuet. - -Eymeric’s reputation for sanctity became so great that he drew around -him several other hermits, who hollowed cells out of the rock, -and endeavored to rival their master in the practice of rigorous -mortification. They rose in the night to chant the divine Office, -and divided the day between labor and prayer, only coming together -for a half-hour’s fraternal intercourse after dinner and the evening -collation. Eymeric himself, at night, sang the _réveillè_ in the streets -of Agen, awakening the echoes of the night with a hoarse, lamentable -voice: “Prégats pous praubés trépassats trépassados que Diou lous -perdounné!”--Pray for the poor departed, that God may pardon them all! - -Eymeric was so scrupulous about using the water of S. Caprais’ fountain -for profane purposes that, discovering some plants that gave indications -of a source, he labored for six months in excavating the rock, till at -length he came so suddenly upon a spring that he was deluged with its -waters. - -During the plague of 1628, and at other times of public distress, his -heroic charity was so fully manifest that he was regarded as a public -benefactor; and when he died, the most distinguished people in the -vicinity came to testify their veneration and regret. - -The cells of the Hermitage continued, however, to be peopled till the -great revolution, when the place was once more profaned. But in 1846 a -band of Spanish Carmelites came to establish themselves on the mount -sanctified by the early martyrs. Martyrs, too, of the soul are they; -for there is no martyrdom more severe than the inward crucifixion of -those who, in the cloister, offer themselves an unbloody sacrifice to -God for the sins of the world. Some, who have not tried it, think the -monastic life to be one of ease and self-indulgence. But let them -seriously reflect on the “years of solitary weariness, of hardship and -mortification, of wakeful scholarship, of perpetual prayer, unvisited -by a softness or a joy beyond what a bird, or a tree, or an unusually -blue sky may bring,” with no consolations except those that spring from -unfaltering trust in Christ and utter abandonment to his sweet yoke, and -they will see that, humanly speaking, such a life is by no means one of -perfect ease. - -On this new Carmel lived for a time Père Hermann, the distinguished -musician, who was so miraculously converted by the divine manifestation -in the Holy Eucharist, and it was here he gave expression to the ardor of -his Oriental nature in some of his glowing _Cantiques to Jésus-Hostie_, -worthy to be sung by seraphim: - - “Pain Vivant! Pain de la Patrie! - Du désir et d’amour mon âme est consumée - Ne tardez plus! Jésus, mon Bien-Aimé, - Venez, source de vie, - Ne tardez plus! Jésus, mon Bien-Aimé!” - -Agen is mentioned on every page of the religious history of southern -France. In the IIId century we find the confessors of the faith already -mentioned. Sixty years later S. Phoebadus, a monk of Lerins who became -Bishop of Agen, defended the integrity of the Catholic faith against the -Arians in an able treatise. He was a friend of S. Hilary of Poitiers and -S. Ambrose of Milan. St. Jerome speaks of him as still living in the -year 392: “Vivit usque hodie decrepitâ senectute.” In the time of the -Visigoths SS. Maurin and Vincent de Liaroles upheld and strengthened the -faith in Novempopulania. - -In feudal times the bishops of Agen were high and puissant lords who -had the royal prerogative of coining money by virtue of a privilege -conferred on them by the Dukes of Aquitaine. The money they issued was -called _Moneta Arnaldina_, or _Arnaudenses_, from Arnaud de Boville, a -member of the ducal family, who was the first to enjoy the right. - -It was a bishop of Agen, of the illustrious family Della Rovere that -gave two popes--Sixtus IV. and Julius II.--to the church, who induced -Julius Cæsar Scaliger to accompany him when he took possession of his -see. Scaliger’s romantic passion for a young girl of the place led him -to settle here for life. Not far from Agen may still be seen the Château -of Verona, which he built on his wife’s land, and named in honor of his -ancestors of Verona--the Della Scalas, whose fine tombs are among the -most interesting objects in that city. This château is in a charming -valley. It remained unaltered till about forty years ago; but it is now -modernized, and therefore spoiled. The oaks he planted are cut down, the -rustic fountain he christened Théocrène is gone. Only two seats, hewn out -of calcareous rock, remain in the grounds, where he once gathered around -him George Buchanan, Muret, Thevius, and other distinguished men of the -day. These seats are still known as the Fauteuils de Scaliger. - -The elder Scaliger was buried in the church of the Augustinian Friars, -which being destroyed in 1792, his remains were removed by friendly hands -for preservation. They have recently been placed at the disposition of -the city authorities, who will probably erect some testimonial to one who -has given additional celebrity to the place. The last descendant of the -Scaligers--Mlle. Victoire de Lescale--died at Agen, January 25, 1853, at -the age of seventy-six years. - -Agen figures also in the religious troubles of the XVIth century, as it -was part of the appanage of Margaret of Valois; but it generally remained -true to its early traditions. Nérac, the seat of the Huguenot court at -one time, was too near not to exert its influence. Then came Calvin -himself, when he leaped from his window and fled from Paris. Theodore -Beza too resided there for a time. They were protected by Margaret of -Navarre, who gathered around her men jealous of the influence of the -clergy and desirous themselves of ruling over the minds of others. -They boldly ridiculed the religious orders, and censured the morals of -the priesthood, though so many prelates of the time were distinguished -for their holiness and ability. Nérac has lost all taste for religious -controversy in these material days. It has turned miller, and is only -noted for its past aberrations and the present superiority of its flour. - -On the other side of the Garonne, towards the plain of Layrac, we come -to the old Château of Estillac, associated with the memory of Blaise -de Monluc, the terrible avenger of Huguenot atrocities in this section -of France. He was an off-shoot of the noble family of Montesquiou, -and served under Bayard, Lautrec, and Francis I.--a small, thin, -bilious-looking man, with an eye as cold and hard as steel, and a face -horribly disfigured in battle, before whom all parties quailed, Catholic -as well as Protestant. He had the zeal of a Spaniard and the bravado of a -true Gascon; was sober in his habits, uncompromising in his nature, and, -living in his saddle, with rapier in hand, he was always ready for any -emergency, to strike any blow; faithful to his motto: “_Deo duce, ferro -comite_.” - -We are far from justifying the relentless rigor of Monluc; but one -cannot travel through this country, where at every step is some trace -of the fury with which the Huguenots destroyed or desecrated everything -Catholics regard as holy, without finding much to extenuate his course. -We must not forget that the butchery which filled the trenches of the -Château de Penne was preceded by the sack of Lauzerte, where, according -to Protestant records, Duras slaughtered five hundred and sixty-seven -Catholics, of whom one hundred and ninety-four were priests; and that the -frightful massacre of Terraube was provoked by the treachery of Bremond, -commander of the Huguenots at the siege of Lectoure. - -Among the other remarkable men upon whose traces we here come is -Sulpicius Severus, a native of Agen. His friend, S. Paulinus of Nola, -tells us he had a brilliant position in the world, and was universally -applauded for his eloquence; but converted in the very flower of his -life, he severed all human ties and retired into solitude. He is said -to have founded the first monastery in Aquitaine, supposed to be that -of S. Sever-Rustan, where he gave himself up to literary labors that -have perpetuated his name. The Huguenots burned down this interesting -monument of the past in 1573, and massacred all the monks. It was from -the cloister of Primulacium, as it was then called, that successively -issued his _Ecclesiastical History_, which won for him the title of -the Christian Sallust; the _Life of S. Martin of Tours_, written from -personal recollections; and three interesting _Dialogues on the Monastic -Life_, all of which were submitted to the indulgent criticism of S. -Paulinus before they were given to the public. The intimacy of these two -great men probably began when S. Paulinus lived in his villa Hebromagus, -on the banks of the Baïse, and it was by no means broken off by their -separation. The latter made every effort to induce his friend to join -him at Nola; but we have no reason to complain he did not succeed, for -this led to a delightful correspondence we should be sorry to have lost. -We give one specimen of it, in which modesty is at swords’ points with -friendship. Sulpicius had built a church at Primulacium, and called -upon his poet-friend to supply him with inscriptions for the walls. The -baptistery contained the portrait of S. Martin, and, wishing to add -that of Paulinus, he ventured to ask him for it. Paulinus’ humility is -alarmed, and he flatly refuses; but he soon learns his likeness has -been painted from memory, and is hanging next that of the holy Bishop -of Tours. He loudly protests, but that is all he can do, except avenge -his outraged humility by sending the following inscription to be graven -beneath the two portraits: “You, whose bodies and souls are purified in -this salutary bath, cast your eyes on the two models set before you. -Sinners, behold Paulinus; ye just, look at Martin. Martin is the model of -saints; Paulinus only that of the guilty!” - -Sometimes there is a dash of pleasantry in their correspondence, as -when Paulinus sends for some good Gascon qualified to be a cook in -his _laura_. Sulpicius despatches Brother Victor with a letter of -recommendation which perhaps brought a smile to his friend’s face: “I -have just learned that every cook has taken flight from your kitchen. -I send you a young man trained in our school, sufficiently accomplished -to serve up the humbler vegetables with sauce and vinegar, and concoct a -modest stew that may tempt the palates of hungry cenobites; but I must -confess he is entirely ignorant of the use of spices and all luxurious -condiments, and it is only right I should warn you of one great fault: -he is the mortal enemy of a garden. If you be not careful, he will make -a frightful havoc among all the vegetables he can lay his hands on. He -may seldom call on you for wood, but he will burn whatever comes within -his reach. He will even lay hold of your rafters, and tear the old joists -from your chimneys.” - -Among other Agen literary celebrities is the poet Antoine de La Pujade, -who was secretary of finances to Queen Margaret of Navarre--not the -accomplished, fascinating sister of Francis I., but the wife of the -_Vert-Galant_, “_Du tige des Valois belle et royale fleur_,” who -encouraged and applauded the poet, and even addressed him flattering -verses. His tender, caressing lines on the death of his little son of -four years of age are well known: - - “Petite âme mignonnelette, - Petite mignonne âmelette, - Hôtesse d’un si petit corps! - Petit mignon, mon petit Pierre, - Tu laisses ton corps à la terre, - Et ton âme s’en va dehors.” - -La Pujade consecrated his pen to the Blessed Virgin in the _Mariade_, a -poem of twelve cantos in praise of the _très sainte et très sacrée Vierge -Marie_. - -Another rhymer of Agen, and a courtier also, is Guillaume du Sable, a -Huguenot, who in his verses held up his wife, his daughter, and his -son-in-law as utterly given up to avarice. As for himself, he was always -ready to spend! Yes, and as ready to beg. That he was by no means -grasping, that his palms never itched, is shown by his poems, which are -full of petitions to the king for horses, clothes, and appointments. Like -so many of his co-religionists, he did not disdain the spoils of the -enemy, as is apparent from this modest request to Henry IV.: - - “Mais voulez-vous guérir, Sire, ma pauvreté? - Donnez-moi, s’il vous plait, la petite abbaye, - Ou quelque prieuré le reste de ma vie, - Puisque je l’ai vouée à votre majesté.” - -He wrote against priests and monks, but stuck to the royal party, -condemning all who revolted under pretext of religion. Perhaps the most -supportable of his works is that against the Spanish Inquisition--a -subject that never needs any _sauce piquante_. His _Tragique Elégie du -jour de Saint Barthélemy_ affords an additional proof in favor of the -approximate number of _one thousand_ victims at the deplorable massacre -of August 24, 1572. - -As a proof of the tenacity with which the Agenais have clung to past -religious traditions and customs, we will cite the popular saying -that arose from the unusual dispensations granted during Lent by Mgr. -Hébert, the bishop of the diocese, in a time of great distress after an -unproductive year: - -“En milo sept centz nau L’abesque d’Agen debenguèt Higounau”--In 1709 the -Bishop of Agen turned Huguenot! - -Leaving Agen by the railway to Tarbes, we came in ten minutes to Notre -Dame de Bon Encontre--a spot to which all the sorrows and fears and -hopes of the whole region around are brought. This chapel is especially -frequented during the month of May, when one parish after another comes -here to invoke the protection of Mary. A continual incense of prayer -seems to rise on the sacred air from this sweet woodland spire. A few -houses cluster around the pretty church, which is surmounted by a -colossal statue of the Virgin overlooking the whole valley and flooding -it with peace, love, and boundless mercy. The image of her who is so -interwoven with the great mysteries of the redemption can never be looked -upon with indifference or without profit. The soul that finds Mary in -the tangled grove of this sad world enters upon a “moonlit way of sweet -security.” - -We next pass Astaffort, a little village perched on a hill overlooking -the river Gers, justifying its ancient device: _Sta fortiter_.[99] It -played an important part in the civil wars of the country. The Prince -de Condé occupied the place with four hundred men, and, attacked by the -royalists, they were all slain but the prince and his valet, who made -their escape. A cross marks the burial-place of the dead behind the -church of Astaffort, still known as the field of the Huguenots. - -Lectoure, like an eagle’s nest built on a cliff, is the next station, -and merits a short tarry; for, though fallen from its ancient grandeur, -it is a town full of historic interest, and contains many relics of the -past. It is a place mentioned by Cæsar and Pliny, and yet so small that -we wonder what it has been doing in the meantime. It was one of the -nine cities of Novempopulania, and in the IXth century still boasted -the Roman franchise, and was the centre of light and legislation to the -country around, on which it imposed its customs and laws. It governed -itself, lived its own individual life, unaffected by the changes of -surrounding provinces, and proudly styled itself in its public documents -“the Republic of Lectoure.” In the XIIth century it was the stronghold of -the Vicomtes de Lomagne; and when Richard Cœur de Lion wished to bring -Vivian II. of that house to terms, he laid siege to Lectoure, which, -though stoutly defended for a time, was finally obliged to yield. In -1305 it belonged to the family of Bertrand de Got (Pope Clement V.), -which accounts for a bull of his being dated at Lectoure. Count John of -Armagnac married Reine de Got, the pope’s niece, in 1311, and thus the -city fell into the hands of the haughty Armagnacs, who made it their -capital. At this time they were the mightiest lords of the South of -France, and seemed to have inherited the ancient glory of the Counts of -Toulouse. For a time they held the destiny of France itself in their -hands. For one hundred and fifty years they took a prominent part in all -the French wars. Their banner, with its lion rampant, floated on every -battle-field. Their war-cry--Armagnac!--resounded in the ears of the -Derbys and Talbots. It was an Armagnac that sustained the courage of -France after the surrender of King John at Poitiers; an Armagnac that -united all the South against the English in the Etats-Généraux de Niort; -and an Armagnac--Count Bernard VI.--who maintained the equilibrium of -France when Jean-sans-Peur of Burgundy aimed at supremacy, and fell a -victim to Burgundian vengeance at Paris. - -Lectoure gives proofs of its antiquity and the changes it has passed -through in the remains of its triple wall; its fountain of Diana; the -bronzes, statuettes, jewels, and old Roman votive altars, that are now -and then brought to light; its mediæval castle, and the interesting old -church built by the English during their occupancy, with its massive -square tower, whence we look off over the valley of the Gers, with its -orchards and vineyards and verdant meadows shut in by wooded hills, and -see stretching away to the south the majestic outline of the Pyrenees. - -At the west of Lectoure is the forest of Ramier, in the midst of which -once stood the Cistercian abbey of Bouillas--Bernardus valles--founded in -1125, but now entirely destroyed. - - “Never was spot more sadly meet - For lonely prayer and hermit feet.” - -There is a popular legend connected with these woods, the truth of which -I do not vouch for--I tell the tale as ’twas told to me: - -A poor charcoal-burner, who lived in this forest close by the stream -of Rieutort, had always been strictly devout to God and the blessed -saints, but, on his deathbed, in a moment of despair at leaving his -three motherless children without a groat to bless themselves with, -invoked in their behalf the foul spirit usually supposed to hold dominion -over the bowels of the earth, with its countless mines of silver and -gold. He died, and his three sons buried him beside their mother in the -graveyard of Pauillac; but the wooden cross they set up to mark the spot -obstinately refused to remain in the ground. Terrified at this ominous -circumstance, the poor children fled to their desolate cabin. The night -was dark and cold, and wolves were howling in the forest. “Brothers,” -said the oldest, “we shall die of hunger and cold. There is not a crumb -of bread in the house, and the doctor carried off all our blankets -yesterday for his services. The Abbey of Bouillas is only half a league -off. I am sure the good monks will not refuse alms to my brother Juan. -And little Pierréto shall watch the house while I go to the Castle of -Goas.” - -Both brothers set off, leaving Pierréto alone in the cabin. He trembled -with fear and the cold, and at length the latter so far prevailed -that he ventured to the door to see if he could not catch a glimpse -of his brothers on their way home. It was now “the hour when spirits -have power.” Not a hundred steps off he saw a group of men dressed in -rich attire, silently--“all silent and all damned”--warming themselves -around a good fire. The shivering child took courage, and, drawing near -the band, begged for some coals to light his fire. They assented, and -Pierréto hurriedly gathered up a few and went away. But no sooner had he -re-entered the cabin than they instantly went out. He went the second -time, and again they were extinguished. The third time the leader of the -band frowned, but gave him a large brand, and threateningly told him not -to come again. The brand went out like the coals; and the men and fire -disappeared as suddenly. Pierréto remained half dead with fright. An -hour after Juan returned from the Convent of Bouillas with bread enough -to last a week, and Simoun soon arrived from the castle with three warm -blankets. - -When daylight appeared, Pierréto went to the fire-place to look at his -coals, and found they had all turned to gold. The two oldest now had the -means of making their way in the world. One became a brave soldier, and -the other a prosperous merchant; but Pierro became a brother in the Abbey -of Bouillas. Night after night, as he paced the dark cloisters praying -for his father’s soul, he heard a strange rushing as of fierce wind -through the arches, and a wailing sound as sad as the _Miserere_. Pierro -shuddered and thought of the cross that refused to darken his father’s -grave; but he only prayed the longer and the more earnestly. - -Years passed away. Simoun and Juan, who had never married, weary of -honors and gain, came to join their brother in his holy retreat. Their -wealth, that had so mysterious an origin, was given to God in the person -of the poor. Then only did the troubled soul of their father find rest, -and the holy cross consent to throw its shadow across his humble grave. - -Lectoure is surrounded by ramparts; but the most remarkable of its -ancient defences is the old castle of the Counts of Armagnac, converted -into a hospital by the Bishop of Lectoure in the XVIIIth century. This -castle witnessed the shameless crimes of Count John IV. and their fearful -retribution at the taking of Lectoure under Louis XI. The tragical -history of this great lord affords a new proof of the salutary authority -exercised by the church over brutal power and unrestrained passion during -the Middle Ages. - -There is no more striking example of the degradation of an illustrious -race than that of John V., the last Count of Armagnac, who shocked the -whole Christian world by an unheard-of scandal. Having solicited in -vain a dispensation to marry his sister Isabella, who was famous for -her beauty, he made use of a pretended license, fraudulently drawn up -in the very shadow of the papal court, as some say, to allay Isabella’s -scruples, and celebrated this monstrous union with the greatest pomp. He -forgot, in the intoxication of power and the delirium of passion, there -could be any restraint on his wishes, that there was a higher tribunal -which watched vigilantly over the infractions of the unchangeable laws -of morality and religion. The pope fulminated a terrible excommunication -against them. King Charles VII., hoping to wipe out so fearful a stain -by the sacred influences of family affection, sent the most influential -members of the count’s family to exert their authority; but in vain. -The king soon turned against him, because he favored the revolt of the -Dauphin, and sent an army to invade his territory. Count John’s only fear -was of losing Isabella; and rather than separate from her to fight for -the defence of his domains, he fled with her to the valley of Aure, while -the royal army ravaged his lands. - -Condemned to perpetual banishment, deprived of his dominions, his power -gone, under the ban of the church, his eyes were opened to the extent of -his degradation, his soul was filled with remorse. He took the pilgrim’s -staff and set out for Rome, begging his bread by the way, to seek -absolution for himself and his sister. Isabella retired from the world -to do penance for her sins in the Monastery of Mount Sion at Barcelona. -The church, which never spurns the repentant sinner, however stained with -crime, granted him absolution on very severe conditions. The learned -Æneas Sylvius (Pius II.) occupied the chair of S. Peter at that time. -His great heart was touched by the heroic penance of so great a lord. He -received him kindly, dwelt on the enormity of the scandal he had given to -the world, and reminded him that Pope Zachary had condemned a man, guilty -of an offence of the same nature, to go on a round of pilgrimages for -fourteen years, the first seven of which he was ordered to wear an iron -chain attached to his neck or wrist, fast three times a week, and only -drink wine on Sundays; but the last seven he was only required to fast on -Fridays; after which he was admitted to Communion. - -More merciful, Pius II. enjoined on Count John never to hold any -communication with Isabella by word, letter, or message; to distribute -three thousand gold crowns for the reparation of churches and -monasteries; and to fast every Friday on bread and water till he could -take up arms against the Turks; all of which the count solemnly promised -to do. Nor do we read he ever violated his word. Affected by such an -example of penitence, the pope addressed Charles VII. a touching brief to -induce him to pardon the count. - -When Louis XI. came to the throne, remembering the services he had -received from Count John, he restored him to his rank. The count now -married a daughter of the house of Foix. Everything seemed repaired. -But divine justice is not satisfied. Louis XI., determined to destroy -the almost sovereign power of the great vassals, took advantage of -Count John’s offences against his government, and resolved on his -destruction. He sent an army to besiege him at Lectoure. At this siege -Isabella’s son made his first essay at arms, and displayed the valor of -his race but the young hero finally perished in a rash sortie, and the -count soon after capitulated. The royal forces, taking possession of -the place, basely violated the terms of surrender. The city was sacked -and nearly all the inhabitants massacred. Among the victims was Count -John himself, who died invoking the Virgin. The walls of the city were -partly demolished, and fire set to the four quarters. The dead were left -unburied, and for two months the wolves that preyed thereon were the only -occupants of the place. Never was there a more fearful retribution. It -took the city nearly a century to recover in a measure from this horrible -calamity. - -Lectoure was in the hands of the Huguenots when Monluc laid siege to it -in 1562. Bremond, the commander, offered to capitulate, and, proposing an -exchange of hostages, he asked for Verduzan, La Chapelie, and a third. -Monluc consented, and as they approached the gates of the city they were -fired upon by thirty or forty arquebusiers, but without effect. Monluc -cried out that was not the fidelity of an honest man, but of a Huguenot. -Bremond protested his innocence of the deed, and, pretending to seize -one of the guilty men, he hung an innocent Catholic on the walls in -sight of Monluc. Unaware of the fraud, the hostages again approached, -and again they were fired upon. A gentleman from Agen was killed and -others wounded. Indignant at such treachery, and supposing his own life -particularly aimed at, Monluc exclaimed that, since they held their -promises so lightly, he would do the same with his, and he immediately -sent Verduzan with a company of soldiers to Terraube to despatch the -prisoners whose lives he had spared. This order was executed with as -much exactness as barbarity, and the implacable Monluc declared he had -made “a fine end of some very bad fellows.” - -Bremond, urged by the inhabitants, again renewed negotiations, and -finally surrendered the city on condition of being allowed to withdraw -with his troops to Bearn, flags flying and drums beating, and the -Protestants left in the place permitted the free exercise of their -religion--terms that were faithfully kept by Monluc. - -It was probably the sympathy of Lectoure with the Huguenot party that led -Charles IX. to deprive it of many of its ancient rights and privileges, -which hastened its decline. It put on a semblance of its former grandeur, -however, when it received Henry IV. within its walls, and Anne of Austria -with Cardinal Richelieu. - -It was in the old historic castle that Richelieu imprisoned the -unfortunate Duc de Montmorency. The people favored his escape, and sent -him a silk ladder in a _pâté_; but his kindness of heart led to his -destruction. Desirous of saving a servant to whom he was attached, he -took him with him in his attempt to escape. The servant fell from the -ladder, and was wounded. His cry aroused the guard. Montmorency was -taken and soon after beheaded at Toulouse. The soldiers present at his -execution drank some of his blood, that, infused into their veins, it -might impart something of the valor of so brave a man. He was so beloved -by the common people that the peasantry of Castelnaudry, where he was -taken prisoner, are familiar with his history, and speak of him with -admiration and affection to this day. His wife, an Italian princess, -became a Visitandine nun after his execution. - -One cannot visit the old castle of Lectoure, with its thousand memories, -without emotion. It is now a hospital. Charity has taken the place of -brutality and lawless passion. Looking off from the walls over the -pleasant valley below, watered by streams and divided by long lines of -trees, we hear the song of the peaceful laborer instead of the battle-cry -of the olden time, and the lowing of the fawn-colored Gascon cattle -instead of the neighing of war-horses. - -Before the castle opens a street that goes straight through the town, -at the further end of which is the parish church of S. Gervais, a fine, -spacious edifice of the Saxo-Gothic style, built by the English during -their rule. The immense square tower was once a fortress, called the -tower of S. Thomas, from which the sentinel signalled the approach of the -enemy. It was formerly surmounted by the highest steeple in France, but, -repeatedly struck by lightning, it was taken down some years ago by order -of the bishop. - -The Carmelite nuns at Lectoure have had from time immemorial a cross -of marvellous efficacy, especially in cases of fever. It is of a style -not often met with in France, though common in Spain, where it is held -in great veneration from its miraculous prototype--the Santa Cruz de -Caravaca. - -This cross is made of copper, and has two cross-beams, like a patriarchal -cross, with figures in relief on each side, which are connected with an -interesting history. On the top of one side of the cross is the monogram -of Christ, with a crosslet above and the three nails of the Passion -below. The upper cross-beam has a chalice on the left arm, and on the -right the lance that pierced the Sacred Heart, crossed by a reed with a -sponge at the end. In the middle is an open space for relics. - -On the left arm of the lower cross-beam is the scourge and the lantern -that lit the soldiers to the Garden of Olives; on the right is a ladder; -and in the centre the cock crowing on a pillar that extends up from the -foot of the cross, at which is a death’s head. - -These are the usual emblems of the Passion, familiar to all; but the -other side is more mysterious. On the upper part is a patriarchal cross -supported by two angels, one on each arm of the upper cross-beam. Lower -down, in the centre of the lower cross-beam, is a priest in sacerdotal -vestments, ready to offer the Holy Sacrifice, standing in an attitude of -astonishment and admiration, looking up at the cross borne by the two -angels. On his breast is the monogram of Christ, and beneath that of the -Virgin. On each side are lilies in full bloom, and above his head, in -the centre of the upper cross-beam, stands a chalice, as on an altar, -covered with the sacred linen veil. It is evident the artist intended to -represent all the objects necessary to celebrate the Holy Sacrifice of -the Mass. There are two lighted candles at the side of the priest, and -at the end of the right arm of the lower cross-beam are two kings filled -with evident amazement, one of whom is gazing at the angelic apparition. -At the left extremity is a queen and an attendant. - -The Cross of Caravaca is associated with a chivalric legend of southern -Spain. We give it as related by Juan de Robles, a priest of Caravaca, -whose account was published at Madrid in 1615. - -About the year of our Lord 1227 there reigned at Valencia a Moorish -prince, known in the ancient Spanish chronicles by the Arabic name -of Zeyt Abuzeyt, who embraced Christianity. According to Zurita, he -became King of Murcia and Valencia in 1224, and was at first a violent -persecutor of his Christian subjects. In 1225 he made peace with Iago, -King of Aragon, promising him one-fifth of the revenues of his two -capitals, which enraged his people and caused him the loss of Murcia. The -Moors, discovering he held secret intercourse with the King of Aragon and -the pope, drove him from Valencia in 1229. He died about 1248, before -King Iago took possession of that city. - -Zeyt Abuzeyt’s conversion to Christianity took place in consequence -of a miracle that occurred in his presence at Caravaca, a town in his -kingdom where he happened to be. At that time the Spanish victories -over the Moors announced the speedy expulsion of the latter from the -Peninsula, and frequent conversions took place among them. A Christian -priest ventured among the Moors of the kingdom of Murcia to preach the -Gospel. He was seized and brought before Zeyt Abuzeyt, who asked him many -questions concerning the Christian religion, and, in particular, about -the Sacrifice of the Mass. The explanations of the priest interested him -so much that he requested him to celebrate the Holy Mysteries in his -presence. The priest, not having the necessary articles, sent for them -to the town of Concha, which was in the hands of the Christians; but it -happened that the cross, which should always be on the altar during the -celebration of Mass, had been forgotten. The priest, not remarking the -deficiency, began the Holy Sacrifice, but, soon observing the cross was -wanting, did not know what to do. The king, who was present with his -family and the court, seeing the priest suddenly turn pale, asked what -had happened. “There is no cross on the altar,” replied the priest. “But -is not that one?” replied the king, who at that moment saw two angels -placing a cross on the altar. The good priest joyfully gave thanks -to God and continued the sacred rites. So marvellous an occurrence -triumphed over the infidelity of Zeyt Abuzeyt, and he at once professed -his faith in Christ. Popular tradition says he was baptized by the name -of Ferdinand, in honor of the holy king, Ferdinand III., who stood as -sponsor. Pope Urban IV. addressed him a brief of felicitation on account -of his baptism. - -Zeyt Abuzeyt had one son, who received the name of Vincent when baptized, -and subsequently married a Christian maiden. At the death of his father -he took the title of the King of Valencia, which he held till the King of -Aragon took possession of the city. He then contented himself with the -lands and revenues assigned him by the conqueror. - -This account explains the figures on the Cross of Caravaca. We see the -astonished priest and the cross borne by the angels. The two kings, -who are gazing at the cross, are of course King Zeyt Abuzeyt and S. -Ferdinand, his god-father. The queen opposite is doubtless Dominica -Lopez, whom, according to tradition, he married after his baptism; and -beside her is her daughter, called Aldea Fernandez in honor of King -Ferdinand. - -This cross, to which a great number of miracles are attributed, is -preserved with great care in the church at Caravaca, in the ancient -kingdom of Murcia. It is believed to be made of the sacred wood of the -true cross. A great number of similar crosses have since been made, and -there is hardly a family in Spain which has not a Cross of Caravaca. Many -people wear one. - -S. Teresa had great devotion to this cross, and her cross of Caravaca -fell into the possession of the Carmelites of Brussels, who gave it to -the monastery of S. Denis during the time of Mme. Louise of France; but -this precious relic has since been restored to the convent at Brussels. - -On an eminence in sight of Lectoure is one of the sanctuaries of -mysterious origin dear to popular piety, so numerous in this country. It -is Notre Dame d’Esclaux. Its modest tower looks down on a secluded valley -which delights the eye with its freshness and fertility, its fine trees, -and the sparkling streams here and there among the verdure. Beyond are -fertile heights in the direction of Nérac. The origin of this church is -somewhat obscure. Old traditions tell of oxen kneeling in a thicket in -the meadow belonging to the lord of S. Mézard. The shepherds, attracted -by the circumstance, found a statue of Our Lady buried in the ground. -There are many instances of similar discoveries in this region. The -animals that witnessed the Nativity have always had a certain sacredness -in the eyes of the people, and they have part in many an ancient legend, -like that in which they are made to kneel at the midnight hour at -Christmas. The lord of the manor built a chapel for the wondrous image, -and a fountain soon after sprang up, which to this day is celebrated -for its miraculous virtues. The most ancient document concerning this -chapel bears the date of April 23, 1626, stating it had been destroyed -by the Huguenots during the religious wars, and owed its restoration -to the piety of the noble family who, according to tradition, first -founded it. The concourse of pilgrims has not ceased for three centuries. -Whole parishes come here in procession in perpetual remembrance of some -great benefit. The parish of Pergain has not failed to make its annual -pilgrimage for two hundred years in fulfilment of a vow made to avert -the divine wrath after a fearful hail-storm that had ravaged its lands. -Only a few of the wonders wrought in this sanctuary have been recorded. -We find a striking one, however, in the beginning of last century. A -little boy of seven years of age, who had never walked in his life and -had no use whatever of his feet, was taken by his pious parents to Notre -Dame d’Esclaux, where Mass was said for his benefit. At the moment of -the Elevation the little cripple rose without assistance, and went up to -the railing of the chancel, and afterwards walked home to La Romieu, a -distance of about six miles. He always celebrated the anniversary of his -miraculous cure with pious gratitude, and his descendants have continued -to do the same to this day. The details of this wonderful occurrence have -been furnished by M. Lavardens, the present head of the family, one of -the most respectable in the region. - -A path leads the devout pilgrim up the sad way of the cross to the summit -of the hill, where stands a large crucifix, in which is enshrined a relic -of the true cross. We loved to see these heights consecrated to religion -with the sign of the Passion--emblem of the triumph of moral liberty. - - “O faithful Cross! O noblest tree! - In all our woods there’s none like thee. - No earthly groves, no shady bowers, - Produce such leaves, such fruit, such flowers; - Sweet are the nails, and sweet the wood, - That bear a weight so sweet and good.” - -Fifteen minutes’ walk to the south of Lectoure brings you to the Chapel -of S. Geny, on the banks of the Gers. Behind it rises the mount on whose -summit this saint of the early times was wont to pray. Here he was when -thirty soldiers, sent by the Roman governor in pursuit of him, appeared -on the other side of the Gers. S. Geny lifted up his clean hands and pure -heart to heaven. The hill trembled beneath his knees. The river rose so -high that for two days the amazed soldiers were unable to cross, and then -it was to throw themselves at the saint’s feet and acknowledge the power -of the true God. They received baptism, and were soon after martyred in a -place long known as the “Blood of the Innocents.” A new band being sent -against S. Geny, he again ascends the mount, but this time to pray his -soul may be received among those whose robes have just been washed white -in the blood of the Lamb. And while he was praying with eyes uplifted -the heavens opened, he saw the newly-crowned martyrs, encircled with -rejoicing angels, chanting: Let those who have overcome the adversary -and kept their garments undefiled have their names written in the Lamb’s -book of life! At this sight the saint’s knees bend, his ravished soul -breaks loose from its bonds and takes flight for heaven. This was on the -3d of May. His body remained on the top of the mount, giving out an odor -of mysterious sweetness, till the Bishop of Lectoure brought it down to -the foot of the hill, and buried it in the little church S. Geny had -erected over his mother’s tomb. Not long after two persons, overtaken -by darkness, sought refuge in this oratory, and found it filled with a -great light and embalmed with lilies and roses--beautiful emblems of the -supernatural love and purity that had distinguished the saint. - -Not far from Lectoure was once another “devout chapel,” one of the most -noted in the country around--Notre Dame de Protection, in the village -of Tudet, a place of pilgrimage as far back as the XIIth century. The -Madonna has a miraculous origin, like so many others in this “Land of -Mary.” According to the old legend, it was discovered by shepherds in -a fountain at which an ox had refused to drink. The statue was set -up beside the spring, and became a special object of devotion to the -neighborhood and a source of many supernatural favors. Vivian II., -Vicomte de Lomagne, in gratitude for personal benefits received, built -a chapel for the reception of the statue in 1178, but, as it proved too -small for the numerous votaries, Henry II. of England, a few years after, -erected a large church adjoining Vivian’s chapel, with a hospice, served -by monks, for the accommodation of pilgrims. All over the neighboring -hills rose little cells inhabited by hermits drawn to this favored -spot from the remotest parts of southern France. Not only the common -people, but the nobles and renowned warriors of the Middle Ages, and -even the kings of France, came here to implore the protection of the -Virgin. Every year, at spring-time, came the inhabitants of Lectoure, -Fleurance, and all the neighboring parishes, often fourteen or fifteen -at a time, accompanied by priests in their robes and magistrates in red -official garments, chanting hymns in honor of Mary. Countless miracles -were wrought at her altar. The walls were covered with crutches and _ex -votos_. One of the fathers of Tudet writes thus at the close of last -century: “Here Mary may be said to manifest her power and goodness in a -special manner. How many times has she not caused the paralytic to walk, -cured the epileptic, given sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, and -speech to the dumb! How often has she not healed the sick at the very -gates of death, snatched people from destruction at the very moment of -danger, and put an end to hail-storms, tempests, and the plague!” - -Nothing enrages the impious so much as the evidences of a piety that is a -constant reproach to their lives; and the Revolution of 1793 swept away, -not only the ancient chapel of the Viscounts of Lomagne, but the church -of Henry II., the hospice, and the hermits’ cells, leaving only a few -broken arches where now and then a solitary pilgrim went to pray. The -miraculous statue, however, was rescued from profanation, and for a long -time buried in the ground. It is still honored in the village church of -Gaudonville, but it is only a mutilated trunk, its head and most of the -limbs being gone. So many holy recollections, however, are associated -with it, that people still gather around it to pray, especially in -harvest-time, to be spared the ravages of hail, often so destructive in -this region. - -Some of the old hymns in the expressive Gascon tongue, as sung at Notre -Dame de Protection, are still extant, and nothing is more pathetic than -to see a group of hard-working peasants around the altar of the chapel of -Gaudonville singing: - - “Jésus, bous aouets tribaillat - Prenéts noste tribail en grat!”[100] - -or: - - “Jésus! bous ets lou boun Pastou, - Bost’oilhe qu’ey lou pécadou - Gouardats-lou deu loup infernau, - Et de touto sorto de mau!”[101] - -Among other prayers they chant is a rhymed litany of twenty-seven saints -of different trades, and twenty-one shepherd saints, with an appropriate -invocation to each, not exactly poetical, but, sung by the uncultivated -voices of poor laborers in that rustic chapel in a measured mournful -cadence, there is something akin to poesy--something higher--which -awakens profound and salutary thoughts. It is in this way they invoke S. -Spiridion, the reaper; S. Auber, the laborer in the vineyard; S. Isidore, -the gardener: - -“Sent Isidore, qui ets estats Coum nous au tribail occupat,” etc.--S. -Isidore, who wast like us in labor occupied, etc.--a touching appeal for -sympathy to that unseen world of saints of every tribe and tongue and -degree, which excludes not the highest, and admits the lowest. - -The Church of Notre Dame de Tudet is about to be rebuilt. The -corner-stone was laid a short time since on the feast of Our Lady of -Protection, under the patronage of the pious descendants of the ancient -Viscounts of Lomagne, true to the traditions of their race. The entire -population of fourteen neighboring villages assembled to witness the -solemn ceremony and pray in a spot so venerated by their ancestors. -The mutilated statue of Gaudonville is to be restored, and brought -back in triumph to the place where it was once so honored. Thus all -through France there is a singular revival of devotion to the venerable -sanctuaries of the Middle Ages. Everywhere they are being repaired or -rebuilt--a significant fact of good augury for the church. - -TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH. - - -BROTHER PHILIP.[102] - -The century in which we live has distinguished itself by a terrible -propaganda of evil, error and corruption taking every variety of form to -insinuate themselves into society; yet this same century is also marked -by great and generous efforts in the cause of truth and goodness, and -in these France has proved herself true to her ancient vocation. From -a peculiar vivacity of energy (if we may be allowed the expression) in -the national character, whether for good or for evil, the land that -has produced some of the most hardened atheists, the worst and wildest -communists, and the most frivolous votaries of pleasure, continues to -produce the most numerous and devoted missionaries, the readiest martyrs, -and saints whose long lives of hidden toil for God and his church are a -noble pendant to her martyrs’ deaths. - -One of these lives of unobtrusive toil is now before us--that of Brother -Philip, who during thirty-five years was Superior-General of the Frères -des Ecoles Chrétiennes, or Brothers of the Christian Schools. Before -tracing it, even in the imperfect manner which is all for which we have -space, it will be well to give a brief sketch of the institute of which -he was for so long the honored head. - -Jean Baptiste de la Salle, the son of noble parents, was born at Rheims -in the year 1651. Entering Holy Orders early in life, he greatly -distinguished himself in the priesthood, not only as a scholar and -theologian, but also as an orator, so eloquent and persuasive that he -might have aspired to the highest dignities in the church had he not -chosen to limit his ambition to the lowly work of popular education. This -education was not then in existence. Not that there was an utter absence -of schools, but these were all unconnected with each other, and were -besides greatly wanting in any good and efficient method of teaching. The -Abbé de la Salle invented the simultaneous method, namely, that which -consists in giving lessons to a whole class at a time, instead of to each -child separately. The subjects of instruction were reading, writing, -French grammar, arithmetic, and geometry, with Christian teaching as -the basis and invariable accompaniment of all the rest. He founded an -association of religious who were not to enter the priesthood, of which, -however, they were to become the most efficient allies in the education -of the young according to the mind of the church, this intention being -their distinguishing characteristic. Resolving to live in community with -them, he resigned his canonry at Rheims, and sold his rich patrimony, -distributing the money among the poor. He gave the brethren their rule, -and also the habit which they wear. Thus a new religious family, not -ecclesiastical, appeared in France, the members of which were only to -be brothers, united by the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. -The Abbé de la Salle also established a school for training teachers, -which was the first normal school ever founded in France; he also -originated Sunday-schools for the young apprentices of different trades, -and _pensionnats_, or boarding-schools, the first of which was opened -at Paris, for the Irish youths protected by James II. of England, and -fugitives like himself. - -The chief house of the order was St. Yon (formerly Hauteville), an -ancient manor just outside the gates of Rouen, surrounded by an extensive -enclosure, and affording a peaceful solitude where M. de la Salle enjoyed -his few brief intervals of repose in this world. He had been invited to -settle there by Mgr. Colbert, Archbishop of Rouen, and M. de Pontcarré, -First President of the Parliament of Normandy, and, after the death of -Louis XIV., made it more and more the centre of his work. It was at St. -Yon that he resigned the post of superior-general in 1716, and there he -died on Good Friday, the 7th of April, 1719, aged sixty-eight years. The -house was soon afterwards enlarged and a church built, to which in 1734 -the Brothers transferred the remains of their holy founder, which had -until then rested in the Church of S. Sever. - -The Brothers of the Christian Schools were called the Brothers of St. -Yon, and sometimes les Frères Yontains, whence originated the title -of Frères Ignorantins, which has, however, been _lived down_ by the -institute, the excellence of the instruction afforded by the Christian -Schools not permitting the perpetuation of the derisive epithet. - -The new order supplied a want too generally felt not to extend itself -rapidly, and at the time of the Abbé de la Salle’s death it numbered -twenty-seven houses, two-hundred and seventy-four Brothers, and nine -thousand eight hundred and eighty-five pupils. In 1724 Louis XV. granted -it letters-patent expressive of his approval, and it was in the same -year that Pope Benedict XIII. accorded canonical institution to the -congregation, thus realizing the earnest desire of the venerable founder, -that his institute should be recognized by the Sovereign Pontiff as a -religious order, with a distinctive character and special constitutions. -Brother Timothy was at that time superior-general. He governed the -institute with energy and wisdom for thirty-one years, during which time -no less than seventy additional houses of the order were established -in various of the principal towns of France, everywhere meeting with -encouragement and protection from the bishops and the Christian nobility, -so that every inauguration of a school was made an occasion of rejoicing. - -The successor of Brother Timothy was Brother Claude, who was -superior-general from 1751 to 1767, when, having attained the age of -seventy-seven, he resigned his office, continuing to live eight years -longer in the house of St. Yon, where he died. It was at this period that -the atheism of the XVIIIth century was making its worst ravages. A band -of writers, under the leadership of Voltaire, laid siege, as it were, -to Christianity, by a regular plan of attack, and, employing as their -weapons a false and superficial philosophy, distorted history, raillery, -ridicule, corruption, and lies, they conspired against the truth, while -licentiousness of mind and manners infected society and literature alike. -At the very time when the followers of the faith were devoting themselves -with renewed energy to the instruction of the ignorant and the succor -of the needy, philosophy, so-called, by the pen of Voltaire, wrote as -follows: - -“The people are only fit to be directed, not instructed; they are not -worth the trouble.”[103] - -“It appears to me absolutely essential that there should be ignorant -beggars. It is the towns-people (_bourgeoisie_) only, not the -working-classes, who ought to be taught.”[104] - -“The common people are like oxen: the goad, the yoke, and fodder are -enough for _them_.”[105] Thus contemptuously were the people regarded -by anti-Christian philosophy, which, while it paid court to any form of -earthly power, perpetuated, and even outdid, the traditions of pagan -antiquity in its hardness and disdain towards the lower orders. - -On the retirement of Brother Claude, Brother Florentius accepted, -in 1777, the direction of the house at Avignon, where the storm of -Revolution burst upon him. After undergoing imprisonment and every kind -of insulting and cruel treatment he died a holy death, in 1800, when -order was beginning to be restored to France. - -Brother Agathon, who next ruled the congregation, was a man of high -culture in special lines of study, of wise discernment regarding the -interests and requirements of the religious life, and of rare capacity as -an administrator. The circular-addresses he issued from time to time have -never lost their authority with the Brothers, and furnish a supplement -as well as a commentary to the rule of their institute. He did much to -increase the extent and efficiency of the latter, but was interrupted in -the midst of his work by the political disturbances that were agitating -his country. The decree of the 13th of February, 1790, by which “all -orders and congregations, whether of men or women,” were suppressed, did -not immediately overthrow the institute; but, although it suffered the -provisional existence of such associations as were charged with public -instruction or attendance on the sick, the respite was to be of short -duration. The Brothers, however, notwithstanding the anxiety into which -they were thrown by the decree of the Constitutional Assembly, ventured -to hope that their society would be spared on account of its known -devotedness to the interests of the people. Brother Agathon, moreover, -was not a man who would silently submit to unjust measures, and several -petitions were addressed by him to the Assembly, in which he fearlessly -pleaded the cause of his institute, on the ground of its acknowledged -utility among the very classes whose benefit the Assembly professed to -have so greatly at heart. The simple and conclusive reasoning of these -petitions must have gained their cause with reason and justice; but -reason and justice were alike dethroned in France. One member alone of -the Assembly did himself honor by representing the excellence of their -teaching and the reality of their patriotism, but he spoke in vain; and -on the universal refusal of the Brothers to take the oath imposed by the -civil constitution on the members of any religious society, as well as on -those of the priesthood, the houses to which they belonged were summarily -suppressed. They were abused for not sending their pupils to attend the -religious ceremonies presided over by schismatic ministers; they were -accused of storing arms in their houses to be used against the country; -they were charged with monopolizing and concealing victuals; but after -a visit of inspection at Melun the municipal officers were compelled to -bear testimony to the disinterested probity of these pious teachers, -and similar perquisitions invariably resulted in the confusion of their -calumniators. - -But the Revolution continued its course. A decree passed on the 18th -of August, 1792, suppressed all “secular ecclesiastical corporations” -and lay associations, “such as that of the Christian Schools,” it being -alleged that “a state truly free ought not to suffer the existence in its -bosom of any corporation whatsoever, not even those which, being devoted -to public instruction, have deserved well of the country.” - -The Reign of Terror had begun; the dungeons were filling, and the -prison was but the threshold to the scaffold. The children of the -venerable De la Salle were not spared. Brother Solomon, secretary to -the superior-general, was martyred on the 2d of September for refusing -to take the schismatic oath. Brother Abraham was on the very point of -being guillotined when he was rescued by one of the National Guard. The -Brothers of the house in the Rue de Notre Dame des Champs continued -to keep the schools of S. Sulpice until the massacre of the Carmelite -monks. Several of the Brothers were put to death. The courageous words -of Brother Martin before the revolutionary tribunal at Avignon have been -preserved. “I am a teacher devoted to the education of the children -of the poor,” he said to his judges; “and if your protestations of -attachment to the people are sincere; if your principles of fraternity -are anything better than mere forms of speech, my functions not only -justify me, but claim your thanks.” Language like this ensured sentence -of death. Besides, at that time they condemned; they did not judge. - -After eighteen months of imprisonment Brother Agathon was restored to -liberty, and died in 1797, at Tours, leaving his institute dispersed; but -consoled by the last sacraments, which he received in secret. - -Among the scattered members of a congregation too Christian not to be -persecuted in those days we do not find one who did not remain faithful. -Many of them, in the name and dress of civilians, continued to occupy -themselves in teaching, and filled the post of schoolmasters at Noyon, -Chartres, Laon, Fontainebleau, etc. From the municipal authorities of -Laon they received a public testimonial of esteem; and in 1797, being -imprisoned on the denunciation of a schismatic priest, the Brothers -were set at liberty by a grateful and avenging ebullition on the part -of the mothers of families. Their exit from prison was a triumph, the -population crowding to meet them and throwing flowers in their way until -they reached the school-house, in the court of which a banquet had been -prepared, at which masters and scholars found themselves happily reunited. - -In spite of the decree which had smitten their institute, the Brothers -were still sought after as teachers in purely civil conditions. Nothing -had replaced the orders and establishments which had been destroyed; no -instruction was provided for the young; and as the churches were still -closed and the pulpits silent, a night of ignorance was beginning to -spread itself over the rising generation. On the 25th of August, 1792, a -boy demanded of the National Assembly, for himself and his comrades, that -they should be “instructed in the principles of equality and the rights -of man, instead of being preached to in the name of a so-called God.” - -Such men as Daunou, Desmolières, and Chaptal were deploring the state -of public instruction in France, which during ten years had been a mere -mixture of absurdities and frivolities, when Portalis dared to declare -openly that “religion must be made the basis of education.” - -This was in 1802, about the time that the relations of France with the -Sovereign Pontiff were renewed by the Concordat, and the three consuls -had gone together in state to the metropolitan church of Notre Dame. By -the consular law of the 1st of May, 1802, on public instruction, the -Brothers were authorized to resume their functions. The institute no -longer possessed any houses in France, but a few remained to it in Italy, -and over these Pope Pius VI. had appointed, as vicar-general, Brother -Frumentius, director of the house of San Salvatore at Rome. - -Lyons was the first city in France where the members of the scattered -congregation began to reassemble; Paris was the next; then St. Germain -en Laye, Toulouse, Valence, Soissons, and Rheims. The Brothers at -Lyons--namely, Brother Frumentius and three companions--received, in -1805, a memorable visit. Pope Pius VII., in quitting France, after having -crowned at Notre Dame the emperor by whom, three years later, he himself -was to be discrowned, repaired, accompanied by three cardinals, to the -Brothers of the Christian Schools. He blessed the restored chapel and the -reviving institute, his fatherly words of encouragement being a pledge -and promise of its beneficent prosperity. - -As it was of importance that the dispersed members should be made aware -of the reorganization of their society, an earnest and affectionate -circular-letter was addressed to them by Cardinal Fesch, archbishop of -Lyons, inviting them to repair to Brother Frumentius to be employed -according to the rule of their congregation, towards which he at the same -time assured them of the emperor’s good-will. - -The decree for the organization of the University, issued on the 17th -of March, 1808, restored to the institute a legal existence, together -with all the civil rights attached to establishments of public utility. -In these statutes it is stated that the Brothers form a society for -gratuitously affording to children a Christian education; that this -society is ruled by a superior-general, aided by a certain number -of assistants; that the superior is elected for life by the General -Chapter or by a special commission; and that the superior nominates the -directors, and also the visitors, whose duty it is to watch over the -regularity of the masters and the efficient management of the schools. - -The Brothers had a powerful friend in M. Emery, the Superior of S. -Sulpice, a man of high character and sound judgment, and who was held -in great esteem by the emperor, as well as by every one with whom he -had anything to do. Napoleon, particularly, appreciating the excellent -organization of the society, recommended “the Brothers of De la Salle in -preference to any other teachers.” - -We now come to the special subject of our memoir. - -Among the dispersed members of the institute who first responded to -the invitation of Cardinal Fesch were two brothers of the name of -Galet, whose memory is especially connected with Brother Philip. On the -suppression of the house at Marseilles they sought shelter from the -violence of the Revolution in the retired hamlet of Châteaurange (Haute -Loire), where they kept a school. On receiving the cardinal’s circular -the elder brother announced to the pupils that he had been a Brother of -the Christian Schools, until compelled to return to secular life by the -suppression of his institute; but learning that this was re-established, -he was about to depart at once to Lyons, there to resume his place in it, -adding that, if any of them should desire to enter there, he would do -all in his power to obtain their admission and to help them to become -accustomed to the change of life. - -Amongst those who availed themselves of this invitation, and who, -three years later (in 1811), presented himself to be received into the -novitiate, was Mathieu Bransiet, born on the 1st of November, 1792, at -the hamlet of Gachat, in the Commune of Apinac (Loire). Pierre Bransiet, -his father, was a mason; the house in which he lived, with a portion -of land around it, which he cultivated, constituting all his worldly -possessions. Like his wife (whose maiden name was Marie-Anne Varagnat), -he was a faithful Christian, and during the revolutionary persecution -habitually afforded refuge to the proscribed priests. It was the custom -of the little family to assemble at a very early hour of the morning in a -corner of the barn, where, on a poor table behind a wall or barricade of -hay and straw, the Holy Sacrifice was offered up, as in the past ages of -paganism, and as under Protestant rule, whether in the British Isles not -so many generations ago, or in Switzerland at the very time at which we -write; some trusty person meanwhile keeping watch without, in readiness -to give timely warning in case of need. Nor did Pierre Bransiet confine -himself to the exercise of this perilous but blessed hospitality; many a -time did he accompany the priests by night in their visits to the sick -and dying, and bearing with them the sacred Viaticum after the hidden -manner of the proscribed. - -Amid scenes and impressions such as these the young Bransiet passed -his childhood, learning the mysteries of the faith from an “abolished” -catechism; kneeling before the crucifix, which was hated and trampled -under foot in those godless days; and worshipping when those who prayed -must hide themselves to pray. Thus a deeply serious tone became, as it -were, the keynote of his soul, which harmonized with all that was earnest -and austere. Even as an old man he never spoke without deep feeling of -his early years, when he only knew religion as a poor exile and outcast -on the earth. The simple and hardy habits of his cottage-home, his own -early training in labor, self-denial, and respectful obedience, the -Christian teaching of his mother and elder sister (now a religious at -Puy), all helped to form his character and mould his future life. He was -the most diligent of the young scholars of Châteaurange, which is half a -league distant from Gachat, and made his first communion in the church of -Apinac, when the Church of France had issued from her catacombs, and the -Catholic worship was again allowed. As a child Mathieu was remarkable for -his never-failing kindness and affectionateness towards his brothers and -sisters, for the tenderness of his conscience, and for his jealousy for -the honor of God, which would cause him to burst into tears if he saw any -one do what he knew would offend him. - -Mathieu was seventeen years of age when, with the full consent of his -parents, he entered the novitiate at Lyons. He had six brothers, one of -whom followed his example, and is at the present time worthily fulfilling -the office of visitor to the Christian Schools of Clermont-Ferrand. -Boniface was the name by which the young novice was at first called; but -as this was soon afterwards exchanged for that of Philip, we shall always -so designate him. - -His exemplary assiduity and piety, as well as his rare qualifications as -a teacher, quickly drew attention to him, and on account of his skill in -mathematics he was appointed professor in a school of coast navigation -at Auray in the Morbihan, where he was very successful. While here he -wrote a treatise on the subject of his instructions, which was his first -attempt in the special kind of writing in which he afterwards so greatly -excelled. M. Deshayes, the curé of Auray, and a man of great discernment, -was so much struck by his practical wisdom and good sense that he said -to the Brother director, “See if Brother Boniface is not one day the -superior of your congregation!” - -It was at Auray, in 1812, that he made his first vows, and there he -remained until 1816. Of the boys who during this time were under his -care, no less than forty afterwards entered the sacerdotal or the -monastic life. From Auray he was sent to Rethel as director, and from -thence, in 1818, to fill the same office at Rheims, the nursery of his -order, and afterwards at Metz. In 1823 the superior-general, Brother -William of Jesus--who was seventy-five years old, and had been in -the congregation from the time he was fifteen--appointed him to the -responsible post of director of S. Nicolas des Champs at Paris, as well -as visitor of several other houses in the provinces and in the capital. -In 1826 he published a book entitled _Practical Geometry applied to -Linear Design_,[106] which is regarded by competent judges as the best -work of the kind in France. He continued director at Paris during the -eight remaining years of Brother William’s life, which ended a little -before the Revolution of July, 1830. On the succession of Brother -Anaclete as superior-general Brother Philip was elected one of the four -assistants of the General Chapter, and thus found himself associated with -the general government of the congregation; but the higher he was raised -in the responsible offices of his order, the more apparent became his -good sense and sound understanding--qualifications of especial value amid -the troubles of that stormy time. - -The opening of evening classes for working-men is due to Brother Philip, -who first commenced them in Paris, at S. Nicolas des Champs, and at Gros -Caillou, extending them, with marked encouragement from the Minister of -Public Instruction, M. Guizot, to other quarters of the city. The law of -1833, by establishing normal schools for primary instruction, furnished a -test as well as a rivalry to the schools of the Brothers; but the latter -showed themselves equal to the emergency, supplementing their course of -instruction by additional subjects, and taking all necessary measures for -carrying on their work in the most efficient manner. - -Their novitiates were the models of the normal primary schools; but in -comparing the vast difference of expense between the one and the other it -is easy to perceive on which side self-denial and prudent administration -are to be found. A normal school like the one at Versailles costs more -than 60,000 francs, or 12,000 dollars, yearly; and that of Paris more -than 100,000 francs, or 20,000 dollars; while the Brothers, for the -training of their masters, receive nothing from the state; and these -young masters, formed with the aid of small resources, become none the -less admirable teachers, having moreover in their favor the double grace -of devotedness and a special vocation. - -Under the name of Louis Constantin, Brother Anaclete began the -publication of works of instruction which was afterwards so efficiently -continued by Brother Philip. The latter gave particular attention to -the formation of a preparatory novitiate called _le petit noviciat_, -which is not a novitiate, properly so called, but a preliminary trial of -vocations, similar to that of the _Petit Séminaire_. Should the young -members persevere, their education prepares them for teaching; and if -their vocation is found to be elsewhere, this time of study will, all the -same, be of great advantage to them, whatever may be their future. - -The little novices were particular favorites of Brother Philip, who took -delight not only in instructing them himself in both sacred and secular -knowledge, but watched over them with a sort of maternal affection, and -was often seen carrying into their cells warm socks or any other article -of apparel of which he had discovered the need. - -On the death of Brother Anaclete, in 1838, Brother Philip was unanimously -elected superior by the General Chapter, on the 21st of November. After -the election the chapter, contrary to its wont, abstained from passing -any decree, “leaving to the enlightened zeal of the much-honored superior -the care of maintaining in the Brothers the spirit of fervor.” - -The Abbé de la Salle had recommended the practice of mortification, -silence, recollection, contempt for earthly things and for the praise -of man, humility, and prayer; and the venerable founder has continued -to speak in the persons of the successive superiors of his institute. -We have not space here to give quotations from the circulars issued -by Brother Philip during the thirty-five years of his government, but -they must be read before a just appreciation can be had of all that a -“Christian Brother” is required to be, and also of the heart and mind of -the writer, who never spoke of himself, but whose daily life and example -were his best eloquence. He always presided over the annual retreats, -commencing by that of the community in Paris. One of the Brothers, in -speaking of these, said: “In listening to him I always felt that we had a -saint for our father.” - -A rule had been made by the chapter of 1787 that the Brother assistants -should cause the portrait of the superior-general to be taken with the -year of his election. It was with the greatest reluctance, and only -from a spirit of obedience, as well as on account of the insistence -of the Brother assistants, that Brother Philip suffered this rule to -be observed in his case. Horace Vernet had the highest esteem for the -superior-general, and told the Brothers who went to request him to take -the portrait that he would willingly give them the benefit of his art in -return for the benefit of their prayers. Brother Philip sat to him for an -hour, and the painting so much admired in the Exhibition of 1845 was the -result. Later on the visits of Brother Philip were a much-valued source -of help and consolation to the great painter during his last illness. - -Our sketch would be incomplete were we to leave unnoticed the daily life -of the Brothers of the Christian Schools, which exhibits their profession -put into practice. - -The Brothers rise at half-past four; read the _Imitation_ until a -quarter to five, followed by prayer and meditation until Mass, at -six, after which they attend to official work until breakfast, at a -quarter-past seven; at half-past seven the rosary is said, and the -classes commence at eight; catechism at eleven, examination at half-past; -at a quarter to twelve dinner, after which is a short recreation. At -one o’clock prayers and rosary; classes recommence at half-past one. -Official work at five; at half-past five preparation of the catechism; -spiritual reading at six; at half-past six meditation; at seven supper -and recreation; at half-past eight evening prayers; at nine the Brothers -retire to bed; and at a quarter-past nine the lights are extinguished, -and there is perfect silence. - -After having been for twenty-five years established in the Rue du -Faubourg St. Martin the Brothers had to make way for the building of the -Station of the Eastern Railway (Gare de l’Est), and after long search -found a suitable house in the Rue Plumet, now Rue Oudinot, which they -purchased, and of which they took possession, as the mother-house of the -institute, in the early part of 1847. - -On entering this house it is at once evident that rule and order -preside there. All the employments, even to the post of _concièrge_, or -door-keeper, are carried on by the Brothers, each one of whom is engaged -in his appointed duty. The first court, called the _Procure_, presents a -certain amount of movement and activity from its relations with the world -outside. The second court, which is the place for recreations, and which -leads into the interior, is much more spacious and planted with trees. It -was in these alleys that Brother Philip was accustomed to walk during -his few moments of repose, conversing with one of the Brothers or readily -listening to any of the youngest little novices who might address him. - -The _Salle du Régime_, or Chamber of Government, is a marvel in the -perfection of its arrangements. The superior-general is there at his -post, the assistants also; the place of each occupying but a small space -and on the same line. Each has his straw-seated chair, his bureau, and -papers; the chair of the superior differing in no way from the rest. -On each bureau is a small case, marked with its ticket, indicating the -countries placed under the particular direction of the Brother assistant -to whom it belongs. There are to be found all the countries to which -the schools of the institute have been extended, from the cities of -France and of Europe to the most distant regions of the habitable globe. -Little cards in little drawers represent the immensity of the work. -Everything is ruled, marked, classified, in such a manner as to take -up the smallest amount of space possible; as if in all things these -servants of God endeavored to occupy no more room in this world than was -absolutely necessary. “We have seen,” writes M. Poujoulat, “in the _Salle -du Régime_, the place which had been occupied by Brother Philip; his -straw-seated chair and simple bureau, upon which stood a small image of -the Blessed Virgin, for which he had a particular affection, and one of -S. Peter, given to him at Rome. From this unpretending throne he governed -all the houses of his order in France, Belgium, Italy, Asia, and the New -World, and hither letters daily reached him from all countries. He wrote -much; and his letters had the brevity and precision of one accustomed -to command. The secretariate occupies ten Brothers, and, notwithstanding -its variety and extent, nothing is complicated or irregular in this -well-ordered administration. - -“We visited, as we should visit a sanctuary, the cell of Brother -Philip, and there saw his hard bed and deal bedstead, over which hung -his crucifix.… A few small prints on the walls were the only luxury he -allowed himself.… Some class-books ranged on shelves, a chair, a bureau, -and a cupboard (the latter still containing the few articles of apparel -which he had worn), … compose the whole of the furniture. How often the -hours which he so needed (physically) to have passed in sleep had Brother -Philip spent at this desk or kneeling before his crucifix, laying his -cares and responsibilities before God, to whom, in this same little -chamber, when the long day’s toil was ended, he offered up his soul!” - -In another room, that of the venerable Brother Calixtus, may be seen -the documents relating to the beatification of the Abbé de la Salle, -bearing a seal impressed with the device of the congregation--_Signum -Fidei_. Besides thirty-five autograph letters of the founder and the form -of profession of the members, there are here the bulls of approbation -accorded by Pope Benedict XIII. in 1725, and the letters-patent granted -the previous year by Louis XV. In a room called the Chamber of Relics are -preserved various sacred vestments and other objects which had belonged -to the venerable De la Salle. The chapel is at present a temporary -construction. - -The mother-house comprises the two novitiates and a normal school -appropriated solely to the perfecting of the younger masters. It is from -the little novices that the Brothers select the children of the choir. -To see these twenty-five or thirty little fellows on great festivals, in -alb and red cassock, swinging censers or scattering flowers before the -Blessed Sacrament, amid the rich harmonies of the organ and the church’s -sacred chant, was Brother Philip’s especial delight; he seemed to see in -them, as it were, a little battalion of angels offering their innocent -homage to the hidden God. - -If order forms one part of the permanent spirit of the institute, so -also does the practice of poverty; but it is _holy_ poverty, tranquil -and cheerful. Self-denial is the foundation of all that is seen there, -but so also are propriety and suitability. The life of the Brothers is -austere, but by no means gloomy; on the contrary, one of their prevailing -characteristics is a cheerful equanimity, which seems never to forsake -them. Nothing useless is permitted in any of the houses. “We must not,” -wrote Brother Agathon in 1787, “allow anything which may habitually or -without good reason turn aside the Brothers from the exercises of the -community or trouble their tranquillity; such things, for instance, as -fancy dogs, birds, the culture of flowers, shrubs, or curious plants.” -And these regulations have been faithfully observed. - -This the mother-house, in the Rue Oudinot, is the centre of government -to the numerous establishments of the institute spread over the earth; -it is, in fact, their little capital, from whence the superior-general -and his assistants, like the monarch and parliament of a constitutional -kingdom, exercise a wise and beneficent dominion. - -The Revolution of February, 1848, notwithstanding the general -disorganization of which it was the cause, did not prejudicially affect -the work of the Brothers of the Christian Schools. The moderate spirit -of a large majority of the constituency was in their favor, and the -triumph of what was styled the “right of association” was of benefit to -the religious orders. And, besides this, men high in office acknowledged -the small consideration given to the religious element in the primary -instruction organized by the law to have occasioned the moral devastation -of which they had been the sorrowful witnesses. - -This state of opinion, by producing an increased respect for the Brothers -and appreciation of their work, was very favorable to the institute of De -la Salle. In 1849 the superior-general was requested to take part in an -extra-parliamentary commission on the subject of public instruction and -liberty of teaching. His extensive and practical knowledge made a great -impression on his fellow-commissioners. Naturally modest and retiring, he -was never one of the most forward to speak, but the most listened to of -any; his observations being so conclusive and to the point as invariably -to decide the ultimate resolution of a question; and answers which -others were painfully seeking he found at once in the store-house of his -long experience. That portion of the law of March 15, 1850, relating to -primary instruction, bears the impress of these discussions. - -The epoch of the Second Empire was a time of difficulty for the -Brothers. The new government, which had begun by wishing to decorate -Brother Philip--who was always rebellious against seductions of -this nature--raised against his institute the question of scholar -remuneration, alleging that it owed its success merely to its rule of -teaching gratuitously, to the prejudice of the schools of the state, -and requiring the municipality of every place where the Brothers were -established to insist on their adoption of the remunerative system. These -difficulties, which had begun under the ministry of M. Fortoul, became -more serious under that of M. Rouland. - -Now, it was one of the fundamental rules of the institute that the -Brothers should receive no remuneration whatever in return for their -instructions. Brother Philip, therefore, in the name of the statutes of -his order, resolutely resisted their infringement. To punish him for so -doing the annual sum of eight thousand four hundred francs, which had -been granted to the institute under the ministry of M. Guizot for the -general expenses of administration, was suppressed, many of the houses -were closed, and forty more threatened with the same fate. - -At last, after an anxious struggle of seven years’ duration, it was -decided by the General Chapter, assembled in 1861, that, to avoid worse -evils and save the institute from destruction, a partial concession -should be made. Payments were allowed where the government insisted, but -it was expressly stipulated that these payments would be the property of -the municipal council, the Brothers themselves having nothing whatever to -do with them. - -This concession, which had only been forced from him by a hard necessity, -was a great vexation to Brother Philip, who, however, consoled himself -with the thought that this moral oppression would only be of temporary -duration. Nor was he mistaken. For twenty years past not only has the -gratuitous system not been attacked, but the very men who opposed it -in the case of the Brothers have themselves insisted on its general -adoption, in their endeavors to force upon the whole of France a primary -instruction without religion. - -The ministry of M. Rouland, being particularly jealous of Brother Philip -as head of a religious congregation, had other trials in store for him, -taking out of his hands the right of appointing masters, in order that -it might, through the prefects, place lay teachers of its own selection -in places where the people themselves had requested that their children -should be taught by the Brothers of the Christian Schools. The measures -taken to attain this end were, however, only partially successful. - -In 1862 a curious complaint was made against those who had for so long -been called _Ignorantins_, accusing them of teaching too many things and -overstepping the limits allowed by Article 23 of the law of 1850.[107] - -When at Dijon, in 1862, Brother Pol-de-Léon made his request to -be instituted as director of the _pensionnat_, the administration -refused to grant it, on the ground that the title of “elementary -school” taken by the said _pensionnat_ was in manifest contradiction -to the advanced instruction given there, and which included algebra, -geometry, trigonometry, French literature, cosmography, physics, -chemistry, mechanics, English, and German. The Brothers, thus accused -of distributing too much learning, replied that, if the law of 1850 did -not mention these subjects of instruction, neither did it prohibit them; -they consented, however, to withdraw a portion from this programme. The -president of the provincial council, M. Leffemberg, was merciful, and -allowed some of the additions, among which were English and German, to -remain. - -Subsequent arrangements have been made, by which a regular course of -secondary or higher instruction has been organized by the Brothers. This -is admirably carried on in their immense establishment at Passy (amongst -other places), and its normal school is at Cluny; and no one now disputes -with the institute the honor of having been the originator of the special -course of secondary instruction which has been found to answer so -remarkably in France. - -One of the most serious anxieties of Brother Philip under the Second -Empire arose in 1866 on the subject of dispensation from military -service. Since their reorganization the Brothers of the Christian Schools -had been exempted from serving in the army, on account of their being -already engaged in another form of service for the public benefit, -and on condition of their binding themselves for a period of not less -than ten years to the public instruction. A circular of M. Duruy, by -changing the terms of the law, deprived the Brothers of their exemption, -whilst in that very same month of February M. le Maréchal Randon, in -addressing general instructions to the marshals of military divisions in -the provinces, gave distinct orders that the Brothers of the Christian -Schools should not be required to serve, on account of the occupation in -which they were already engaged; thus, in two contradictory circulars -on the same question, the interpretation of the Minister of Public -Instruction was unfavorable to the education of the people; the contrary -being the case with that of the Minister of War. - -We have not space to give the particulars of the long struggle that -was carried on upon this question, and in which Cardinals Matthieu and -Bonnechose energetically took part with the Brothers; the Archbishop of -Rennes and the Bishop of Ajaccio also petitioning the senate on their -behalf. But in vain. To the great anguish of Brother Philip, the senate -voted according to the good pleasure of M. Duruy. The superior-general -left no means untried to avert the threatened conscription of the young -Brothers; he petitioned, he wrote, he pleaded, with an energy and -perseverance that nothing could daunt, until the law, passed on the -1st of February, 1868, relieved him from this pressing anxiety. He had -unconsciously won for himself so high an opinion in the country that his -authority fought, as it were, for his widespread family. - -Ever since the Revolution of 1848 a great clamor has been raised in -France about the moral elevation of the laboring classes; but while -the innovators who believe only in themselves have been talking, the -Christian Brothers have been working. We have already mentioned the -classes for adults established by the predecessor of Brother Philip. -These, and especially the evening classes, were made by the latter the -objects of his especial attention. He arranged that linear drawing -should in these occupy a considerable place; thus there is scarcely a -place of any importance in France in which courses of lessons in drawing -do not form a part of the popular instruction, and, with the exception -of a few large towns which already possessed a school of design, nearly -all the working population of the country has, up to the present time, -gained its knowledge of the art in the classes directed by the Brothers. -Proof of this fact is yearly afforded in the “Exhibition of the Fine Arts -applied to Practical Industries,” which, since 1860, has been annually -opened at Paris, and in which the productions of their schools are -remarkable among the rest for their excellence, as well as their number. -The gold medal as well as the high praise awarded them by the jury of the -International Exhibition in 1867 testified to the thoroughness of the -manner in which the pupils of the Christian Brothers are taught. - -One of the gods worshipped by the XIXth century is “utility,” and to -such an extent by some of its votaries that one of them, some years ago, -proposed to the Pacha of Egypt to demolish the pyramids, on the ground -that they were “useless.” This reproach cannot certainly be applied to -the Brothers of the Christian Schools. All their arrangements, their -instructions, their daily life, have the stamp of utility, and that of -the highest social order. - -Although our space does not permit us to speak of the works of the -Brothers in detail, their variety answering, as it does, to all the needs -of the people, yet a few words must be given to that of S. Nicolas, for -the education of young boys of the working-classes. - -Towards the close of the Restoration, in 1827, M. de Bervanger, a priest, -collected seven poor orphan children, whom he placed under the care of -an honest workman in the Rue des Anglaises (Faubourg St. Marceau), who -employed them in his workshop, his wife assisting him in taking charge -of them. This was the commencement of the work of S. Nicolas. In a few -months the little lodging was too small for its increasing number of -inmates, and, assistance having been sent, a house was taken in the Rue -de Vaugirard, where the boys were taught various trades and manufactures, -but still under a certain amount of difficulty, a sum of seven or eight -thousand francs being pressingly required. It was at this time that M. -de Bervanger became acquainted with Count Victor de Noailles, who at -once supplied the sum, and from that time took a great and increasing -interest in the establishment, of which he afterwards became the head. On -the breaking out of the revolution of 1830 he saved it by establishing -himself there under the title of director; M. de Bervanger, for the -sake of prudence, having only that of almoner. The two friends, being -together at Rome in the winter of 1834-5, were warmly encouraged in their -undertaking by Pope Benedict XIII., who desired Count Victor to remain at -its head. Soon afterwards a purchase of the house was effected, and in -this house of S. Nicolas the count died in the following year. From that -time M. de Bervanger took the sole direction, and the work prospered in -spite of every opposition. To meet its increased requirements he bought -the Château of Issy, and Mgr. Affre, Archbishop of Paris, announced -himself the protector of what he declared to be “the most excellent work -in his diocese.” The republic of 1848 was rather profitable to it than -otherwise. Former pupils of the house, enrolled in the Garde Mobile, -did their duty so bravely in quelling the terrible insurrection of June -that to fifteen of their number the Cross of Honor was awarded, proving -that in those days of violence the _gamin de Paris_, the foundation or -material of the work of S. Nicolas, could be a hero. - -This work, owing to the unbounded energy and devotion of its reverend -director, had immensely increased in efficiency and extent. More than -eleven hundred children were here receiving the elementary instruction, -religious and professional, of which no other model existed. But -although his courage never failed, his strength declined, and, to save -the work, he gave it up, in 1858, into the hands of the Archbishop of -Paris, Cardinal Morlot. A document exists which proves it to have been -necessary to resist the will of the holy priest, in order that, after -having given up the value of about a million and a half of francs, -without asking either board or lodging, he should not be left utterly -without resources. The archbishop, after treating with the members of the -council of administration and obtaining the consent of Brother Philip, -who threw himself heartily into the work, placed S. Nicolas in the hands -of the Brothers of the Christian Schools, who for the last fifteen years -have admirably fulfilled this additional responsibility then confided -to them. At the time of their installation the Brothers appointed to S. -Nicolas were seventy in number; they have now increased to a hundred -and thirty, for the direction of the three houses, one of which is at -Paris, another at Issy, and the third at Igny. The house in the Rue -Vaugirard alone contains about a thousand boys, who are there taught -various trades; there are carpenters, cabinet-makers, carvers, opticians, -watchmakers, designers of patterns for different manufactures, etc., etc. -At the end of their apprenticeship these lads can earn six, seven, or -even eight francs a day. The most skilful enter the schools of _Arts et -Métiers_--arts and trades--the most brilliant efforts being rewarded by -the rank of civil engineer. - -The large and fertile garden of Issy is a school of horticulture, and at -Igny the boys are taught field-labor and farming, as well as gardening; -the fruits and vegetables of Igny forming a valuable resource for the -house in the Rue Vaugirard, at Paris. The Sisters of the Christian -Schools have charge of the laundry and needle-work of the three -establishments. Once every month two members of the council inspect these -schools to the minutest details--the classes, the workshops, the gardens, -the house arrangements, the neatness of the books, etc.--and interrogate -the children. - -Instrumental as well as vocal music is taught at S. Nicolas as a -professional art. A few years ago might be seen on the road from Issy -to Paris two battalions of youths who passed each other on the way, the -one that of the “little ones,” clad in blouses of black woollen; the -other the pupils and apprentices of the Rue Vaugirard, in dark gray, each -with its band of music. The passers-by called them “the regiments of S. -Nicolas.” In the French expedition into China the band of the flag-ship -was chiefly composed of former pupils of these establishments, who, -faithful to their old traditions, had with them the banner of their -patron saint, which was duly displayed on grand occasions, to the great -satisfaction of the admiral commanding the expedition. - -The idea of the celebrated Dr. Branchet, of placing blind and also deaf -and dumb children in the primary schools of the Brothers, has been -attended with the happiest results. These children enter at the same age -as those who can speak and see, and, like them, remain until they have -made their first Communion, and leave just at the period when they can be -received into special institutions, where they are kept for eight years -longer. The rapid improvement in these poor children, who are under the -care of the Brothers, and of the Sisters of S. Vincent de Paul and of S. -Marie, is truly wonderful. Mistrust, timidity, and reserve speedily give -place to cheerfulness, confidence, and affection; the habitual contact -with children who can see and hear being a great assistance to the -development of their intelligence and capabilities. - -In 1841 the Minister of the Interior, acting by desire of the local -authorities, requested that the Brothers should be sent to certain -of the great central prisons of France. The first essay was made at -Nîmes, where three Brothers were placed over that portion of the prison -appropriated to the younger offenders, in whom so great a change for the -better soon became apparent that a general desire arose that all the -prisoners, twelve hundred in number, should be put under their charge. -Brother Philip, after taking the matter into careful consideration, -gave his consent, to the great joy of the prefect of Nîmes; and in -the same year, 1841, the rough keepers were replaced by a detachment -of thirty-seven Brothers of the Christian Schools. In the course of -two months the new organization had effected a complete change in the -prison, not only as regarded the docility and general improvement of the -prisoners, but their health also, from the alterations made by the new -managers in the sanitary arrangements of the building. Brother Facile, -a man of great intelligence, firmness, and good sense, was the director -of the Brothers, who had various trials to undergo in the exercise of -their present functions. In spite of various difficulties, most of which -were occasioned by the conduct of lay officials, the Brothers remained -at Nîmes until 1848, when the revolution cut short their work, not only -there, but also at Fontevrault (where they had the charge of fourteen -hundred prisoners), at Aniane, and at Mélun. - -The institute of the Brothers of the Christian Schools, being of French -origin, naturally developed itself first in France. At the beginning -of 1874 it numbered nine hundred and forty-five establishments in that -country, more than eight thousand Brothers, and above three hundred and -twelve thousand pupils. From the commencement of the congregation it has -had a house at Rome; and at Turin their schools are attended by more than -three thousand five hundred children. They easily took root in Catholic -Belgium, where their pupils are above fifteen thousand in number. They -are in England, Austria, Prussia, and Switzerland. Passing out of Europe, -we find them honored and encouraged in the little republic of Ecuador, -where they were first planted in 1863, under Brother Albanus, a man of -great prudence as well as of activity and zeal. Two years later four -Brothers embarked for Cochin-China, the Admiral of La Grandière having -requested Brother Philip to send them to teach the children of the new -French colony. Their first house there was at Saïgon, to which others -were added in different parts of the country, as more Brothers arrived. -They have establishments in Madagascar, the Seychelles, the East Indies, -and the Isle of Mauritius, and have been in the Ile de la Réunion -ever since 1816. They are at Tunis, where they teach the children in -Italian (that language being the one most usually spoken there); and in -Algiers, where for years the bishop, Mgr. Dupuch, had been begging that -they might be sent. Brother Philip was both ready and willing, but the -delays and difficulties raised by the French Minister of War, would not -allow him to accede to the request until 1852, after the death of M. -Dupuch, who had begun the negotiation ten years before. When, in 1870, -contrary to the entreaties of the bishop, Mgr. de Lavigerie, and the -protest of the inhabitants of the place, the Brothers were forced out of -their schools--their only offence being that they were Christian--they -opened free schools, independent of any government arrangement, and had -them filled at once by three thousand of their former pupils; the same -thing being done at other towns with the same result. A change for the -better took place in the ideas of the home government in 1871, and at -the present time, thanks to the rule of Marshal MacMahon, the Christian -Schools of Algiers have been restored to their rights. - -In concert with the Lazarists the Brothers opened schools at Smyrna in -1841, and soon afterwards at Constantinople, with the authorization of -the government. They are settled also at Alexandria under the protection -of the bishop, and under that of the vicar-apostolic at Cairo, where they -have received marked proofs of interest from the Viceroy of Egypt. - -But it is not of the children of the Old World only that the Brothers -have so largely taken possession; the spirit of Christianity is a spirit -of conquest, and the missionary, the Sister of Charity, and the Christian -Brother are of the conquering race. - -The infant foundations of the latter have a particular interest in -the vast American continent, where either all is comparatively of -yesterday, or else the vast solitudes of ages still await the footstep -of civilization, or even of man. Religious orders prosper in this -land; and the children of La Salle first settled in Canada in 1837, at -the earnest invitation of M. Quiblier, Superior of the Seminary of S. -Sulpice at Montreal, and of Mgr. Lartique, the bishop of that city. -Four Brothers of the Christian Schools were sent by the packet-boat -_Louis Philippe_, which sailed on the 10th of October in that year, -reaching New York on the 13th of November. The _curés_ of S. Sulpice at -Paris were the earliest supporters of the venerable De la Salle; and -it is interesting to notice, at a distance of two centuries and on the -other side of the Atlantic, the sons of the same house faithful to the -same traditions. The work spread rapidly in Montreal, where in a short -time twenty-five Brothers were occupied in teaching eighteen hundred -children. Four of their pupils of this city, who had become postulants, -took the habit on All Saints’ Day, 1840. The same year brought them a -visit from the Governor-General of Canada, Lord Sydenham, who, after -entering with interest into the details of their work, gave them the -greatest encouragement. In the course of the following year they held -their classes in presence of the bishops of Montreal, Quebec, Kingston, -and Boston, numerously accompanied by their clergy, and received the -congratulations and benediction of the prelates. They opened a school -at Quebec in 1843, and later, on the invitation of the Archbishop of -Baltimore, Brother Aidant went to found one also in that city. It was he -who was authorized by Brother Philip, in 1847, to go to Paris in order to -give an account of the work which had been carried on in America during -the previous ten years, and who returned thither, accompanied by five -more Brothers. - -When, in 1848, the members of the institute were withdrawn from the -central prisons of France, their superior felt that the energetic Brother -Facile would be an invaluable superintendent of the Christian Schools -in the New World. Brother Aidant had done great things during the -eleven years that he had occupied the post of director and visitor of -the province of Canada and of the United States. Five principal houses, -employing fifty Brothers, had been established there--namely, those of -Montreal, Quebec, Three Rivers, Baltimore, and New York; but the work -received a new and extensive development during the twelve years of the -directorship of Brother Facile, who, when summoned to France by Brother -Philip in 1861, left behind him 78 schools, 24,532 pupils, 368 Brothers, -and 74 novices; and this wonderful increase has subsequently continued. - -In 1863 Brother Philip considered it advisable to divide North America -into two provinces, namely, those of Canada and the United States; -Brother Ambrose, director of the schools of St. Louis, Missouri, being -named visitor of the province of the United States, in residence at New -York; and Brother Liguori, of Moulins, in residence at Montreal, visitor -of the province of Canada. - -The Brothers of the Christian Schools in America are recruited not only -from France, but from all the nationalities of the country. Among them -are Franco-Canadians, Anglo-Americans, Irish, Belgians, and Germans. -The visit of Lord Young, the Governor-General of Canada, in 1869, to -their principal school in Montreal, was a sort of official recognition -of their teaching on the part of Great Britain. He praised their work -as being the “type and model of a good education.” Amongst those who -were presented to him, the governor-general saw with particular interest -Brother Adelbertus, the only surviving one of the four who were sent to -Canada in 1837. They now have schools in all the six provinces of Canada, -and since 1869 have been established also at Charlottetown, the capital -of Prince Edward’s Island. A Protestant writer who visited their schools -at Halifax, in giving an account of what he had seen, stated that he was -greatly struck by “the perfect discipline of the pupils, their silence, -their prompt obedience and great assiduity, their neatness, and the good -expression of their countenances, whether Catholic or Protestant.” He -did not take offence at the short prayer said at the striking of every -hour. “Each child,” he observes, “can repeat to himself the prayer learnt -at his mother’s knee.” But what most of all excited his wonder were the -difficult exercises in geometry, trigonometry, land-surveying, algebra -(and other sciences, of which he gives a list), which he saw accomplished -by the class of advanced pupils under the direction of Brother Christian. -According to his account, the so-called _Ignorantins_ are almost -alarmingly scientific. - -When we bear in mind that Canada, although its present population does -not amount to four millions, is one-third larger than France, and that -its natural resources are equivalent to those of France and Germany -combined, we can understand the importance of its future when once those -resources shall be made available; and also we perceive the wisdom of -the Christian Brothers in doing their utmost to prepare the way for this -result to be attained by a well and religiously instructed generation. - -But to return to Europe. The work of the Christian Schools began in -Ireland, in 1802, when Mr. Edmund Rice, of Waterford, founded one in his -native town, with great success. Another was established in 1807, by Mr. -Thomas O’Brien, at Carrick-on-Suir, and a third at Dungarvan; but it was -not until 1822 that the Irish Brothers adopted the rule of the venerable -De la Salle. The institute in Ireland is the same in spirit as it is the -same in rule, with some slight modifications; but it does not depend -upon the French institute, although connected with it in friendly and -fraternal relations, its separate existence being especially adapted to -the wants of the people of Ireland. - -In tracing some of the widespread ramifications of his work we seem to -have lost sight of the toiling Brother to whom so much of its success -was due. The fact of having the responsibility of so extensive an -administration did not prevent his personally working at the classes like -any other Brother of the institute. He possessed in a remarkable degree -the gift of imparting knowledge, whether in things human or divine. -From the time of his entrance into the institute his manner of teaching -the catechism had been remarked; and it was always with the liveliest -enjoyment that he fulfilled this important portion of his duties. Nothing -of all this teaching has been written down; but there remains a book -written by Brother Philip, of which the title is _Explanations in a -catechetical form of the Epistles and Gospels for all the Sundays and -principal festivals of the year_, in which the varied depths of religious -thought of the pious writer are presented with a precision and yet -readiness of expression in themselves constituting a simple and earnest -eloquence. This book is considered a model, both with regard to the -substance and the art of teaching; the writer does not fit the truth to -his words, but his words to the truth. - -Thus far we have sketched the origin and progress of the institute of -the Brothers of the Christian Schools in times of comparative peace, -with brief exceptions; in the second and concluding part of our notice -the members of this institute will appear under a new aspect--on the -battle-fields where these men of prayer and peace showed themselves to -be, in that which constitutes true heroism, the bravest of the brave. - -TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH. - - -THE LADY ANNE OF CLEVES. - -Anne of Cleves, the fourth queen and third wife of Henry VIII. of -England, is one of the least known personages in history. Fortunately for -herself, she never gained the sad celebrity of his victims, Catherine -of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, and Catherine Howard. As virtuous and sedate -as the former, she was less high-spirited and dangerously fearless. At -the same time, her gentleness was much the same as that of her only -royal predecessor, and, like her, she won the respect and love of the -people. If she submitted somewhat too passively to the sentence of -divorce, or rather of nullification of her marriage, as pronounced by -Cranmer, it must be remembered that, unlike Catherine of Aragon, she had -reason to dread the consequences of opposition to the king’s despotic -will. Her husband’s brutal treatment of her during the short time they -lived together, his coarse expressions of disrespect and loathing, his -utter want of consideration towards her as a princess, and lack of -gentlemanlike behavior towards her as a woman and a stranger in his -realm, were enough to dispose her to consent to any conditions which -left her alive and safe, even had she not had before her eyes the sad -experience of several judicial murders committed just before and after -her ill-omened wedding. Among the strange circumstances of her--in a -sense--obscure life is this: that, having been brought up a Lutheran, -and proposed as a wife to Henry VIII. as a means of conciliating the -league of powerful Protestant princes in Germany, she died a Catholic in -her adopted country. Her sister, Sibylla, had married John Frederick, -the Elector of Saxony, who uniformly befriended Luther. Whether Anne’s -convictions were very strong or not it is not easy to say; a terror of -her future husband was enough to explain her making no demur at being -married according to the Catholic form, which was done with great pomp -and solemnity; but she did her best while queen to save Dr. Barnes, the -Reformer, probably on account of her sympathy with his opinions. In this -she was unsuccessful; indeed, she never had any influence with the king. -This is perhaps the only decided evidence of her being attached to the -doctrines in which she had been educated, and probably the religious -impressions she received in England were all in favor of Catholicity. -At this time neither court nor people had changed in doctrine, though -there _was_ a real Protestant party, quite distinct from the king’s -time-serving prelates and obsequious courtiers. Still, Henry was -unswervingly attached to the forms of the church of his fathers, and in -many points to its doctrines, and, indeed, would have been by no means -flattered by becoming the head of a “church” without outward symbolism -and stately ceremony, such as the hidden body of Puritans already desired. - -The portrait of Anne of Cleves--_i.e._, of her disposition and -character--is very winning. Her mother, who, says Nicolas Wotton, was a -“very wise lady, and one that very straightly looketh to her children,” -had evidently brought her up, as most Flemish and German girls, in a -womanly, modest, and useful fashion. She is described as “of very lowly -and gentle conditions, by which she hath so much won her mother’s favor -that she is very loath to suffer her to depart from her. She occupieth -her time much with her needle. She can read and write her own, but -French, or Latin, or other language she knoweth not; nor yet can sing or -play on any instrument, for they take it here in Germany for a rebuke and -an occasion of lightness that great ladies should be learned or have any -knowledge of musick.” - -It is not surprising that they should have had such a prejudice at that -time, considering how polite learning was fast becoming the all-atoning -compensation for the lowest morals and most shameless intrigues in the -courts of Italy, of France, and of England. Later on the English annalist -Holinshed, who wrote of her after her death, praised her as “a lady of -right commendable regard, courteous, gentle, a good housekeeper, and very -bountiful to her servants.” Of her kind heart her will is a striking -instance; for her heart seems more set on her “alms-children” than on -any other of her pensioners and legatees. Herbert, the author of a short -sketch of her life, gives his opinion as follows: “The truth is that -Anne was a fine, tall, shapely German girl, with a good, grave, somewhat -heavy, gentle, placid face”; but he goes on to add up her deficiencies -in beauty, style, and accomplishments, and calls her “provincial” as -compared with the “refined, volatile beauties of the French and English -or the stately donnas of the Spanish courts.” - -That she was not beautiful, and that Henry was purposely deceived as -to her personal charms by the short-sighted Cromwell, is undeniable. -Henry, who had so unfeelingly discarded his once beautiful and sprightly -and his still loving, stately, and queenly wife, Catherine of Aragon, -as soon as his wandering fancy had fixed upon a younger beauty, could -not be expected to feel less than a sheer disappointment at the sight -of Anne of Cleves. So fastidious was he that he had actually asked -Francis I. of France to send him twenty or thirty of the most beautiful -women in France, that he might pick and choose among them; and when the -hapless ambassador, Marillac, had respectfully proposed that he should -send some one to the court to choose for him, he had abruptly exclaimed -with an oath: “How can I depend upon any one but myself?” Cromwell, to -whose political schemes the alliance of the Schmalkalden League (as the -coalition of German Lutheran princes was called) was necessary, duped -the king by causing Holbein to paint a flattering miniature of Anne. -This was enclosed in a box of ivory delicately carved in the likeness of -a white rose, which, when the lid was unscrewed, showed the miniature -at the bottom. Her contemporaries vary so greatly in their reports of -her appearance that an exact description of an original pencil-sketch -(unfinished) among the Holbein heads in the royal collection at Windsor -may be of some value. Miss Strickland, in her _Lives of the Queens of -England_, gives it thus: “There is a moral and intellectual beauty in -the expression of the face, though the nose and mouth are large and -somewhat coarse in their formation. Her forehead is lofty, expansive, -and serene, indicative of candor and talent. The eyes are large, dark, -and reflective. They are thickly fringed, both on the upper and lower -lids, with long, black lashes. Her hair, which is also black, is -parted and plainly folded on either side the face in bands, extending -below the ears--a style that seems peculiarly suitable to the calm and -dignified composure of her countenance.” What must have been most to her -disadvantage was not the _brown_ complexion of which Southampton, the -lord-admiral, so dexterously spoke when the king asked him in anger, “How -like you this woman--do you think her so fair?” nor her heavy features, -but the marks of the small-pox, with which she was plentifully pitted. -This, in itself, may have materially contributed to the clumsiness of -her features. Her “progress” from her native city of Düsseldorf to the -shores of England lasted two months, partly from stress of weather, -which detained her nearly three weeks at Calais, partly from the state -of the roads and the necessary pageantry which her own countrymen and -her future subjects tendered to her on her way. Antwerp distinguished -itself, as usual, by a lavish display of _bravery_. The English merchants -of that town came out four miles to meet her, to the number of fifty, -dressed in velvet coats and chains of gold; while at her entrance into -the town, at daylight, she was honorably received with twice fourscore -torches. Again, we find that she arrived at Calais between seven and -eight o’clock in the morning, and that in mid-December. As she is said -to have travelled generally at about the rate of twenty English miles a -day, and each of these places, at which she arrived so early, was made -the scene of rejoicing and feasting for her and her train, it is evident -that much of her journey must have been performed in the chilly hours -before the dawn of a winter’s day. In the train sent to welcome Anne -of Cleves were kinsmen of five out of Henry’s six queens. The time was -whiled away in the then English city of Calais in the usual festivities, -and she was taken to see the king’s ships _Lyon_ and _Sweepstakes_, which -were decked in her honor with a hundred banners of silk and gold, and -furnished with “two master-gunners, mariners, thirty-one trumpets, and -a double-drum that was never seen in England before; and so her grace -entered into Calais, at whose entering there were one hundred and fifty -rounds of ordnance let out of the said ships, which made such a smoke -that not one of her train could see the other.”[108] From Dover, after -a quick and prosperous passage of the proverbially churlish Channel, -she went to Canterbury and thence to Rochester, where, on New Year’s -eve, 1540, the king, impelled by a boyish curiosity ill-suited to his -years and antecedents, told Cromwell that he intended to visit the queen -privately and suddenly. So he and eight of his attendant gentlemen -dressed themselves alike in coats of “marble color” (probably some kind -of gray), and presented themselves in her apartments. He was taken -aback at her appearance, and for once “was marvellously astonished and -abashed.” It was the first time he had had a queen proposed to him whom -he had not seen beforehand, and he felt that, at least in the eyes of -the people, he had gone too far to be able to draw back now. He, who -had never been taught self-restraint in anything, was not the man to -exercise forbearance towards his luckless bride; yet, for the first and -almost the only time, it was noticed that he absolutely showed her some -scant civility. Either she knew him from his portraits or the evident -prominence of one of her visitors indicated to her who was her future -husband; for she sank on her knees at his approach, probably reading his -surprise by her own instincts, and wishing to propitiate him with the -meekness and deep humility of her behavior. Still, it was not Catherine -of Aragon’s dignified humility and Christian majesty of demeanor, as -she had pleaded for herself as a stranger no less than as a loving and -faithful wife. The chronicler Hall says that the king “welcomed Anne with -gracious words, and gently took her up and kissed her”--which is likely -enough; yet we cannot rely on Hall’s authority as a grave historian, in -after-times, as we always find him a gossiping and complacent relater of -court pageantries, and a blind admirer of the king’s every word and look. -No doubt he was wise in his generation--for what else could contemporary -historians do to save their heads?--and after three hundred and fifty -years we are glad to have his gorgeous _Chronicles_ to dip into. Strype, -Lord Herbert of Cherbury, Burnet, Lingard, and others agree that -immediately after the king left Anne (with whom he had supped) he angrily -called his lords together, and reproached them with having deceived him -by false reports of her beauty; and, further, that he sent her the New -Year’s gift, which he had intended to present to her in person, by his -master of the horse, Sir Anthony Browne, with a cold, formal message, -excusing himself to those about him by saying that “she was not handsome -enough to be entitled to such an honor” as his personal offering. - -The French ambassador, Marillac, preserved the record of many little -details in his sprightly but gossiping correspondence with his superiors -during the years 1539-40. These diplomatic gossipings seem to have been -much the fashion; for the Venetian envoys also indulge in them. Courts -and cabinets were more intimately connected then than the _bourgeois_ -improvements of the later domestic life in royal circles make it possible -for them to be now. But if the French ambassador could be minute in his -descriptions, he was not so good an adept at the mysteries of English -spelling. He invariably spells Greenwich _Greenwigs_, and Westminster -_Valsemaistre_. After Henry’s discourteous reception of his bride he -returned to his palace at the former place, and there met the cunning -contriver of the match, Cromwell, whom he upbraided coarsely for having -yoked him with a “great Flanders mare.” The minister tried to shift the -blame on Southampton, who had conducted the princess to England; but the -latter bluntly replied that “his commission was only to bring her to -England; and … as she was generally reputed for a beauty, he had only -repeated the opinion of others, … and especially as he supposed she would -be his queen.” Dealing with Henry VIII. involved a dangerous game, as no -one knew for two days together to whom to look as the “rising sun.” The -mild, gentle woman who was never to have any influence, and yet was to -win all hearts save that of the brutal king, was perhaps an object of -chivalrous pity to the lord high admiral, who thus prudently entrenched -himself within the safe limits of his “commission.” - -At length, after repeated, peevish outbursts of despotic ill-temper and -such expressions as this: “Is there, then, no remedy but that I must -needs put my neck into the yoke?” the king gave orders for his marriage -preparations. It is curious to think of the now dense and unsavory city -accumulations that cover the “fair plain” at the foot of Shooter’s Hill, -on which were pitched the tent of cloth of gold and the gay pavilions -where the slighted bride was publicly met and saluted by her future -husband. To do him justice, he behaved with proper outward respect -towards her. From Greenwich to Blackheath “the furze and bushes” were -cut down and a clear road made, lined with the companies of merchants, -English, Spanish, Flemish, and Italian, in coats of embroidered velvet, -while “gentlemen pensioners” and knights and aldermen wore massive chains -of gold. The princess and her retinue, consisting both of her English -escort and her native attendants, met the king at some distance from the -tent, and patiently listened to a long Latin oration delivered by the -king’s almoner, and answered on her behalf by another solemn string of -classical platitudes by her brother’s learned secretary, of neither of -which speeches she understood one word. Anne wore a rich but somewhat -tasteless dress, cut short and round, without any train, which rather -shocked the fastidious eyes of the French ambassador and the English -courtiers. The king, for his fourth bridal, wore a dress which, though -rich, must have been unbecoming to one of his size and complexion. The -chronicler Hall describes it as a sort of frock of _purple_ velvet, “so -heavily embroidered with _flat gold of damask_ and lace that little of -the ground appeared. Chains and guards of gold hung round his neck and -across his shoulders. The sleeves and breast were cut and lined with -cloth of gold, and clasped with great buttons of diamonds, rubies, and -orient pearls, … his sword and girdle adorned with emeralds, … but his -bonnet so rich of jewels that few men could value them; … besides all -this, he wore a collar of such balas, rubies, and pearls that few men -ever saw the like.” He was on horseback, but his “horse of state” was -led behind him by a rein of gold, and wore trappings of crimson velvet -and satin embroidered with gold. A multitude of gorgeously-dressed pages -followed, each mounted on coursers with trappings to match. The princess -was no less loaded with jewels, and her horse wore trappings which, -together with the “goldsmith’s work” of the dress of her running footmen, -was embroidered with the black lion of the shield of Hainaut. The king -advanced and embraced her, and, to all outward appearance, did princely -homage to her--all through an interpreter, however; and with more -descriptions of wonderful clothes and ornaments, the old chronicler moves -the whole pageant forward through the park to Greenwich palace. At one -stage of the procession the princess seems to have exchanged her horse -for a chariot of curious, antique fashion. A prominent place was assigned -among her retinue to her three Flemish washerwomen, or, in the language -of that day, her launderers. Then followed the great water-pageant on -the Thames, where each city guild rivalled its fellows in display, every -barge rowing up and down, proudly showing its streamers, pensiles, and -targets, some painted with the king’s arms, some with her grace’s, and -some with those of their own “craft or mystery.” Then there was a barge, -made like a ship, called the bachelor’s bark, decked with the same -streaming banners, besides a “foyst,” or gun, “that shot great pieces -of artillery.” The barges also bore companies of singers and players, -some concealed, some elevated on decorated platforms. This was the fifth -time that they had been decked for a bridal, if we count Catherine of -Aragon’s first wedding-day, when the Prince Arthur, who might have -rivalled his legendary namesake, received the acclamations of a loyal -people. The loyalty must have got sadly rusty by this time, however, as -the unwieldy, bloated king rode past in his ghastly finery, escorting -another perspective victim to a palace which only good-luck prevented -from becoming her prison. Again Henry gave Cromwell ominous hints of his -distaste to Anne of Cleves, as on the evening of this holiday he asked -his opinion of her beauty. Cromwell answered that she had a queenly -manner; and for Henry, whose two beheaded favorites, Anne Boleyn and -Catherine Howard, chiefly offended him by their indiscreet and familiar -behavior, this ought to have been a source of satisfaction; yet even -on that last day of his liberty he called his council together, and -despotically ordered them to see if he could not, by any quibble, get -rid of his bargain with the despised princess. Doubtless the indignity -would have seemed rather a boon to the royal Griselda; but, such as it -was, it was not granted. Things had gone too far. The Schmalkalden League -might resent the insult; the English people, with their rough love of -“fair play,” might even rise in insurrection. Tudorism had scarcely yet -advanced to absolute Mahometanism, and the council decided that the -marriage must take place. Henry sullenly acquiesced, but Cromwell’s -fate was sealed. “I am not well handled,” exclaimed the king more than -once, and alleged that his bride had been betrothed to the Prince of -Lorraine in her childhood, though Anne, when required, solemnly denied -that at present she was bound by any pre-contract. This she was forced -to do in public before the whole council. When the marriage was fixed -for the feast of the Epiphany, 1540, Henry, ignoring the right of her -own countrymen, Overstein and Hostoden, to give her away, associated -one of his subjects, Lord Essex, in the office which by every right, -of custom as well as feeling, belonged only to the representatives of -her family. The bridal robes were a repetition of the gorgeous apparel -already described; but the _round_ dress of the bride seems ungainly. She -wore her long, luxuriant yellow hair flowing down her shoulders, says -Hall; but, as in her portrait her eyes and hair are dark, Miss Strickland -suggests that these “golden locks” were false. The contrast must have -been unfavorable. On her coronal “were set sprigs of rosemary, an herb -of grace, which was used by maidens, both at weddings and funerals, for -_souvenance_,” say some MSS. of that day. - -The marriage was performed at Greenwich by Cranmer, Archbishop of -Canterbury, according to the rites of the Catholic Church. There was -a solemn Mass, at the Offertory of which the king and queen went up to -the altar and offered tapers. Then, returning to the gallery, they took -wine and spices (_i.e._, comfits and preserves), and at nine in the -morning (the marriage had been at eight o’clock) dined together. There -was something terribly incongruous in the schismatic king, excommunicated -for adultery, and the passive Lutheran princess, being joined together -in matrimony by an archbishop whose _complaisant_ character and loose -morals made many, even of that day, consider him a false shepherd. And -add to this that Queen Anne died a Catholic, and had as her chaplain -and confessor a Spaniard, whom it is permissible to identify with the -same Tomeo who was once in the service of the holy Queen Catherine of -Aragon. The wedding-ring which Henry gave to his third and last lawful -wife[109] had this motto engraved on it: “God send me weel to kepe,” -in Old-English letters. In the evening of the wedding-day the royal -pair attended Vespers in state and then supped together. These meals -must have been characterized by the same barbarous etiquette as those -on the occasion of Anne Boleyn’s coronation, during which we are told: -“And under the table went two gentlewomen and sat at the queen’s feet -during the dinner.” Their office was to hold the queen’s handkerchief, -gloves, etc. Sometimes there were as many as four of these attendants. -The queen publicly washed her hands in a silver basin full of scented -water, and the basin and ewer were both held by the great dignitaries of -the realm. Two countesses stood one on each side, “holding a fine cloth -before the queen’s face whenever she listed to spit or do otherwise at -her pleasure”--a most extraordinary office, but probably so old as to be -still in form indispensable in that land of _precedents_ and of tenacity -concerning all old customs. - -Anne’s short days with her ungallant husband were a sad trial to her; -she never gained his affections nor acquired influence with him. She was -too true to feign a love she did not feel or to use adulation to conquer -power. Henry complained to Cromwell that she “waxed wilful and stubborn -with him”; and her partial biographer, Miss Strickland, says of her: -“Anne was no adept in the art of flattery, and, though really of ‘meek -and gentle conditions,’ she did not humiliate herself meanly to the man -from whom she had received so many unprovoked marks of contempt.” - -The king, whether from ironical or politic motives, still called her -“sweetheart” and “darling” before the ladies of her bed-chamber, but -was already meditating a divorce. Their last public appearance together -was at the jousts at Durham House, where a company of knights in white -velvet took part in a tournament and a feast of good cheer which the -king and queen honored with their presence. This was on the first of -May, after they had been married but four months. The queen, whose -conduct was so irreproachable that her direst enemy could find no link -in this “armor of proof,” occupied her time in embroidery and needlework -with her maids of honor, as the meek but dignified Catherine of Aragon -had done, both in the days of her power and in those of her distress. -Saving the beauty which had once been his first wife’s portion, and the -majesty of character which never left her to her dying day, his third -consort must have reminded him of the pure, domestic tie which had been -his in his youth, of the blameless, gentle, yet stately courtesies in -which his court had rejoiced under the sway of a _royal_ mistress. -But the unhappy Catherine had loved him, while the more passive Anne -simply endured him. Even this was a surprise and a vexation to him, as -appeared a few weeks later, when, on hearing that she gladly assented -to the divorce, he wondered that she was so ready to part with him. -When her ladies ventured to ask her if she had told “mother Lowe,” her -confidential nurse and countrywoman, how the king neglected her, she -answered truthfully, “Nay, I have not; but I receive quite as much of his -majesty’s attention as I wish.” Henry meanwhile encouraged her English -ladies to mimic and ridicule her in her dress, her foreign accent, her -want of learning. He openly said that he had never given his _inward -consent_ to the marriage; that he feared he had wronged the Prince of -Lorraine, to whom he persisted in considering her as “precontracted”; -and further had the assurance to prate of his _conscientious scruples_ -as to marriage with a Lutheran![110] But the plotter whose schemes her -marriage had served was doomed to fall before her. Cromwell was arrested -a few days before she was dismissed from the court on the pretext of her -health requiring change of air. She was banished to Richmond; he was -confined in the Tower. The facile Cranmer for the third time “dissolved” -a marriage he had made, and, obeying Henry’s changeful whims, pronounced -_both parties_ free to marry again. But the liberty so formally granted -was by no means to be literally understood as regarded the queen. “The -particulars of this transaction (the divorce),” says Miss Strickland, -“show in a striking manner the artfulness and injustice of the king and -the slavishness of his ministers and subjects.” A so-called convocation -reviewed the case and pronounced the divorce, on the grounds already -mentioned, dictated by the king, and the House of Lords cringingly passed -the necessary bill. The very same Southampton who had escorted Anne of -Cleves to England bore the message to her depriving her of her royal -state. She swooned at first, thinking that the deputation had come to -pronounce sentence of death upon her. As soon as she understood that -her life was safe she showed an alacrity in stripping herself of her -dangerous honors, which of itself was perhaps more dangerous. However, -the king was too busy with his new toy-victim, the wretched Catherine -Howard, to take notice of these symptoms of Anne’s joy at her safety. -The terms were simply honorable imprisonment. She was not to leave the -realm, and, in reality, was kept as a hostage for the good behavior of -her relatives abroad, who might otherwise have been tempted to resent her -wrongs. Here begins the uniqueness of her lot. She was adopted as the -king’s “sister,” was to resign the title of queen, but to have precedence -at court over every other lady, save the king’s future “wife” and his -two daughters, and to be amply provided for out of the royal treasury. -With Mary and Elizabeth she was on the most friendly terms, and at the -beginning of her marriage endeavored, by every means in her power, to -bring the neglected Mary into notice. From Anne’s expressions in her -letters to her brother it appears that any hostile demonstration on his -part to revenge her would have brought evil on her. She says: “Only I -require this of you: that ye so conduct yourself as for your untowardness -in this matter I fare not the worse, whereunto I trust you will have -regard.” She humbly returned her wedding-ring to her dictatorial husband, -and wrote a letter of submission in German, which the councillors sent -to him in translation. A handsome maintenance was allotted her, and she -evidently took kindly to her new position, even cheerfully acquiescing -in the command to receive no letters or messages from her kindred. Thus -the leave to “marry again” was in her case evidently only a matter of -form. The king had the boldness to allude to her “caprice” as a woman, -which might make her break these promises, and the meanness to order that -measures should be taken to prevent the possibility of her breaking them. -These are his words--a monument of despicable tyranny: “And concerning -these letters to her brother, how well soever she speaketh now, with -promises, to abandon the condition [caprice] of a woman, … we think -good, nevertheless, rather by good means to prevent that she should not -play the woman _than to depend upon her promise_; _nor, after she have -felt at our hand all gratuity and kindness_, … to leave her at liberty, -to gather more stubbornness than were expedient, … she should not play -the woman [_i.e._, change her mind] if she would.… Unless these letters -be obtained, all shall [_i.e._, will] remain uncertain upon a woman’s -promise--that she will be no woman--the accomplishment whereof, on -her behalf, is as difficult in the refraining of a woman’s will, upon -occasion, as in changing her womanish nature, which is impossible.”[111] - -Marillac, the ambassador, says on this occasion that “the queen takes -it all in good part.” But the people had evidently grown to love her, -and, as far as they dared, murmured at the indignity put upon her; for -he adds: “This is cause of great regret to the people, whose love she -had gained, and who esteemed her as one of the most sweet, gracious, -and humane queens they have had; and they greatly desired her to -continue with them as their queen.” No doubt the people had a greater -sense of dignity than their king, and wished the sovereign lady of so -great a realm to be of royal race and breeding. It was not for them -to be subjects of a subject, while foreign kingdoms, and even small -principalities, had queens-consort of royal degree. They had had sad -experience, too, of the desolating rivalries produced among the great -lords by these intermarriages with subjects, and therefore welcomed the -gentle foreigner, so quick to learn English speech and English ways, but -whose kindred was little likely to embarrass them. - -Anne always signed herself “Daughter of Cleves” after her dismissal from -court, and her gayety seems to have revived as soon as she found her life -safe. Scarcely a month after the divorce was pronounced Henry visited -her at Richmond, and she entertained him so pleasantly, says Marillac, -that he stayed and supped with her “right merrily, and demeaned himself -with such singular graciousness that some … fancied he was going to -take her for his queen again.” If his hostess had thought so, doubtless -she would have abated her pleasant humor and appeared less ready to -welcome him. As it was, she put on every day a rich new dress, “each -more wonderful than the last,” fared sumptuously, held her little court -like a noble English lady of that day, dispensing alms and bounties, and -passing her time, as Marillac says, “in sports and recreations.” Her real -self bloomed again in this atmosphere of safety and unrestricted mental -freedom; for such this “honorable imprisonment” as a hostage certainly -was when compared with the teasing, daily companionship with the -treacherous king. A feint was made a little later to give her a choice as -to whether she would live in England or abroad; but as the jointure was -tied up in English lands and their revenue alone, and to the possessor of -these residence in England was attached as a _sine qua non_ condition, -the liberty of choice was practically null. - -Anne’s court at Richmond and her life of gentle charities and innocent -merry-makings were suddenly startled, after sixteen months’ peace, by -the news of the trial and execution of her unhappy successor, Catherine -Howard. Immediately her partisan maids of honor, and indeed all her -household, who were devoted to her, began to speculate as to the chances -of Providence interfering to reinstate their mistress in her rights. -Every one but herself wished for this restoration. One of her ladies -was actually committed to prison for having said, “Is God working his -own work to make the Lady Anne of Cleves queen again?” adding that it -was impossible that so sweet a queen as Lady Anne could be utterly put -down. But, fortunately for the queen’s peace of mind, there was no such -possibility, even though her brother’s ambassadors rather inconsiderately -urged her restoration to her rightful position. The Privy-Purse expenses -of her step-daughter, the Princess Mary, mentions a visit made by her to -Anne in the year 1543 and her largesses to the latter’s servants; also a -present of Spanish silk sent by Anne to Mary. Their intercourse seems to -have been pleasant and familiar; they were nearly of the same age and had -many domestic tastes in common. The contact between them may have been in -part the means of Anne’s becoming a Catholic, though there is but little -to show at what precise time this took place. So English had the queen -grown that when Henry died, in 1547, she did not care to go to her own -country, but willingly cast in her lot with her adopted land. Wise in her -widowhood, as she had been virtuous in her married life--no less during -the seven years of her separation than the six months of her reign--she -did not marry again nor in any way mix in political matters. Posterity -has unjustly set her down as an ugly, ill-conditioned, unlearned woman, a -person without taste and discernment, at best a mere puppet of Henry’s. -But we venture to see her otherwise; though she may not have been learned -like Mary Tudor or Jane Grey, she was yet sufficiently instructed in -all womanly arts, and quickly learned English, adapting herself, with -rare prudence and discretion, to the ways of life and even the gorgeous -sports of her adopted land; a trustworthy friend to the king’s daughters, -especially the spurned and ill-fated Mary; a benevolent and self-denying -woman, a good mistress, a pleasant hostess, an admirable manager of her -tenants, estates, and household, deft with her fingers, skilful at her -needle, gentle towards all, and, though not handsome, yet so winning -that her ladies--though it was the worst policy--had no other title for -her than their “sweet queen,” their “dear lady,” their “sweet mistress.” -She outlived her stepson, Edward VI., and assisted publicly at Mary’s -coronation, sitting in the same chariot as Elizabeth. “But,” says Miss -Strickland, “her happiness appears to have been in the retirement of -domestic life.” Further on the same biographer adds that it has been -surmised, from certain items in her list of expenses, that she sometimes -made private experiments in cooking. “She spent her time at the head -of her little court, which was a happy household within itself, and we -may presume well governed; for we hear neither of plots, nor quarrels, -tale-bearings nor mischievous intrigues, as rife in her home-circle. She -was tenderly beloved by her domestics, and well attended by them in her -last sickness.” She survived her husband ten years, and died calmly and -happily at the age of forty-one. In her will she left almost all the -money and jewels which she had at her disposal to those who had served -her and to poor pensioners, besides scrupulously ordering every debt to -be paid. She left marriage-portions for her maids of honor, and ended by -beseeching her executors to “pray for us and to see our body buried, … -that we may have the suffrages of holy church according to the Catholic -faith, wherein we end our life in this transitory world.” - -Accordingly, Queen Mary had her buried in Westminster Abbey with great -pomp, and the procession was graced with a hundred of her servants -bearing torches, many knights and gentlemen with eight banners of arms -(her own) and four banners of “white taffeta wrought with gold,” then -the twelve bedesmen of Westminster in new black gowns, bearing twelve -burning torches and four white branches, her ladies on horseback and in -black gowns, and eight heralds, with white banners of arms, riding near -the hearse. At the abbey-door the abbot and other Catholic dignitaries in -mitres and copes received the corpse with the usual solemn ceremonies, -and, bringing her into the church, “tarried dirge, and all the night -with lights burning.” This stands for the Vespers in the Office for the -departed. “The next day,” says the chronicler Stow, “requiem was sung, -and my lord of Westminster (the abbot) preached as goodly a sermon as -ever was made, and the Bishop of London sang Mass in his mitre, … and -all the gentlemen and ladies offered [alms] at Mass.… Then all her head -officers brake their staves, and all her ushers brake their rods and cast -them into her tomb, … and thus they went in order to a great dinner given -by my lord of Winchester to all the mourners.” - -There was more rest and peace in this funeral pageant than there had -been in the ill-omened wedding ceremony of which she had been the object -seventeen years before. Her tomb is near the high altar Westminster -Abbey, at the feet of King Sebert, the original Saxon founder, before the -restoration of the abbey by Edward the Confessor. It is a plain-looking -slab, like a bench, placed against the wall, and on parts of the -unfinished structure the curious inquirer can trace her initials, A. and -C., interwoven; but, such as it is, it is more of a memorial than fell -to the lot of any of Henry’s queens, not one of whom, says Stow, “had a -monument, except Anne of Cleves, and hers was but half a one.” - -The horror felt on the Continent for the excesses and cruelty of the -Bluebeard of England was such that it was long believed that Anne had -either died by unfair means or had escaped from her “cruel imprisonment.” -An impostor, therefore, for a time was enabled to take her place at one -of the German courts--that of Coburg, where she was treated with royal -consideration--but the fraud was afterwards discovered. This is mentioned -in Shobert’s _History of the House of Saxony_. Upon the whole, Anne of -Cleves may be considered as the most fortunate among the many women whose -lives were connected with that of King Henry VIII. - - -IN MEMORY OF HARRIET RYAN ALBEE. - - Like as remembered music long asleep - Within the heavy, o’erencumbered brain, - When touched by some remote, unheeded strain, - Returns as turning tides from ocean creep - Along the sandy flats, and fill again - All the least wrinkles and each minute bowl - Which in their ebbing had imprinted been, - And soon with mightier longing overroll - Their wonted, moon-drawn ways, and throb and swell - ’Gainst the bared bosom of the happy earth; - So comes her spirit in the empty well - Of my dead heart, and overflows its dearth - With her all-perfect presence and the spell - Of love as strong, as sweet, as at its birth. - - -THE ROMAN RITUAL AND ITS CHANT - -_COMPARED WITH THE WORKS OF MODERN MUSIC._[112] - -INTRODUCTION. - - -ON THE DIVINE IDEA. - - _The Divine Idea, the Exemplar or Pattern, in conformity with - which the intellect and free will of man, and whatever is their - combined work, finds its perfection._ - -All persons are familiar with the expression “beau ideal,” and in judging -of matters of taste nothing is more common than to appeal to the standard -of an “ideal”; as, for instance, the statue of the “Apollo Belvedere” -would be, and is commonly said to realize, the “ideal” of the human -form. Of course the ideal thus appealed to, as existing generally in the -minds of persons of education, is nothing in itself absolutely certain -or determinate. But, as far as it goes, it is a natural indication that -the standard and measure of all perfection is an “ideal.” For we see that -an ideal which is generally recognized and acknowledged by persons of -taste and refinement does, in point of fact, come to be a standard, the -authority of which is accepted to a great extent by others. - -What is, then, in a measure true of an “ideal” subsisting in the mind of -persons of education, as a standard of perfection, must be infinitely -true of the idea of creation subsisting in the mind of God from all -eternity. But as this leads to a speculative portion of Christian -philosophy which can scarcely be deemed popular, and might perhaps give -rise in some minds to the feeling “parturiunt montes,” if they found that -an abstruse foundation had been formally laid only for the superstructure -of a discussion upon plain chant, the few remarks that have seemed -necessary to explain and justify the ground on which the ensuing essay -proceeds have been collected together, and are here given in the form of -an introduction, for the sake of burdening the discussion as little as -possible with reasoning that does not properly belong to it. - -All creation, according to Catholic theology, is the work of the -ever-blessed Trinity. For only inasmuch as the Godhead subsisting in a -Trinity of persons is for itself a perfect and undivided whole (κοσμος -τελειος) can God bring into being a creation external to himself, without -becoming himself the world which he creates. - -To God the Father theologians assign the eternal idea, or the conception -from all eternity of the idea or form of creation; - -To God the Son, the realization of the idea of the Father, or the act of -bringing created things into being out of nothing, in conformity with the -idea of the Father; - -To God the Holy Ghost, the bringing creation to its perfection through -the period of its development or growth. - -S. Basil speaks to this effect in the following passage: “In the -creation I regard the Father as the first cause of created being, the -Son as the creating cause, and the Holy Ghost as the perfecting cause. -So that spirits, through the will of the Father, are called into actual -being through the operation of the Son, and are brought to perfection -by the presence of the Holy Spirit. Let no one, however, think either -that I assume the existence of three original substances or that I call -the operation of the Son imperfect. For there is but one first principle -(αρχη), which creates through the Son and brings to perfection through -the Holy Ghost” (_De Spiritu Sancto_, c. 16). - -The work, then, of God the Father was the eternal idea of all creation; -in the language of S. Gregory Nazianzen, εννοει ὁ πατηρ--και το εννοημα -(idea) ἐργον ην, λογῳ συμπληρουμενον και πνευματι τελειουμενον (_Orat._ -xxxviii. n. 9); and this thought or idea was a work brought into reality -by the Word, and brought to perfection by the Spirit. - -The eternal idea of creation is thus explained by S. Thomas, _Summa_, p. -i. quæst. xv. art. 1 (_Utrum ideæ sint_): - -“I answer that it is necessary to suppose ideas in the mind of God. -Idea is a Greek word, and answers to the Latin _forma_, form. Whence by -the term ideas we understand the forms of things that exist external -(_præter_) to the things themselves. The form of a thing existing -external to it may serve two purposes: 1. That it should be the -exemplar (ideal) of that of which it is said to be the form, or that it -should be, as it were, the principle of knowledge itself, according to -which the forms of things that may be known are said to exist in the -understanding. And in either point of view it is necessary to suppose -ideas, as will be at once manifest. In all things that are not generated -by chance, it is necessary that the production of some form should be -the result of the act of generation. For an agent would not act with -reference to a particular form, except so far as he was already in -possession of the likeness of the form in question. In some agents the -form of the thing to be produced already pre-exists in a natural manner -(_secundum esse naturale_), as in those things which act by natural -laws; but in others the form pre-exists in the intellect (_secundum esse -intelligibile_). Thus the likeness or form of a house already exists in -the mind of the builder, and this may be called the idea of a house; for -the architect intends to make the house resemble the form which he has -conceived in his mind. As, then, the world is not made by chance, it -follows that there must exist a _form_ (idea) in the mind of God, after -the likeness of which the world was made.” - -Quite similar to these words of S. Thomas are the statements of S. -Augustine, Dionysius, and other fathers, who had to deal on the one hand -with the philosophy of Plato, which taught that God created the world -out of eternal matter, and according to an exemplar or ideal existing -externally to himself (κοσμος νοητος); and on the other with the Gnostic -Pantheism, which taught that the divine idea after which the world was -created was identical with God, and creation consequently no more than an -extension or manifestation of the Godhead. - -Similar also is the following passage of the Abate Rosmini: - -“‘Fide intelligimus aptata esse secula verbo Dei, ut ex invisibilibus -visibilia fierent’ (Heb. xi. 3). What ever are these invisible things -from which the things that are visible have been drawn? They are the -conceptions of the Almighty, which subsisted in his mind before the -creation of the universe; they are the decrees which he has framed from -all eternity, but which remained invisible to all creatures, because -these latter were not yet formed and the former not yet carried into -execution. These decrees and conceptions are the design of the wise -Architect, according to which the building has to be formed. But this -design was never at any time drawn out on any external material, on paper -or stone, but existed only in his own mind” (Rosmini, _Della Divina -Providenza_, ed. Milano, 1846, p. 57). - -Creation proceeds from the thought and will of God jointly exercised, -and is something external to God, which he has brought into being out of -absolute nothing, to quote Professor Staudenmaier: “The world is God’s -idea of the world brought into being, and the perfection of the original -world consisted in the fact that it absolutely corresponded to the divine -idea” (_Die Lehre von der Idee_, p. 914). “Et vidit Deus quod esset -bonum” (Gen. i. 10). - -The creation which we see, and of which we are ourselves immediately a -part, bears the appearance of being an organized system, far outreaching -the powers of our intelligence; and we conclude intuitively that not only -as an organized whole it answers to the idea of God, which contemplated -system, order, harmony, and subordination of parts, but, further, that -every several part, as it came forth from the hand of the Creator, was -found good. In creation there are two principal parts, the material -world and the world of spirits. Matter, from the first instant of -creation, being without free will or mind, necessarily obeys the laws -of its Creator, and at once absolutely answers to the divine idea. -But spirits were created in the image of God, and were endowed with -the likeness of his power of thought and will, and with a personality -resulting from the possession of these gifts. To them, therefore, there -is a moral trial or probation to be passed through before they finally -correspond to the idea of their Creator. It is indeed true that from the -instant of their creation they realize the divine idea, in so far as that -idea contemplates them, about to enter upon probation; but their passing -through this trial or probation to the attainment of their perfection is -also contemplated, and of this perfection the divine idea is the exemplar -or form. - -Spirits, then, formed in the image of God, and endowed with created -being, intellect, and will, in the present system of creation, pass -through probation; and their probation consists in learning to possess -these gifts in subordination to their Creator, who is absolute being, -intellect, and will; and this trial is necessary to the perfection of -their nature and to their passing into the possession of their permanent -place (ταξις) in the great order and harmony of the universe. There is -not, and cannot be, in the mind of God, any idea of evil. Evil has its -sole origin in the rebellion of the created spirit when it refuses to -possess and use its power of thought and will in subordination to the law -and majesty of its Creator. And hence, although the rebel spirit answered -equally with others at the first moment of its creation to the divine -idea, yet, inasmuch as in its subsequent career it has placed itself -against its Creator, it has ceased to answer to the divine idea; it has -become a contradiction to it, and henceforward its existence is evil. - -The case as regards the human creation does not differ at all in -principle. Man is also a spirit, though his spirit be united to a body, -and he is possessed of the same trinity of gifts--being, thought, and -will--although from the circumstance of his coming into the world in -the form of an infant, with his intellect and will in a state of germ, -appointed to acquire their natural maturity only in process of time, -his probation would seem to require a longer period than that of the -angels, and to be subject to the fluctuation of rebellions, succeeded by -repentances, and _vice versâ_--all which hardly seems probable in their -case. Still man, like the angels, passes through his probation; and when -he has passed through it, he is found either realizing the idea of his -Creator, and happy, or fallen from it, and henceforward in contradiction -with it, for an eternity of misery. The idea of the Creator is to man, as -well as to the angels, the exemplar, or pattern, of his perfection. - -Analogous to the first creation of the world is the second great work of -God--the redemption or new creation. Its decree is from God the Father; -the carrying into effect the Father’s decree is the work of God the -Eternal Son; and the conducting it to perfection during the period of its -growth and probation is the work of the Holy Ghost. - -Nor is this work of redemption based upon any fundamental change in -the eternal idea of God, after which man was created. The eternal idea -of God is incapable of change, and the work of grace or redemption -is the restoration to a state of grace of the whole race, which, in -the person of Adam, fell into a condition of helpless although not -total contradiction with the divine idea; and in his restored state of -redemption the power has been again given to him of issuing out of his -probation through the aid and guidance of the Holy Ghost, conformable to -the unchanged, eternal idea of the Father. - -To prevent misconception, it may be further remarked, in the words of -Professor Staudenmaier, “The second creation (or scheme of redemption) -builds itself, on the one side, on _all that is indestructible_ in the -divine idea of man, as intelligence and freedom, and at the same time -labors to restore again that which was really lost by the original -transgression, viz., the supernatural principle and the justice and -holiness of life which stands in connection with it. Hence under the -scheme of redemption man comes to the perfection of his nature, in the -manner in which that perfection was contemplated in the divine idea (_in -der Idee gesetz war_), viz., as the union of grace and free will (_in der -Einheit von Freiheit und Gnade_).” (_Die Lehre von der Idee_, p. 923). - -The divine idea, then, is the exemplar or pattern of perfection -(προορισμος παραδειγμα, forma seu exemplar, _das Musterbild_) which, -under the scheme of redemption, man is called to realize. And his term -of probation, under the guidance and influence of God the Holy Ghost, is -so constituted as to be the trial of both his intellect and will, which -in man, as in God, are mutually co-operating and co-ordinate springs of -action. But though in man intellect and will must ever move hand in hand -and in mutual concert to determine his actions, yet it is possible for -him to go astray through the special fault of one or the other, and to -be found at the end of his probation not to be what he might and ought -to have been, as well through some special error of the understanding as -through some vicious act of the will. Hence, after that the sacrifice had -been paid which purchased man’s restoration to a state of grace, God the -Father, in the Son and through the Eternal Spirit, went on to provide the -aid that was found absolutely necessary to protect the erring intellect -and the infirm will, in order that men might be preserved in the state of -grace, be guided in it onward to their perfection, and be furnished with -the medicinal means of restoration in case they might fall from it. - -To this end the great society of the Catholic Church was instituted by -God the Son, and the command given to the Apostolic College to go forth -to collect and organize it out of all the nations of the earth: “As the -Father hath sent me, so send I you”; while the work of God the Holy Ghost -is the invisible imparting of spiritual gifts to the baptized members of -this society, according to the needs of their rank, position, ministry, -and functions; and the whole work is directed to the end that man may -issue out of his probation fulfilling and realizing the divine idea. - -Now, as God recognizes, in the probation of man, the trial of both -intellect and will, and wills that not without the free exercise of these -he should attain the perfection of his nature, our first parents, in -the state of innocence, would, from their then enjoying a communication -with heaven, possess, perhaps, partly through intuition, partly from -revelation, a knowledge of the divine Exemplar, into conformity with -which they were called to bring themselves. But when man fell and lost -the illumination of sanctifying grace, then the perception of the divine -ideal would be obscured and would cease to exist, except in the way of -the few mercifully-surviving glimpses of their higher destination, which -the history of our fallen race seems to indicate were never wholly lost. - -It must be obvious, then, that a clear and practical view of the divine -Exemplar, which we are required to resemble, is as much the natural guide -of the intellect in its probation as the view of the moral attributes -of God is that which wins the heart and leads captive the will. It was, -among other reasons, in order to place this Exemplar before us, that -the Eternal Son became man, and thus laid before the intellect of man, -in his own most sacred humanity, the incarnate Exemplar of that which -humanity was to aim at becoming during the course and at the issue of -its probation. And if a doubt could for a moment cross the mind as to -the question, What is the likeness or ideal that a Christian, as far as -the power is given to him, should seek to aim at bringing himself to -resemble? it is answered by the fact of the Incarnation of the Son of -God. He is the incarnate Exemplar, or Pattern, for our study. His sacred -humanity absolutely answers to the idea of God the Father; and they who, -through the aid of God the Holy Ghost, succeed in acquiring a resemblance -to this incarnate Pattern, will be found at the issue of their probation -so far to realize the end for which they were created. - -The sacred humanity of the Eternal Son being now no longer visible in -the same manner as in the days when he taught with his apostles in -Judæa, the church which he has founded has come to supply his place, -and, by her varied means of instruction, to bring the knowledge of this -divine Exemplar home to the minds of all. In the words of an author -quoted by Professor Möhler, the church is a continuation of Christ (_ein -fortgesetzer Christus_). - -And thus with the question of Christian song. The intellect must at once -feel that it needs a guide, and cannot be safely entrusted to itself. -Nor can this guide be any other than the divine idea. And here, of -course, it would be a manifest impiety for a human mind to attempt to -construct, _à priori_, an idea of music, and then to call its own work -the divine idea; for the whole value of the inquiry that is to follow is -built on the truth that the main features and the subsequently-detailed -constituent parts of the divine idea, as they have been laid down, are -what they claim to be; and so far as these are capable of being disputed, -the comparison will of course fail of its effect. Professor Staudenmaier -justly observes, in treating of the creation, “Both ideas, the divine -and the human, stand in this relation to each other: that God realizes -his own eternal idea of the world in the act of creation, while man has -to acquire his idea of the world from reasoning and an experimental -examination of the world as it exists after creation. As the idea, then, -to God is the first, and the world last, so, on the contrary, to man the -world is first and the idea last, as that, namely, which he has had to -gain for himself, as the result of a scientific examination of the divine -work” (_Die Christliche Dogmatik_, vol. iii. part 1, p. 42.) - -But if it be possible for the human mind to obtain a view of the divine -idea of the creation from the study of the world as it exists, it must be -also possible, in an analogous manner, to gain a view of the divine idea -of Christian music from the history of the church and the legislation of -councils, from the doctrine of the apostles and fathers of the church, -and, lastly, from the reason of the thing. The contrary supposition would -involve the inadmissible alternative that our divine Redeemer, who had -done so much to furnish our understanding with its needed measure of -guidance in the fact of his Incarnation and his living example, has left -us without any principle at all to serve as our guide in the choice and -employment of sacred music. This cannot be. The divine Teacher of mankind -cannot, for his mercy’s sake, have left us to ourselves in so important -a matter, that so much concerns the adoration he has himself taught us -to pay to his Father and the Holy Spirit. It must be possible, from his -own sacred words, from those of his inspired apostles, from the doctrine -of the fathers, from the history and legislation of the church, as well -as from our own Christian reason and instinct, as has been humbly and -imperfectly attempted in the ensuing inquiry, to gather a view of the -divine idea sufficiently clear and intelligible, sufficiently trustworthy -and decisive, to serve as a guide for the understandings of those who -feel the deep and dear interest of the question and their own liability -to fatal error, with all its destructive consequences. - -And if the means of acquiring such a view be open, it need not be said -how great a duty there is to search for it; and in whatever proportion -there be ground for believing that it has been, even though imperfectly, -attained, it becomes so far a duty--an element in our probation, as -well as a sacred and meritorious work, by every tender, considerate, -legitimate, and untiring endeavor, to seek to bring Catholic Church music -into conformity with it. - - -I. - -GENERAL STATEMENT OF THE BASIS OF THE COMPARISON. - -It would be surely a superfluous labor at the outset of an inquiry which -it is desirable should be as short and condensed as possible to prove, -in a learned manner, the great practical importance of the question, -What, under our present circumstances, is the wisest, the best, and the -most effectual use of music in the Catholic Church? The œcumenical and -provincial councils that have made ritual chant the subject of their -legislation; the authors, such as Cardinal Bona and Abbot Gerbertus, -subsequent to the Council of Trent, not to speak of those who lived -before it, who spent their lives in the study of all that Christian -antiquity has thought and written upon it; the line of illustrious Roman -pontiffs who made it their study, with a view to the true direction of -its use in the church, need but to be recalled to mind to place in its -true light the exceedingly practical importance of any controversy which -affects its efficiency or mode of employment in the Catholic Church.[113] -Moreover, if there were no such evidence of the importance of the -question at issue to be found in the history of the past, still the mere -obvious fact that vocal music enters so naturally into all the feelings -of humanity, and domesticates itself so easily in every people, would -be sufficient to explain its importance. People in any society are so -insensibly moulded by all that surrounds them, are so much the creatures -of the system in which they move, and grow up so naturally in conformity -with it, that in such a society as the Catholic Church, organized by -a divine wisdom, with a view to the training and instruction of its -members, it is simply impossible that an agency such as music, possessed -of such power for good or evil, could ever be regarded with indifference, -or that there should be no definite views with regard to it, and its -employment be abandoned to the indiscretion and caprice of individuals. - -A question of individual taste, then, the present inquiry cannot for an -instant be considered. Indeed, from the moment it were thus regarded -it would have lost its whole value. Persons are no doubt to be found -who would take a long journey and pay a large sum to hear Beethoven’s -music for the Ordinary of the Mass sung among the performances of a -music-meeting, who, as far as music was concerned, and setting aside the -miracle, would hardly care to go across the street to hear S. Gregory -sing Mass with his school of cantors, were they all to rise from the -dead. So that if music in the Catholic Church could for a moment be -considered as belonging of right to the dominion of individual taste, -further controversy, it is plain, would be so far quite out of the -question. The tastes of individuals, if not only devoid of rule, still do -not go by any rule sufficiently clear to be made the subject of a formal -controversy. - -But in the Catholic Church the question is not, and cannot be, one of -individual taste. When the divine Redeemer called his church to the work -of training every nation and people under heaven, and gave to it the gift -of sacred song, to be used as a powerful auxiliary agency in their work, -we are bound to conceive that there existed in his divine mind a clear -and definite intention, both relatively to the end it was intended to -accomplish in the midst of Christian society, and to its application to -this end as time should advance. - -Sacred song has certainly a mission to accomplish upon earth, as well as -the proper manner of its application to its proposed end; and both alike -have been, in common with the whole work of creation, from the beginning -contemplated and intended by Almighty God. - -Now, the end intended by Almighty God, in his work of redemption in this -world, as say theologians, is primarily the manifestation of his own -glory; and, secondarily, the re-establishment of order and virtue, piety -and sanctity, in human society, with a view to the life to come, or, in -other words, with a view to the true and eternal, as distinguished from -the false and fleeting, happiness of his creatures. From whence it would -seem to result that the true character of the ecclesiastical song and -its true application will be that in which it tends, in its own proper -degree, to become an auxiliary in the accomplishment of this great end. -Nor is it a second or a third rate efficaciousness that should be -deemed sufficient. For if Almighty God, as many theologians seem with so -much justice to say, not from any external necessity, but from his own -perfections, in virtue of which he is a law to himself, freely chooses -only those means that are _most_ efficacious to the end he proposes, so, -in like manner, the Catholic Church, filled as she is with the outpouring -of the divine Spirit, and called to the imitation of the divine -perfections, cannot but in like manner feel constrained to choose that -alone for her music which tends, with the best and most certain efficacy, -to the attainment of the end which God has designed in the gift. - -The foregoing remarks have, I hope, now laid the foundation on which the -proposed inquiry may be conducted. And I think I may be allowed to say -in the outset that an inquiry which has for its object to ascertain what -that may be in music and in the manner of its use which answers best -to the idea existing in the mind of God, unless it very much belie its -pretensions and profession, may justly claim respect; and that the whole -investigation is thus at once raised beyond the horizon of anything like -human partisanship, as well as the sphere of those little irritabilities -with which discussions upon music may so easily be disfigured. And -without at all presuming that the views here advocated ought necessarily -to be adopted, the inquiry is still not a valueless service rendered to -religion, if it succeed no further than in impressing upon the minds of -those into whose way it may fall the fundamental idea upon which it is -built, viz., that the mission of sacred song in the Catholic Church -is to realize, not the _ideas_ of men, which may and do differ in each -individual, but the _idea_ of the merciful and good God, who gave it for -his own purposes of mercy and benevolence. - -And since the idea, as it subsists in the mind of God, relative to the -use of song in the Catholic Church, is made the sole keystone of the -whole inquiry, as well to guard an avenue against possible misconceptions -as also the more clearly to lay the basis of the discussion, it will be -necessary to state, at a somewhat greater length, what the divine idea of -sacred song, in its first broad outline, may be taken to be. - -Sacred song, it has been said, is to be regarded as the musical associate -and auxiliary of the work of Christian instruction and sanctification -in the church. It cannot be anything or everything that is luscious or -pleasing in music; moreover, it is an idea that goes beyond the notion of -mere tune or melody, or even of the richest combination of sound that art -ever produced. Sacred song, in the divine idea, must be more than mere -music. For though it be true that tunes and other works of art in music -are so far things by themselves as to be capable of being written in -notation, and thus preserved, still it seems impossible that mere tunes -and mere music should answer to the divine idea of sacred song. - -When music has ceased to be mere sound; when it has been taken up by -the feelings and living intelligence of the human heart and mind; when -these have wedded it to themselves, have created in it a dwelling-place -and a home, and out of it have formed for themselves a second language -and range of expression; when the charm of melody has become the organ -of a living soul and an energetic intelligence, then there results the -birth of an element of the utmost power for good or evil in the heart -of human society; and it is in this power, Christianized and reduced to -subservience to the church, that there may be seen the first outline of -the divine idea of sacred song. - -This principle is thus stated by Mgr. Parisis, Bishop of Langres: - -“To preserve the true character of the ecclesiastical chant it is -necessary to recall to mind the following essential maxim: - - ‘_Music_ for _words_, and not _words_ for _music_.’ - -This is not the principle of worldly music, in which the words are often -nothing but the unperceived and insignificant auxiliary of the sound. - -“In religion this cannot be, because articulate language is the essential -basis of all outward worship, especially public worship. This is a -certain truth of both reason and tradition. It is a truth of reason; for -language, that marvellous faculty which the Creator has given to man -alone, is exclusively capable of finding an adequate expression for a -worship of spirit and truth. It is also a truth of tradition; for the -Catholic divine Offices have always been composed of words either drawn -from the Sacred Scriptures or consecrated by tradition and chosen by -the church. It is superfluous to press the demonstration of a principle -that has never even been contested by any sect of separatists and does -not admit of serious doubt” (_Pastoral Instruction on the Song of the -Church_, part ii.) - -The three great social convulsions of France have given a remarkable -proof of the above-mentioned power of song. Each called into being, and -was furthered in its rise and progress, by a song, _La Marseillaise_, -_La Parisienne_, and that whose well-known burden runs thus: - - “C’est le plus beau sort, le plus digne d’envie - Que de mourir pour la patrie.” - -Separate the words of these songs from their melodies, and the result -would probably be the insignificance of both. But unite them, see them -pass into the mouths and hearts of convulsed multitudes, observe men, -under the delirium of their influence, march up to the cannon’s mouth and -plunge themselves headlong into eternity, and we have an instance of what -is meant by saying that music, united to intelligence, is an agent of -nearly unlimited power for good or evil in human society. - -This, then, is the sense in which sacred song is to be viewed as -contemplated in the divine idea, viz., as the union of music with -thought, feeling, and intelligence; in the words of the apostle (1 Cor.), -_I will sing with the spirit, and I will sing with the understanding -also_--not, of course, as taking the understanding out of its natural -medium, language, but as clothing this its natural expression with a -superadded charm, and a charm too, as will be afterwards seen, which -has the gift of absorbing and, to a certain extent, of reproducing the -idea annexed to it. The church music which the divine idea contemplates -is that vocal song which Christian truth, in all its varied range, has -appropriated, has taken from the sphere of music and wedded to herself, -with the view of using the song thus associated to herself as the -instrument by which she may pass into the mouths of men, and in this -way find a home in their hearts. Analytically, then, in the sacred -song contemplated by the divine idea, two separate elements are to be -acknowledged--song and truth--but practically only one; for in practice -they are indissolubly linked together, and constitute one moral whole, as -body and soul together make up but one living being, to which, even more -than to the sacred architecture of a church, the beautiful sentiment of -the Ritual may be applied: - - “O sorte nupta prospera, - Dotata Patris gloria, - Respersa sponsi gratia, - Regina formosissima, - Christo jugata principi.” - - _De Ded. Eccl._ - -Turning now, with this view of sacred song, to inquire what the Catholic -Church possesses, after 1800 years of labor with the people of every -variety of race and climate, in realization of the idea above stated, -her various rituals, now for the most part withdrawn to make way for the -beautiful Ritual of the Roman Church, present themselves to view. These -rituals and their chant[114] have, we may be sure, at least in their day, -been in the church the fulfilment, imperfect indeed and inadequate, as -all that man does in this world necessarily is, yet still the fulfilment -of the divine idea with respect to song. More cannot be necessary in -support of this statement than the fact of the innumerable churches that -have overspread Christendom, and the innumerable companies of saintly men -whose lives were spent in the choirs of these churches--not, of course, -to the exclusion of other duties and spheres of labor, yet mainly spent -in the choral celebration of the offices of the Ritual and in all that -accessory labor of musical study and tuition which the organization of a -choir and the becoming celebration of the divine Office imply. The divine -idea, in accordance with which sacred song has a fixed and determinate -end to realize in the church, is the only way to account for this vast -phenomenon in the history of Christendom. Nothing but an idea in the mind -of God that sacred song is the living adjunct of the living truth, which -the Catholic Church was sent to teach, could have had the power to call -into being, not alone the rituals themselves and their song, but the -innumerable choirs of Christendom which have been gathered together and -governed by a more than human wisdom of organization for the purpose of -their celebration. - -Bearing in mind, then, that sacred song is the combination of music with -the words of inspired truth, I propose, in the ensuing inquiry, to draw -a detailed comparison between the Roman liturgy and its traditional -chant, on the one hand, and the works of the modern art of music, which -constitute the _corps de musique_, if I may use the expression now in -use, adapted as they are to parts of the liturgy, and in their own way -contributing to supply the want that is felt for sacred music; and this -with the view to ascertain, as far as may be, from the result of the -comparison, in which of the two the divine idea and intention is best -answered and fulfilled. The human mind will not, and indeed ought not to, -submit to any mere human idea, but ought willingly to accept the idea of -God; and hence nothing but the divine idea, and this alone, is or can be -the key to the present inquiry. - - -II - -THE COMPARISON CARRIED INTO ITS DETAILS. - -It has been already laid down that sacred song is the union of music -to the words of inspired truth, with the view of its thus becoming an -auxiliary in the work of Christian instruction and sanctification. - -Before passing on to the approaching details let us stop for a moment -fairly to consider the result of this principle as it affects the -comparison generally. - -Here, on the one hand, we have the _Canto Fermo_, with its vast variety -of music, embracing an equally varied range in the stores of divine -revelation, inasmuch as it is the counterpart in song of the entire -Ritual; on the other hand we have the works of modern music, of which -I am speaking, embracing scarcely more than a fraction of the Ritual. -With a vast numerical rather than a real variety in point of the one -constitutive element of sacred song--viz., music--they are poverty itself -as regards the other--viz., inspired truth--the _Kyrie_, _Gloria_, -_Credo_, _Sanctus_, and _Agnus Dei_, from the Ordinary of the Mass, and -a small number of hymns, antiphons, and scattered verses from the Holy -Scriptures, in the form of motets, being literally the sum-total of their -possession in this element. - -And now to carry the comparison into its details. The divine idea of -sacred song could not have been known to us without a revelation, the -very gift itself being, from its nature, the companion of a revelation. -We are not, therefore, as has been remarked in the introduction, thrown -upon our own natural powers of speculation either for our general -knowledge of the divine idea itself or for gaining an insight into its -constituent details; indeed, without revelation this would have been -altogether beyond our natural capacities. But since God became man and -founded his own society, the Catholic Church, and both taught himself -and placed inspired teachers in it to succeed him, the ideas of God as -to questions that concern the welfare of his church have, through the -Incarnation of the Son, been brought to the level of our capacities, -and are to be found in the Scripture and in Christian theology, and are -there to be sought for as occasion may require. Thus examined, then, -by the light of the Christian revelation, the divine idea of sacred -song will, without urging that these are co-extensive with it, admit -of being resolved into the ensuing points; the truth of which will be -proved separately, as they come forward successively in the course of the -comparison. They are as follows: - -I. Authority: 1, ecclesiastical; 2, moral. - -II. Claim to the completeness and order of a system. - -III. Moral fitness: 1, as a sacrificial song; 2, as a song for the -offices of the church. - -IV. Fitness for passing among the people as a congregational song. - -V. Moral influence in the formation of character. - -VI. The medium or vehicle for divine truth passing among the people. - -VII. Medicinal virtue. - -VIII. Capacities for durable popularity. - -IX. Security against abuse. - -X. Catholicity, or companionship of the Catholic doctrines over the globe. - -Upon these, then, the comparison may be now conducted. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - THE INTERNAL MISSION OF THE HOLY GHOST. By Henry Edward, - Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster. New York: The Catholic - Publication Society. 1875. - -Those who have read the most eminent prelate’s _Temporal Mission of -the Holy Ghost_ will know what a spiritual and intellectual feast is -before them in the present work, “which traces,” says the author, in his -dedicatory preface to the Oblates of S. Charles, “at least the outline of -the same subject.” - -“The former book,” he explains, “was on the special office of the Holy -Ghost in the one visible church, which is the organ of his divine voice. -The present volume deals with the universal office of the Holy Ghost in -the souls of men. The former or special office dates from the Incarnation -and the day of Pentecost; the latter or universal office dates from the -Creation, and at this hour still pervades by its operations the whole -race of mankind. It is true to say with S. Irenæus, ‘Ubi Ecclesia, ibi -Spiritus--Where the church is, there is the Spirit’; but it would not be -true to say, Where the church is not, neither is the Spirit there. The -operations of the Holy Ghost have always pervaded the whole race of men -from the beginning, and they are now in full activity even among those -who are without the church; for God ‘will have all men to be saved and -to come to the knowledge of the truth.’” - -“I have, therefore,” he continues, “in this present volume, spoken of -the universal office of which every living man has shared and does share -at this hour; and I have tried to draw the outline of our individual -sanctification.” - -And then, after expressing a hope that the Oblate Fathers may be “stirred -up to edit in one volume” certain great treatises, patristic and -scholastic, on the Holy Ghost and his gifts, as “a precious store for -students and for preachers”--a wish in which we most heartily concur--he -goes on to say: - -“My belief is that these topics have a special fitness in the XIXth -century. They are the direct antidote both of the heretical spirit -which is abroad and of the unspiritual and worldly mind of so many -Christians. The presence of the Holy Ghost in the church is the source -of its infallibility; the presence of the Holy Ghost in the soul is the -source of its sanctification. These two operations of the same Spirit -are in perfect harmony. The test of the spiritual man is his conformity -to the mind of the church. _Sentire cum Ecclesia_, in dogma, discipline, -traditions, devotions, customs, opinions, sympathies, is the countersign -that the work in our hearts is not from the diabolical spirit nor from -the human, but from the divine.” - -And again: - -“It would seem to me that the development of error has constrained the -church in these times to treat especially of the third and last clause -of the Apostles’ Creed: ‘I believe in the Holy Ghost, the Holy Catholic -Church, the Communion of Saints.’ The definitions of the Immaculate -Conception of the Mother of God, of the Infallibility of the Vicar of -Christ, bring out into distinct relief the twofold office of the Holy -Ghost, of which one part is his perpetual assistance in the church; the -other, his sanctification of the soul, of which the Immaculate Conception -is the first-fruits and the perfect examplar. - -“The living consciousness which the Catholic Church has that it is the -dwelling place of the Spirit of Truth and the organ of his voice seems to -be still growing more and more vividly upon its pastors and people as the -nations are falling away.” - -The work consists of seventeen chapters. The first two are headed -respectively “Grace the Work of a Person,” and “Salvation by Grace.” -Then follow three on the virtues of faith, hope, and charity. The sixth -treats of “The Glory of Sons.” From the seventh to the fourteenth we have -the “Seven Gifts of the Holy Ghost.” The fifteenth is on “The Fruits -of the Spirit”; the sixteenth on “The Beatitudes.” The last chapter -deals with “Devotion to the Holy Ghost.” We must refrain from making -citations from these chapters; for if we once began, we should find -it very difficult to stop. But we would draw special attention to the -ninth chapter, on the “Gift of Piety,” and again to the seventeenth, on -“Devotion to the Holy Ghost.” This devotion is one we have very much at -heart; for none, we are persuaded, can so help us to realize the presence -of God with and in us, and also the intimacy and tenderness of his love. -We believe, with the Ven. Grignon de Montfort, that devotion to the Holy -Ghost is to have a special growth, in union with devotion to his spouse, -Our Lady, in these last times of the church. - -We commend, then, this beautiful book to our readers as one of the most -valuable and at the same time delightful it can ever be their lot to -study. The happy language and luminous style of the author make his -works intelligible to the ordinary mind beyond those of most theological -writers. We trust that every encouragement will be given to the -circulation of this work in America. - -We have but to add that this is the only authorized American edition -of the work, having been printed from duplicate sets of the stereotype -plates of the London publishers. - - MARY, STAR OF THE SEA; or, A Garland of Living Flowers Culled - from the Divine Scriptures and Woven to the Honor of the Holy - Mother of God. A Story of Catholic Devotion. New York: The - Catholic Publication Society. 1875. - -It is scarcely necessary to say aught in praise of so old and -well-established a favorite as this, further than to mention that the -above is identical with the new and handsome London edition containing -the corrections and additions of the author. The original edition, -published in 1847, has been some time out of print, and the English -market was supplied from this country until the American plates were -consumed in the Boston fire. - -This is not like the common run of stories; the story is only a -slender thread, on which the garland of flowers culled by the pious -and gifted author in honor of the Most Holy Virgin Mary is strung. -The style is subdued, poetic, and devout, and there is just enough of -dramatic personality and incident to relieve the mind and interest -the imagination, while the reader follows the current of thought and -reflection and pious sentiment which chiefly demands his attention. - -We are now authorized to state that this work, which has heretofore -appeared anonymously, was written by Edward Healy Thompson, A.M., so -favorably known by the Library of Religious Biography, embracing Lives -of SS. Aloysius and Stanislaus Kostka, Anna Maria Taigi, etc., published -under his editorial and authorial supervision. - -This work is admirably adapted, both in matter and mechanical execution, -for premium purposes at the coming examinations. - - ADHEMAR DE BELCASTEL; or, Be Not Hasty in Judging. Translated - from the French by P. S., Graduate of S. Joseph’s, Emmettsburg. - New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875. - -Here is another book fit for a prize for those who win examination -honors, for which the youthful recipients will doubtless be duly -grateful. It is brought out in the usual tasteful style of the Society’s -publications. - - A TRACT FOR THE MISSIONS, ON BAPTISM AS A SACRAMENT IN THE - CATHOLIC CHURCH. By Rev. M. S. Gross. New York: The Catholic - Publication Society. 1875. - -The author’s design in this publication is to “treat, first, of the -valid manner of baptizing and the effect of baptism, as a sacrament of -the Catholic Church; and, secondly, of the necessity of baptism for all -persons, infants as well as adults.” - - THE VATICAN DECREES AND CIVIL ALLEGIANCE. - - THE TRUE AND FALSE INFALLIBILITY. - -The Catholic Publication Society has collected into two volumes the most -prominent pamphlets written in answer to Mr. Gladstone’s _Expostulation_ -and _Vaticanism_, and of those having a bearing on the controversy. The -first-named of these volumes embraces Cardinal Manning’s _The Vatican -Decrees in their Bearing on Civil Allegiance_; Dr. Newman’s _A Letter -Addressed to the Duke of Norfolk_, and the _Postscript_ to the same; -together with the _Decrees and Canons of the Vatican Council_. The second -includes _The True and False Infallibility_ of Bishop Fessler; _Mr. -Gladstone’s Expostulation Unravelled_, by Bishop Ullathorne; _Submission -to a Divine Teacher_, by Bishop Vaughan; _The Syllabus for the People_: -a review of the propositions condemned by his Holiness Pius IX., with -text of the condemned list, by a monk of S. Augustine’s, Ramsgate. The -works composing these volumes have already been separately noticed in our -pages. The present editions are printed on superior paper and are very -convenient in form for preservation and reference. - - PAPARCHY AND NATIONALITY. By Dr. Joseph P. Thompson. Pamphlet. - Reprinted from the _British Quarterly Review_. - -It is a very repulsive spectacle to behold when an American citizen -prostrates himself before a perfidious, unscrupulous brutal tyrant -like Bismarck. For a descendant and representative of the Puritans it -is an utter denial and abandonment of his own cause and the historical -position of his own sect. The noble attitude and language of some of the -distinguished Protestants of Prussia ought to put to shame this recreant -American. - - CRITERION; or, How to Detect Error and Arrive at Truth. By - Rev. J. Balmes. Translated by a Catholic Priest. New York: P. - O’Shea. 1875. - -We wish our reverend friend had told us his name, that we might know whom -to thank for this excellent translation of a work written by one who is -high in rank among the modern glories of the priesthood in Catholic -Spain and Europe. Balmes had his mind saturated with S. Thomas, and he -possessed an admirable gift for rendering the doctrine of the Angelical -Philosopher of Aquin intelligible and attractive to ordinary readers. -The _Criterion_ is an eminently intellectual and at the same time a most -practical treatise. The study and practice of its maxims and instructions -are fitted to make one wise both in the affairs of this life and those -connected more immediately with the perfection and salvation of the soul. -We beg of the translator to give us some more choice reading of the same -quality. - - THE LIFE OF FATHER BERNARD. By Canon Claessens, of the - Cathedral of Malines. Translated from the French. New York: The - Catholic Publication Society. 1875. - -The many persons who remember the celebrated Father Bernard, Provincial -of the Redemptorists in the United States, and director of a great many -of the missions given by his subjects from the year 1851, will be pleased -to read this biography. Father Bernard was a man of remarkable gifts -and very thorough, solid learning, but still more eminent for apostolic -zeal and personal sanctity. The late Archbishop Hughes had a very great -veneration for him, and said of him, in his terse, emphatic style, which -had more weight as he very seldom employed it in the praise of men: -“Father Bernard is a man of God.” Besides the labors of a long life, he -devoted a large fortune which he inherited to the service of religion. -He was more celebrated in the Low Countries, as a preacher in the French -and Flemish languages, than in the United States and Ireland, where he -was obliged to make use of German and English. The biography is very -interesting, and gives a full account of the earlier and later periods -of Father Bernard’s life and his holy death, which occurred at Wittem, -September 2, 1865, at the age of 58. The history of his administration -of the province of the United States is meagre, although this was the -most distinguished and useful portion of his public career. The appendix -contains an amusing letter describing the voyage of Father Bernard and -a band of Redemptorists from Liverpool to New York. Father Hecker and -Father Walworth came back on this occasion; and immediately afterwards, -during the Lent of 1851, the mission of S. Joseph’s, New York, was given, -which is famous and remembered even now. Father Bernard’s American -friends will be specially interested in the history of the closing scenes -of his life. His death was like that of the saints; and we may say -without exaggeration that he was in every way one of the worthiest of -the sons of his great father, S. Alphonsus, who have adorned the annals -of the Congregation he founded. The portrait at the head of the volume, -though not admirable as a work of art, is strikingly faithful to the -original. - - BRIEF BIOGRAPHIES. English Statesmen. Prepared by Thomas - Wentworth Higginson. New York: Putnams. 1875. - -We all know the charm of Col. Higginson’s style, and are familiar with -his many spirited sketches of scenes and men. Of course we expect a -treat when we open a book which bears his name, and the readers of the -very choice, elegant little volume before us will not be disappointed. -Gladstone, Disraeli, Bright, the Duke of Argyll, Lord Cairns, and a -number of other prominent English statesmen, are drawn to the life, and -numbers of sparkling anecdotes, bits of eloquent speech, and witticisms -are interspersed. It is a very readable book and extremely lively and -piquant. - - A LECTURE ON SCHOOL EDUCATION AND SCHOOL SYSTEMS. Delivered - before the Catholic Central Association of Cleveland, Ohio, by - Rt. Rev. B. J. McQuaid, D.D., Bishop of Rochester. Cleveland: - _Catholic Universe_ office. 1875. - - OUR PUBLIC SCHOOLS; ARE THEY FREE FOR ALL, OR ARE THEY NOT? A - lecture delivered by Hon. Edmund F. Dunne, Chief-Justice of - Arizona, in the Hall of Representatives, Tucson, Arizona. San - Francisco: Cosmopolitan Printing Co. 1875. - -The Catholic Association of Cleveland, we have heard, is an energetic -body, and exercised an active influence in securing the passage of -the bill lately passed by the Ohio Legislature securing the rights -of Catholics to the free exercise of religion in prisons and State -institutions. The Bishop of Rochester and his immediate neighbor, the -Bishop of Buffalo, are among the most efficient of our prelates in -promoting Catholic education; and the pamphlet of the first-mentioned -prelate, the title of which is given at the head of this notice, is a new -proof of his zeal and ability in this important controversy. - -The lecture of Chief Justice Dunne is a well-reasoned document, written -in a plain, direct, and popular style--that of a lawyer who both -understands his subject and the way of presenting it to an audience which -will make them understand it. - - HOW TO MAKE A LIVING. Suggestions upon the Art of Making, - Saving, and Using Money. By George Carey Eggleston. New York: - Putnams. 1875. - -This very small and neat book contains a great many practical and -sensible suggestions. - - THE STORY OF A CONVERT. By B. W. Whitcher, A.M. New York: P. - O’Shea. 1875. - -Those who have read the _Widow Bedott Papers_ have not forgotten that -humorous and extremely satirical production. The authorship of this -clever _jeu d’esprit_ was in common between Mr. Whitcher and his former -wife, a lady who died many years ago. Something of the piquant flavor -of that early work is to be found in _The Story of a Convert_. It is, -however, in the main, serious, argumentative, and remarkably plain and -straightforward. Mr. Whitcher was an Episcopalian minister. He became a -Catholic from reading, conviction, and the grace of God, which, unlike -many others, he obeyed at a great sacrifice. He has, since that time, -lived a laborious, self-denying, humble life as a Catholic layman; and -his arguments have therefore the weight of his good example to increase -their force. The fidelity to conscience of such men is a severe reproach -to the _dilettanti_ and amateur theologians who dabble for amusement in -pseudo-Catholicism, and are ready to sacrifice their consciences and -to mislead others to their eternal perdition for the sake of worldly -advantages. This little book is one well worthy of circulation, and -likely to do a great deal of good. We notice that the author mentions -the name of McVickar among the converts from the General Theological -Seminary. We have never heard of any convert of that name who was ever a -student at this seminary, and we think Mr. Whitcher’s memory must have -deceived him in this instance. We trust that this excellent little book -will find an extensive sale and the honesty of the author at least a few -imitators. - - THE ORPHAN’S FRIEND, ETC. By A. A. Lambing, late Chaplain to S. - Paul’s Orphan Asylum, Pittsburg. New York: D. & J. Sadlier & - Co. 1875. - -This series of plain, simple instructions in religion and morals is -intended, by a kind friend of the orphans, to be a guide to them when -they are sent forth into the world. The poor orphans certainly need all -the friends and all the sympathy and help they can get, and it was a good -thought in the pious author to prepare this excellent little book. - - THE OLD CHEST; or, The Journal of a Family of the French People - from the Merovingian Times to Our own Days. Translated from the - French by Anna T. Sadlier. New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1875. - - THE STRAW-CUTTER’S DAUGHTER, and THE PORTRAIT IN MY UNCLE’S - DINING-ROOM. Two Stories. Edited by Lady Georgiana Fullerton. - Translated from the French. Same publishers. - -The first of these pretty little volumes is quite unique in its idea. A -picture is given of French life and manners at the different epochs of -history, by a series of supposed narratives preserved and handed down -from father to son in an old chest, which was bequeathed by the last of -the family to a friend, who published its contents. It is not so good in -execution as in conception; for, indeed, it would require the hand of a -master to carry out such an idea successfully. Nevertheless it is quite -interesting and instructive reading. - -The two stories of the second volume are romantic, tragic, vividly told, -and quite original in conception. - - ESSAYS ON CATHOLICISM, LIBERALISM, AND SOCIALISM, considered - in their fundamental principles. By J. D. Cortes, Marquis of - Valdegamas. Translated from the Spanish by Rev. W. McDonald, - A.B., S.Th.L., Rector of the Irish College, Salamanca. Dublin: - W. B. Kelly. 1874. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication - Society.) - -We do not ordinarily feel called upon to speak of _new editions_, but in -the present instance the book under notice is also a new translation of -a valuable work. These _Essays_ were translated by an accomplished lady -in this country several years since; but as the work was not issued by a -Catholic house, it may have escaped the attention of many of our readers -who would be glad to make its acquaintance. We perceive that the original -work was submitted to the approval of one of the Benedictine theologians -at Solesmes, and that Canon Torre Velez has, in an appreciative -introduction, discussed the plan and analysis of the work, so that the -reader is pretty well certified of the value and correctness of the -opinions advanced. - -The title of the first chapter, “How a great question of theology is -always involved in every great political question,” shows what a direct -bearing the work has on topics of permanent interest. - -We have a special reason for wishing that this and similar works may be -widely known, in the fact that Spain--intellectually, more, perhaps, than -physically--is so much a _terra incognita_ to the rest of the world. - - DOMUS DEI: A Collection of Religious and Memorial Poems. By - Eleanor C. Donnelly. Philadelphia: Peter F. Cunningham & Son. - 1875. - -This volume is published “for the benefit of the Church of S. Charles -Borromeo,” in course of erection at Philadelphia. The authoress is -already before the public. - -Among the “religious” poems is one entitled “Bernadette at the Grotto of -Lourdes.” They are all pleasant reading. The “memorial” poems, again, -will be considered by many the choicest part of the book. - -We wish the volume an extensive patronage. - - -THE IRISH WORLD. - -It is not customary nor ordinarily proper for a magazine to engage -in controversies which are waged among newspapers. Nevertheless, the -one in which the _Irish World_ is engaging itself with a considerable -number of our Catholic newspapers is of such unusual importance and -violence that we trust we may be permitted to make a few remarks upon it. -Disunion, division of sentiment founded on differences of nationality -and race, extreme partisan contests on any pretext whatever, and violent -hostilities, among those who profess the Catholic religion, especially -just at this time and in this country, are to be deprecated as more -injurious to the cause of the faith and church of God than any amount -of opposition from professed enemies of the Catholic religion. These -can only be avoided by adopting and following out pure and perfect -Catholic principles In all things whatsoever, and making the Catholic -rule of submission to lawful authority, and conformity to the Catholic -tradition, the Catholic spirit, and the common-sense which pervades the -whole body of sound, loyal, hearty Catholics everywhere, without any -exception or reservation, the standard of judgment and the law of action. -It is necessary to be first a Catholic and afterwards French, German, -American, English, or Irish, as the case may be; to be first of all -sure that we understand and receive the teaching and the spirit of the -Catholic Church, in theology, philosophy, morals, politics, and that we -make her rights and interests, her advancement and glory, the spiritual -and eternal good of the whole human race, the triumph of Jesus Christ, -and the glory of God, paramount to everything. Secondary interests, and -ideas, opinions, projects, which spring merely from private conviction -or characterize nationalities, schools, parties, associations of human -origin, should always be subordinate and be kept under the control of the -higher principles of Catholic unity, charity, and enlightened regard for -the rights of all men. This is the only true liberality. Liberalism, as -it is called, which is nothing else than the detestable, anti-Christian -Revolution, destroys all this by subverting the principle of order, which -alone secures harmony, a just equality, and the rights of all. What is -called Catholic liberalism, and has been denounced by Pius IX. as more -dangerous and mischievous among Catholics than any open heresy could be, -is a system of independence of Catholic authority, and of separation from -the Catholic common doctrine and sentiment, of disrespect, disloyalty, -irreverence, disobedience, and opposition to the hierarchy and the Holy -See, in those things which are not categorically defined as articles of -faith, yet, nevertheless, are doctrinally or practically determined by -authority. - -We have not been in much danger in this country from any clique of -ecclesiastical and theological liberals. But the line adopted by the -_Irish World_ shows an imminent danger from another quarter. The -editor professes submission to the authority of the Catholic Church in -respect to the faith, and those precepts of religion and morals which -are essential. We give him credit for sincerity and honesty and for -good intentions. These are not, however, sufficient guarantees against -principles and opinions which are erroneous, logically incompatible -with doctrines of faith, tending to subvert faith in the minds of his -readers, and producing an irreverent and disloyal spirit contrary to the -true Christian and Catholic submission and respect to the prelates and -the priesthood which is commanded by the law of God. If the respected -gentleman who edits the _Irish World_ desires to employ his talents and -zeal to a really noble and useful purpose, with success and honor, for -the spiritual and temporal welfare of men of his own race and religion, -we recommend to him, in a friendly spirit, to modify some of his ideas -in a more Catholic sense, and to take counsel from those who understand -thoroughly the doctrine and spirit of the Catholic Church. Much greater -men than any of us--Jansenius, De Lamennais, Döllinger, and a host -of others--began by professing to be Catholics in _faith_. But they -preferred their own private notions in respect to certain reforms in -doctrine, discipline or morals, and politics, which they considered to be -necessary and important, to the judgment of their spiritual rulers and -the common Catholic sense. Their end was in heresy or apostasy, and they -misled to their ruin those who followed them. We trust we shall be spared -the misfortune of seeing a falling away from the faith of any part of the -Catholic race of Ireland, either at home or in other countries. They are -in no danger of perversion to Protestantism, nor are they at present -assailable by open and avowed enemies of religion. It is by hidden poison -only that they can be gradually infected and destroyed. This poison must -disguise itself in some way as Liberal Catholicism. This is precisely -the lurking poison which the unerring Catholic instinct has detected in -the specious, pseudo-Christian, pseudo-Scriptural, pseudo-Catholic, and -pseudo-Irish communism into which the conductors of the _Irish World_ -have been unwittingly betrayed. A journal so extensively circulated must -necessarily, unless purged from this foreign and noxious element, do a -great deal of harm. If the good sense, honesty, and Catholic faith of -its editors are strong enough to free them from the specious illusions -of Liberalism, the _Irish World_ is in a condition to exert a very great -and extensive influence for good, and we shall heartily wish it success. -We approve of the free and generous activity of laymen in associations -and through the press. Nevertheless, the great liberty enjoyed by them -is liable to misdirection, and it is very necessary to guard against -disorders which may spring from its abuse. - - * * * * * - -“Sacerdos” is requested to send his address to the editor of THE CATHOLIC -WORLD, who will be happy to answer his note in a private letter. - - -BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS RECEIVED. - - From G. P. PUTNAM’S Sons: The Maintenance of Health. By J. M. - Fothergill, M.D. 12mo, pp. 362. Protection and Free Trade. By - Isaac Butts, 12mo, pp. 190. Religion as affected by Modern - Materialism. 18mo, pp. 68. - - From KELLY, PIET & CO.: Meditations of the Sisters of Mercy, - before the Renewal of Vows. By the late Rt. Rev. Dr. Grant, - Bishop of Southwark (Reprinted from an unpublished edition of - 1863.) 18mo, pp. 116. - - From R. WASHBOURNE, London: Rome and Her Captors. Letters - collected by Count Henry D’Ideville. 1875. 12mo, pp. 236. - - From D. & J. SADLIER & CO., New York: The Month of S. Joseph; - or, Exercises for each day of the month of March. By the Rt. - Rev. M. de Langalerie, Bishop of Belley. 1875. - - From BURNS & OATES, London: Jesus Christ, the Model of the - Priest. From the Italian, by the Rt. Rev. Mgr. Patterson. 24mo, - pp. 103. - - From MCGLASHAN & GILL, Dublin: The History of the Great Irish - Famine of 1847. By the Rev. J. O’Rourke. 12mo, pp. xxiv., 559. - - From LEE & SHEPARD, Boston: The Island of Fire. By Rev. P. C. - Headley. 12mo, pp. 339. - - From THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY, New York: The Spirit of - Faith; or, What must I do to Believe? Five Lectures, delivered - at S. Peter’s, Cardiff, by the Rt. Rev. Bishop Hedley. O.S.B. - 12mo, pp. 104. - - - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XXI., No. 124.--JULY, 1875. - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875. by Rev. I. T. -HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. - - -SPACE. - -I. - -Mathematicians admit three kinds of continuous quantities, viz., the -quantity of space measured by local movement, the quantity of time -employed in the movement, and the quantity of change in the intensity -of the movement. Thus all continuity, according to them, depends on -movement; so that, if there were no continuous movement, nothing could -be conceived as continuous. The ancient philosophers generally admitted, -and many still admit, a fourth kind of continuous quantity, viz., the -quantity of matter; but it is now fully demonstrated that bodies of -matter are not, and cannot be, materially continuous, even in their -primitive molecules, and that therefore the quantity of matter is not -continuous, but consists of a discrete number of primitive material -units. Hence, matter is not divisible _in infinitum_, and gives no -occasion to infinitesimal quantities, except inasmuch as the volumes, or -quantities of space, occupied (not filled) by matter are conceived to -keep within infinitesimal dimensions. We may, therefore, be satisfied -that space, time, and movement alone are continuous and infinitely -divisible, and that the continuity of space and time, as viewed by the -mathematicians, is essentially connected with the continuity of movement. -But space measured by movement is a _relative_ space, and time--that is, -the duration of movement--is a _relative_ duration; and since everything -relative presupposes something absolute which is the source of its -relativity, we are naturally brought to inquire what is _absolute_ space -and _absolute_ duration; for, without the knowledge of the absolute, the -relative can be only imperfectly understood. Men of course daily speak -of time and of space, and understand what they say, and are understood -by others; but this does not show that they know the intimate nature, or -can give the essential definition, of either time or space. S. Augustine -asks: “What is time?” and he answers: “When no one asks me, I know what -it is; but when you ask me, I know not.” The same is true of space. -We know what it is; but it would be hard to give its true definition. -As, however, a true notion of space and time and movement cannot but -be of great service in the elucidation of some important questions of -philosophy, we will venture to investigate the subject, in the hope -that by so doing we may contribute in some manner to the development -of philosophical knowledge concerning the nature of those mysterious -realities which form the conditions of the existence and vicissitudes of -the material world. - -_Opinions of Philosophers about Space._--Space is usually defined “a -capacity of bodies,” and is styled “full” when a body actually occupies -that capacity, “void,” or “empty,” when no body is actually present -in it. Again, a space which is determined by the presence of a body, -and limited by its limits, is called “real,” whilst the space which is -conceived to extend beyond the limits of all existing bodies is called -“imaginary.” - -Whether this definition and division of space is as correct as it is -common, we shall examine hereafter. Meanwhile, we must notice that there -is a great disagreement among philosophers in regard to the reality -and the essence of space. Some hold, with Descartes and with Leibnitz, -that space is nothing else than the extension of bodies. Others hold -that space is something real, and really distinct from the bodies by -which it is occupied. Some, as Clarke, said that space is nothing but -God’s immensity, and considered the parts of space as parts of divine -immensity. Fénelon taught that space is virtually contained in God’s -immensity, and that immensity is nothing but unlimited extension--which -last proposition is much criticised by Balmes[115] on the ground that -extension cannot be conceived without parts, whereas no parts can be -conceived in God’s immensity. - -Lessius, in his much-esteemed work on God’s perfections, after having -shown (contrary to the opinion of some of his contemporaries) that God -by his immensity exists not only within but also without the world, puts -to himself the following objection: “Some will say, How can God be in -those spaces outside the skies, since no spaces are to be found there -which are not fictitious and imaginary?” To which he answers thus: “We -deny that there are not outside of the whole world any true intervals -or spaces. If air or light were diffused throughout immensity outside -of the existing world, there would certainly be true spaces everywhere; -and in the same manner, if there is a Spirit filling everything outside -of this world, there will be true and real spaces, not corporeal but -spiritual, which, however, will not be really distinct from one another, -because a Spirit does not extend through space by a distribution of -parts, but fills it, so to say, by its totalities.… Hence, when we say -that God is outside of the existing world, and filling infinite spaces, -or that God exists in imaginary spaces, we do not mean that God exists -in a fictitious and chimerical thing, nor do we mean that he exists in a -space really distinct from his own being; but we mean that he exists in -the space which his immensity formally extends, and to which an infinite -created space may correspond.… We may therefore distinguish space into -_created_, _uncreated_, and _imaginary_. Created space embraces the whole -corporeal extension of the material world. Uncreated space is nothing -less than divine immensity itself, which is the primitive, intrinsic, and -fundamental space, on the existence of which all other spaces depend, and -which by reason of its extension is equivalent to all possible corporeal -spaces, and eminently contains them all. Imaginary space is that which -our imagination suggests to us as a substitute for God’s immensity, which -we are unable to conceive in any other wise. For, just as we cannot -conceive God’s eternity without imagining infinite time, so neither can -we conceive God’s immensity without imagining infinite space.”[116] - -Boscovich, in his _Theory of Natural Philosophy_, defines space as “an -infinite possibility of ubications,” but he does not say anything in -regard to the manner of accounting for such a possibility. Others, as -Charleton, were of opinion that real space is constituted by the real -ubication of material things, and imaginary space by the actual negation -of real ubications. - -Among the modern authors, Balmes, with whom a number of other -philosophers agree on this subject, gives us his theory of space in the -following propositions: - -“1st. Space is nothing but the extension of bodies themselves. - -“2d. Space and extension are identical notions. - -“3d. The parts which we conceive in space are particular extensions, -considered as existing under their own limits. - -“4th. The notion of infinite space is the notion of extension in all its -generality--that is, as conceived by the abstraction of all limits. - -“5th. Indefinite space is a figment of our imagination, which strives -to follow the intellectual process of generalization by destroying all -limits. - -“6th. Where no body exists, there is no space. - -“7th. Distance is the interposition of a body, and nothing more. - -“8th. If the body interposed vanishes, all distance vanishes, and -contiguity, or absolute contact, will be the result. - -“9th. If there were two bodies only, they would not be distant; at least, -we could not intellectually conceive them as distant. - -“10th. A vacuum, whether of a large or of a small extent, whether -accumulated or scattered, is an absolute impossibility.”[117] - -These assertions form the substance of Balmes’ theory of space. But he -wisely adds: “The apparent absurdity of some of these conclusions, and -of others which I shall mention hereafter, leads me to believe either -that the principle on which my reasonings rest is not altogether free -from error, or that there is some latent blunder in the process of the -deduction.”[118] - -Lastly, to omit other suppositions which do not much differ from the ones -we have mentioned, Kant and his followers are of opinion that space is -nothing but a subjective form of our mind, and an intuition _a priori_. -Hence, according to them, no real and objective space can be admitted. - -Amid this variety and discord of opinions, we can hardly hope to -ascertain the truth, and satisfy ourselves of its reality, unless we -settle a few preliminary questions. It is necessary for us to know, -first, whether any vacuum is or is not to be admitted in nature; then, we -must know whether such a vacuum is or is not an objective reality. For, -if it can be established that vacuum is mere nothingness, the consequence -will be that all real space is necessarily and essentially filled with -matter, as Balmes and others teach; if, on the contrary, it can be -established that vacuum exists in nature, and has an objective reality, -then it will follow that the reality of space does not arise from the -presence of bodies, and cannot be confounded with their extension. In -this case, Balmes’ theory will fall to the ground, and we shall have -to borrow from Lessius and Fénelon, if not the whole solution of the -question, at least the main conceptions on which it rests. - -_Existence of Void Space._--The first thing we must ascertain is the -existence or non-existence of vacuum in nature. _Is there any space in -the world not occupied by matter?_ - -Our answer must be affirmative, for many reasons. First, because without -vacuum local movement would be impossible. In fact, since matter does not -compenetrate matter, no movement can take place in a space full of matter -unless the matter which lies on the way gives room to the advancing -body. But such a matter cannot give room without moving; and it cannot -move unless some other portion of matter near it vacates its place to -make room for it. This other portion of matter, however, cannot make -room without moving; and it cannot move unless another portion of matter -makes room for it; and so on without end, or at least till we reach the -outward limits of the material world. Hence, if there is no vacuum, a -body cannot begin to move before it has shaken the whole material world -throughout and compelled it to make room for its movement. Now, to make -the movement of a body dependent on such a condition is absurd; for the -condition can never be fulfilled. In fact, whilst the movement of the -body cannot begin before room is made for it, no room is made for it -before the movement has begun; for it is by moving that the body would -compel the neighboring matter to give way. The condition is therefore -contradictory, and can never be fulfilled, and therefore, if there is no -vacuum, no local movement is possible. - -Secondly, it has been proved in one of our articles on matter[119] that -there is no such thing in the world as material continuity, and that -therefore all natural bodies ultimately consist of simple and unextended -elements. It is therefore necessary to admit that bodies owe their -extension to the intervals of space intercepted between their primitive -elements, and therefore there is a vacuum between all the material -elements. This reason is very plain and cannot be questioned, as the -impossibility of continuous matter has been established by such evident -arguments as defy cavil. - -Thirdly, bodies are compressible, and, when compressed, occupy less -space--that is, their matter or mass is reduced to a less volume. -Now, such a reduction in the volume of a body does not arise from -material compenetration. It must therefore depend on a diminution of -the distances, or void intervals, between the neighboring particles of -matter. - -Fourthly, it is well known that equal masses can exist under unequal -volumes, and _vice versa_--that is, equal quantities of matter may occupy -unequal spaces, and unequal quantities of matter may occupy equal spaces. -This shows that one and the same space can be more or less occupied, -according as the density of the body is greater or less. But the same -space cannot be more or less occupied if there is no vacuum. For, if -there is no vacuum, the space is _entirely_ occupied by the matter, -and does not admit of different degrees of occupation. It is therefore -evident that without vacuum it is impossible to account for the specific -weights and unequal densities of bodies. - -Against this, some may object that what we call “vacuum” may be full of -imponderable matter, say, of ether, the presence of which cannot indeed -be detected by the balance, but is well proved by the phenomena of heat, -electricity, etc. To which we answer, that the presence of ether between -the molecules of bodies does not exclude vacuum; for ether itself is -subject to condensation and rarefaction, as is manifest by its undulatory -movements; and no condensation or rarefaction is possible without vacuum, -as we have already explained. - -Another objection against our conclusion may be the following: Simple -elements, if they be attractive, can penetrate through one another, as -we infer from the Newtonian law of action. Hence, the possibility of -movement does not depend on the existence of vacuum. We answer, that -the objection destroys itself; for whoever admits simple and unextended -elements, must admit the existence of vacuum, it being evident that no -space can be filled by unextended matter. We may add, that natural bodies -and their molecules do not exclusively consist of attractive elements, -but contain a great number of repulsive elements, to which they owe their -impenetrability. - -The ancients made against the existence of a vacuum another objection, -drawn from the presumed necessity of a true material contact for -the communication of movement. Vacuum, they said, is _contra bonum -naturæ_--that is, incompatible with the requirements of natural order, -for it prevents the interaction of bodies. This objection need hardly -be answered, as it has long since been disposed of by the discovery of -universal gravitation and of other physical truths. As we have proved in -another place that “distance is an essential condition of the action of -matter upon matter,”[120] we shall say nothing more on this point. - -_Objective Reality of Vacuum._--The second thing we must ascertain -is _whether space void of matter be a mere nothing, or an objective -reality_. Though Balmes and most modern philosophers hold that vacuum is -mere nothingness, we think with other writers that the contrary can be -rigorously demonstrated. Here are our reasons. - -First, nothingness is not a region of movement. But vacuum is a region of -movement. Therefore, vacuum is not mere nothingness. The minor of this -syllogism is manifest from what we have just said about the impossibility -of movement without vacuum, and the major can be easily proved. For, -the interval of space which is measured by movement may be greater or -less, whilst it would be absurd to talk of a greater or a less nothing; -which shows that vacuum cannot be identified with nothingness. Again, -void space can be really occupied, whilst it would be absurd to say that -nothingness is really occupied, for occupation implies the presence of -that which occupies in that which is occupied; hence, the occupation of -nothingness would be the presence of a thing to nothing. But presence -to nothing is no presence at all, just as relation to nothing is no -relation. And therefore, the occupation of void space, if vacuum were a -mere nothing, would be an evident contradiction. Moreover, nothingness -has no real attributes, whereas real attributes are predicated of void -space. We find no difficulty in conceiving void space as infinite, -immovable, and virtually extended in all directions; whilst the -conception of an extended nothing and of an infinite nothing is an utter -impossibility. Whence we conclude that space void of matter is not a mere -nothing. - -Secondly, a mere nothing cannot be the foundation of a real relation: -space void of matter is the foundation of a real relation; therefore, -space void of matter is not a mere nothing. In this syllogism the -major is quite certain; for all real relation has a real foundation, -from which the correlated terms receive their relativity. Now, all -real foundation is something real. On the other hand, nothingness is -nothing real. Therefore, a mere nothing cannot be the foundation of a -real relation. The minor proposition is no less certain, because space -founds the relation of distance between any two material points, which -relation is certainly real. In fact, that on account of which a distant -term is related to another distant term, is the possibility of movement -from the one to the other--that is, the possibility of a series of -successive ubications between the two terms, without which no distance is -conceivable. But the possibility of successive ubications is nothing else -than the successive occupability of space, or space as occupable. And -therefore, occupable space, or space void of matter, is the foundation of -a real relation, and accordingly is an objective reality. - -Thirdly, if vacuum were mere nothingness, no real extension could be -conceived as possible. For, since all bodies are ultimately composed of -elements destitute of extension, as has been demonstrated at length in -our articles on matter, and since the primitive elements cannot touch one -another mathematically without compenetration, the extension of bodies -cannot be accounted for except by the existence of void intervals of -space between neighboring elements. But, if vacuum is a mere nothing, -all void intervals of space are nothing, and nothing remains between -the neighboring elements; and if nothing remains between them, all the -elements must be in mathematical contact, and therefore unite in a single -indivisible point, as even Balmes concedes. Whence it is evident that the -existence of real extension implies the objective reality of vacuum. We -conclude, therefore, that space void of matter is not a mere nothing, but -an objective reality. - -Against this proposition some objections are made by the upholders of a -different doctrine. In the first place, distance, they say, is a mere -negation of contact; and since a mere negation is nothing, there is no -need of assuming that vacuum is a reality. - -We answer, that, if distance were a mere negation of contact, there would -be no different distances; for the negation of contact does not admit -of degrees, and cannot be greater or less. Distances may be, and are, -greater or less. Therefore, distance is not a mere negation of contact. -The negation of contact shows that the terms of the relation are distinct -in space; for distinction in space is the negation of a common ubication. -But the distinction of the terms, though a necessary condition for the -existence of the relation, does not constitute it. Hence, the relation -of distance presupposes, indeed, the distinction of the terms and the -negation of contact, but formally it results from a positive foundation -by which the terms are linked together in this or that determinate -manner. If the interval between two material points were nothing, a -greater interval would be a greater nothing, and a less interval a less -nothing. We presume that no philosopher can safely admit a doctrine which -leads to such a conclusion. - -A second objection is as follows: It is possible to have distance without -any vacuum between the distant terms. For, if the whole space between -those terms were full of matter, their distance would be all the more -real, without implying the reality of vacuum. - -We answer, first, that, to fill space, continuous matter would be needed; -and, as continuous matter has no existence in nature, no space can be -filled with matter so as to exclude real vacuum. We answer, secondly, -that, were it possible to admit continuous matter, filling the whole -interval of space between two distant terms, the reality of that -interval would still remain independent of the matter by which it is -assumed to be filled; for matter is not space; and, on the other hand, -if all the matter which is supposed to fill the interval be removed, the -distance between the terms will not vanish; which shows that the filling -of space, even if it were not an impossible task, would not in the least -contribute to the constitution of real distances. Hence, space, even if -it were assumed to be full of matter, would not found the relation of -distance by its fulness, but only by its being terminated to distinct -terms, so as to leave room between them for a certain extension of local -movement. - -A third objection may be the following: True though it is that real -attributes are predicated of void space, it does not follow that void -space is an objective reality. For, when we say that space, as such, -is infinite, immovable, etc., we must bear in mind that we speak of a -potential nature, and that those predicates are only potential. Again, -though we must admit that void space can be measured by movement, we know -that such a mensuration is not made by terms of space, but by terms of -matter. Lastly, although space is the capacity of receiving bodies, it -does not follow that there is in space any receptive reality; for its -capacity is sufficiently accounted for by admitting that space becomes -real by its very occupation.[121] - -To the first point of this objection we answer, that space may, perhaps, -be called a “potential nature” in this sense, that it is susceptible of -new extrinsic denominations; but if by “potential nature” the objector -means to express a potency of being, and to convey the idea that such a -nature is not real, then it is absolutely wrong to say that void space -is a potential nature. Space is not in a state of possibility, and never -has been, as we shall presently show. Hence the predicates, _infinite_, -_immovable_, etc., by which the nature of space is explained, express -the actual attributes of an actual reality. The author from whom we have -transcribed this objection says that such predicates of space are real, -not _objectively_, but only _subjectively_. He means, if we understand -him aright, that the reality of such predicates must be traced to the -bodies which occupy space, not to space itself, and that, though we -conceive those predicates to be real owing to the real bodies we see -in space, yet they are not real in space itself. As for us, we cannot -understand how “to be _infinite_, to be _immovable_, to be _occupable_, -etc.,” can be the property of any body which occupies space, or be the -property of space, by reason of its occupation and not by reason of its -own intrinsic nature. Space must be really occupable before it is really -occupied; and nothing is really occupable which is not real, as we have -already established. Whence we conclude that this part of the objection, -as confounding the possibility of occupation with the possibility of -being, has no weight. - -To the second point we answer, that the thing mensurable should not be -confounded with that by which it can be measured. Whatever may be the -nature of the measure to be employed in measuring, no mensuration is -possible unless the mensurable is really mensurable. Hence, no matter by -what measure space is to be measured, it is always necessary to concede -that, if it is really measured, it is something real. The assertion that -space is measured “by terms of matter” can scarcely have a meaning. -Terms, in fact, measure nothing, but are merely the beginning and the end -of the thing measured. Space is measured by continuous movement, not by -terms of matter; but before it is thus measured, it is mensurable; and -its mensurability sufficiently shows its objective reality.[122] - -To the third point of the objection we reply, that space is not a -_subject_ destined to receive bodies; and therefore it is not to be -called “a capacity of _receiving_ bodies.” Hence, we admit that space has -no “receptive” reality. But there are realities which are not receptive, -because they are not intrinsically potential; and such is the reality -of space, as we shall hereafter explain. With regard to the assertion -that “space becomes real by its very occupation,” we observe that, if -space void of matter is nothing, as the objection assumes, it is utterly -impossible that it become a reality by the presence of bodies in it. The -presence of a body in space is a real relation of the body to the space -occupied; and such a relation presupposes two real terms--that is, a -real body and a real space. If space, as such, is nothing, bodies were -created in nothing, and occupy nothing. Their volumes will be nothings -of different sizes, their dimensions nothings of different lengths, and -their movements the measurement of nothing. It is manifest that real -occupation presupposes real occupability, and real mensuration real -mensurability; and, since mensurability implies quantity (_virtual_ -quantity, at least), to say that occupable and mensurable space is -nothing, is to pretend that nothingness implies quantity--a thing which -we, at least, cannot understand. Moreover, to consider void space as -a potency of being, destined to become a reality through the presence -of bodies, is no less a blunder than to admit that the absolute is -nothing until it becomes relative, or to admit the relative without the -absolute. In fact, the space occupied by a body is a relative space, -as its determination depends on the relative dimensions of the body. -On the other hand, the relative dimensions of the body are themselves -dependent on space, for without space there are no dimensions; and the -space on which such relative dimensions depend must be a reality in -itself, independently of the same dimensions, it being evident that -the dimensions of the body cannot bestow reality upon that which is -the source of their own reality. To say the contrary is to destroy the -principle of causality, by making the absolute reality of the cause -dependent on the reality of its effects. The assertion that “the absolute -is nothing until it becomes relative,” leads straight to Pantheism. If -you say that absolute space is nothing until it is occupied by bodies, -and thus actuated and exhibited under determinate figures, the Pantheist -will say, with as much reason, that the absolute being is nothing until -it is evolved in nature, and thus actuated and manifested under different -aspects. If you say that absolute space, as such, is but an imaginary -conception, he will draw the inference that absolute being, as such, -is similarly a mere figment of our brains. If you say that the only -reality of space arises from its figuration and occupation, he will claim -the right of concluding, in like manner, that the only reality of the -absolute arises from its evolution and manifestation. We might dilate a -great deal more on this parallel; for everything that the deniers of the -reality of void space can say in support of their view can be turned to -account by the deniers of a personal God, and be made to serve the cause -of German Pantheism--the manner of reasoning of the latter being exactly -similar to that of the former. This is a point of great importance, and -to which philosophers would do well to pay a greater attention than was -done in other times, if they admit, in the case of space, that “the -absolute is nothing until it becomes relative,” they will have no right -to complain of the Pantheistic applications of their own theory. - -_Vacuum unmade._--The third thing we have to ascertain is, _whether void -space, absolutely considered as to its reality, be created or uncreated_. -This point can be easily settled. Those who say that vacuum has no -objective reality have, of course, no alternative. For them, vacuum must -be uncreated. But they are probably not prepared to hear that we too, who -defend the reality of void space, do not differ from them in the solution -of this question. - -To prove that space void of matter is not created, the following plain -reasons may be adduced. First, space void of matter is neither a material -nor a spiritual creature. It is no material creature; for it excludes -matter. It is no spiritual creature; for, whether there be spiritual -creatures or not, it is necessary to admit occupable space. - -Secondly, no created thing is immovable, unchangeable, and unlimited. -Absolute space is evidently immovable, unchangeable, and unlimited. -Therefore, absolute space is not a product of creation. - -Thirdly, space considered absolutely as it is in itself, exhibits an -infinite and inexhaustible possibility of real ubications. But such a -possibility is to be found nowhere but in God alone, in whom all possible -things have their formal possibility. And therefore, the reality of -absolute space is all in God alone; and accordingly, such a reality not -only is not, but could never be, created. - -Fourthly, whatever is necessary, is uncreated and eternal. Space -considered absolutely as it is in itself is something necessary. -Therefore, absolute space is uncreated and eternal. The major of this -syllogism is evident; the minor is thus proved: Space absolutely -considered is nothing else than the formal possibility of real -ubications; but the possibility of things contingent is necessary, -uncreated, and eternal; for all contingent things are possible before -any free act of the creator, since their intrinsic possibility does not -depend on God’s volition, as Descartes imagined, but only on his essence -as distinctly and comprehensively understood by the divine intellect. - -Our next proposition will afford a fifth proof of this conclusion. -Meanwhile, we beg of our reader not to forget the restriction by which we -have limited our present question. We have spoken of space _absolutely -considered_ as it is in itself--that is, of absolute space. Our -conclusion, if applied to relative space, would not be entirely true; for -relative space implies the existence of at least two contingent terms, -and therefore involves something created. We make this remark because men -are apt to confound relative with absolute space, owing to the sensible -representations which always accompany our intellectual operations, and -also because we think that the philosophical difficulties encountered by -many writers in their investigation of the nature of space originated in -the latent and unconscious assumption that their imagination of relative -space was an intellectual concept of absolute space. It is thus that they -were led to consider all space void of matter as imaginary and chimerical. - -_Quiddity of Absolute Space._--It now remains for us to ascertain -_the true nature of absolute space_, and to point out its essential -definition. Our task will not be difficult after the preceding -conclusions. If absolute space is an uncreated, infinite, eternal, and -unchangeable reality, it must be implied in some of the attributes of -Godhead. Now, the divine attribute in which the reason of all possible -ubications is contained, is immensity. Hence, absolute space is implied -in God’s immensity, and we shall see that it is nothing else than _the -virtuality or the extrinsic terminability_ of immensity itself. - -Before we prove this proposition, we must define the terms _virtuality_ -and _terminability_. “Virtuality” comes from _virtus_ as formality from -_forma_. Things that are actual owe their being to their form; hence, -whatever expresses some actual degree of entity is styled “a formality.” -Thus, personality, animality, rationality, etc., are formalities -exhibiting the actual being of man under different aspects. Things, on -the contrary, that have no formal existence, but which may be made to -exist, owe the possibility of their existence to the power (_virtus_) of -the _efficient cause_ of which they can be the effect, or to the nature -of the _sufficient reason_ from which they may formally result. In both -cases, the things in question are said to exist virtually, inasmuch -as they are virtually contained in their efficient cause or in their -sufficient reason. Hence, every efficient cause or sufficient reason, as -compared with the effects which it can produce or with the results of -which it may be the foundation, is said to have “virtuality”; for, the -virtuality of all producible effects, as of all resultable relations, -is to be found nowhere but in their efficient cause and in their formal -reason. Thus all active power has a virtuality extending to all the acts -of which it may be the causality, and all formal reason has a virtuality -extending to all the results of which it may be the foundation. God’s -omnipotence, for instance, virtually contains in itself the reality of -all possible creatures, and therefore possesses an infinite virtuality. -In a similar manner, God’s immensity has an infinite virtuality, as it -virtually contains all possible ubications, and is the reason of their -formal resultability. Omnipotence has an infinite virtuality as an -_efficient_ principle; immensity has an infinite virtuality as a _formal_ -source only. - -These remarks about virtuality go far to explain the word -“terminability.” Whenever an efficient cause produces an effect, its -action is terminated to an actuable term; hence, so long as the effect is -not produced, the power of the efficient cause is merely terminable. In -the same manner, whenever a formal reason gives rise to an actual result, -and whenever a formal principle gives being to a potential term, there -is a formal termination; and therefore, so long as the result, or the -actual being, has no existence, its formal reason is merely terminable. -Hence, terminability has the same range as virtuality; for nothing that -is virtually contained in an efficient or in a formal principle can pass -from the virtual to the actual state except by the termination of an -efficient or a formal act to a potential term. - -We have said that absolute space is nothing else than the virtuality, -or extrinsic terminability, of God’s immensity. The first proof of this -conclusion is as follows. Absolute space is the possibility of all real -ubications. But such a possibility is nothing else than the infinite -virtuality of God’s immensity. Hence our conclusion. The major of our -syllogism is obviously true, and is admitted by all, either in the -same or in equivalent terms. The minor needs but little explanation; -for we have already seen that absolute space is an uncreated reality, -and therefore is something connected with some divine attribute; but -the only attribute in which the possibility of all real ubications is -contained, is God’s immensity. Hence, the possibility of real ubications -is evidently nothing else than the extrinsic terminability of divine -immensity. In other terms, God’s immensity, like other divine attributes, -is not only an immanent perfection of the divine nature, by which God -has his infinite ubication in himself, but also the source and the -eminent reason of all possible ubications, because it contains them all -_virtually_ in its boundless expanse. Hence, the infinite virtuality -of God’s immensity is one and the same thing with the possibility of -infinite ubications. And, therefore, absolute space is nothing but the -virtuality of divine immensity. - -Let the reader take notice that divine immensity is, with regard to -absolute space, the _remote principle_, or, as the Schoolmen would say, -the _principium quod_, whilst the virtuality or extrinsic terminability -of divine immensity is the _proximate principle_, or the _principium -quo_. Hence, it would not be altogether correct to say that absolute -space is nothing but God’s immensity; for, as we call “space” that in -which contingent beings can be ubicated, it is evident that the formal -notion of space essentially involves the connotation of something -exterior to God; and such a connotation is not included in divine -immensity as such, but only inasmuch as it virtually pre-contains all -possible ubications. And for this reason the infinite virtuality of God’s -immensity constitutes the formal ratio of absolute space. It is in this -sense that we should understand Lessius when he says: “The immensity of -the divine substance is to itself and to the world a sufficient space: -it is an expanse capable of all producible nature, whether corporeal or -spiritual. For, as the divine essence is the first essence, the origin of -all essences and of all conceivable beings, so is the divine immensity -the first and self-supporting expanse or space, the origin of all -expanse, and the space of all spaces, the place of all places, and the -primordial seat and basis of all place and space.”[123] - -The second proof of our conclusion may be the following. Let us imagine -that all created things be annihilated. In such a case, there will remain -nothing in space, and there will be an end of all contingent occupation, -presence, or ubication. Yet, since God will remain in his immensity, -there will remain that infinite reality which contains in its expanse -the possibility of infinite contingent ubications; for there will remain -God’s immensity with all its extrinsic terminability. In fact, God would -not cease to be in those places where the creatures were located; the -only change would be this, that those places, by the annihilation of -creatures, would lose the contingent denominations which they borrowed -from the actual presence of creatures in them, and thus all those -ubications would cease to be _formal_, and would become _virtual_. It is -plain, therefore, that the reality of void space must be accounted for -by the fact that, after the annihilation of all creatures, there remains -God’s immensity, whose infinite virtuality is equivalent to infinite -virtual ubications. Hence, space void of matter, but filled with God’s -substance, can be nothing else than the infinite virtuality of divine -immensity. - -A third proof of our conclusion, and a very plain one, can be drawn from -God’s creative power. Wherever God is, he can create a material point; -and wherever a material point can be placed, there is space; for space is -the region where material things can be ubicated. Now, God is everywhere -by his immensity; and therefore, everywhere there is the possibility of -ubicating a material point--that is, absolute space has the same range -as God’s immensity. On the other hand, there is no doubt that a material -point, by being ubicated in absolute space, is constituted in God’s -presence, and is thus related to God’s immensity; and this relation -implies the extrinsic termination of God’s immensity. Therefore, the -ubication of a material point in space is the extrinsic termination of -divine immensity; whence it follows that the possibility of ubications is -nothing but the extrinsic terminability of the same immensity. - -The fourth proof of our conclusion consists in showing that none of -the other known opinions about space can be admitted. First, as to the -_subjective form_ imagined by Kant, we cannot believe that it has any -philosophical claim to adoption, as it evidently defies common sense, -and is supported by no reasons. “Kant,” says Balmes, “seems to have -overlooked all distinction between the imagination of space and the -notion of space; and much as he labored in analyzing the subject, he did -not succeed in framing a theory worthy of the name. While he considers -space as a receptacle of natural phenomena, he at the same time despoils -it of its objectivity, and says that space is nothing but a merely -subjective condition, … an imaginary capacity in which we can scatter -and arrange the phenomena.”[124] “To say that space is a thing merely -subjective,” continues Balmes, “is either not to solve the problems of -the outward world, or to deny them, inasmuch as their reality is thereby -denied. What have we gained in philosophy by affirming that space is a -merely subjective condition? Did we not know, even before this German -philosopher uttered a word, that we had the perception of exterior -phenomena? Does not consciousness itself bear witness to the existence of -such a perception? It was not this, therefore, that we wished to know, -but this only: whether such a perception be a sufficient ground for -affirming the existence of the outward world, and what are the relations -by which our perception is connected with the same outward world. This -is the whole question. He who answers that in our perception there is -nothing but a merely subjective condition, Alexander-like, cuts the -knot, and denies, instead of explaining, the possibility of experimental -knowledge.”[125] - -As to Descartes’ and Leibnitz’ opinion, which makes the reality of -space dependent on material occupation, we need only observe that such -an opinion, even as modified by Balmes, leads to numerous absurdities, -presupposes the material continuity of bodies, which we have shown to -be intrinsically repugnant,[126] and assumes, by an evident _petitio -principii_, that space void of matter is nothing. The same opinion is -beset by another very great difficulty, inasmuch as it assumes that the -reality of space lies in something relative, whilst it recognizes nothing -absolute which may be pointed out as the foundation of the relativity. -This difficulty will never be answered. In all kind and degree of -reality, before anything relative can be conceived, something absolute -is to be found from which the relative borrows its relativity. On the -other hand, it is obvious that real space, as understood by Descartes, -and by Balmes too, is something purely relative; for “space,” says -Balmes, “is nothing but the extension of bodies themselves”; to which -Descartes adds, that such a space “constitutes the essence of bodies.” -But the extension of bodies is evidently relative, since it arises from -the relations intervening between the material terms of bodies. The -three dimensions of bodies--length, breadth, and depth--are nothing but -distances, and distances are relations in space. Hence, no dimension is -conceivable but through relations in space; and therefore, before we can -have real dimensions in bodies, we must have, as their foundation, real -space independent of bodies. Finally, since the opinion of which we are -speaking affirms that relative space is a reality, while it denies that -space without bodies is real, the same opinion lays down the foundation -of real and of ideal Pantheism, as we have already remarked. This -suffices to show that such an opinion must be absolutely rejected. - -Nothing therefore remains but to accept the doctrine of those who account -for the reality of absolute space either by divine immensity or by the -possibility of real ubications. But these authors, as a little reflection -will show, though employing a different phraseology, teach substantially -the same thing; for it would be absurd to imagine the possibility -of infinite real ubications as extraneous to God, in whom alone all -things have their possibility. We must, therefore, conclude that space, -considered absolutely as to its quiddity, may be defined to be the -infinite virtuality, or extrinsic terminability, of divine immensity. - -_A Corollary._--Absolute space is infinite, eternal, immovable, -immutable, indivisible, and _formally_ simple, though _virtually_ -extended without limits--that is, equivalent to infinite length, breadth, -and depth. - -_Solution of Objections._--It may be objected that absolute space, being -only a virtuality, can have no formal existence. In fact, the virtuality -of divine immensity is the mere possibility of real ubications; and -possibilities have no formal existence. Hence, to affirm that absolute -space has formal being in the order of realities, is to give body to -a shadow. It would be more reasonable to say that space is contained -in divine immensity just as the velocity which a body may acquire is -contained in the power of an agent; and that, as the power of the agent -is no velocity, so the virtuality of immensity is no space. - -This objection may be answered thus: Granted that the virtuality -of divine immensity is the mere possibility of real ubications, it -does not follow that absolute space has only a _virtual_ existence, -but, on the contrary, that, as the virtuality of divine immensity is -altogether _actual_, so also is absolute space. The reason alleged, that -“possibilities have no formal existence,” is sophistic. A term which is -only possible, say, another world, has of course no formal existence; -but its possibility--that is, the extrinsic terminability of God’s -omnipotence--is evidently as actual as omnipotence itself. And in the -same manner, an ubication which is only possible has no formal existence; -but its possibility--that is, the extrinsic terminability of God’s -immensity--is evidently as actual as immensity itself. If absolute space -were conceived as an array of actual ubications, we would readily concede -that to give it a reality not grounded on actual ubications would be to -give a body to a shadow; but, since absolute space must be conceived as -the mere possibility of actual ubications, it is manifest that we need -nothing but the actual terminability of God’s immensity to be justified -in admitting the actual existence of absolute space. - -Would it be “more reasonable” to say, as the objection infers, that -space is contained in divine immensity just as velocity is contained -in the power of the agent? Certainly not, because what is contained -in divine immensity is the virtuality of contingent ubications, not -the virtuality of absolute space. There is no virtuality of absolute -space; for there is no virtuality of possibility of ubications; as the -virtuality of a possibility would be nothing else than the possibility -of a possibility--that is, a chimera. Hence, the words of the objection -should be altered as follows: “Contingent ubications are contained in -divine immensity just as velocity is contained in the power of an agent; -for, as the power of the agent is no actual velocity, so the virtuality -of immensity is no actual contingent ubication.” And we may go further -in the comparison by adding, that, as the formal possibility of actual -velocity lies wholly in the power of the agent, so the possibility of -actual ubications--that is, absolute space--lies in the virtuality of -divine immensity. - -Thus the objection is solved. It will not be superfluous, however, to -point out the false assumption which underlies it, viz., the notion that -the extrinsic terminability of divine immensity has only a virtual, not -a formal, reality. This assumption is false. The terminability is the -formality under which God’s immensity presents itself to our thought, -when it is regarded as the source of some extrinsic relation, _ut -habens ordinem ad extra_. Such a formality is not a mere concept of our -reason; for God’s immensity is not only conceptually, but also really, -terminable _ad extra_; whence it follows that such a terminability is -an objective reality in the divine substance. Terminability, of course, -implies virtuality; but this does not mean that such a terminability has -only a virtual reality; for the virtuality it implies is the virtuality -of the extrinsic terms which it connotes, and not the virtuality of its -own being. Were we to admit that the extrinsic terminability of God’s -immensity is only a virtual entity, we would be compelled to say also -that omnipotence itself is only a virtual entity; for omnipotence is the -extrinsic terminability of God’s act. But it is manifest that omnipotence -is in God formally, not virtually. In like manner, then, immensity is in -God not only as an actual attribute, but also as an attribute having an -actual terminability _ad extra_, which shows that its terminability is -not a virtual, but a formal, reality. - -A second objection may be made. Would it not be better to define space -as _the virtuality of all ubications_, rather than _the virtuality of -God’s immensity_? For when we think of space, we conceive it as something -immediately connected with the ubication of creatures, without need of -rising to the consideration of God’s immensity. - -We answer that absolute space may indeed be styled “the virtuality -of all ubications;” for all possible ubications are in fact virtually -contained in it. But such a phrase does not express the quiddity of -absolute space; for it does not tell us what reality is that in which all -ubications are virtually contained. On the contrary, when we say that -absolute space is “the virtuality of divine immensity,” we point out the -very quiddity of space; for we point out its constituent formality which -connects divine immensity with all possible ubications. - -True it is that we are wont to think of space as connected with -contingent ubications; for it is from such ubications that our knowledge -of place and of space arises. But this space thus immediately connected -with existing creatures is _relative_ space, and its representation -mostly depends on our imaginative faculty. Hence, this manner of -representing space cannot be alleged as a proof that _absolute_ space can -be intellectually conceived without referring to divine immensity. - -A third objection may be the following. Whatever has existence is either -a substance or an accident. But absolute space is neither a substance -nor an accident. Therefore, absolute space has no existence, and is -nothing. The major of this argument is well known, and the minor is -proved thus: Absolute space does not exist in any subject, of which it -might be predicated; hence, absolute space is not an accident. Nor is -it a substance; for then it would be the substance of God himself--an -inference too preposterous to be admitted. - -This objection will soon disappear by observing that, although everything -existing may be reduced either to the category of substance or to some -of the categories of accident, nevertheless, it is not true that every -existing reality is _formally_ a substance or an accident. There are -a great many realities which cannot be styled “substances,” though -they are not accidents. Thus, rationality, activity, substantiality, -existence, and all the essential attributes and constituents of things, -are not substances, and yet they are not accidents; for they either enter -into the constitution, or flow from the essence, of substance, and are -identified with it, though not formally nor adequately. Applying this -distinction to our subject, we say that absolute space cannot be styled -simply “God’s substance,” notwithstanding the fact that the virtuality -of divine immensity identifies itself with immensity, and immensity -with the divine substance. The reason of this is, that one thing is -not said simply to be another, unless they be the same not only as to -their reality, but also as to their conceptual notion. Hence, we do -not say that the possibility of creatures is “God’s substance,” though -such a possibility is in God alone; and in the same manner, we cannot -say that the possibility of ubication is “God’s substance,” though such -a possibility has the reason of its being in God alone. For the same -reason, we cannot say simply that God’s eternity is his omnipotence, nor -that his intellect is his immensity, nor that God understands by his -will or by his goodness, though these attributes identify themselves -really with the divine substance and with one another, as is shown in -natural theology. It is plain, therefore, that absolute space is not -precisely “God’s substance”; and yet it is not an accident; for it is the -virtuality or extrinsic terminability of divine immensity itself. - -A fourth objection arises from the opinion of those who consider God’s -immensity as the foundation of absolute space, but in such a manner as to -imply the existence of a _real_ distinction between the two. Immensity, -they say, has no formal extension, as it has no parts outside of parts; -whereas, absolute space is formally extended, and has parts outside of -parts; for when a body occupies one part of space, it does not occupy -any other--which shows that the parts of space are really distinct from -one another; and therefore absolute space, though it has the reason of -its being in God’s immensity, is something really distinct from God’s -immensity. - -To this we answer, that it is impossible to admit a _real_ distinction -between absolute space and divine immensity. When divine immensity is -said to be the foundation, or the reason of being, of absolute space, the -phrase must not be taken to mean that absolute space is anything made, -or extrinsic to God’s immensity; its meaning is that God’s immensity -contains in itself _virtually_, as we have explained, all possible -ubications of exterior things, just as God’s omnipotence contains in -itself _virtually_ all possible creatures. And as we cannot affirm -without error that there is a real distinction between divine omnipotence -and the possibility of creatures which it contains, so we cannot affirm -without error that there is a real distinction between divine immensity -and the possibility of ubications which it contains. - -That immensity has no parts outside of parts we fully admit, though -we maintain at the same time that God is everywhere _formally_ by his -immensity. But we deny that absolute space has parts outside of parts; -for it is impossible to have parts where there are no distinct entities. -Absolute space is one simple virtuality containing in itself the reason -of distinct ubications, but not made up of them; just as the divine -essence contains in itself the reason of all producible essences, but is -not made up of them. - -As to the _formal extension_ of immensity, Lessius seems to admit it -when he says that “God exists in the space which his immensity _formally -extends_.” Fénelon also holds that “immensity is infinite extension”; -whilst Balmes does not admit that extension can be conceived where there -are no parts. The question, so far as we can judge, is one of words. That -God is everywhere _formally_ is a plain truth; on the other hand, to -say that he is _formally_ extended, taking “extension” in the ordinary -signification, would be to imply parts and composition; which cannot be -in God. It seems to us that the right manner of expressing the infinite -range of God’s immensity would be this: “God through his immensity is -formally everywhere, though by a virtual, not a formal, extension.” -In the same manner, space is formally everywhere, though it is only -virtually, not formally, extended. And very likely this, and nothing -more, is what Lessius meant when saying that immensity “formally extends” -space. This phrase may, in fact, be understood in two ways; first, as -meaning that immensity causes space to be _formally extended_--which -is wrong; secondly, as meaning that immensity is _the formal_, not the -efficient, _reason_ of the extension of space. This second meaning, -which is philosophically correct, does not imply the _formal_ extension -of space, as is evident, unless by “formal extension” we understand the -“formal reason of its extending”; in which case the word “extension” -would be taken in an unusual sense. - -Lastly, when it is objected that “bodies occupying one part of space -do not occupy another,” and that therefore “space is composed of -distinct parts,” a confusion is made of absolute space, as such, and -space extrinsically terminated, or occupied by matter, and receiving -from such a termination an extrinsic denomination. Distinct bodies give -distinct names to the places occupied by them; but absolute space is not -intrinsically affected by the presence of bodies, as we shall see in our -next article; and, therefore, the distinct denominations of different -places refer to the distinct ubications of matter, not to distinct parts -of absolute space. As we cannot say that the sun and the planets are -parts of divine omnipotence, so we cannot say that their places are parts -of divine immensity or of its terminability; for as the sun and the -planets are only extrinsic terms of omnipotence, so are their places only -extrinsic terms of immensity. Such places, therefore, may be distinct -from one another, but their possibility (that is, absolute space) -is _one_, and has no parts. But this subject will receive a greater -development in our next article, in which we intend to investigate the -nature of relative space. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -CORPUS CHRISTI. - - Not lilies here, their vesture is too pale, - Nor will they crush to fragrance ’neath the tread - Where every step must rapturous thought exhale - Of the triumphant King whose thorn-crowned head - Dripped crimson life-drops but a while ago. - Not lilies here, to-day the roses know - It is Love’s feast, and sacred banquet-hall - And holy table should be decked and strewn - With Love’s bright flowers, the perfumed gifts of June. - Oh! that our hearts might lie beneath his feet - Even as the drifting petals, pure and sweet! - Joy, drooping soul! His peace is over all. - Gethsemane is past, Golgotha’s darkness fled: - To-day the guests are bidden, the heavenly banquet spread. - - -ARE YOU MY WIFE? - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” “PIUS VI.,” -ETC. - -CHAPTER VI. - -THE DEBUT. - -The three days had expanded to ten when Admiral de Winton opened the -breakfast-room door on Monday morning, and, standing on the threshold, -said in his most emphatic manner: “Harness, I’m going up by the 3.20 this -afternoon. Now, not a word, or I’ll bolt this minute. … I can bear a good -deal, but there is a limit to everything. You’ve wheedled me and bullied -me into neglecting my business for a whole week, in spite of myself; and -I’m off to-day by the 3.20.” - -“Well, depart in peace whatever you do,” said Sir Simon, “and I suppose -you had better have some breakfast before you start? It’s struck nine -already, but you will have time to swallow a cup of tea between this and -then.” - -“The fact is it serves me right,” continued the admiral, advancing to his -accustomed seat at the table; “hard-worked drudges of my kind ought never -to trust themselves in the clutches of idle swells like you--they never -know when they’ll get out of them. Here’s a letter from the Admiralty, -blowing me up for not sending in that report I was to have drawn up on -the Russian fleet; and quite right, too--only it’s you who ought to get -the blowing up, not me.” - -“But, uncle, I thought you had settled to remain till Thursday,” said -Clide; “you said you would yesterday.” - -“One often says a thing yesterday that one has to unsay to-day,” retorted -the admiral, clearing for action by sweeping his letters to one side; -“I’m going by the 3.20. I tell you I am, Harness!” - -“Well, I’ve not said anything to the contrary, have I?” - -“But you needn’t be trying to circumvent me, to make me late for the -train, or that sort of thing. I’m up to your dodges now. Ryder will be on -the look-out; he’s packing up already.” - -“I must say its rather shabby behavior to Lady Anwyll,” observed the -baronet; “the dinner and dance on Wednesday are entirely for you and -Clide.” - -“Clide must go and make the best of it for me; an old fellow like me is -no great loss at a dinner, and I don’t suppose she counted much on me for -the dance. How much longer do you intend to stay here, eh?” This was to -his nephew. - -“What’s that to you?” said Sir Simon, interrupting Clide, who was about -to answer; “you’d like him to do as you are doing--set the county astir -to entertain him, and then decamp before anything comes off.” - -But the admiral was not to be moved from his determination by any sense -of ill-behavior to the county. He started by the 3.20. Sir Simon and -Clide went to see him off, and called at The Lilies on their way back. - -“It’s perfectly useless, he never would consent to it; and in any case -it’s too late now,” Sir Simon remarked, with his hand on the wicket; -“it’s for Wednesday, and this is Monday. We should have thought of it -sooner.” - -“Well, you’ll speak to him anyhow; it may serve for next time,” urged -Clide in a low voice; “it’s cruel to see her cooped up in this way.” - -It was as Sir Simon guessed. M. de la Bourbonais would not hear of -Franceline’s going to Lady Anwyll’s. Why should he? He did not know Lady -Anwyll, and he was not likely to accept an invitation that had clearly -been sent at somebody else’s request, at the eleventh hour. But quite -apart from this he would never have allowed his daughter to go. He -never went out himself, and his paternal French instinct repelled as a -monstrous _inconvenance_ the idea of letting her go without him--above -all, for a first appearance. - -“But, happily, Franceline does not care about those things,” he said; -“she has never been to a party, as you know. She is happier without -amusements of the sort; her doves are all the amusement she wants.” - -“Hem!… I’m not so sure of that, Bourbonais,” said Sir Simon; “we take for -granted young people don’t care for things because we have ceased to care -for them; we forget that we were young once upon a time ourselves. Why -should Franceline not enjoy what other young girls enjoy?” - -“She is not like other young girls,” replied her father, in a tone of -gentle sadness. - -“Unfortunately for other girls and for mankind in general,” assented Sir -Simon. - -Raymond smiled. - -“I meant that their circumstances are not alike. You know they are not, -mon cher.” - -“You make mountains out of mole-hills, Bourbonais,” said the baronet; -“however, I give in about this hop of Lady Anwyll’s. It wouldn’t quite -do to bring Mlle. de la Bourbonais out in that fashion; she must be -presented differently; those youngsters don’t consider these important -points.” And he nodded at Clide, who had sat listening with none the less -interest because he was silent. “But something must be done about it; the -child can’t be thrown any longer on her doves for society; she must have -a little amusement; it will tell on her health if she has not.” - -It was not without intention that he pointed this arrow at Raymond’s -shield. Sir Simon knew where his vulnerable spot lay, and that it was -possible to make him do almost anything by suggesting that it might -affect his child’s health. He had, so far, no grounds for alarm, or even -anxiety about it; but the memory of her mother, to whom she bore in many -ways so strong a resemblance, hung over him like the shadow of an unseen -dread. It was this that conquered him in the riding scheme, reducing -him into acquiescence with what he felt was not frankly justifiable. -Sir Simon had indeed assured him that Lord Roxham had declined to take -Rosebud; but he did not explain the circumstances. Clide had taken -a fancy to the spirited bay mare, and on the very morning after the -letter was despatched he announced his intention of riding her while he -remained; whereupon the baronet, more keenly alive to the courtesies -of a host than the obligations of a debtor, instead of telling him -how matters stood, wrote a second letter on receipt of Lord Roxham’s -accepting the offer, to say he could not let him have the horse for a -week or so, and as Lord Roxham wanted her immediately as a present for -his intended bride, he could not wait, and thus £1,000 slipped out of -Sir Simon’s hands. Mr. Simpson, his incomparable man of business, had, -however, stopped the gap by some other means, and the rascally architect -was quieted for the present. - -Raymond observed that Lord Roxham was not the only person in England -who was open to the offer of a mare like Rosebud, though it might be -difficult to meet with any one willing to give such an exorbitant price -for her; one does not light on a wealthy, infatuated bridegroom every -day. “Yes, that’s just it,” replied Sir Simon, grasping at any excuse for -procrastination, “one must bide one’s time; it’s a mistake selling for -the sake of selling; if you only have patience you’re sure to find your -man by-and-by.” And Raymond, feeling that he had done all that he was -called upon to do in the case, recurred to it no more, and was satisfied -to let Franceline use the horse. There was no doubt the exercise was -beneficial to her. Angélique said her appetite had nearly doubled, and -the child slept like a dormouse since she had taken the riding; and as to -the enjoyment it afforded her, there could be no mistake about that. - -Sir Simon had promised to think over what next should be done to amuse -his young favorite, and he was as good as his word. He gave the matter, -in ministerial parlance, his most anxious consideration, and the -result was that he made up his mind to give a ball at the Court, where -Franceline should make her _début_ with the _éclat_ that became her real -station and the hereditary friendship of the two families. He owed this -to Raymond. It was only fitting that Franceline should come out under -his roof, and be presented by him as the daughter of his oldest and most -valued friend. He was almost as fond of the child, too, as if she were -his own; and besides, it was becoming desirable at this moment that her -position in society should be properly defined. He came down to breakfast -big with this mighty resolution, and communicated it to Clide, who at -once entered into the plan with great gusto, and had many valuable hints -to give in the way of decorations; he had seen eastern pageants, and -Italian and Spanish _festas_, and every description of barbaric gala in -his travels, and his ideas were checked by none of the chains that are -apt to hamper the flights of fancy in similar cases. Sir Simon had never -hinted in his presence at such a thing as pecuniary embarrassments, and -there was nothing in the style and expenditure at the Court to suggest -their existence there. Sir Simon winced a little as Clide unwittingly -brought his practical deception home to him by speaking as if money were -as plentiful as blackberries with the owner of Dullerton; but he was -determined to keep strictly within the bounds of reason, and not to be -beguiled into the least unnecessary extravagance. - -“Bourbonais would not like it, you see; and we must consider him first in -the matter. It will be better on the whole to make it simply a sort of -family thing, just a mustering of the natives to introduce Franceline. It -would be in bad taste to make a Lord Mayor’s day of it, as if she were -an heiress, and so on. We’ll just throw all the rooms open, and make it -as jolly as we can in a quiet way. I’ll invite everybody--the more the -merrier.” - -So they spent a pleasant hour or so talking it all over; who were to be -asked to fill their houses, and what men were to be had down from London -as a reserve corps for the dancing. They had got the length of fixing the -date of the ball, when Sir Simon remembered that there was the highly -important question of Franceline’s dress to be considered. - -“I must manage to get her up to London, and have her properly rigged -out by some milliner there. I dare say your stepmother would put us up -to that part of the business, eh?” And Clide committed his stepmother -to this effect in a most reckless way. It had already been mooted with -Raymond by Sir Simon that Franceline should go to London for a few days -to see the sights, and he could fall back on this now for the present -purpose. He was surprised to find that Raymond consented to the proposal, -not merely without reluctance, but almost with alacrity. - -“If you really think the change will do her good, I shall be only too -grateful to you for taking her,” he said; “but does it strike you she -wants it?” - -Sir Simon felt a slight shock of compunction at this direct question, -and at the glance of timid inquiry that accompanied it. He had never -intended to distress or alarm his friend; he only made the remarks about -Franceline’s health as a means of compassing his own ends towards amusing -and pleasing her. - -“Not a bit of it!” he answered contemptuously; “what could have put such -a notion into my head? When I say a little change of one sort or another -will do her good, I only judge from what I hear all the mothers say; -when their daughters are come to Franceline’s age they’re constantly -wanting change, and if they are too long without it they begin to droop, -and to look pale, and so forth, and the doctor orders them off somewhere. -I don’t imagine Franceline is an exception to the general rule; and as -prevention is better than cure, it’s as well to give her the change -before she feels the want of it. It’s a good plan always to take time by -the forelock; you see yourself that the riding has done her good.” - -“Yes, mon cher, yes,” said M. de la Bourbonais, tilting his spectacles, -“it certainly has strengthened her. She has lost that pain in her side -she used to suffer from, though I never knew it--I only heard of it when -it was gone. Angélique should not have concealed it from me,” he added, a -little nervously, and with another of those inquiring looks at Sir Simon. - -“Pooh, pooh, nonsense! What would she have worried you about it for? All -young people have pains in their sides,” returned the baronet oracularly. -“She’s not done growing yet. Well, then, it’s settled that I carry her -off on Monday. We will start early, so as to be there to receive Mrs. de -Winton, who arrives at Grosvenor Square by the late afternoon train.” - -“But there is one thing you must promise me,” said Raymond, going up -to him and laying a hand impressively on his arm; “you will go to no -unnecessary expense. You must give me your word for that.” - -“There you are, as usual, harping on the old string,” laughed the -baronet, with a touch of impatience. “What expense do you expect me to go -to? The house is there, and the servants are there and whether I’m there -or not the expenses go on. You don’t suppose Franceline will add very -heavily to them, or Mrs. de Winton either?” - -“But you talked about taking her to the operas, and so on, and I am -sure she would not care for amusements of that sort; they would be too -exciting for her. The change of scene and the sights of the city will be -quite enough.” - -“Make your mind easy about all that. Mrs. de Winton will take care the -child doesn’t overdo herself. She’s a very sensible woman, and not at all -fond of excitement.” - -As the baronet pronounced Mrs. de Winton’s name, it occurred to him -for the first time to wonder if it suggested nothing to Raymond, and -whether Clide’s assiduity at The Lilies, and prolonged stay at Dullerton -after his announcement that he was only to remain three days, awoke -no suspicion in his mind. The thing would have been impossible in the -case of any other father; but Raymond was so absorbed in his studies, -in hunting out and analyzing the Causes of the Revolution, the proposed -title of the work that was to be Franceline’s _dot_, and so altogether -unlearned in the common machinery of life, that he was capable of seeing -the house on fire, and not suspecting it concerned him until it singed -his pen. He knew that Clide’s meeting with him had been a turning-point -in the young man’s life; that it was Raymond’s advice and influence that -determined him to return to Glanworth, and enter on his duties there -with a vigorous desire to fulfil them at the sacrifice of his own plans -and inclinations. He was already acting the part of mentor to Clide, who -carried him his agent’s letters to read, and consulted him about the -various philanthropic schemes he had in his head for the improvement of -the people on his estate--notably the repression of drunkenness, which -Raymond impressed on him must be the keystone of all possible improvement -among the humbler classes in England. Was it possible that this demeanor -and the son-like tone of respect which Clide had adopted toward him -suggested no ulterior motive on Clide’s part, or awoke no parental fear -or suspicion in Raymond? Sir Simon was turning this problem up and down -in his mind, and debating how far it might be advisable to sound his -friend, when Raymond said abruptly: - -“Mr. de Winton is not going with you, of course?” - -“No; he is to run down to his own place while we are away. I expect him -back when we return.” - -Their eyes met. Sir Simon smiled a quizzical, complaisant smile, but it -died out quickly when he saw the alarmed expression in Raymond’s face. - -“The idea never struck me before,” he exclaimed. “How should it? There -was nothing to suggest it; the disparity is too great.” - -“How so? They are pretty well matched in age--eighteen and -eight-and-twenty--and as to Clide’s family, he cannot certainly count -quarterings with the De Xaintriacs, or perhaps even the Bourbonais; but -the De Wintons are…” - -“Enfantillage,[127] enfantillage!” broke in Raymond with a gesture of -wild impatience; “as if it signified in a foreigner living in exile -whether his family be illustrious or not, when it is decayed and without -the smallest actual weight or position! The disparity I allude to is in -fortune. With such a barrier between my daughter and Mr. de Winton, how -could any arrangement have entered into my imagination?” - -“And you have actually lived all these years in England without getting -to understand Englishmen and their ideas better than that!” said Sir -Simon. “As if it mattered that”--snapping his fingers--“about any -difference in fortune! Why half the wealthiest men I know have married -girls without a penny. I did it myself,” added the baronet, with a change -from gay to grave in his tone; “my wife had no fortune of her own, and if -she had, I wouldn’t have taken a penny with her. No man of spirit, who -has a fortune large enough to support his wife properly, likes to take -money with her. Clide de Winton has £15,000 a year, and no end of money -accumulating in the funds; he hasn’t spent two years’ income these last -eight years, I’ll lay a wager; it would be a crying shame if he were to -marry a wife with money; but he’s not the man to do it.” - -M. de la Bourbonais had risen, and was walking up and down with his hands -behind his back and his chin on his breast, his usual attitude when he -was thinking hard. It was the first time that the idea of Franceline’s -marriage had come home to him in any practical form--indeed, in any form -but that of a remote and shadowy abstraction that he might or might -not be some day called upon to discuss. He had not discussed his own -marriage, and there was no precedent in his mind for discussing hers. As -far as his perceptions carried him, those things were entirely arranged -by outsiders; when everything was made ready in the business department, -the parties concerned were brought together, and the wedding took place. -But what business was there to arrange in Franceline’s case? If Mr. de -Winton had been a high-born young gentleman without a penny to bless -himself with, there would have been some sense in his being proposed as -a candidate for Mlle. de la Bourbonais; but it was against all law and -precedent that a millionnaire should dream of marrying a girl without a -_dot_. - -“This is very foolish” he said, taking another turn up the long -room--they were in the library--“if it occurred to you before, you should -have told me.” - -“Told you what? That Mlle. de la Bourbonais was a deuced pretty girl, -and Mr. de Winton a remarkably good-looking young man, neither blind nor -devoid of understanding. I should think you might have found that out for -yourself.” - -“It is not a thing to joke about, Simon. I cannot understand your joking -about it.” And Raymond halted before Sir Simon, who was lounging back in -his chair, his coat thrown back, and his thumbs stuck into his waistcoat, -while he surveyed his friend’s anxious face with a look of comical -satisfaction. “Has Mr. de Winton spoken to you on the subject?” - -“No.” - -“Have you said anything to him about it?” - -“Not I!” - -“And yet you speak as if you had something to go upon.” - -“And so I have. I have my eyes and my intelligence. I have been making -use of both during the last ten days.” - -“Then am I expected to speak to him?” - -“You are expected to do nothing of the sort,” said the baronet, starting -from his listless attitude, and speaking in a determined manner; “it does -not concern you at this stage of affairs. If you interfere you may just -put your foot in it. Leave the young people to manage their own affairs; -they understand it better than we do.” - -“Not concern me!” echoed Raymond, protruding his eyebrows an inch -beyond his nose; “and if this idea, that seems so clear to you, should -seem clear to others, and nothing comes of it, how then? My child is -compromised, and I am not to interfere, and it does not concern me?” - -“You talk like an infant, Bourbonais!” said Sir Simon, changing his -bantering tone to one of resentment. “Am I likely to encourage De Winton -if I did not know him; if I were not certain that he is incapable of -behaving otherwise than as a gentleman!” - -“But you confess that he has not said anything to you; suppose he should -never have thought of it at all?” - -“Suppose that he’s a blind idiot! Is it likely that a young fellow like -Clide should be thrown into daily society with a girl like Franceline and -not fall in love with her? Tell me that!” - -But that was precisely what Raymond could not see. His mental vision was -not given to roaming beyond the narrow horizon of his own experience: -this furnished him with no precedent for the case in point--a young man -falling in love and choosing a wife without being told to do so by his -family. - -“If it were suggested to him,” he replied, dubiously, “no doubt he might; -but no one has put it into his head; even you have not given him a hint -to that effect.” - -Sir Simon threw back his head and roared. - -“Really, Bourbonais, you’re too bad! ’Pon my honor you are. To imagine -that a man of eight-and-twenty waits for a hint to fall in love when he -has the temptation and the opportunity! But you know no more about it -than the man in the moon. You live in the clouds.” - -“I have lived in them perhaps too long,” replied Raymond, humbly and -with a pang of self-reproach. “I should have been more watchful where my -child was concerned; but I fancied that her poverty, which hitherto has -cut her off from the enjoyments of her age, precluded all possibility of -marriage--at least until the fruit of my toil should have given her a -right to think of it. It seems I was mistaken.” - -“And are you sorry for it?” - -Raymond walked to the window, and looked out for a moment before he -answered. - -“Admitting that the immense disparity in fortune were _not_ an -insuperable barrier, there is another that nothing would overcome in -Franceline’s eyes--he is not a Catholic.” - -“Yes, he is. At least he ought to be; his mother was a Catholic, and he -was brought up one. - -“Strange that he should not have mentioned that to me!” said Raymond, -musing; “but then how is it that we did not see him in church last -Sunday?” - -“Hem!… I’m not quite sure that he went; it was my fault. I kept them -both up till the small hours of the morning talking over business, and -so on,” said Sir Simon, throwing the mantle of friendship over Clide’s -delinquency. “You know it does not do to draw the rein too tight with -a young fellow. He’s been so much abroad, and unhappy, and that sort of -thing, you see; but a wife would bring him all right again, and keep him -up to the collar.” - -“Franceline would attach paramount importance to that, Harness,” said the -father, with a certain accent of humility; he did not dare insist on it -in his own name. - -“Of course she would, dear little puss, and quite right; but she won’t be -too hard on him for all that.” - -It required all Sir Simon’s powers of persuasion to make Raymond -promise that he would leave things alone, and not speak either to -Clide or Franceline on the subject of this conversation. He gave the -promise, however, feeling in some intangible way that the possibility -of Franceline’s marriage under such unprecedented, such unnatural -circumstances, in fact, was a phenomenon too far beyond his ken for him -to meddle with in safety. It was decided that she should go to London on -the day appointed, as if nothing had transpired between the friends since -the proposed visit had been agreed to. - - * * * * * - -A ball anywhere at Dullerton was always a momentous occasion, stirring -the stagnant waters with pleasurable agitation; but a ball at the -Court was an event of such magnitude that it set the neighborhood in -movement like a powerful electric shock. It was, compared to ordinary -entertainments of the kind, what a Royal coronation is to a Lord Mayor’s -show. Wonderful reports were afloat as to the magnificence of the -preparations that were going on. Nobody had been allowed to see them; but -conjecture was busy, and enough transpired to excite expectation to the -highest pitch. It was known that men had been brought down from London -with vans full of all sorts of appliances for transforming the solemn -Gothic mansion into a fairy palace. How the transformation was to be -effected no one had the vaguest idea, and this made expectation all the -more thrilling. - -It was indeed but too true that Sir Simon had abandoned his first wise -intention of making it no more than a gay mustering of the clans. Fate -so ordained that just at this time he got news of the rapidly declining -health of his interesting relative, Lady Rebecca Harness. “She cannot -possibly hold out over the autumn; her physician allowed as much to -transpire to a professional friend of mine, so we must be prepared for -the worst,” wrote Mr. Simpson; “it is certainly providential that the -£50,000 and the reversion of her ladyship’s jointure should fall in at -this moment.” And Sir Simon felt that he could not better express his -grateful sense of the providential coincidence, and at the same time -cheer himself up under the impending bereavement, than by giving for once -full play to the oriental element of hospitality and magnificence, so -long pent up in him by a sordid bondage to economy. - -“Clide, that idea of yours about turning the Medusa gallery into a -moonlight walk, with palms and ferns, and so on, was really too good to -be lost. I think we must have the Covent Garden people down to do it. And -then the Diana gallery would make a capital pendant in the Chinese style. -It’s really a pity to do the thing by halves; I owe it to Bourbonais to -do it handsomely on an occasion like this; and, hang it! a couple of -hundreds more or less won’t break a man, eh?” - -And Clide being decidedly of opinion that it would not, the Covent Garden -people were had down, and preparations went on in right royal style. - -M. de la Bourbonais had been informed that a dance was in view for the -purpose of introducing Franceline, and accepted the intelligence as a -part of the mysterious web that was being woven round him by unseen -hands. Perhaps he vaguely connected the event with something like a -_soirée de contrat_, or a forerunner of it, and this would account for -his passive acquiescence, and the tender, preoccupied air that marked -his manner during the foregoing week. Sir Simon, like a wily diplomatist -as he was, managed to keep Clide from going to The Lilies for nearly the -entire week, by throwing the whole burden of overseer on him, filling his -hands so full of commissions for London, and shifting the responsibility -of everything so completely on his shoulders that he had scarcely time to -eat or sleep, being either on the railroad or in a state of workmanlike -_déshabillé_ that made it impossible for him to show himself beyond the -precincts of the scene of action until dinner-hour, when Sir Simon was -always abnormally disinclined for a walk, and insisted on being read to -or otherwise entertained by his young friend till bed-time. - -Franceline, meanwhile, had her own preoccupations. Not about her -dress--that had been settled to her utmost satisfaction, being aided by -the combined action of Mrs. de Winton and that lady’s French milliner. -But there was another important matter weighing heavily upon her mind. -It was just three days before the great day. Mr. de Winton had rushed -down with the _Edinburgh Review_ for M. de la Bourbonais, apologizing -profusely to Franceline, who was sitting in the summer-house, for -presenting himself in such a state of undress, and saying something to -the effect that it was the servants’ dinner-hour, and they were so much -engaged, etc. But he could not keep the count waiting for the book, which -ought to have been sent several days ago. No, he would not disturb the -count at that hour, if Mlle. Franceline would be kind enough to take the -book and explain about the delay. Franceline promised to do so; which was -rash, considering that she did not understand a word about it, or that -there was any delay whatever. - -“Oh! I may as well profit by the opportunity to ask if you are engaged -for the first waltz on Thursday?” said Mr. de Winton, turning back after -he had gone a few steps, as if struck by a happy thought. - -No, Franceline was not engaged. - -“Then may I claim the privilege of the first-comer, and ask you for it?” - -“Yes, thank you. I shall be very happy.” - -And she began immediately to be very miserable, remembering that she did -not know how to waltz, never having had a dancing lesson in her life. -She shut up her book, and set out toward the vicarage. She never felt -quite at home with the Langrove girls; but they were the essence of good -nature, and perhaps they could help her out of this difficulty. She was -ashamed to say at once what had brought her, and went on listening to -them chattering about their dresses, which were being manufactured out -of every shade of tarlatan in the rainbow. Suddenly Godiva exclaimed: -“I wonder if you’ll have any partners, Franceline? Do you think you -will? You know you don’t know anybody? You’ve never even spoken to Mr. -Charlton.” And Franceline, crushed under a sense of this and another -inferiority, blushed, and said “No.” - -“Perhaps Mr. de Winton will ask you? Oh, I should think he’s sure to. -Hasn’t he asked you already?” And Franceline, painfully conscious of ten -eyes staring at her, blushed deep crimson this time, and answered “Yes”; -and then, suddenly recollecting that she had something important to do, -she said good-by and hurried away. She had not closed the gate behind her -when the five Misses Langrove who were “out” had rushed up to the nursery -and informed the five who were not “out” that Franceline de la Bourbonais -was engaged to that handsome, rich young Mr. de Winton, who had £60,000 a -year and the grandest place in Wales. Only fancy! - -“How stupid I was to get red like that, instead of telling the truth -and asking Isabella to teach me how to do it!” was Franceline’s vexed -exclamation to herself, as she entered the garden, and, swinging her -sunshade, looked up at her doves perched on a branch just behind the -chimney that was curling its blue rings up against the deeper purple of -the copper-beech. - -“What is my child meditating on so solemnly?” said M. de la Bourbonais, -meeting her at the door; and taking her face between his hands, he looked -into the dark, deep eyes that had never had a secret from him. Had they -now? He had watched her walking up the garden, and noticed that fold -in the smooth, white brow; he was always watching her of late, though -Franceline did not perceive it. - -“I am worried, petit père. I wish I were not going to this ball!” And she -leaned her cheek against his with a sigh. - -Raymond started as if he had been stabbed. - -“My child! my cherished one! what is it? What has happened?” - -“O petit père! it’s nothing,” she cried eagerly, smitten with remorse by -his look of anguish. “It’s not worth being unhappy about; only I never -thought of it before, and now I’m afraid it can’t be helped. They will -ask me to dance, and I don’t know how.” - -“Mon Dieu! it is true. We should have thought of that. It was very -heedless of us all. But there must be a master here who could give thee -some lessons, my child. We will speak to Miss Merrywig. Stay, where’s my -hat? There is no time to be lost.” - -But Franceline checked him. “Petit père, I should be ashamed to get a -master now; every one would know about it and laugh at me; all the young -girls would make such fun of me.” - -“What dances dost thou want to dance?” inquired her father, knitting his -brows, as if searching some forgotten clew in the background of memory; -“I dare say I could recall the _minuet de la cour_ a little, if that -would help thee.” - -“I never hear them speak of it. I don’t think they dance that now; only -quadrilles and waltzes,” said Franceline. - -“Ah! quadrilles were after my day; but the _valse à trois temps_ I knew -once upon a time. Come and let us see if I cannot remember it.” - -They went into the dining-room, pushed the table and chairs into a -corner, and M. de la Bourbonais, fixing his spectacles as a preliminary -step, put himself into position; his right foot a little in advance, his -eye-brows very much protruded, and his head bent forward; he made the -first steps with hesitation, then more boldly, assisting his memory by -humming the tune of an old waltz. - -Angélique, who was spinning in the room overhead, came down to see what -the table and chairs were making all this clatter about, and burst in on -a singular spectacle: her master pirouetting to the tune of _un, deux, -trois!_ round the eight-feet square apartment, while Franceline, squeezed -against the wall, held up her skirt so as to afford a full view of her -shabby little boots, and tried to execute the same evolutions in a space -of one foot square. - -“Papa is teaching me to waltz,” explained the pupil, not looking up, but -keeping her eyes stuck on the professor’s feet lest she should miss the -thread of their discourse. - -“Well, to be sure! To think of Monsieur le Comte’s remembering his -steps at this time of day! What a wonderful memory monsieur has!” was -Angélique’s admiring comment. - -“Now, then, shall we try it together?” said M. de la Bourbonais, and -placing his arm round Franceline, the two glided round the room, the -professor whistling his accompaniment with as much emphasis as possible, -while the pupil counted one, two, three, and Angélique kept time by -clapping her hands. - -“Oh, petit père, I shall do it beautifully!” cried Franceline, suspending -the performance to give him an energetic kiss that nearly sent his -spectacles flying across the room. “Now if you only could teach me the -quadrille!” - -But this recent substitute for the art of dancing was beyond the scope -of Raymond’s abilities; quadrilles, as he said, had come into fashion -long after his time. It was a grand thing, however, to have accomplished -so much, and Franceline felt a sense of triumphant security in her -newly-acquired possession that cleared away all her tremors. She spent -the rest of the afternoon practising the _valse à trois temps_, so as to -be quite perfect in it. Sir Simon found her thus profitably employed when -he came down just before his dinner with a newspaper. - -“What were we all thinking about not to have remembered that?” was his -horrified exclamation. “Why, of course you must know the quadrille; you -will have to open the ball, child. You must come up this evening to the -Court, and we’ll have a private little dancing lesson, all of us, and put -you through the figures.” - -And so they did; and the result was so successful that, when the great -day came, Franceline felt quite sure of being able to behave like -everybody else. Her dress came down with Mrs. de Winton on the eve of the -ball, and she was, in accordance with that lady’s desire, to dress at the -Court under her supervision. - -It was a new era in Franceline’s life, finding herself arrayed in a fairy -robe of snow-white tulle, with wild roses creeping up one side of it, -and a cluster of wild roses in her hair. Angélique stood by, surveying -the process of transformation with arms a-kimbo, too much impressed by -the splendors of the whole thing to vindicate her rights as _bonne_, and -quite satisfied to see her natural functions usurped by nimble Croft, -Mrs. de Winton’s maid. But when that experienced person whipped up the -gossamer garment and shook it like an apple-tree, and tossed it with -a sweep over Franceline’s head, it fairly took away her breath, for -the pink petals stuck on in spite of the shock, and the soft flounces -foamed all round just in the right place, rippling down from the neck and -shoulders, and flowing out behind like a sea-wave. Then Croft crowned it -all by planting the pink cluster in the hair just as if it grew there. -Mrs. de Winton came in at this crisis, however, and suggested that they -would be more becoming a little more to the front. - -“Well, ma’am, if you’ll take the responsibility,” demurred the abigail -with pinched lips, and stepping aside as if to get clear of all -participation in the rash act herself, “in course you can; but my maxiom -always was and is, as modesty is the most becoming ornament of youth; if -you put them roses forwarder, anybody’ll see as how it was meant to be -a set-off to the complexion--as you might say, putting a garding rose -alongside of a wild one, to see which was the best pink.” - -“Oh! indeed, it’s very nicely done; it could not possibly be better,” -said Franceline earnestly. She was rather in awe of the fine lady’s maid, -and looked up appealingly to Mrs. de Winton not to gainsay her; but that -serene lady paid no more heed to the abigail’s protest than she might -have done to the snarling of her pet pug. With deft and daring fingers -she plucked out the flowers, pushed the rich, bright coils to one side so -as to make room for them, and then planted them according to her fancy. -If the change were done with a view to the effect foretold by Mrs. Croft, -there was no denying it to be a complete success. Angélique, by way of -doing something, took up a candle and held it at arm’s length over -Franceline’s head, making short chuckling noises to herself which the -initiated knew to be expressive of the deepest satisfaction. - -“Now, my dear, I think you will do,” said Mrs. de Winton, looking up and -down the young girl with a smile of placid assent, while she washed her -long, tapering hands with the old Lady-Macbeth movement; “let us go down.” - -Sir Simon and the Admiral and M. de la Bourbonais were assembled in -the blue drawing-room, where the guests were to be received, when the -two ladies entered. Mrs. de Winton, in the mellow splendor of purple -velvet, old point, and diamonds, looked like the protecting divinity of -the cloud-clad nymph tripping shyly after her. An involuntary murmur -of admiration burst from the Admiral and Sir Simon, while M. de la -Bourbonais, all smiles and joy, came forward to embrace Franceline. - -“O my dear child!…” - -“Count, take care of her roses!” cried Mrs. de Winton, ruffled into -motherly alarm as she saw Franceline, utterly oblivious of her headgear, -nestling into her father’s neck. - -Raymond started, and looked with deep concern to see if he had done any -mischief. Happily not. - -“Come here and let me look at you!” said Sir Simon, holding her at -arm’s length out before him. “They’ve not made quite a fright of you, I -see--eh, admiral?” - -“Dear Sir Simon, it’s all a great deal too pretty. It’s like being in a -story-book, my lovely dress and everything?” said Franceline, standing on -tip-toe to be kissed. - -Mr. de Winton came in at this juncture. - -“I say, Clide, it’s rather hard on us to have to stand by and not follow -suit,” grumbled the admiral. - -Franceline crimsoned up; the bare suggestion of such a possibility as -the words implied made her heart leap up with a wild throb. She did not -mean to look at Clide, but somehow, involuntarily, as if moved by some -mesmeric force, their eyes met. It was only for a moment, but that rapid, -mutual glance sent the life-current coursing through her young veins with -strange thrills of joy. Clide had turned quickly to point out something -in the decorations to his uncle, and Franceline slipped her arm into her -father’s, and began to admire the beauty of the long vista of parlors -leading on to the ball-room, where the orchestra was already inviting -them to the dance with abrupt flashes of music, one instrument answering -another in sudden preludes, or chords of sweetness “long drawn out.” - -“You have not seen the galleries yet,” said Sir Simon; “come and look at -them before the crowd arrives.” - -They followed him into the Medusa gallery, and the transition from the -brilliant glare of wax-lights to the subdued twilight of the blue dome, -where mimic stars were twinkling round a silver crescent, was so solemn -and unexpected that Raymond and Franceline stood on the threshold with -a kind of awe, as if they had come upon sacred precincts. Tall ferns -and palms nodded gently in the blue moonlight, swayed by some invisible -agent. The change from this to the gaudy brilliancy of the Diana gallery -was in its way as striking; myriads of Chinese lanterns were swinging -from the ceiling; some peeped through flowers and plants, and some were -held by Chinese mandarins with pig-tails and embroidered bed-gowns. - -“Are they real Chinamen?” enquired Franceline in a whisper, as she passed -close by one of them and met his eyes fixed on her with the appreciating -glance of an outer barbarian. - -“Real! To be sure they are. I imported a small cargo of them from Hong -Kong, pig-tails and all, for the occasion,” replied Sir Simon. - -But a twinkle in his eye, and a broad grin on the face of the genuine -John Chinaman, belied this audacious assertion. Franceline laughed -merrily. - -“How clever of you to have invented it, and how exactly like real -Chinamen they are!” she cried, intending to be complimentary to all -parties; which the mandarin under consideration acknowledged by a slow -bend of his skull-capped head and a movement of the left hand towards the -tip of his nose, supposed to represent a native salutation. - -“Bestow your commendation where it is due,” said Sir Simon; “it’s all -that young gentleman’s doing,” pointing with a jerk of his head towards -Clide, who had sauntered in after them. “But here comes somebody; we must -be under arms to receive them.” - -The baying of the bloodhounds chained in the outer court announced the -arrival of a carriage; they reached the reception-room in time to hear it -wheeling up the terrace. - -And now the master of Dullerton Court was in his element. The tide of -guests poured in quickly, and were greeted with that royal courtesy that -was his especial attribute. No matter what the worries and cares of life -might be elsewhere, they vanished as if by enchantment in the sunshine -of Sir Simon’s hospitality. He forgot nobody; the absent ones had their -tribute of regret, and he remembered the precise cause of the absence: -the daughter who had an inopportune toothache, the son forced to remain -in town on business, and the father pinned to his bed by the gout; -Sir Simon was so sorry for each individual absentee that while he was -expressing it you would have imagined this feeling must have damped his -joy for the evening; but the cloud passed off when he shook hands with -the next arrival, and he was radiantly happy in spite of sympathetic gout -and toothache. - -Mrs. de Winton seconded her host well in doing the honors. If she was a -trifle stiff, it was such a graceful, well-bred stiffness that you could -not quarrel with it, and she neglected no one. - -“There are Mr. Langrove and the girls!” exclaimed Franceline, in high -excitement, as if that inevitable spectacle were an extraordinary -surprise. - -“Oh! how gorgeous you are, Franceline,” was Godiva’s awe-stricken _sotto -voce_, as if she feared that loud speech might blow away the bubble. - -“And what a delicious fan! Do let me look at it!” panted Arabella in the -same subdued tone. - -“Oh! but look at her shoes,” cried Georgiana, clasping her hands and -looking down, amazed, at the white satin toe, with its dainty pink -rosette, that protruded from under the skirt. - -“I’m so glad you like it all,” said Franceline, delighted at the _naïve_ -and good-natured expressions of admiration. They were all as artless -as birds, the Langrove girls, and had not a grain of envy in their -composition. - -“Oh! there’s Mr. Charlton,” whispered Matilda, nudging Alice to look as -the observed-of-all-observers in Dullerton appeared in the doorway. - -The room was now full to overflowing, and the crowd, swayed by one of -those spontaneous movements that govern crowds, suddenly poured out -of the blue drawing-room into the adjoining ones, leaving the former -comparatively empty. Franceline was following the stream when Sir Simon -called out to her: - -“Don’t run away; come here to me. I want to introduce you to my friend -Lady Anwyll. Mlle. de la Bourbonais--I was going to say, my daughter, but -unfortunately she is only the daughter of my oldest friend and second -self, the Comte de la Bourbonais; you have met him, I believe?” - -Lady Anwyll had had that distinction, and was charmed now to make his -daughter’s acquaintance. She had none of her own to dispose of, which -the wily Sir Simon perhaps remembered when he singled her out for this -introduction. - -“You’ll see that she has a few partners. I dare say they won’t be very -reluctant to do their duty with a little pressing.” - -“It’s the only duty young men seem equal to nowadays,” said the plump old -lady, nodding in the direction of a group of the degenerate race; and she -drew Franceline’s hand through her arm, and bore her off like a conquest. - -“Who’s that girl? She’s awfully pretty! What color are her eyes--black, -blue, or brown? I’ve not seen such a pair of eyes this season, by Jove!” -drawled a _blasé_ young gentleman from the metropolis. - -“You’re a luckier man than your betters if you have ever seen a pair like -them,” retorted Mr. Charlton, superciliously; “that’s the belle of the -evening, Mlle. de la Bourbonais.” - -“You’ll be a good fellow, and introduce me--eh, Charlton?” said his -friend. - -But Mr. Charlton turned on his heel without committing himself further -than by a dubious “I’ll see about it.” His position as native gave him -the whip-hand over all interlopers, and he meant to let them know it. - -And now the orchestra has burst out in full storm, and engaged couples -are hunting for each other amidst the vortex of tarlatan and dress-coats. -Clide has found his partner and led her to the top of the room, where Sir -Simon and Lady Anwyll are waiting for their _vis-à-vis_. A little lower -down, Miss Merrywig is standing up with Mr. Charlton. - -“How very absurd of him, my dear,” the old lady is protesting to Arabella -Langrove, who made their _dos-à-dos_; “but he will have me dance the -first quadrille with him. Was there ever anything so absurd!” - -Arabella was too polite to contradict her; and Mr. Charlton bent down -to assure Miss Merrywig there was no one in the room he could have -half as much pleasure in opening the evening’s campaign with; a speech -which was overheard by several neighboring young ladies, who commented -on it in their own way, while Franceline, who beheld with surprise the -ill-assorted couple stand up together, thought it showed very nice -feeling on the part of Mr. Charlton to have selected the dear old lady -for such a compliment, and that she looked very pretty in her lavender -watered silk and full blonde cap with streamers flying. But it was -quite clear that Miss Bulpit thought differently. That estimable and -zealous Christian had with much difficulty been persuaded by Sir Simon -to condescend so far to sanction the vanities of the unconverted as to -be present at the ball, and she had discarded her funereal trappings of -black bombazine for the mitigated woe of black satin; but the cockade of -limp black feathers that sprouted from some hidden recess where her back -hair was supposed to be protested sorrowfully against the glossy levity -of her dress, and bobbed with a penitential expression that was really -affecting. Mr. Sparks was hawking her about like a raven in a carnival. -_He_ entered into her feelings; it was chiefly the desire to support her -by his countenance and sympathy that had brought him to this scene of -ungodly dissipation. - -Franceline was terribly nervous in the first figure, and Clide felt it -incumbent on him to give her his utmost help in the way of prompting -beforehand, and commendation when the feat was over. They got on -swimmingly until the third figure, when she became hopelessly entangled -in the ladies’-chain, giving her hand to Lady Anwyll instead of Sir -Simon, and then rushing back to Clide, while Sir Simon rushed after her -and made everything inextricable. - -“Really, governor, you’re too bad!” protested Mr. de Winton; “why don’t -you mind what you’re about? You’re putting my partner out disgracefully!” - -Sir Simon bore the broadside with heroic magnanimity, apologized to -everybody all round, except Clide, who ought to have called him to order -in time, and not let him go bungling on, confusing everybody. By the time -he had done scolding and they had all got into position again, the figure -was over. The rest of the quadrille was got through without any mishaps -to speak of, and when Clide carried his partner off for a promenade in -the moonlit gallery, assuring her that she had done it all beautifully, -Franceline felt that the praise, for being a trifle strained, was none -the less due. Other couples followed them in amongst the ferns and palms, -and Franceline was soon besieged by entreating candidates for the next -dances. Mr. Charlton came up with the graceful self-possession that -belongs to six thousand pounds a year and a decidedly handsome and rather -effeminate face, and requested the favor of a quadrille. It was promised, -and he stood by her side and in that earnest tone that was acknowledged -to be so captivating by all the young ladies of Dullerton asked Mlle. de -la Bourbonais if this was her first ball. - -“Ah! I thought so. One can always tell by the freshness with which -people enjoy it. For my own part, I confess I envy every one their first -experience of this kind; it so soon wears off--the pleasure, I mean--and -one feels the insipidity of it. Perhaps you already anticipate that?” -There was a depth of expression in her face that suggested this remark. -Mr. Charlton considered himself a reader of character--a physiognomist, -in fact. - -“Oh! no,” exclaimed Franceline, with artless vehemence; “I don’t think I -should ever get tired of it; it’s far more enjoyable than I imagined!” - -“Ah, indeed! Well, just so; it’s as people feel; for my part I think it’s -a mistake--I mean getting _blasé_ of things;” and he ran a turquoise and -diamond finger through his curly straw-colored hair. - -“I hate people who are _blasé_,” was the unconventional rejoinder; “they -are always so tiresome and woe-begone. Papa always says he feels under -a personal obligation to people for being happy; they do him good--like -dear little Miss Merrywig, for instance. I’m sure she’s not _blasé_ of -anything; how she did enjoy herself in the quadrille! And it was so -pretty to see her dancing her demure little old-fashioned steps.” - -“She’s a very old friend of yours, is she not, Charlton?” said Clide. - -“Oh! yes; since before I was born. She’s a dear old girl, if she would -only not bother one to guess what she gave for her buttons,” replied Mr. -Charlton. “But just see here! Is our Christian friend trying to deal with -Roxham?” - -Miss Bulpit was coming across the conservatory out of the Diana gallery, -leaning on Lord Roxham, with whom she was conversing in an earnest manner. - -“Oh! here you are, Roxham. I’ve been hunting for you this quarter of an -hour,” called out Sir Simon, appearing from behind a mandarin who was -holding a tray full of tea-cups to the company. “Franceline, my friend -Lord Roxham has threatened to shoot me if I don’t get him a dance from -you; so in self-defence I had to make over my right to the first waltz. I -couldn’t do more, or less. What do you say, Miss Bulpit?” - -Miss Bulpit considered Sir Simon was behaving very handsomely. - -“It’s easy to be generous at other people’s expense,” observed Mr. -de Winton, tightening his grasp on the light arm that was obediently -slipping from him; “it so happens that Mlle. de le Bourbonais has -promised the first waltz to me.” - -“I’m sorry to disappoint you, my dear fellow, but you might have had a -little thought for other people’s rights. You won’t deny that I deserve -an early favor?” said the baronet, with playful peremptoriness. - -“Dear Sir Simon, I never thought of your asking me,” said Franceline -penitently. - -“Oh! that’s it,” said the baronet, shaking his head; “that’s sure to -be the way of it; we poor old fogies get shoved out of the way by the -youngsters. Well, you see I’m letting you off easier than you deserve. -Roxham, we’ll change partners, if Miss Bulpit does not object to taking -an old man instead of a young one.” - -Franceline was again going to draw her arm away, but again the tightening -grasp prevented her. She looked up at Clide; but he was looking away from -her, his mouth set in a rigid expression, and an angry fold divided the -straight brows that lay like bars across his forehead. - -“Mlle. de la Bourbonais promised me this dance,” he said, coldly, to Lord -Roxham. - -“But I overrule the promise; she had no business to give it without -consulting me, naughty, unfeeling little person! Come, De Winton, make -way for my deputy!” And with a nod and a laugh that were clearly not to -be trifled with, he beckoned Clide to follow him. - -Franceline looked up with the beseeching glance of a frightened fawn -as Clide released her arm, and with a low bow walked away. She was -ready to cry; but there was nothing for it but to accept Lord Roxham’s -proffered arm, and go into the ball-room where in a moment she was -caught up and was whirling mechanically along with the waltzers. She -was too preoccupied to be nervous about the performance that she had -looked forward to with so much trepidation, and so she acquitted herself -admirably. Her partner stopped after the first round to let her take -breath. - -“Yes, thank you, I am a little giddy; I am not accustomed to dancing.” - -So they stood under the colonnade. Lord Roxham would have been a pleasant -partner if Franceline had been in a mood to enjoy his lively talk on all -sorts of subjects. He saw there were likely to be breakers ahead between -Clide and some one about this dance; but he had had nothing to say to -that. He felt rather aggrieved than otherwise, being forced, as it were, -on a girl against her will, or at any rate without her being consulted. -And it was hard on De Winton, whether he particularly held to his pretty -partner or not. What the dickens did Harness mean by meddling in it at -all? He was not given to putting spokes in other people’s wheels. Lord -Roxham was very intelligent, but though furnished with an average share -of masculine conceit, it never occurred to him to think that the falling -through of his marriage lately, and the fact of his being the eldest -son of a peer with a fine estate--a good deal encumbered, but what of -that?--might afford any clue to Sir Simon’s odd behavior. - -“No, I did not mean in the political issue of the contest; ladies are -not expected to take much interest in that part of the business,” he was -saying to his partner; “but they are apt to get up very warm partisanship -for the candidates, irrespective of politics.” - -“Who are the candidates?” inquired Franceline. - -Lord Roxham laughed. - -“Poor wretches! They _are_ to be pitied. Sir Ponsonby Anwyll on the -Conservative side and Mr. Charlton for the Liberals.” - -“Mr. Charlton! He is then clever? Can he make speeches?” - -Lord Roxham laughed again, and hesitated a little before he replied: -“It’s rather a case, I fancy, of the man who could not say whether he -could play the fiddle, because he had never tried. We none of us know -what we can do till we try. Charlton does not strike you as having the -making of an orator in him, I see.” - -“Oh! I don’t know. I spoke to him to-night for the first time; he did not -give me the idea of a person who could make speeches and laws; one must -be very clever to get into Parliament, must he not?” - -“If elections were conducted on the competitive examination system, one -might assume that; but I’m afraid we successful candidates can hardly -take our success as the test of merit,” said her companion. “I see you -have rather a high standard about electioneering.” - -Franceline had no standard at all, and was full of curiosity to hear -about the mysteries of canvassing and constituents, and the poll, -from some one who had gone through the various stages of the battle, -from being pelted with rotten eggs on the hustings to the solemn -taking possession of a legislator’s seat in the Imperial Parliament. -A legislator must be a kind of hero. She was glad to have met one. -Lord Roxham, who liked to hear himself talk, proceeded to enlighten -her to the best of his ability; he had no end of droll electioneering -stories to tell, and scandalous tales of corruption through the medium -of gin-shops, etc.; he opened her eyes in horror by his account of the -rotten-borough system, and the rottenness of the law-making machine in -general, touching the heroes of the Liberal party with a light dash -of satire and caricature that brought the dimples out in full force in -Franceline’s cheeks, and made her laugh merrily; in short, he was so -lively and entertaining that she was quite sorry when he held out his arm -for them to start off again in the dance. As they stepped from under the -colonnade, she saw Clide leaning against a pillar at the other side, with -his eyes fixed on her. - -“Oh! stop, please,” pleaded Franceline, after one turn over the spacious -floor, and they rested for a moment; just as they did so, a couple flew -past--Mr. de Winton and a very beautiful girl, as tall as Franceline, but -in no other way resembling her; her hair was black as ebony, with black -eyes and a clear olive complexion. - -“Who is that lady?” - -“Lady Emily Fitznorman, a cousin of mine.” - -“How beautiful she is! I never saw any one so handsome!” - -“Did you not?” with an incredulous smile, then looking quickly away. “She -is a very striking person; she is the belle of _our_ county. You look -warm; shall we take a turn in the galleries?” - -Franceline assented. Passing through the conservatory, they came upon -two persons seated in a recess, partly screened by a large fan-leaved -plant. It was Clide and Lady Emily; she was talking with great animation, -gesticulating with her fan, while he sat in an attitude of deep -attention, his elbows resting on his knees, and his head bent forward. -Franceline felt a sudden shock at her left side, as if her heart had -stopped, while a spasm of pain shot through her, making every fibre -tingle. What was this olive-skinned beauty saying to Clide that he was -listening to with such rapt attention? He did not even look up, though -he must have seen who was passing. Poor Franceline! what tremor is this -that shakes her from head to foot, convulsing her whole being with one -fierce throb of angry emotion! Poor human heart! the demon of jealousy -had but to blow one breath upon it, and she whose life had hitherto been -a sort of inverse metempsychosis of a lily and a dove, was transformed -into a woman fired with passionate vindictiveness, longing to snatch -at another human heart and crush it. But the woman’s pride, that woke -up with the pain, came instinctively to her assistance. She began -talking rapidly to Lord Roxham, sinking her voice to the _sotto voce_ -of confidence and intimacy, so that he had to lower his head slightly -to catch what she was saying; thus they swept by the two in the recess, -without glancing towards them. - -Clide meantime had seen it all. He had been straining every nerve to -catch what Franceline was saying, and was voting his friend Roxham a -confounded puppy, whose conceited head he would have much pleasure in -punching on the first opportunity. He could not punch Sir Simon’s, though -he deserved it more than Roxham. - -“May I ask you for an explanation of your behavior to me just now, Sir -Simon?” he had said to his host as soon as Miss Bulpit had set him free; -“what did you mean by interfering with me in that manner?” - -“Did I interfere with you?” was the supercilious retort, with a bland -smile. “I’m very sorry to hear it; but I think I had a right to the -second dance from a young lady whom I consider my adopted daughter.” - -“If it had been for yourself I should have yielded without a word; but -it was for Roxham you shoved me aside.” - -“Well, suppose I choose to elect a deputy to do my duty? I had a right to -choose Roxham.” - -“I fancied I might have had a prior claim.” - -“Indeed! Then you should have told me so. How was I to know it?--Well, -vicar, I see your young ladies are in great request; how does Miss Godiva -happen to be in your company?” - -“What can he be driving at?” muttered Clide, as his host turned away -to get a partner for Godiva Langrove; “has he been fooling me all this -time--is he playing me off against Roxham? And is she--” He walked into -the ballroom, and there saw, as we know, Lord Roxham and Franceline very -happy in each other’s society. - -He went straight to Lady Emily Fitznorman, and asked her for the waltz -that was going on. She was _fiancée_ to a friend of his, he knew; so -he was safe so far, and she had plenty to say for herself, and he must -talk to some one. He was not a man to show the white feather, whatever -he might feel. He kept steadily aloof from Franceline after this, and -Lord Roxham, taking for granted that he had been mistaken in his first -impressions, secured her for three more dances, which was all he dared do -in the face of Dullerton. - -Franceline was grateful to him. She felt suddenly forsaken in the midst -of the gay crowd, as if some protecting presence had been withdrawn. -Her father was playing _piquet_ in some distant region where there were -card-tables. But even if he had been within reach, there was something -stirring in her newly-awakened consciousness that would have prevented -her seeking him. Clide should not see that he had grieved her. She could -enjoy herself and be merry without him, and she would let him see it! - -“Has the honor of taking you in to supper been already secured, -mademoiselle?” said Mr. Charlton, making sure at this early stage that it -had not, and coming up to claim it with the air of elaborate grace that -springs from the habit of easy conquest. - -“Yes, it has,” replied Lord Roxham, quickly taking the answer out of -Franceline’s mouth. “I was before you in the field, Charlton, I am happy -to say.” - -“How could you tell such a story?” whispered Franceline, with an attempt -to look shocked when Mr. Charlton had gone away. - -“I told you everything was considered fair in electioneering,” replied -the member of Parliament. - -“Then electioneering must be very bad for everybody who has to do with -it, if it teaches them to tell stories and call it fair.” - -But she promised, nevertheless, to act as accomplice in this particular -case of badness, and to let him take her in to supper. He came to claim -his privilege in due time, and they went in together. But the tables were -already so crowded that they could not find two contiguous seats. Some -one beckoned to Lord Roxham that there was a vacant chair higher up, -on a line with where they stood. He elbowed his way through the crowd, -and seized the chair, and placed Franceline in it. She was sitting down -before she noticed that her next neighbor was Clide de Winton. He was -busily attending to the wants of Lady Emily, but turned round quickly on -feeling the chair taken, and moved his own an inch or so to make more -space. At the same moment he looked up to see who Franceline’s attendant -was. “Can’t you find a seat, Roxham? I’ll make way for you presently. We -have nearly done.” There was not a trace of vexation in his manner, or in -his face. - -“No hurry! I can bear up for ten minutes more,” replied his friend, -good-humoredly; “but help me to attend to Mlle. de la Bourbonais. What -will you begin with?” bending over her chair. - -Franceline did not care. Anything that was at hand. - -“Then let me recommend some of this jelly; it is pronounced excellent by -my partner,” said Clide, politely, and scanning the well-garnished table -to see what else he could suggest. - -“Thank you. I will take some of these chocolate bonbons.” - -“Nothing more substantial?” - -“Bonbons are always nourishment enough for me. I think I could live on -them without anything stronger; I have quite a passion for them--my -French nature coming out, you see.” - -She spoke very gayly. He helped her without looking at her. She made a -feint of nibbling the _pralines_, but she could not swallow; her heart -was beating so hard and loud she fancied Clide must hear it. - -“Roxham, suppose you made yourself useful and get a glass of champagne -for these ladies,” said Clide. “Waylay that fellow with the bottle there.” - -Lord Roxham charged valiantly through the crowd, snatched the bottle from -the astonished flunky, and bore it away in triumph over the heads of the -multitude. - -“Well done! That’s what I call a brilliant manœuvre,” said Clide, -laughing. “No, you must help them yourself; you deserve that reward -after such a feat of arms, and Mlle. de la Bourbonais, who has a great -admiration for heroes, will drink to your health I daresay.” - -“I’ve been trying to excite her admiration by the recital of my heroic -exploits at the last elections; but I’m afraid I rather scandalized her -instead,” said the young man, as he poured the sparkling wine into her -glass. - -“Served you right,” said Lady Emily, with cousinly impertinence; “when -people fish for compliments they generally catch more snakes than eels.” - -“Roxham, will you reach me those sandwiches?” cried a gentleman -struggling with a lady on his arm beyond arm’s length of the table. Lord -Roxham immediately went to his assistance, and some one else instantly -pressed into his place behind Franceline. - -“We had better go now, if you have quite finished,” said Clide to Lady -Emily. - -Franceline made a movement to rise, but sat down again; Clide’s chair was -on her dress. - -“Oh! I beg your pardon. Have I done any mischief?” he exclaimed, starting -up and lifting his chair; the foot had caught in the tulle and made a -slight rent. - -“Oh! I am so sorry. I beg your pardon a thousand times!” he said with -great warmth and looking deeply distressed. - -“It’s of no consequence; it will never be noticed,” she answered, gently. - -“I am so sorry!” Clide repeated. Their eyes met at last; he was disarmed -in an instant. - -“Will you dance with me now?” he said almost in a whisper. - -“Yes.” - -They were soon in the ball-room again. - -“Why did you turn me off in that way? Was it that you preferred dancing -with Roxham?” - -“O Clide!” The words escaped her like the cry of a wounded bird, and, -with as little sanction of her free will, the tears rose. - -He made no answer--no audible one at least; but there is a language in a -look sometimes that is more eloquent than speech. Franceline and Clide -dwelt for a moment in that silent glance, and felt that it was drawing -their hearts together as flame draws flame. - -She never knew how long the dance lasted; she only knew that she was -being borne along, treading on air, it seemed to her, and encompassed by -sweet sounds of music as in a dream. But the dream was over, and she was -being steadied on her feet by the strong protecting arm, and Clide was -looking down upon her from his six feet of height, the frown that had -made the dark bars over his eyes look so formidable a little while ago -quite vanished. - -“Is Sir Simon angry with us?” she asked, looking up into his face. - -“Not he! Why should he be angry with us? And if he were, what does -it matter?” he added, in a voice of low-toned tenderness; “what does -anything matter so long as we are not angry with each other?” - -He drew her hand within his arm, and they walked on in silence. -Franceline’s heart was too full for words. Was it not part of her -happiness that this new-found joy should be overshadowed by a vague and -nameless fear? - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -THE CARDINALATE. - -SECOND AND CONCLUDING PAPER. - -The manner of creating Cardinals has differed in different ages. -Moroni[128] (_Dizionario_, ix. p. 300, _et seq._) gives a description -of the ancient, the mediæval, and the modern ceremonies used on the -occasion. In the earliest period of which there are details we know -that the pope created the cardinals on the ember-days of Advent in the -churches of the Station. There were three stages in the proceeding: -the first on Wednesday at S. Mary Major’s, the second in the Twelve -Apostles’, and the third in S. Peter’s. The subjects of the cardinalate -were called out in the first two churches by a lector after the pope had -read the Introit and Collect of the solemn Mass; but in the last one, -the pope himself declared such an one to be elected cardinal-priest, or -deacon, by a formula the beginning and essential words of which were: -“Auxiliante Domino Deo et Salvatore Nostro Jesu Christo, _eligimus_ in -ordinem diaconi Sergium (for instance) subdiaconum.” The cardinal-elect -then received from the pope “inter missarum solemnia,” the necessary -Order of the diaconate or priesthood. In those days there was a much -stricter connection required between the (sacred) character of a subject -and his order in the cardinalate than there now is, when a bishop often -belongs to the presbyterial and a priest to the diaconal order. In the -Middle Ages, cardinals were no longer created during Mass or in church -in presence of the people; but at the pope’s residence of the Lateran, -before the Sacred College. The season was still the same and the custom -of creating them only on a fast-day of December lasted for over six -hundred years. - -In the mediæval creations three consistories were held in the Apostolic -Palace, of which two were secret and one was public. In the first -consistory the pope deputed two cardinals to go around to the house of -every sick or legitimately-absent cardinal and get his opinion on these -points: Ought there to be a creation? And if so, of how many? - -On the return of the deputies the pope asked the cardinals present the -same questions. All voted thereon; and after the votes had been counted, -if the pope saw fit he pronounced that he followed the advice of those -who were in favor--“Nos sequimur consilium dicentium, quod fiant.” Then -the cardinals voted on the number to be created, and after the counting -of the votes, the pope said that he followed the advice of those who -proposed that six (for instance) should be created--“Nos sequimur -consilium dicentium, quod fiant sex.” After a recommendation to reflect -maturely, and deliberate upon the persons proper to be elected, the -consistory broke up. On the Friday following it assembled again, and -when two cardinals, sent out for the purpose as on the first day, had -returned with the names of those suggested by the absent ones, the pope -commanded an empty chair to be brought--“Portetur nuda cathedra.” Then -the cardinals all stood up behind the two rows of benches that ran down -the great _aula consistorialis_, and the senior advanced and, sitting -down beside the pope, was made acquainted in a low voice with the names -of those whom the pope wished to create, and was asked his opinion. -“Quid tibi videtur?” As soon as the cardinal had answered, the next one -went up, and so on until all had been heard. The pope then announced -the result of this auricular consultation and declared such and such -persons created cardinals of the Holy Roman Church. The next day a public -consistory was held in which they were solemnly published; after which -the elect were introduced and heard an allocution addressed to them by -the pope on the duties and dignity of their office, and received from -his hands the large hat, with the designation of their churches. All the -cardinals dined that day with the pope, and in the afternoon the new ones -went in grand cavalcade to take possession of their Titles or Deaconries, -as the case might be. - -In more recent times, that is, about 1646, when Lunadoro wrote his -celebrated account of the Roman court,[129] the manner of creating was -almost as at present, except that the now unheard-of Cardinal _Nephew_ -(who was called in Italian--_vae, vae!_--Il cardinale _Padrone_) had a -large share in the ceremonies, as he doubtless had a decided influence in -the nominations, and that the red _beretta_, or cap, was placed on the -head of the elect by the pope himself, with the words _Esto cardinalis_, -and the sign of the cross. According to the modern ceremonial, the pope -summons a consistory, and, after delivering an appropriate address, asks -the cardinals their opinion with the customary (but, since the XVth -century, rather perfunctory) formula, “What think ye?” Then they rise, -take off their caps, and bow assent; whereupon the pope proceeds to -create the new cardinals in the words: “By the authority of Almighty God, -of the blessed apostles Peter and Paul, and of our own, etc.” - -On account of the present Piedmontese occupation of Rome, the subsequent -ceremonial has to be dispensed with in the case of those cardinals who -may be there at the time of their elevation to the dignity. Those who -are absent receive the lesser insignia of their rank from two papal -messengers; one of whom is a layman and member of the Noble Guard, -carrying the _zucchetto_, or skull-cap, the other an ecclesiastic of some -minor prelatic rank in the pope’s household, bringing the _beretta_. If -the head of the state be a Catholic, he is permitted to place the cap -(brought by the ablegate) upon the new cardinal, the function taking -place in the royal chapel; but in other countries a bishop or archbishop -is appointed by the pope for the purpose. - -At one period, particularly during the XVIth century, many serious -scandals were occasioned by the practice of betting on or against the -advancement of certain individuals to the cardinalate, and some who -had staked heavily were convicted of resorting to infamous calumnies -to hinder the nomination of those against whom they had betted. Things -finally became so outrageous that Gregory XIV., in 1591, issued a bull -in which excommunication, already declared, was pronounced against any -one who should presume to wager on the promotion of cardinals (Bul. 4, -Gregory XIV. _cogit nos_). - -The expression applied to a cardinal of being or having been reserved -_in petto_, means to be created but (for reasons known only to the pope) -not published or promulgated as such. It is not certainly known when -this practice began, and the subject has been so often confounded with -that of _secret_ creation that it is difficult to assign a precise date. -The secret creation was simply the creation of a cardinal without the -usual ceremonial. It originated with Martin V. (Colonna), probably urged -thereto by the jealousies and dangers that still lingered after the great -schism of the West was happily ended. The other cardinals were consulted, -and notice was given to the honored individual, who was not, however, -allowed to assume the distinctive ornaments or the station of his rank. -In the _in petto_ appointments, only the pope and perhaps his _Uditore_, -or some extremely confidential person bound to secrecy, know the names -of those reserved. It is related of a certain prelate, Vannozzi, who was -much esteemed by Gregory XIV. for his varied learning and long services, -that having been commissioned one day to take note of the names of a few -cardinals to be created in the next consistory, he had the satisfaction -to be ordered to write his own name in the list. Although bound to -secrecy, he was weak enough to give in to the importunate solicitations -of the Cardinal Nephew and show him the paper, which coming to the pope’s -ears, he called the prelate and made him erase his name--and that was the -end of Vannozzi. - -A cardinal created, but reserved _in petto_, if he be subsequently -published, takes precedence of all others (in his order) created -subsequently, notwithstanding the reservation. If the pope wish to create -and reserve in this manner, after publishing the names of the cardinals -created in the ordinary way, he uses the formula: “Alios autem duos (for -example) in pectore reservamus arbitrio nostro quandocumque declarandos.” -It is believed that Paul III. (Farnese, 1534-49) was the first to reserve -_in petto_; and we think that he may have done so to reward attachment -to faith and discipline in that heretical age without seeming to do -so too openly, to avoid its having an interested look. The celebrated -Jesuit (himself a cardinal) and historian of the Council of Trent, Sforza -Pallavicini, gives a curious reason--that certainly shows how great was -the idea entertained in his day, the middle of the XVIIth century, of -the Roman cardinalate--why the expression _creation_ of a cardinal is -officially used; and says (vol. 1. p. xiii.) that it is meant to intimate -by the word that the excellence of the dignity is so exalted that all -degrees of inferior rank are as though they were not; so that when the -pope makes a man a cardinal, it is as if in the sphere of honors he -called him out of non-existence into being. - -In the first consistory held, in which the newly-created cardinals -appear, the pope performs on them the ceremony of Sealing the Lips (more -literally of Closing the Mouth). It is done in the following formula: -“Claudimus vobis os, ut neque in consistoriis neque in congregationibus -aliisque functionibus cardinalitiis sententiam vestram dicere valeatis.” -At the end of the consistory, when the junior cardinal-deacon rings -a little bell, the pope unseals their lips by saying (in Latin): “We -open your mouths, that in consistories, congregations, and other -ecclesiastical functions, ye may be able to speak your opinion. In -the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen”; -making over them meanwhile three times the sign of the cross. This -custom must be pretty old, for it is mentioned in the XIIIth century -by Cardinal (Stefaneschi) Gaetani, nephew of Pope Boniface VIII., as -already in existence. It has been conjectured that the intention of such -a ceremony was to pass the newly-created cardinals through a kind of -novitiate before receiving what is called, in canon law, the active and -passive voice, _i.e._, the right of electing and of being elected to the -pontificate; but it may also have been intended to impress upon them the -necessity of prudence and modesty of speech in such august assemblies. - -The College of Cardinals is the seed and germ of the papacy, and the -greatest act that one of its members can perform is to take part in a -papal election. This is done in a convention called the _Conclave_, which -is subject to many regulations, as becomes so important an occasion. The -present order of this assembly dates from the pontificate of Gregory -XV., in 1621. When Rome was not occupied by some sacrilegious invader, -it took place in the Quirinal Palace by secret voting, the votes being -opened and counted in a chapel called, from the circumstance, _Capella -Scrutinii_. When the election was complete, the senior cardinal-deacon, -whose office corresponds to that of the ancient archdeacons of the Roman -Church, announced it to the people. Originally, however, the cardinals -were not the only electors of the pope, but any foreign bishop in -communion with the Holy See, who happened to be present during a vacancy, -was permitted to take part in the election. Thus, when Cornelius was -exalted to the Chair of Peter, in 254, sixteen such bishops, of whom -two were from Africa, concurred in the act. The rest also of the Roman -clergy had some voice in the election, but it was greatly weakened by -Pope Stephen III. _alias_ IV., in a council held at the Lateran in the -year 769, who made it obligatory to elect a member of the Sacred College. -Alexander III., by the advice and with the approval of the eleventh -General Council (third of Lateran), in 1179, considering the difficulties -arising out of a great number of electors (no less than thirty-three -schisms having already been occasioned thereby), solemnly decreed that -in future the cardinals alone should have the right to choose, confirm, -and enthrone the pope, and that two-thirds of the votes cast would be -necessary for a canonical election. Lucius III., his successor in 1181, -was the first pope elected in this manner by the exclusive action of the -Sacred College. This wise provision was confirmed for the edification -of the faithful, and to show that the bishops dispersed throughout the -church did not claim any share in the election of its head, by the -general councils of Lyons (IId) in 1274, and Vienne in 1311. But once -since have any others had an active voice in the matter, which was at -Constance, when the twenty-three cardinals, to put an end to the schism, -opened the conclave for this time only to thirty prelates, six from -each of the five great nations represented there. This resulted in the -election of Martin V. (Colonna) on November 11, 1417. Since the year -1378 no one not a cardinal has been elected pope; but before that time -a good many, despite the decree of Stephen III. (or IV.), were elected -without being cardinals; six in the XIth, two in the XIIth, three in the -XIIIth, and three in the XIVth century. Of these were S. Celestine V. -and, before him, Blessed Gregory X. A curious circumstance attended the -election of the latter, in which the cardinals were treated as jurymen -who are locked up until they agree upon a verdict. After the death of -Clement IV., in 1268, the Holy See was vacant longer than ever before, -viz., two years nine months and two days, on account of the dissensions -of the eighteen cardinals who composed the Sacred College. The conclave -was held at Viterbo; but, although King Philip III. of France and Charles -I. of Sicily went there to hasten the election, and S. Bonaventure, -general of the Franciscans, induced the towns-people to keep the fathers -close prisoners in the episcopal palace, nothing availed, until the happy -thought struck Raniero Gatti, captain of the city, to take off the roof, -so that the rain would pour in on wet, and the sunshine on hot days.[130] -This had the desired effect, and after S. Philip Beniti, general of -the Servites, had refused the offer of election, the cardinals promptly -agreed upon Theobald Visconti, archdeacon of Liege, and apostolic legate -in Syria. It was on this occasion that an episcopal quasi-poet improvised -the leonine verses: - - “Papatus munus tulit Archidiaconus unus, - Quem Patrem Patrum fecit discordia Fratrum.” - -About this time it became customary for the cardinals to act as -“protectors” of nations, religious orders, universities, and other great -institutions, which were liable to be brought into relations with the -Holy See more frequently then than at present; but Urban VI., in 1378, -without absolutely prohibiting this species of patrocination, forbade -cardinals to accept gifts or any kind of remuneration from those whose -interests they guarded. Martin V. in 1424, Alexander VI. in 1492, and -Leo X. in 1517, issued various decrees to moderate or entirely abolish -such an use of their influence by the cardinals for private parties, -because it might easily, under certain circumstances, stand in the way -of that impartial counsel to the pope and equity of action to which they -were bound before all things. Yet it shows the immense importance of the -cardinalate in the XIVth and XVth centuries, that powerful sovereigns -gave to individuals in the Sacred College the high-sounding title of -protectors of their kingdoms. At the present day, cardinals are allowed -to assume, gratuitously, a care of the interests of religious orders, -academies, colleges, confraternities, and other institutions, mostly in -Rome, which may choose to pay them the compliment of putting themselves -under their patronage. - -In the IXth century, S. Leo IV. made a rule that the cardinals should -come to the apostolic palace twice a week for consistory, and John VIII., -towards the end of the same century, furthermore ordered them to meet -together twice a month to treat of various affairs appertaining to their -office. We find here the beginning of those later celebrated assemblies -called Roman Congregations, which are permanent commissions to examine, -judge, and expedite the affairs of the church throughout the world. Each -cardinal is made a member of four or more of these congregations, and -a cardinal is generally at the head--with the name of prefect--of each -of those the presidency of which the pope has not reserved to himself. -It is always from among the cardinals that the highest officials of the -Church in Rome and of the Sacred College are chosen. The former are the -palatine cardinals, so called because they are lodged in some one of -the pontifical palaces and enjoy the fullest share of the sovereign’s -confidence and favor. They are at present four in number, viz., the -pro-datary, secretary of briefs, of memorials, of state. Next come -the cardinal vicar, grand penitentiary, chamberlain, vice-chancellor, -librarian. The cardinal-archpriests are at the head of the three great -patriarchal basilicas of S. John of Lateran, S. Mary Major, and S. Peter. -The officials of the Sacred College number five, who are all, except one, -_ex-officio_; these are: the dean, who is always Bishop of Ostia and -Velletri, is head of the Sacred College, and represents it on certain -occasions of state, as when he receives the first visit of princes and -ambassadors, and expresses to the Holy Father any sentiments that he and -his colleagues may wish to announce in a body. The sub-dean supplies -his place when absent, or incapacitated from whatever cause. The First -Priest and First Deacon, who were anciently called the Priors of their -order, have precedence, other things being equal, over those of the same -class, besides certain rights and privileges of particular importance -during a vacancy of the See. The chamberlain is appointed annually in the -first consistory held after Christmas. His office is not so venerable or -so significant as the others are in times of extraordinary occurrences; -but in days of peace it is of the highest practical importance. It was -instituted under Leo X., but received its present development under Paul -III., in 1546. Each cardinal habitually residing in Rome must serve in -his turn, beginning with the dean and ending with the junior deacon. From -this arrangement it may be imagined that few cardinals live long enough -in the dignity to have to assume more than once the rather onerous duties -of the office. - -The pope gives the chamberlain possession in the same consistory at -which he has been named, by handing him a violet silk purse fringed with -gold and containing certain consistorial papers and the little balls -used by the cardinals to vote with in the committees in which they treat -of their corporate affairs. The principal duties of the chamberlain -are of a two-fold character: as chancellor, to sign and register all -cardinalitial acts, and as treasurer, to administer any property that may -be held in common by the cardinals. He is assisted in his office by a -very high prelate, who is secretary of the Sacred College and consistory. -The archives are in a chamber of the Vatican palace assigned for the -purpose by Urban VIII., in 1625. The chamberlain is also charged to sing -the Mass at the solemn requiem of a cardinal dying during his tenure of -office, and on November 5 for all deceased cardinals. But if he be of -the order of deacons, even if he have received the priesthood, he must -invite a cardinal of the higher order to officiate. This anniversary was -established by Leo X. in 1517. - -On account of the great antiquity of the cardinalate, there are many -things of minor importance connected with it that are buried in the -obscurity of ages. Such are appellations of honor and distinctions in -dress; but all writers agree that after the IXth century there was a -remarkable increase in what we might call the accessories of this great -office. Passing over a decree which Tamagna (who yet is an authority on -cardinalitial matters) ascribes to the Emperor Constantine, in which -the cardinals of the Holy Roman Church were put on the same footing -before the state with senators and consuls, and received other marks -of imperial favor, it is certain that during the Middle Ages they were -frequently called senators, were styled individually _Dominus_, and -addressed as _Venerande Pater_, as we learn from a memorandum drawn up -by a Roman canonist in 1227. In the accounts of the Sacred College from -the beginning of the XIVth century up to the year 1378, the cardinals are -called _Reverendi Patres et Domini_. But from this period they assumed -the superlative, and up to the whole of the XVth century were styled -_Reverendissimi_.[131] Urban VIII., on the 10th of June, 1630, gave -them the title of eminence, which was not, however, unknown to the early -Middle Ages, when it was given to certain great officers of the Byzantine -Empire in Italy. Urban’s immediate successor, Innocent X., forbade -cardinals to use any other designation than that of cardinal, or title -than that of eminence, or to put any crown, coronet, or crest above their -arms, which were to be overarched by the hat alone. When Cardinal de’ -Medici read the decree, with what was then in such a personage considered -exemplary submission, he requested his friends and the members of his -household never to call him highness any more, and immediately had the -grand-ducal crown removed from wherever it was blazoned. In course of -time, however, cardinals of imperial or royal lineage were allowed to -assume a style expressive of their birth; thus the last of the Stuarts, -the Cardinal Duke of York, etc., was always called Royal Highness at -Rome. The pope writes to a cardinal-bishop as “Our venerable brother,” -but to a cardinal-priest or deacon as “Our beloved son”; and a cardinal -writing to the pope who has raised him to the purple should add at the -end of his letter, after all the other formulas of respectful conclusion, -the words, _et creatura_. Although the cardinals hold a rank so exalted, -they are in many ways made to remember their complete dependence in -ecclesiastical matters upon the sovereign pontiff. There is a peculiar -act of homage due by them to the pope, which is called _Obedience_, and -consists in going up publicly one by one in stately procession, with -_cappa magna_ of royal ermine, and outspread trailing scarlet robe, to -kiss the ring after making a profound inclination to the pontiff sitting -on his throne. This is surely the grandest sight of the Sistine Chapel, -and we have often thought in seeing it what a good reminder it was to -those most eminent spiritual princes that, how great soever they might -be, they were after all but the rays of a greater luminary without which -they would have no existence. The obedience is done at Mass and Vespers; -but never twice on the same day, nor in services for the dead. - -The color of a cardinal’s dress is red, unless he belong to a religious -order, in which case he retains that of his habit, but uses the same -form of dress as the others. In 1245, Innocent IV. conferred upon the -cardinals at the first Council of Lyons the famous distinction of the -red hat, which is so peculiarly the ornament of their rank that, in -common parlance, to “receive the hat” is the same as to be raised to the -cardinalate. The special significance of the hat is, that it is placed -by the hands of the pope himself upon the dome of thought and seat of -that intellect by which the cardinal will give learned and loyal counsel -in the government of the church; and its color signifies that the wearer -is prepared to lose the last drop of his blood rather than betray his -trust. Our readers will be reminded here of that angry vaunt of Henry -VIII. about Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, who was lying in prison because -he would not acknowledge the royal supremacy in matters of religion. -When news came to England that Paul III. had raised him to the purple, -the king exclaimed, “The pope may send him the hat, but I will take care -that he have no head to wear it on”; in fact, the bishop was shortly -afterwards beheaded. This hat is now one of ceremony only, and serves -but twice: once, when the cardinal receives it in consistory, and next -when it rests upon the catafalque at his obsequies. It is then suspended -from the ceiling of the chapel or aisle of the church in which he may be -buried. The form is round, with a low crown and wide, stiff rim, from the -inside of which hang fifteen tassels attached in a triangle from one to -five. At the ceremony of giving the hat the pope says, in Latin: “Receive -for the glory of Almighty God and the adornment of the Holy Apostolic -See, this red hat, the sign of the unequalled dignity of the cardinalate, -by which is declared that even to death, by the shedding of thy blood, -thou shouldst show thyself intrepid for the exaltation of the blessed -faith, for the peace and tranquillity of the Christian people, for the -increase and prosperity of the Holy Roman Church. In the name of the -Father ✠; and of the Son ✠; and of the Holy ✠ Ghost. Amen.” Paul II., in -1464, added other red ornaments, and among them the red _beretta_ or cap -to be worn on ordinary occasions; but cardinals belonging to religious -orders continued to use the hood of their habit or a cap of the same -color, until Gregory XIV. made them wear the red. This point of costume -is illustrated by an anecdote which we have heard from an eye-witness; it -also shows that one should not be sure of promotion--until it comes. - -Pope Gregory XVI. was a great admirer of a certain abbot in Rome, -whose habit was white, and rumor ran that he would certainly be made -a cardinal. Some time before the next consistory, the pope, with a -considerable retinue--it was thought significantly--went to visit -the monastery, the father of which was this learned monk, and there -refreshments were served in the suite of apartments called, in large -Roman convents, the cardinal’s rooms, because reserved for the use of -that dignitary, should one be created belonging to the order. When -the trays of delicious pyramidal ice-creams were brought in, the pope -deliberately took the _white_ one presented to him on bended knee by a -chamberlain and handed it to the Lord Abbot sitting beside and a little -behind him, then took a _red_ one for himself. No one, of course, began -until Gregory had tasted first, and while all eyes were on him he took -the top off his own ice-cream, turned and put it on his neighbor’s, -saying with a smile as he looked around him, “How well, gentlemen, -the red _caps_ the white!” Alas! the poor abbot; he understood it as -doubtless was meant he should, but he was foolish enough to act upon -it, and procure his scarlet outfit. This came to the ears of the pope, -who was so displeased that he scratched him off the list, nor could any -friends ever get him reinstated; and it was only when Cardinal Doria -said that he was positively wasting away with the disappointment and -mortification, that the pope consented to make him an archbishop _in -partibus_. - -In the greater chapels, in the grand procession on Corpus Christi, and on -other occasions the cardinal-bishops wear copes fastened by a pectoral -jewel called _Formale_, which is of gold ornamented with three pine cones -of mother-of-pearl, the priests (even though they may have the episcopal -character) wear chasubles, and the deacons dalmatics, but all use white -_damask_ mitres with red fringes at the extremity of the bands. In their -Titles and Deaconries, also elsewhere, when they officiate, the cardinals -have the use of pontificals. The custom of wearing mitres is said to have -begun for cardinals of the two lower orders only in the XIth century. One -of the distinctive ornaments of a cardinal is the gold ring set with a -sapphire, and engraved on the metal surface of the inside with the arms -of the pope who has created him. It is put on his finger by the Sovereign -Pontiff with these words, some of which are omitted in the case of -deacons: “For the honor of Almighty God, of the holy apostles SS. Peter -and Paul, and of the blessed N. N. (naming the Title) we commit unto thee -the church of ---- (naming it), with its clergy, people, and succursal -chapels.” The actual value of this ring is only twenty-five dollars, but -for many centuries the newly-created cardinal has been expected to give -a large sum of money for some pious purpose, which was different under -different popes, but was perpetually allotted by Gregory XV., in 1622, to -the Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith. Students of the -Propaganda will remember the elegant tablet and commemorative inscription -originally set up in the college church, but now encased in the wall near -the library. For a long time the sum was larger than at present and was -paid in gold, but in consideration of the general distress in the early -part of this century Pius VII. reduced it to six hundred scudi of silver, -equal to about seven hundred and fifty dollars of our paper money. The -last cardinal who gave the full amount before the reduction was Della -Somaglia, in 1795. - -The Roman ceremonial shows the singular importance of the cardinalate, -by the disposition ordered to be made of its members even after death. -It is prescribed that when life has departed a veil be thrown over the -face, and the body, dressed in chasuble if bishop or priest, otherwise in -dalmatic, shall lie in state. - -The hat used in his creation must be deposited at his feet, and after -his funeral be suspended over his tomb. His body must be laid in a -cypress-wood coffin in presence of a notary and his official family, -a member of which--the major-domo--lays at his feet a little case -containing a scroll of parchment on which has been written a brief -account of the more important events of his life. Then the first coffin -is enclosed in another of lead, and the two together in a third one of -some kind of precious wood, each coffin having been sealed with the seals -of the dead cardinal and the living notary. The body thus secured is -borne by night with funeral pomp of carriages and torches and long array -of chanting friars to the church of requiem, where it remains until the -day appointed for the Mass, at which the cardinals and pope are present, -and the latter gives the final absolution. - -When carriages first came into use in Italy, which was about the year -1500, they were considered effeminate and a species of refined luxury, so -much so that Pius IV., at a consistory held on November 27, 1564, in a -grave discourse exhorted the cardinals not to use a means of conveyance -fit only for women, but to continue to come to the palace in the virile -manner that had been so long the custom--that is, on horseback; and -reminded them that when the Emperor Charles V. returned into Spain from -his visit to Italy, he had said that no sight pleased him there so -much as the magnificent cavalcade of the cardinals on their way to the -chapels and consistories. After this they always rode or were carried in -litters or sedan-chairs, until the beginning of the XVIIth century, when -it became impossible any longer to hinder them from using the new and -more convenient style which had become general for all people of means. -Urban VIII., in 1625, by ordering cardinals to put scarlet head-gear on -their horses, seemed to sanction the change; but it appears to have been -abused, by some at least, in a manner described by Innocent X. (1676), -in a pathetic address, as ill becoming those who had renounced the pomps -and vanities of the world. We may get an idea of the ostentation, when -we know that but a few years previously Maurice of Savoy (who afterwards -by permission renounced the cardinalate for reasons of state) used to go -to the Vatican with a following of two hundred splendid equipages and -a numerous escort of horsemen in brilliant uniforms. The modern custom -(which has been interrupted by the Italian usurpers) is certainly very -modest. - -The cardinals proceed to the minor functions with a single carriage and -two on gala days, but princes by birth have three. - -Each carriage is red, finished with gilt ornaments, and drawn by a pair -of superb black horses from a particular breed of the Campagna. The -scarlet umbrella carried by one of the somnolent footmen behind is seldom -taken out of its cover, being merely a reminiscence of the old fashion -when their eminences rode, and it might be of service against the rain or -the sun. - -Cardinals belonging to a religious order of monks or friars who wear -beards retain them after their exaltation; but others must be clean -shaven. There have been considerable changes in this matter, and -cardinals wore no beards in the XVth century. In fact, the long, silky, -and well-cultivated beard of Bessarion (a Greek) lost him the election -to the papacy after the death of Nicholas V., in 1455. It was also the -occasion of his death with chagrin at an atrocious insult offered him by -Louis XI. of France; for being on an embassy to compose the differences -between that monarch and the Duke of Burgundy, he wrote to the latter -stating the object of his mission before having made his visit to the -former, which so enraged that punctilious king that when the legate came -the first thing he did was to pull his magnificent beard and say: - - “Barbara graeca genus retinent quod habere solebant.” - -Under the pontificate of Julius II., who gave the example, cardinals wore -long beards; but in the next century only mustaches and _la barbetta_ -(the “goatee”)--varied among the more rigid by just a little bit beneath -the under lip, and called a _mouche_ by the French--were retained until, -in the year 1700, Clement XI. introduced the perfectly beardless face, -which now shows itself under the _beretta_ (Cancellieri, _Possessi de’ -Papi_, page 327). - -Not to mention S. Lawrence, who is generally reckoned an archdeacon -(_i.e._, cardinal first deacon) of the Roman Church, or S. Jerome, in -vindication of whose cardinalate Ciacconius wrote a special treatise -(Rome, 1581), the Sacred College counts among its members fifteen saints -either canonized or beatified. The first is S. Peter Damian, in 1058, -and the last Blessed Pietro-Maria Tommasi, in 1712. The cardinals -have the privilege of a _Proprium_ for these in the Office. There are -besides nine others popularly venerated as Blessed, but without warrant -from the Holy See that we are aware of. The noblest families of Europe, -imperial, royal, and of lower rank, have been represented in the Sacred -College, those of Italy, of course, preponderating: and no other one, -we believe, has had so many cardinals as that of Orsini, which claims -over forty-two, beginning with Orsino, cardinal-priest A.D. 500. Yet -merit has never been refused a place among its members because it made -no “boast of heraldry” or other pretension to social superiority. Where -so many have been distinguished in a very high degree, it is difficult -to select half a dozen names from as many different nations that have -been represented in the Sacred College, and that stand out above all the -rest in their several countries. Among the Germans, Nicholas de Cusa, -in 1448, is superior to all others for his intrepid defence of the Holy -See and his immense learning, especially in mathematics. He discovered -the annual revolution of the earth around the sun before Copernicus or -Galileo were born. Among the Spaniards, Ximenes, in 1507, is easily -chief, as a minister of state and encourager of education. In England, -Wolsey, created by Leo X., in 1515, although Panvinius (_Epitome_, p. -377) insolently calls him “the scum and scandal of the human race,” is -the greatest figure, and needs no praise. In Scotland, Beaton is first -as state minister and patron of learning. He was put to death in hatred -of the faith which could not be subverted while he lived. Among the -Italians, Bellarmine may be placed first; certainly no other cardinal -has filled so often and so long the minds of the adversaries of the -faith. Clement VIII., in 1599, when he created him, said that there was -no one his equal for learning in all the church. In France, Richelieu, -the greatest prime minister that ever lived, and the savior of the -government and the church by effectually putting down the rebellious -Huguenots. Everything that is good and very little comparatively that -is bad has been represented in the Sacred College; but lest we should -be thought to flatter we will give a few examples that show how no -body of men is entirely above reproach. Moroni has a special article -on pseudo-cardinals and another on cardinals who have been degraded -from their high and sacred office. We say nothing of the former, or we -would be led into an interminable article on the ambition, intrigue, -and schisms that have disgraced individuals and injured the church. -Boniface VIII. was obliged to degrade and excommunicate the two turbulent -Colonnas, uncle and nephew; but doing penance under his successor, -they were restored. Julius II. and Leo X. had difficulties with some -of their cardinals, and one of them, Alfonso Petrucci, for conspiring -against the sovereign, was decapitated in Castle Sant’ Angelo on July -6, 1517. Odet de Coligni, who had been made a cardinal very young at -the earnest request of Francis I., afterwards embraced Calvinism, and, -as usual with apostates, embraced something else besides. Although he -had thrown off his cassock, yet when Pius IV. pronounced him degraded -and excommunicated, he resumed it, out of contempt, long enough to get -married in his red robes. Cardinals Charles Caraffa[132] and Nicholas -Coscia[133] in Italy; de Rohan[134] of the Diamond Necklace affair, -and de Loménie de Brienne[135] in France, _if_, on the one hand, they -have not been what we would expect from those so highly honored, on the -other, they give us proofs of the impartial justice of the popes, and -that no one in their eyes is above the law. Among the curiosities of the -cardinalate is that of Ferdinand Taverna, Bishop of Lodi, who was raised -to the purple in 1604, and died of joy. This reminds us that Cancellieri, -with his usual singularity of research, has a passage in his work on -the _Enthronement of the Popes_, about “persons who have gone mad or -died of grief because they were not made cardinals,” and tells of one in -particular who hoped to make his way by his reputation for learning, and -had a little red hat hung up above his desk to keep himself perpetually -in mind of the prize he was ambitiously seeking--and, of course, never -found. Poor human nature! The importance of the telegraph as a means of -avoiding inconvenient nominations is shown by a good many cases of men -elevated to the cardinalate when they were already dead. Three occurred -in the XIVth century; but as late as 1770 Paul de Carvalho, brother of -the infamous Pombal, was published (having been reserved _in petto_) on -January 20, three days after he had expired. - -The Orsini are noted for their longevity, and it has shown itself in -the cardinals as well as in others of the family. Giacinto Bobò Orsini -was made a cardinal at twenty by Honorius II., and after living through -sixty-five years of his dignity and eleven pontificates, was himself -elected pope (being only a deacon) at the age of eighty-five, and reigned -for nearly seven years as Celestine III. (1191-1198). Another one, Pietro -Orsini, after having three times refused the honor, was at length induced -to accept it, wore the purple for fifty-four years and finally became -Benedict XIII. (1724-1730). - -Gregory XI., who brought back the See from Avignon, was made a cardinal -by his uncle at seventeen; Paul II. by his, at twenty-one; Pius III. -by his, at twenty; and Leo X. by his, at fourteen--but not allowed to -wear his robes until three years later. The last example, we believe, of -a very young cardinal is that of a Spanish Bourbon, Don Luis, created -at twenty-three by Pius VII., in 1810; he was permitted afterwards to -renounce it. Although exceptions may occasionally be made in future, a -mature age has for many pontificates come to be considered absolutely -necessary before being raised to the dignity. Artaud de Montor has an -anecdote in his _Life of Pius VIII._, about the inexorable Leo XII. in -connection with the young Abbé Duc de Rohan-Chabot, a Montmorency, and -as such, one would think, quite the equal of an Orsini, Colonna, or -the son of any other great Italian family. Whenever Leo was pressed on -the subject, and he was urged by many and very influential persons, to -confer the dignity upon the princely, learned, and virtuous priest, he -had a new Latin verse ready in praise of him, but always ending with -his inevitable youth, as this one for example: Sunt mores, doctrina, -genus--sed deficit ætas (_Artaud_, i. p. 205). He was thirty-seven at the -time. - -We conclude with a few words the bibliography of the cardinalate. Not -to mention the almost innumerable separate lives of cardinals which -have been published in all countries, particularly Italy, the greatest -work or series of works connected with the subject is undoubtedly that -of the Spanish Dominican, Chacon, who wrote a _History of the Popes and -Cardinals_ up to Clement VIII. His work was corrected and continued -by the Italian Jesuit, Oldoini, up to Clement IX. inclusive, all with -beautiful portraits and arms. At the request of Benedict XIV., a learned -prelate named Guarnacci continued this work to the pontificate of -Clement XII. inclusive. It was sumptuously brought out in 1751. There -is a continuation of this, containing the whole of Benedict XIV.’s -pontificate, and later matter from MSS. left by Guarnacci and from other -sources, that appeared in 1787, and is actually (if our memory does not -deceive us) rarer at Rome than the other parts of the work, although -published so much later. We have understood that there are still some -precious MS. collections on the same subject in the possession of the -noble Del Cinque family, which are probably waiting for a Mæcenas to -accept the dedication before being published. These are the full titles -of the works referred to: - -Alphonsi Ciacconii, _Vitæ et res gestæ Pontificum romanorum, et S. R. -E. Cardinalium ab initio nascentis Ecclesiæ, usque ad Clementem IX., -ab Augustino Oldoino recognitæ_. Romæ: 1677 (3d ed., 4 vols. fol.) -Mario Guarnacci, _Vitæ et res gestæ Pontificum romanorum, et S. R. E. -Cardinalium a Clemente IX. usque ad Clementem XII._ Romæ: 1751 (2 vols. -fol.) - -_Vitæ et res gestæ summorum Pontificum et S. R. E. Cardinalium ad -Ciacconii exemplum continuatæ, quibus accedit appendix, quæ vitas -Cardinalium perfecit, a Guarnaccio non absolutas._ Auctoribus Equite Joh. -Paulo de Cinque, et Advocato Raphaele Fabrinio. Romæ: 1787. - -The best work in Italian is Lorenzo Cardella’s _Memorie storiche de’ -Cardinali della S. Romana Chiesa, in comminciando da quelli di S. Gelasio -I., sino ai creati da Benedetto XIV._ Roma: 1792. - -A recent and probably very excellent work in French is Etienne Fisquet’s -_Histoire générale des Papes et des Cardinaux_. Chez Etienne Repos, 70 -rue Bonaparte, Paris (5 vols. 8vo). - -The principal work on the cardinalate in general is by Plati: _De -Cardinalis dignitate et officio_, of which a sixth edition was published -at Rome in 1836; and an exquisite monograph, small in size (one little -volume) but full of research, is Cardinal Nicholas Antonelli’s _De -Titulis quos S. Evaristus Romanis Presbyteris distribuit, dissertatio_. -Published at Rome in 1725; rather rare. - -The _Calcografia Camerale_, near the Fountain of Trevi at Rome, used to -have for sale at a reasonable price the engraved portraits of all the -cardinals from the pontificate of Paul V. (1605-21) to that of Pius IX.; -but being an establishment belonging to the papal government, the present -occupiers of the city in their zeal for the fine arts may have turned it -upside down. - -A collection of portraits in oil colors of all the British Cardinals was -begun at the English College in Rome in 1864. - - -HORN HEAD. - -(COUNTY OF DONEGAL.) - - Sister of Earth, her sister eldest-born, - Huge world of waters, how unlike are ye! - Thy thoughts are not as her thoughts: unto thee - Her pastoral fancies are as things to scorn: - Thy heart is still with that old hoary morn - When on the formless deep, the procreant sea, - God moved alone: of that Infinity, - Thy portion then, thou art not wholly shorn. - Scant love hast thou for dells where every leaf - Boasts its own life, and every brook its song; - Thy massive floods down stream from reef to reef - With one wide pressure; thy worn cliffs along - The one insatiate Hunger moans and raves, - Hollowing its sunless crypts and sanguine caves. - - AUBREY DE VERE. - - -STRAY LEAVES FROM A PASSING LIFE. - -CONCLUDED. - -CHAPTER IV. - -WE ALL MEET TO PART. - -A second time I recovered. I was still in the same place, and the same -hand was supporting me. Some brandy was forced down my throat, and it -revived me. - -“Now listen,” he said. “I have good news for you. Why, the man is -going off again! Here, Roger, take another nip. So. Now you are much -nearer being a dead man than your father, only you will not let me tell -you quietly. Hush, now! Not a word, or I am dumb. You lie still and -listen, and let me talk. Everything is well here. That is about as much -information as you can bear at present. There is nothing the matter with -anybody, except with yourself. Miss Herbert, in consequence of a lucky -little telegram received this afternoon commissioned me to await your -arrival here, and tell you just that much. Everything else was to be -explained at the Grange, where your father and some friends are waiting -to receive with open arms the returned prodigal. This much I may add: -Your father has been ill, very ill. But he has recovered. Now, another -nip and I think we may be moving. That was Sir Roger at whose feet you -fell outside. The noble old veteran never moved a foot, or your brains -might have been dashed out. He is a truer friend than I, Roger, for he -knew you at once, pricked up his ears, bent down his head towards you, -and gave a low whinny that told me the whole story in a second. I’ll be -bound you have had nothing to eat all day. That is bad. Why, you are -the sick man after all. Do you feel equal to moving now? Well, come: -easy--in--hold this skin up to your chin--so! And now we are off. Mr. -Roger Herbert, I wish you a very merry Christmas!” - -I sat silent with that delicious sense of relief after a great danger -averted while the shadow of that danger has not quite passed away. -Kenneth did all the talking. The snowfall had ceased and the moon was up. -How well I remembered every house we passed, as the cheery lights flashed -out of the windows, and the sounds of merry voices, whose owners I could -almost name, broke on my ear. Leighstone seemed fairy-land, which I had -reached after long wanderings through stony deserts and over barren seas. -There is the old Priory, rising dark and solemn out of the white snow, -with the white gravestones standing mute at the head of white graves all -around it. The moonlight falls full on the family tomb. I shuddered as -I looked upon it, not yet quite assured that it is not open for another -occupant. I can see the frozen figure of Sir Roger stiff and stark with -his winter grave-clothes upon him as we roll by the Priory gates. And -there, at last, are the gleaming windows of the Grange, and the faint -feeling again steals over my heart. - -The heavy snowfall deadens the sound of the wheels, and we are within the -house before our arrival is known. Miss Herbert is called out quietly by -a servant, a stranger to me. Dear hearts! What these women are! She does -not cry out, she does not speak a word; watching and suffering had made -her so wise. She clings to me, and weeps silently on my breast a long -while, smothering even the sobs that threaten to break her heart. When -at last we look around for Kenneth he is nowhere to be seen, but there -is a strange hush over all the house, and the voices that I heard on my -entrance are silent. - -“Papa is alone in the study--waiting,” whispered Nellie. “I received your -telegram. O Roger! that little scrap of paper was like a message from -heaven. He is growing anxious, but expects you. Hush! follow me.” - -She stole along on tiptoe, and I after her. The door of the study was -ajar. She opened it softly, and, standing in the shadow, I peeped in. He -was seated in an easy-chair and had dozed off. His face wore that gentle, -languid air of one who has been very ill and is slowly recovering; of -one who has looked death in the face and to whom life is still new and -uncertain. Ten years seemed to have been added to his life. Whether owing -to his illness or to some other cause, I could not tell, but it seemed -to me that a certain look of firmness and resolve, that was at times too -prominent, had quite disappeared. Instead of his own brown locks he wore -a wig. He had suffered very much. The door creaked as Nellie entered, -disturbing but not awakening him. He sighed, his lips moved, and I -thought he muttered my name. - -“Papa!” said Nellie, touching his arm lightly. How matronly the Fairy -looked! “Papa!” - -“Ah! Yes, my dear. Is that you, my child? Is--is nobody with you?” What a -wistful look in the eyes at that last question! - -“Do you feel any better, papa? It is time to take your medicine.” How -slow the demure minx is about it. - -“Is it? I don’t think I will take any now. I want nothing just now, my -darling.” - -“What--no medicine! Nothing at all, papa?” - -“Nothing at all. Is not that train arrived yet?” he asked, looking around -anxiously at the clock. - -“I--I think so, papa. And it brought such a lot of visitors.” - -“Any--any--for us, Nellie?” He coughed, and his voice trembled into a -feeble old treble as he asked this question. - -“Only one, papa. May he come in?” - -He knew all in an instant. He rose and tottered towards the door, where -he would have fallen had I not caught him in my arms. Only one word -escaped him. - -“Roger!” - -After some time Kenneth stole in, and seeing how matters stood insisted -on bearing me off to dinner. He took me into the parlor, which was -blazing with lights and decorated with holly and red berries in good old -Christmas fashion. The first object to meet my eyes was a great “Welcome -Home” which flashed in letters of fragrant blossoms cunningly woven in -strange device about my portrait. Mrs. Goodal came forward and kissed me -while the tears fell from her eyes. “You don’t deserve it, you wicked -boy, but I can’t help it,” she said. Mr. Goodal had seized both my hands -in his. A beautiful girl stood a little apart watching all with wondering -eyes, and in them too there were tears, such is the force of example with -women. I had never seen her before, but I needed no ghost to tell me that -she was Kenneth’s sister. - -“This is Elfie, Roger,” said Fairy. “She wants to welcome you too. Elfie -is my sister. I stole her. Oh! a sister is so much nicer than a great -rough brother who runs away!” - -“And this,” said Mrs. Goodal, leading forward a tall, spare gentleman, -with that closely shaven face and quiet lip and eye that, with or -without the conventional garb, stamp the Catholic priest all the world -over--“this is our dear friend and father, the friend and father of all -of us, Father Fenton.” - -There was a general pause at this introduction. I suppose that my -countenance must have shown some perplexity, for a general laugh followed -the pause. Mrs. Goodal came to the rescue. - -“You expected to meet Mr. Knowles, I suppose, sir, or the Abbot Jones. -Kenneth has told me about the Abbot Jones. But you must know that the -present Archdeacon Knowles is far too high and mighty a dignitary for -Leighstone, and the abbot is laid up with the gout. Your father has not -been to the Priory for a very long time--for so long a time that he -thinks he would no longer be known there. The Herbert pew is very vacant; -and Nellie has had no one to take her. Still mystified? You see what -comes of silly boys running away from home and never writing. They miss -all the news.” - -She led me to the other end of the parlor, and I stood before a lofty -ivory crucifix. The light of tapers flashed upon the thin pale face; -blood gleamed from the nailed hands and feet, from the pierced side, -from the bowed and thorn-crowned head. It was the figure of “the Man of -Sorrows,” and the artist had thrown into the silent agony of the face an -expression of infinite pity. My own heart bowed in silence. - -“We are all Papists, Roger. What are you?” whispered Mrs. Goodal at my -elbow. - -“Nothing,” I murmured. “Nothing.” - -“Nothing yet,” she whispered again. “But do you think that we have all -been praying to _Him_ all this time for _nothing_?” - -“And my father?” - -“The most inveterate Papist of us all!” - -There was a tone of triumph in her voice that was almost amusing. - -“How did it all come about?” - -“She did it,” broke in Kenneth, pointing to his mother. “Did I not tell -you that she was the sweetest woman to have her own way? If I were a -heretic, I would sooner face the Grand Inquisitor himself than this most -amiable of women. Set a thief to catch a thief, Roger. But come; heretics -don’t abstain as do wicked creatures like these ladies. I forget, they -do, though; and my heretic, fair ladies, has had nothing to eat all day; -so I insist upon not another word until the fatted calf is disposed of by -our returned prodigal.” - -That was a merry Christmas eve. We all nestled together, and bit by -bit the whole story came out. On the receipt of my first letter, after -a fruitless inquiry for me, Kenneth and his mother posted down to -Leighstone. Their arrival was most opportune; for my father, on hearing -of my departure, suffered a relapse that laid him quite prostrate. Poor -Nellie was in despair, brave heart though she was. By unremitting care -he was partially restored, and then followed the long dreary months and -the weary waiting, day after day, for some scrap of news from me. In -such cases, the worst is generally dreaded save when the worst actually -takes place, and my father drooped gradually. He was prevailed upon to -pay a visit to the Goodals, and there it was that his heart, pierced with -affliction, and bowed down with sorrow, opened to the holier and higher -consolation that religion only affords. Father Fenton, who was invalided -from a severe course of missionary labors, was staying with them, and the -intercourse thus begun developed into what we have seen. On his return to -Leighstone, the silent house opened up the bitter poignancy of his grief. -Every familiar object on which his eye rested only served to remind him -of one who had passed away; whom he accused himself of having driven -away by an order that he could only now regard with abhorrence. A cold, -something slight, seized him, and soon appeared alarming symptoms. In -view of the recent changes, Nellie knew not to whom of our relatives to -apply in this emergency, and could only write to Mrs. Goodal, who flew -to her assistance. The arrival of my letter brought down Kenneth, “like -a madman,” his mother said. The letter arrived just at the crisis of the -fever in which my father lay; the good news was imparted to him in one of -his lucid intervals, and the crisis took a favorable turn. The Christmas -holy-days brought Elfie from her convent; and finally all came together, -awaiting my expected return. How that letter had been kissed, petted, -wept over, laughed over, spelt out inch by inch! I wonder that a fragment -of it remained; but even had it been worn to dust by reverent fingers, -it would not have mattered: the women knew every word of it by heart. It -formed the staple topic of conversation whenever they met. There never -yet was such a letter written, and the idea that the writer of it should -only receive ten dollars--how much money was ten dollars?--a week was -proof positive that the American people did not appreciate true genius -when it found its way among them. Mr. Culpepper, indeed! Who cared what -he would think? The idea of a person of the name of Culpepper having to -do with men of genius! They wondered how I could consent to write for -such a person at all. And Mrs. Jinks! Good gracious! that dreadful Mrs. -Jinks and her “littery gents”; Mrs. Jinks and the beefsteak; Mrs. Jinks -and the pork chops; Mrs. Jinks and her “mock turtle” soup; Mrs. Jinks and -“her Jane,” etc. etc. Poor old Roger! Poor, dear boy! How miserable it -made them all, and yet how absurdly ridiculous it all was. It made them -laugh and cry in the same breath. - -What a hero I had become! What was all my fancied triumph to this? What -is all the success one can win in this world to the genuine love and the -foolish adoration of the two or three hearts that made up our little -world before we knew that great wide open beyond the boundary of our own -quiet garden? And all this fuss and affection was poured out over me, who -had run away from it, and thought of it so little while I was away. It -was, speaking reverently, like the precious ointment in the alabaster -vase, broken and poured out over me, in the fond waste of love. Why, -indeed, was this waste for me? This ointment was precious, and might have -been sold for many pence and given to the poor--the poor of this great -world, who were hungering and thirsting after just such love as this, -that we who have it accept so placidly, and let it run and diffuse itself -over us, and take no care, for is not the source from which it comes -inexhaustible, as the widow’s cruse of oil? But so it is, and so it will -continue to be while human nature remains truly human nature. The good -shepherd, leaving the ninety-nine sheep, will go after the one which was -lost, and finding him, bear him on his own travel-weary and travel-worn -shoulders in triumph home. The father will kill the fatted calf for the -prodigal who has lived riotously and wasted his inheritance, but the -faint cry of whose repentant anguish is heard from afar off. The mother’s -heart will go out after the scapegrace son who is tramping the world -alone, turned out of doors for misbehavior; and all the joy she feels -in the good ones near her is as nothing compared with the thought that -_he_ at last has come back, sad and sorrowful and forlorn, to the home -he left long ago, in the brightness of the morning, with so gay a step -and so light a heart. It is unjust, frightfully unjust, that it should -be so. Did not the good son so feel it, and was his protest not right? -Did not the laborers in the vineyard so find it when those who came -at the eleventh hour, and had borne naught of the heat and the burden -of the day, received the same reward as they? And who shall say that -the laborers were not right and the lord of the vineyard unjust? What -trades-union could ever take into consideration such reasoning as this, -forbidden by the very book of arithmetic? Wait awhile, friends. Some day -when we, who now feel so keenly the injustice of it all, are fathers and -mothers, let us put the question then to ourselves: “Why this waste of -precious ointment on one who values it not? I will seal up the alabaster -jar, let the ointment harden into stone, and no sweetness shall flow out -of it.” Do so--if you can, and the world will be a very barren place. -It would dry and shrivel up under arid justice. Did not the Master tell -us so? Did he not say that he came to call not the just but sinners to -repentance? And is it not this very injustice that makes earth likest -heaven, where we are told there shall be more joy over one sinner doing -penance than over the ninety-nine just who need not penance? - -And here am I preaching, instead of spending my Christmas merrily like a -man. But the thought of all this affection wasted on so callous a wretch -as I had proved myself to be, was too tempting to let pass. Suddenly the -chimes rang out from the old steeples, and we were silent, listening with -softened hearts and moistening eyes. - -“There is another surprise for you yet,” said Mrs. Goodal, mysteriously. -“Come, I want to show you your room.” - -She took me upstairs, paused a moment at the door to whisper: “It has -another Occupant now, Kenneth. Go in and visit him,” opened the door and -pushed me gently in. - -The room was lighted only by a little lamp, through which a low flame -burned with a rosy glow. The flame flickered and shone on an altar with -a small tabernacle, before which Father Fenton was kneeling in silent -prayer. My old room had been converted into a chapel, and there they had -knelt and prayed for me. Presently the chapel was lighted up, and my -father was assisted to a chair that had been prepared for him. Mr. Goodal -took up his position near a harmonium, in one corner, while I retired -into the other. One or two of the household came in and took their places -quietly. Father Fenton rose up, and, assisted by Kenneth, vested himself, -and the midnight Mass began. Soon the harmonium was heard, and then in -tones that trembled at first, but in a moment cleared and grew firm and -strong and glorious, Elfie, laughing Elfie, who now seemed transformed -into one of those angels who brought the glad tidings long, long ago, -burst forth into the _Adeste Fideles_. - - “Natum videte - Regem angelorum.” - -All present joined in the refrain, Nellie’s sweet voice mingling with the -strong, manly tones of Kenneth. I saw his face light up as a soldier’s of -old might at a battle cry. How happy are the earnest! - -Before the Mass was ended, Father Fenton turned and spoke a few words: - -“One of old said, ‘When two or three are gathered together in my name, -there am I in the midst of them.’ I need not point out to you the solemn -manner in which a few moments since he who made that promise fulfilled -it, for he has spoken to your own hearts. But I would call your attention -to the wonderful and special manner in which Christ has visited and -blessed the two or three gathered together here this night in his name. -We are here like the shepherds of old, come to adore the Christ born in -a manger. One by one have we dropped in, taken in hand and led gently, -as though by the Lord himself. This great grace has not been given us -for nothing. It has been the answer to fervent, earnest, and unceasing -prayer, which, though it may sometimes seem to knock at the gates of -heaven a long while in vain, has been heard all the while, and at length, -entering in, falls back on our hearts laden with gifts and with graces. -The two or three have increased now by one, now by another, and under -Providence are destined to increase until the Master calls them away -unto himself. Happy is the one who comes himself to Christ, thrice happy -he who helps to lead another! He it is who answers that bitter cry of -anguish that rang out from the darkness and the suffering of Calvary--‘I -thirst.’ He holds up the chalice to the lips of the dying Saviour filled -with the virtues of a saved soul. It was for souls Christ thirsted, and -he gives him to drink. But when a conversion is wrought, when a stray -sheep is brought into the fold, the work is only begun. All the debt is -not paid. It is well to be filled with gratitude for the wonderful favor -of God in bringing us out of the land of Egypt and the house of bondage -into the land flowing with milk and honey, where the good shepherd -attends his sheep, where we draw water from the living fountain. We have -left behind us the fleshpots of Egypt. But there is ingratitude to be -remembered and wiped out. Many weary years have we wandered in desert -places seeking rest and finding none. Yet the voice of the shepherd -was calling to us all the while. Peace, peace, peace! Peace to men of -good-will has been ringing out of the heavens over the mountains of this -world these long centuries, yet how many ears are deaf to the angels’ -song! The star in the East has arisen, has moved in the heavens, and -stood over his cradle--the star of light and of knowledge--yet how many -eyes have been blind to its lustre and its meaning. It is because it -points to a lowly place. In Bethlehem of Judæa Christ is born, not in the -city of the king; in a stable, not in the palace of Herod; in a manger -he is laid, wrapped in swaddling-clothes, not in the purple of royalty. -He is lowly; we would be great. He is meek; we would be proud. He is a -little innocent child; we would be wise among the children of men. The -birth-place of Christianity is humility. We must begin there, low down, -for he himself has said it: ‘Suffer little children to come unto me’; -‘Unless ye become as one of these little ones, ye shall not enter the -kingdom of heaven.’ - -“My brethren, my dear children, little flock whom Christ has visited -really and truly in his body and blood, soul and divinity, this is -our lesson--to be humble as he is. In this was his church founded on -this memorable night, at this solemn hour, while day and night are -in conflict. The day dawned on the new birth and the night was left -for ever behind. There is no longer excuse for being children of the -darkness, for the light of the world has dawned at length. It dawned -in lowliness, poverty, suffering--these are its surroundings. Christ’s -first worshippers on this earth were the one who bore him and her spouse, -Joseph the carpenter. His second, the poor shepherds, whose watchful -ears heard first the song of peace. The kings from afar off followed who -were looking and praying for light from heaven, and it came. The angels -guided the ignorant shepherds to where he lay; but of those to whom more -was given, more was expected. The gifts of intellect, learning, and the -spirit of inquiry are gifts of God, not of man, or of Satan. They are to -be used for God, not sharpened against him. Happy are those to whom he -has given them, who, like the Kings of the East, though far away from -the lowly place where he lies, hearken to the voice of God calling to -them over the wildernesses that intervene, and make answer to the divine -call. Search in the right spirit--search in the spirit of humility, and -honesty, and truth. To them will the star of Truth appear to guide them -aright over many dangers and difficulties, and disasters mayhap, to -the stable where Christ is sleeping, to lay at his feet the gifts and -offerings he gave them--the gold of faith, the frankincense of hope, the -myrrh of charity.” - -I suppose it is intended that sermons should apply to all who hear them. -That being the case, how could Father Fenton’s words apply to me? There -was not a single direct allusion to me throughout. What he said might -apply equally to all, and yet surely of all there I was the most guilty. -I alone did not adore; and why? After all, was humility the birthplace -of Christianity? But was not I humble as the rest of them? “You! who are -so fond of mounting those stilts,” whispered Roger Herbert senior--“you, -who spend your days and nights dreaming of the _divinus afflatus_--you, -who would give half your life, were it yours to give, to convert those -little stilts into a genuine monument, and for what purpose? That men -might point and look up at the dizzy height and say, Behold Roger -Herbert, the mighty, his feet on earth, his head among the gods of -heaven!” And was it true that Truth had been speaking all this time, all -these centuries, to so little purpose? Why was it? how could it be if the -voice was divine? “The devil, the world, and the flesh, Roger; forget not -the devil, the world, and the flesh. Were there only truth, we should all -be of one mind; but unfortunately, truth is confronted with falsehood.” -What is truth--what is truth? Ay, the old agony of the world. One alone -of all that world dared to tell us that he was the Truth, he was the Way, -he was the Life. “Let us find him, Roger. Father Fenton says he is in the -midst of those gathered together in his name.” - -Christmas passed, and a New Year dawned on us--a happy new year to all -except myself. I was the only unhappy being at the Grange. Elfie went -back to her convent school. My father’s health was on the high road to -restoration, and the growing attachment between Kenneth and Nellie was -evident even to my purblind vision. Strange to say, I did not like to -talk to Kenneth as openly as at first about my doubts and difficulties, -and Father Fenton’s company, when alone, I avoided, although he was the -most amiable of men, gifted with wit softened by piety, and a learning -that not even his modesty could conceal. He must have observed how -studiously I shunned him, for, after seeking ineffectually once or twice -to draw me into serious conversation, he refrained, and only spoke on -ordinary topics. I began to grow restless again. - -The season had advanced into an early spring; the green was already -abroad and the birds beginning to come, when one afternoon, that seemed -to have strayed out of summer, so soft and balmy was the air, Nellie and -I sat together out on the lawn as in the old days. My father was taking a -nap within; the Goodals had driven to Gnaresbridge to meet a friend whom -they expected to pass by the up-town train to London. Nellie was working -at something, and I was musing in silence. Suddenly she said: - -“Roger, do you remember the promises you made me the night before you ran -away?” - -“Yes, Fairy.” - -“Well, sir?” - -“Well, madam?” - -“Is that all?” - -“Is what all?” - -“Do you only remember your promise?” - -“Is not that a great deal?” - -“No; unless you have kept it.” - -“Ah--h--h!” - -“What do you mean by ah--h?” - -“What did I promise?” - -“That from that day forward you would not only try not to do harm, but to -do some good for others as well as for yourself.” - -“That is a very big promise.” - -“No bigger now than it was then.” - -“But it means more now than it did then.” - -“Not a bit, not a bit, not a bit!” - -“Things look to me so differently now. One grows so much older in a year -sometimes.” - -“Then you have not kept your promise? O Roger!” - -“Good, though you can spell it in four letters, is a very large word, -Nellie, and means so much; and others mean so many. Not to do much harm -is one thing; but to do good, not once in a while, but to be constant -in it--that is another thing, Nellie, and that was what I promised. That -promise I cannot say I have kept.” - -Nellie bent her head lower over her work, and I believe I saw some tears -fall, but she said nothing. I went on: - -“Now Kenneth does good.” - -There was no mistake about the tears this time, although the head bent -a little lower still. “Kenneth does a great deal of good. He goes about -among the poor as regularly as a physician, and whatever his medicine may -be it seems to do them more good than any they can get at the druggist’s. -He has sent I don’t know how many youngsters off to school, where he pays -for them. In fact, he seems to me to be always scheming and thinking -about others and never dreaming of himself, whereas I am always scheming -and thinking about myself and never seem to see anybody else in the -world. Why, what are you doing with that stuff in your hands, Nellie? You -are sewing it anyhow.” - -“O Roger! You--you--” she could say no more, but hid her face, that was -rosy and pure as the dawn, on my breast. - -“A very pretty picture,” said a deep voice behind us, and Nellie started -away from me, while all the blood rushed back to her heart. She was so -white that Kenneth--for it was he who had stolen up unobserved at the -moment--was frightened, and said: - -“Pardon me, Miss Herbert, if I have startled you. I have only this -instant come, and quite forgot that the grass silenced the sound of my -footsteps. Take this chair--shall I bring a glass of water?” - -“No, thank you; I am better now. It was only a moment. We did not hear -you.” - -“May I join you, then? Or was it a _tête-à-tête_?” - -“No; sit down, Kenneth. The fact is, we were just discussing the -character of an awful scamp.” - -“Who arrived just too late to hear any evil of himself--is that it?” - -“No, he was here all the time,” said Nellie, laughing, and herself again. - -“But what brings you from Gnaresbridge so soon, Kenneth, and all alone? -Where have you left Mr. and Mrs. Goodal?” - -“Mrs. Goodal had some shopping to do at Gnaresbridge, and Mr. Goodal, -as in duty bound, waited patiently the results of that interesting -operation. His patience makes me blush for mine. The shopping is such a -very extensive operation that I preferred a walk back, and even now you -see I have arrived before them.” - -“How very ungallant, Mr. Goodal! I am surprised at you. I thought Roger -was the only gentleman who didn’t like shopping.” - -“On the contrary, I am quite fond of it. I used to do all my own shopping -in New York. I got Mrs. Jinks to buy me some things once, but as she, -woman-like, measured everybody by Mr. Jinks, the articles, though an -excellent fit for him, were an abomination on me.” - -“And what did you do with them?” - -“What could I do with them? Gave them to Mrs. Jinks, of course, and for -the future did my own shopping. Indeed, I am getting quite lazy here. -There is nothing for a fellow to do--is there, Kenneth?” - -“I was thinking of that as I came along.” - -“Thinking of what?” - -“The great puzzle--What to do. I put it in every imaginable form. The -question was this: ‘Kenneth Goodal, what are you going to do with -yourself?’ and the whole eight miles passed before I could arrive at -anything like a satisfactory conclusion. I finally resolved to leave the -question to arbitration, and get others to decide for me. I have already -applied to one.” - -He paused, and his gaze was fixed on the ground. His face was flushed, -and his broad brow knitted as though trying to find the right clue to -a puzzling query. I glanced at Nellie, and observed that her face had -whitened again, while her eyes were also bent upon the ground, and her -breath came and went painfully. - -“Yes,” he went on without raising his head--Nellie was seated between -us--“I determined to leave my case to arbitration. Your father was one of -the arbiters; you were to be another, Roger; and a certain young lady was -to be a third. I had intended to attack the members of this high court -of arbitration singly; but as I find two of them here together, I see no -reason why I should not receive my verdict at once.. ..” - -A further report of this most important and interesting case it is not -for me to give, inasmuch as I was not present. I saw at once that the -decision rested now with the third arbiter, and that my opinion was -practically valueless in the matter. How the case proceeded I cannot -tell. Thinking that there was little for me to do, and how deeply engaged -were the other two parties, I took advantage of the noiseless grass to -slink away without attracting the attention of either, heartily ashamed -of myself for being so persistent an intruder where it was clear I was -not particularly wanted. It was a lovely evening, and I took a long quiet -ramble all by myself. How much longer the court was in session I do not -know, I only know that it was broken up before I entered, just in time -for dinner. I noticed that in my father’s eyes there was a softer look -than usual; that Mrs. Goodal took Nellie’s place at table, opposite to -my father; that Mr. Goodal and myself were neighbors, while opposite to -us sat the adjourned court of arbitration, looking--looking as young -persons look only once in their lives. There was a rather awkward silence -on my entrance, which I found so unpleasant that I rattled away all -through dinner. I must have been excellent company for once in my life; -for though at this moment I do not recollect a single sentence that I -uttered, there was so much laughter throughout the dinner, laughter that -grew and grew until we found ourselves all talking at length, all joining -in, all joking, all so merry that we were astounded to find how the -evening had passed. My father looked quite young again. - -As I was retiring to my own room for the night, Nellie caught me, put -both her arms around my neck, and looked up into my eyes a long time -without saying a word, until at last she seemed to find in them something -she was looking for, and when, kissing her, I asked if I should blow -the candle out again, as I did on a former memorable confession, she -flew away, her face lost amid blushes, laughter, and tears. I was -congratulating myself on seeing an end to a long day, when a guilty -tap came to my door, and Kenneth stole in with the air of a burglar -who purposed making for the first valuable he could lay hands on, and -vanishing with it through the window. He closed the door as cautiously -as though a policeman, whom he feared to disturb, was napping without, -and sat down without saying a word. I looked at the ceiling; he sat and -stared at me. In his turn, he began examining my eyes. I could bear it -no longer, but burst out laughing, and held out my hand, which he almost -crushed in his. - -“You are as true a knight as ever was old Sir Roger,” said Kenneth, -wringing my hand till I cried out with pain. “I went on talking for I -don’t know how long, and saying I forget now what, but, on looking up, I -found there was only one listener. Well, we did without you.” - -“So now you know what to do with yourself. Happy man! What a pity Elfie -is only fourteen! She might tell me what to do with Roger Herbert.” - -I saw the two who, after my father, I loved the best in all the world -made one. I waited until they returned from the bridal trip, by which -time my father was fully restored to health. We spent that season in -London, and when it was over returned to Leighstone. The brown hand of -autumn was touching the woods, when one morning I began packing my trunk -again, and that same evening ate my last dinner at the Grange. It was not -a pleasant dinner. The ladies were in tears at times, and the gentlemen -were inclined to be taciturn. I did my best to rally the party as on a -former occasion, but the effort was not very successful. - -“Oh! you are all Sybarites here,” was my closing rejoinder to all -queries, tears, and complaints; “and I should never do anything among -you. Not so fortunate as Kenneth, who has found some one to tell him -what to do with himself, I am driven back on my own resources, and must -work out that interesting problem for myself. I was advancing in that -direction when called away. I go back to resume my labors in the old way. -You cannot realize the delicious feeling that comes over one at times -who is struggling all alone, and groping in the darkness towards a great -light that he sees afar off and hopes to reach. I leave my father with a -better son than I, and my sister with something that even sisters prefer -to brothers. I am only restless here. There is work to be done beyond -there. I may be making a mistake: if so, I shall come back and let you -know.” - - -AN OLD IRISH TOUR. - -It was the long vacation in Dublin, 186-. Summer reigned supreme over -the Irish capital. The long, bright afternoons, still and drowsy, seemed -never to have an end. The soft azure overhead, so different from our deep -blue skies, was whole days without a cloud--rare phenomenon in Irish -weather. It was hot. The leaves drooped and the insects hummed, till I, -a solitary American student, holding my chambers in college for a couple -of weeks after all others had left--waiting for some friends to make up a -party for the seaside--began to think of the fierce blaze of the Broadway -pavement in July. The four o’clock promenade on Grafton and Westmoreland -streets seemed almost abandoned by the tall, fresh-colored Dublin belles; -and even the military band on Wednesday afternoons in Merrion square drew -few listeners. It was dull as well as hot. - -Taking down volume after volume at a venture from the shelves of the -house library, I happened on Arthur Young’s _Tour in Ireland in 1776-9_. -I opened it at the account of his visit to the Dargle. I had not yet -visited the glen, and was interested by his description. “What!” said I, -laying the book open on my knee, “shall I stay here broiling for another -week? I will run down to Bray and Wicklow for a day or two, and have a -look at the lions.” From my windows every morning I used to look out at -the distant hills, till they seemed to me like old acquaintances. The -next day I started. The trip is still a pleasant one in my memory; but -it is not of my own short Wicklow tour I am going to write, although in -these fast days it also might now be called ancient. - -This was my first acquaintance with Arthur Young’s celebrated _Tour_. -Not long ago I met with his work again. It was a copy of the second -edition, “printed by H. Goldney for T. Cadell in the Strand, MDCCLXXX.” -I recognized my old friend at a glance. The quaint engraving of -the “Waterfall at Powerscourt, I. Taylor, _sculp._,” renewed old -associations, and led to a second and more attentive reading. - -Although Young’s works are still the standard authority on the -agricultural condition of England and Ireland, one hundred years ago, -recognized in those countries, he is not so well known on this side of -the water, and a few facts concerning his life and writings may be given. -He was born in 1741. He was the son of the Rev. Arthur Young, rector -of Bradford, and sometime chaplain to Speaker Onslow. His father was -noted for some fierce blasts against “Popery,” but our author, in many -passages of a just and humane spirit, shows that he did not imbibe the -iconoclast zeal of Arthur Young the elder. His works are voluminous, -comprised in twenty volumes. They relate almost exclusively to the state -of agriculture in the two kingdoms and in France. His _Travels_ in the -East, West, and North of England, in Wales, in Ireland, and in France, -and his _Political Economy_, are the chief titles. But Arthur Young was -more than a practical farmer, honorable as that vocation is. He was -a man of liberal education and cultivated taste, and his works often -rise above the dull level of the fields and are pervaded with a true -Virgilian flavor. They have been warmly praised by such widely different -authorities as McCulloch, De Tocqueville, and the _Times_ Commissioner -in 1869; and Miss Edgeworth, herself now grown a little antiquated, says -of his _Tour in Ireland_: “It was the first faithful portrait of its -inhabitants.” Arthur Young died in 1820. An extended but not complete -list of his works will be found in Allibone. - -Young had a high but well-grounded idea of the place that agriculture -holds in the economy of the state. - - “The details,” he says, “of common management are dry and - unentertaining; nor is it easy to render them interesting by - ornaments of style. The tillage with which the peasant prepares - the ground; the manner with which he fertilizes it; the - quantities of the seed of the several species of grain which - he commits to it; and the products that repay his industry, - necessarily in the recital run into chains of repetition which - tire the ear, and fatigue the imagination. Great, however, is - the structure raised on this foundation; it may be dry, but it - is important, for these are the circumstances upon which depend - the wealth, prosperity, and power of nations. The minutiæ of - the farmer’s management, low and seemingly inconsiderable as - he is, are so many links of a chain which connect him with - the state. Kings ought not to forget that the splendor of - majesty is derived from the sweat of industrious and too often - oppressed peasants. The rapacious conqueror who destroys and - the great statesman who protects humanity, are equally indebted - for their power to the care with which the farmer cultivates - his fields. The monarch of these realms must know, when he is - sitting on his throne at Westminster, surrounded by nothing but - state and magnificence, that the poorest, the most oppressed, - the most unhappy peasant, in the remotest corner of Ireland, - contributes his share to the support of the gaiety that - enlivens and the splendor that adorns the scene.” - -Our author, it will be seen, lived close enough to the great Dr. Johnson -to catch something of the swelling and sonorous rotundity of style which -he impressed upon the Georgian era. And, in truth, there is a weighty and -nervous energy about the prose writing of that age which contrasts, not -to our advantage, with the extenuated and sharply accented style of our -day. - -The careful investigation of his special study led Young into minute -inquiries and much experimental journalizing, into which it would not -be possible or even desirable for us to follow him. We shall therefore -content ourselves with a notice of his more general observations in the -character of tourist. - -Arthur Young started from Holyhead for Dunleary--as Kingstown was then -called, before the “First Gentleman in Europe” set his august foot upon -its quay--on the 19th of June, 1776. What a tremendous turn of the wheel -has the world taken since then! These colonies had just plunged slowly -but resolutely into that great struggle for independence, the centennial -commemoration of which we shall celebrate next year. Progress in Ireland, -though not so radical, has been such as would have been derided as -a day-dream by the generation then living. In the arts and sciences -the advance has been as amazing as in politics. As we read of Young’s -tedious passage of twenty-two hours on board the small sailing packet of -those days, we take in at a glance the difference of times which has -substituted for those “Dutch clippers” the magnificent steamships which -now make the passage between those ports with undeviating regularity in -four hours. - -Young’s tour was made under the auspices of the English Board of -Agriculture. It was his intention to make a complete survey of the -state of the art in the island. He complains, however, of the want of -encouragement his project met with in England; the Earl of Shelburne, -“Edmund Burke, Esq.,” and a few others being the only persons of eminence -who took the trouble to interest themselves in the undertaking. “Indeed,” -says our author, commenting on this indifference, “there are too many -possessors of great estates in Ireland who wish to know nothing more of -it than the collection of their rents”--a remark which has not lost its -force in our own day. - -The reception he met with in Dublin, however, when the purpose of his -visit became known, seems to have compensated him for the coldness he -had experienced on the other side of the Channel. The most distinguished -persons of the Irish capital--a title then to some extent real--warmly -encouraged him in his project, treated him with true Irish hospitality -in their own houses, and provided him with letters of introduction to -facilitate his inquiries. Thus equipped, Young felt sure of bringing his -undertaking to a successful issue; nor did he disappoint his subscribers. -But before going further, let us first note his impressions of the -capital. - -Dublin exceeded his anticipations. Its public buildings, which still -recall its old glories to the Irish-American tourist, “are,” he -says, “magnificent; very many of the streets regularly laid out, and -exceedingly well built.” The Parliament House, within the walls of which -Grattan and Flood were then exerting their growing powers, attracted his -admiration, although some of its architectural features seemed to him -open to criticism. Young found the subject of Union an unpopular one -wherever broached, and, although an advocate of the scheme, does not -appear to have imagined that in a little over twenty years the doors of -the Parliament House would be closed upon the representatives of Ireland. -The cold and business-like precincts of the Bank of Ireland, as the -building is now called, make stronger by contrast the recollection of the -fervid eloquence once heard within its walls. Young attended the debates -frequently; but, whether it was from English phlegm, or perhaps it would -be more just to him to say, from the recollection of the transcendent -powers of Burke and Chatham, he does not appear to have been carried away -by the _perfervidum ingenium_ of the Irish orators. After naming Mr. -Daly, Mr. Flood (who had dropped out of the scene), Mr. Grattan, Serjeant -Burgh, and others, he says: “I heard many eloquent speeches, but I cannot -say they struck me like the exertion of the abilities of Irishmen in the -English House of Commons.” - -Young’s opinion of the musical talent of Dublin would be apt also -to excite the ire of its present opera-goers. No city in the United -Kingdom flatters itself more upon its correct musical taste and warm -encouragement of talent. But this is what our unabashed tourist says: “An -ill-judged and unsuccessful attempt was made to establish the Italian -opera, which existed but with scarce any life for this one winter; of -course, they could rise no higher than a comic one. ‘La Buona Figliuola,’ -‘La Frascatana,’ and ‘Il Geloso in Cimento’ were repeatedly performed, -or rather murdered, except the part of Sestini. The house was generally -empty and miserably cold.” This is no doubt an honest description of -the fortunes of the opera in his day, but those who have witnessed the -successive appearances of Grisi, of Piccolomini (in light _rôles_), of -Titjens, and Patti will not accuse a modern Dublin audience of want of -sympathy. - -Dublin, always a gay city socially, was enlivened in Young’s day by -the presence of a larger resident aristocracy than ever since. The -greater power and state of the “Castle” before the Union, the splendid -hospitality of the old Irish nobility, the beauty of its fair dames--the -toast of more than one court, the gallant, open-handed manners of the -native landed gentry, made it then one of the most brilliant capitals in -Europe. Young supposes the common computation of its inhabitants, two -hundred thousand, to be exaggerated; he thinks one hundred and forty -or one hundred and fifty thousand would be nearer the mark. Although -Dublin, to-day, nearly if not quite doubles the latter figures, and in -countless ways shares in the general progress of the age, she misses -the independent spirit her native parliament gave her, and which filled -the smaller city of the last century with an exuberant life that is now -absent in her streets and along her quays. - -Young thus sums up his observations on the city: “From everything -I saw, I was struck with all those appearances of wealth which the -capital of a thriving community may be supposed to exhibit. Happy if -I find through the country in diffused prosperity the right source -of this splendor!” Whatever the gaiety of the capital, the impartial -observer, as Young himself soon found, could not fail to note through -the country, notwithstanding some gleams of better times, the fixed -wretchedness of a whole people, bowed down under the yoke of those penal -laws the unspeakable horror of which no later English legislation, -however beneficent, can ever redeem. But the native buoyancy of the -Irish character was well exemplified in the comparatively cheerful and -quiescent spirit with which they bore their hard lot in the breathing -space, if one may so term it, between 1750 and 1770. For some years -previous to Young’s _Tour_, the general state of the country, contrasted -with what it had been seventy years previously, was what might almost be -called prosperous. The population was increasing, and was not suffering -from want of food; and the penal laws in some instances were allowed to -fall into abeyance. The country was comparatively free from agrarian -disturbances. Whiteboys and “Hearts of Steel” had sprung up in some -counties after Thurot’s landing in 1759, but were quickly suppressed; -their indiscriminate attacks upon private property in some instances -causing the Catholic country people to rise against them. The trade of -Ireland was still oppressed by the English prohibitory laws, but some -mitigation had been granted; and in 1778 the threatening attitude of -the Irish Volunteers at last wrung a tardy measure of justice from the -English government. The value of land in many counties had more than -doubled in the previous thirty years. Much of this rise in value was -undoubtedly due to natural causes--improved and extended cultivation, -and the increase of population--but it is plain from Young’s testimony, -without going to Catholic contemporary evidence, that the rents were -raised artificially in numberless cases by the grinding agents of the -absentee landlords. The Irish woollen trade had been annihilated by -English monopoly. The manufacture of linen, which was at its height in -1770, had greatly declined in consequence of the American difficulties, -but was beginning to revive a little. The effect of the war had also -been to check the emigration, which was chiefly confined, however, to -the North. Young gave particular attention to this subject, noting -down the emigration in each parish he visited; and the result of his -observations is summed up in these words: “The spirit of emigrating in -Ireland appeared to be confined to two circumstances, the Presbyterian -religion and the linen manufacture. I heard of very few emigrants except -among the manufacturers of that persuasion.” This remark has of course -been completely nullified in later years by the famine and continued -misgovernment, which at last, breaking down the Irishman’s strong love -of home, have sent him forth as a wanderer, but, in the designs of -Providence, to carry with him his faith and build up a greater Catholic -Church in America--happy also in the country and the laws which enable -him by his own exertions to gain a position equal to any other citizen’s, -and to throw off that poverty and servility which too often weighed down -his spirit at home. - -On the whole, then, it may be said that the time of Arthur Young’s -visit was a favorable one, if any time might be accounted favorable in -that long night of oppression which was still brooding over Ireland, and -which had yet to reach its darkest hour before the first faint streaks -of dawn gladdened the eyes of its weary watchers. The country was just -touching on that short period of flickering prosperity, culminating in -the assertion of its constitutional independence in 1782, but destined to -set in fire and blood in the tragedy of ’98 and the ill-starred Union of -1800. - -Leaving Dublin, Young first made a short tour through Meath and -Westmeath, returning by way of Carlow, Wexford, and Wicklow to the -capital before entering on his more extensive circuit of the island. In -this first excursion he at once exhibits the plan of his journal, noting -down with minuteness the character of the soil, the course of the crops, -the nature of the tenancy, and the condition of the people. Potatoes were -the great article of culture, alternating with barley, oats, and wheat. -Much of the best land was given to grazing. The average rent of the -county of Westmeath, exclusive of waste, was nine shillings--including -it, seven shillings; but in this, as in the other counties near Dublin, -the best land let from twenty shillings to as high as thirty-five -shillings sterling an acre. The rise in the price of labor for ten years -was from fivepence and sevenpence to eightpence and tenpence per day, -but the laborers worked harder and better. Women got eightpence a day in -harvest. Lands in general were leased to Protestants for thirty-one years -or three lives, but Catholics were in almost all cases at the mercy of -their landlords. The law allowing Catholics to hold leases for lives was -not yet passed. June 28th, he notes: - - “Took the road to Summerhill, the seat of the Right Hon. H. - L. Rowley; the country cheerful and rich; and if the Irish - cabins continue like what I have seen, I shall not hesitate - to pronounce their inhabitants as well off as most English - cottagers. They are built of mud walls, eighteen inches or two - feet thick, and well thatched, which are far warmer than the - thin clay walls in England. Here are few cottars without a - cow, and some of them two, a bellyful invariably of potatoes, - and generally turf for fuel from a bog. It is true they have - not always chimneys to their cabins, the door serving for - that and window too; if their eyes are not affected with - the smoke it may be an advantage in warmth. Every cottage - swarms with poultry, and most of them have pigs. Land lets at - twenty shillings an acre, which is the average rent of the - whole county of Meath to the occupier, but if the tenures of - middlemen are included it is not above fourteen shillings. - This intermediate tenant between landlord and occupier is - very common here. The farmers are very much improved in their - circumstances since about the year 1752.” - -Although we may partially agree in Arthur Young’s opinion that some -amelioration was visible in the material surroundings of the Irish -peasant during the quarter of a century preceding his visit, no equal -concession can be made regarding his political rights. These remained -absolutely nil. The comparative tranquillity that prevailed was the -lethargy not the security of freedom. In a slightly altered sense might -have been uttered of the whole nation what Hussey Burgh said of a year or -two later, referring more particularly to the Volunteers: “Talk not to -me,” he exclaimed, “of peace; it is not peace, but smothered war!” - -Contrasted with this description of the cabins of the peasantry, the -following account of an Irish nobleman’s country mansion in the same -county one hundred years ago will be found interesting. Headfort is still -one of the principal residences in that part of the country: - - “July 1st: Reached Lord Bective’s in the evening through a - very fine country, particularly that part of it from which - is a prospect of his extensive woods. No person could with - more readiness give me every sort of information than his - lordship. The improvements at Headfort must be astonishing to - those who knew the place seventeen years ago, for then there - were neither building, walling, nor plantations; at present - almost everything is created necessary to form a considerable - residence. The house and offices are new-built. It is a large - plain stone edifice. The body of the house 145 feet long, - and the wings each 180. The hall is 31½ by 24, and 17 high. - The saloon of the same dimensions; on the left of which is a - dining-room 48 by 24, and 24 high. From the thickness of the - walls, I suppose it is the custom to build very substantially - here. The grounds fall agreeably in front of the house to a - winding narrow vale, which is filled with wood, where also - is a river which Lord Bective intends to enlarge. And on the - other side, the lawn spreads over a large extent, and is - everywhere bounded by large plantations. To the right the town - of Kells, picturesquely situated among groups of trees, with - a fine waving country and distant mountains; to the left, a - rich tract of cultivation. Besides these numerous plantations, - considerable mansion, and an incredible quantity of walling, - his lordship has walled in 26 acres for a garden and nursery, - and built six or seven large pineries, each 90 feet long. He - has built a farm-yard 280 feet square, surrounded with offices - of various kinds.” - -July 4th, there is an entry of interest, as showing the position of -Catholic tenants at that day even under the best landlords. Young was -then a guest of Lord Longford’s at Packenham Hall. We give the passage in -his own words, as it is a favorable index to our author’s character: - - “Lord Longford carried me to Mr. Marly, an improver in the - neighborhood, who has done great things, and without the - benefit of such leases as Protestants in Ireland commonly have. - He rents 1,000 acres; at first, it was twentypence an acre; - in the next term, five shillings, or two hundred and fifty - pounds a year; and he now pays eight hundred and fifty pounds - a year for it. Almost the whole farm is mountain land; the - spontaneous growth, heath, etc.; he has improved 500 acres.… - It was with regret I heard the rent of a man who had been - so spirited an improver should be raised so exceedingly. He - merited for his life the returns of his industry. But the cruel - laws against the Roman Catholics of this country remain the - marks of illiberal barbarism. Why should not the industrious - man have a spur to his industry, whatever be his religion; and - what industry is to be expected from them in a country where - leases for lives are general among Protestants, if secluded - from terms common to every one else? What mischiefs could flow - from letting them have leases for life? None; but much good in - animating their industry. It is impossible that the prosperity - of a nation should have its natural progress where four-fifths - of the people are cut off from those advantages which are - heaped upon the domineering aristocracy of the small remainder.” - -Young made many inquiries here concerning the state of the “lower” -classes, and found that in some respects they were in good circumstances, -in others indifferent. They had, generally speaking, plenty of potatoes, -enough flax for all their linen, most of them a cow and some two, and -spun wool enough for their clothes; all, a pig, and quantities of -poultry. Fuel, and fish from the neighboring lakes, were also plenty. - - “Reverse the medal,” says Young: “they are ill clothed, make - a wretched appearance, and, what is worse, are much oppressed - by many, who make them pay too dear for keeping a cow, horse, - etc. They have a practice also of keeping accounts with the - laborers, contriving by that means to let the poor wretches - have very little cash for their year’s work. This is a great - oppression; farmers and gentlemen keeping accounts with the - poor is a cruel abuse. So many days’ work for a cabin--so many - for a potato garden--so many for keeping a horse--and so many - for a cow, are clear accounts which a poor man can understand; - but farther it ought never to go; and when he has worked out - this, the rest ought punctually to be paid him every Saturday - night. They are much worse treated than the poor in England, - are talked to in more opprobrious terms, and otherwise very - much oppressed.” - -Passing through the county Wexford, Young diverged a little from his -route to visit the baronies of Forth and Bargy, the peculiar character of -the people of which had always attracted the attention of tourists. They -are supposed to have been completely peopled by Strongbow’s followers, -and have retained a language peculiar to themselves. They had the -reputation even then of being better farmers than in any other part of -Ireland. - -“July 12th: Sallied from my inn, which would have made a very passable -castle of enchantment in the eyes of Don Quixote in search of adventures -in these noted baronies, of which I had heard so much.” He did not find, -however, as much difference in the husbandry as he expected, but the -people appeared more comfortable. Potatoes were not the common food all -the year through, as in other parts of Ireland. Barley bread and pork, -herrings and oatmeal, were much used. The cabins were generally much -better than any he had yet seen; larger, with two and three rooms in good -order and repair, all with windows and chimneys, and little sties for -their pigs and cattle. They were as well built, he says, as was common in -England. The girls and women were handsomer, having better features and -complexions than he saw elsewhere in Ireland. Young was a poor authority -on this point, however; for he says, in the most ungallant manner, that -“the women among the lower classes in general in Ireland are as ugly -as the women of fashion are handsome.” A remark equally composed of -truth and falsehood: a handsome Irish lass being as easily found in any -townland as in any Dublin drawing-room. Young was a good man and a good -farmer, but we fear in this case his cockney prejudices deceived him. - -Understanding that there was a part of the barony of Shellmaleive -inhabited by Quakers, rich men and good farmers, our tourist turned aside -to visit them. A farmer he talked to said of them: “The Quakers be very -cunning, and the d----l a bad acre of land will they hire.” This excited -Young’s admiration for these sagacious Friends. He found them uncommonly -industrious, and a very quiet race. They lived very comfortably and -happily, and many of them were worth several hundred pounds. - -Returning through Wicklow to Dublin, he passed through the Glen of the -Downs and the Dargle, as we have already noticed. His description of the -scenery of these noted spots is picturesquely written, but too long to -quote. July 18th, he set out for the North. Leaving Drogheda, he made a -visit to the Lord Chief Baron Foster at Cullen. This “great improver,” -“a title,” he says, “more deserving estimation than that of a great -general or great minister,” had reclaimed in twenty years a barren tract -of land, containing over 5,000 acres, which, when Young visited it, was -covered with corn. In conversation with him, the Chief Baron said that -in his circuits through the North of Ireland he was on all occasions -attentive to procuring information relative to the linen manufacture. -It had been his general observation that where linen manufacture spread -tillage was very bad. Thirty years before, the export of linen and yarn -had been about £500,000 a year; it was then £1,200,000 to £1,500,000. In -1857, the export of linens, according to McCulloch, was £4,400,000. In -1868, there were 94 flax-spinning factories in Ireland, driving 905,525 -spindles, employing about 50,000 (_vide_ I. N. Murphy’s valuable work, -_Ireland--Industrial, Political, and Social_, London, 1870). - -In conversation upon the “Popery” laws, Young expressed his surprise at -their severity. The Chief Baron said they were severe in the letter, -but were never executed. It was rarely or never, he said (he knew no -instance), that a Protestant _discoverer_ got a lease by proving the -lands let under two-thirds of their real value to a Catholic. But it -is plain the Chief Baron took a more roseate view of the situation -than it deserved; the explanation of the last-mentioned circumstance -being, as we have seen in the case of Mr. Marly, already mentioned, that -the landlord generally took good care to keep the rent well up to the -two-thirds value. The penalties for carrying arms or reading Mass were -severe, the Chief Baron admitted, but the first was never executed for -merely poaching (rare clemency!), and as to the other, “Mass-houses were -to be seen everywhere.” The Chief Baron did justice, Young says, to the -merits of the Roman Catholics, by observing that they were in general -a very sober, honest, and industrious people. Arthur Young winds up -this conversation with Chief Baron Foster, however, with the following -spirited remark, which shows that he had not listened in vain to the -great orator of that age: “This account,” he says, “of the laws against -them brought to mind an admirable expression of Mr. Burke’s in the -English House of Commons: _connivance is the relaxation of slavery, not -the definition of liberty_.” - -The Chief Baron was of opinion that the kingdom had improved more in the -last twenty years than in a century before. The great spirit began, he -said, in 1749 and 1750. With regard to the emigrations, which then made -so much noise in the North of Ireland, he believed they were principally -idle people, who, far from being missed, benefited the country by their -absence. They were generally dissenters, he said; very few Churchmen or -Catholics. - -Coming to Armagh, Young found the “Oak Boys” and “Steel Boys” active in -that part of the country. He attributes their rise to the increase of -rents and the oppression of the tithe-proctors. The manufacture of linen -was at its height; the price greater, and the quantity also. A weaver -earned from one shilling to one shilling and fourpence a day, a farming -laborer eightpence. The women earned about threepence a day spinning, and -drank tea for breakfast. - -July 27th, in the evening, he reached Belfast. He gives an animated -description of the town and its trade and manufactures. “The streets,” he -says, “are broad and straight, and the inhabitants, amounting to about -fifteen thousand, make it appear lively and busy.” The population of -Belfast is now probably one hundred and twenty-five thousand. It was -then already noted for its brisk foreign trade with the Baltic, Spain, -France, and the West Indies. The trade with North America was greatly -affected by the contumacious behavior of the “rebels.” - -Thence our tourist wended his way through the North, through the -mountains and moors of Donegal, and down the wild west coast of Sligo -and Galway. Here he describes a wake, and the “howling” of the “keeners” -“in a most horrid manner,” in a tone of alarm and amazement which would -put to shame the stage “English officer” of some of our modern Irish -melodramas. - -Continuing his route through Clare and Limerick, he arrived at Cork -September 21st. This is his description of the city one hundred years ago: - - “Got to Corke in the evening, and waited on the Dean, who - received me with the most flattering attention. Corke is - one of the most populous places I have ever been in; it was - market-day, and I could scarce drive through the streets, they - were so amazingly thronged; the number is very great at all - times. I should suppose it must resemble a Dutch town, for - there are many canals in the streets, with quays before the - houses. Average of ships that entered in nineteen years, eight - hundred and seventy-two per annum. The number of people in - Corke, upon an average of three calculations, as mustered by - the clergy, by the hearth-money, and by the number of houses, - sixty-seven thousand souls, if taken before the first of - September; after that, twenty thousand increased.” - -These last figures appear large. The population of Cork in 1866 was -estimated at eighty thousand. Ships entered and cleared in 1859, 4,410. - -From Cork, Young set out for Killarney. The lakes were already a great -point of attraction for the tourist. Young was in raptures with the -mingled beauty and sublimity of the scenery. His description of Glena, -Mucross Abbey, Mangerton, and the other wild and beautiful features -of lakes and mountain, might almost be taken for an account of their -appearance within the last ten years. Of Innisfallen, he says: - - “September 29th: Returning, took boat again towards Ross Isle, - and as Mucruss retires from us nothing can be more beautiful - than the spots of lawn in the terrace opening in the wood; - above it, the green hills with clumps, and the whole finishing - in the noble group of wood above the abbey, which here appears - a deep shade, and so fine a finishing one, that not a tree - should be touched.… Open Innisfallen, which at this distance - is composed of various shades, within a broken outline, - entirely different from the other islands. No pencil could - mix a happier assemblage. Land near a miserable room where - travellers dine.--Of the isle of Innisfallen it is paying no - great compliment to say it is the most beautiful in the king’s - dominions, and perhaps in Europe. It contains twenty acres of - land, and has every variety that the range of beauty, unmixed - with the sublime, can give. The general feature is that of - wood; the surface undulates into swelling hills, and sinks - into little vales; the slopes are in every direction, the - declivities die gently away, forming those slight inequalities - which are the greatest beauty of dressed grounds. The little - vallies let in views of the surrounding lake between the hills, - while the swells break the regular outline of the water, and - give to the whole an agreeable confusion. Trees of large size - and commanding figure form in some places natural arches; the - ivy mixing with the branches, and hanging across in festoons - of foliage, while on the one side the lake glitters among the - trees, and on the other a thick gloom dwells in the recesses - of the wood. These are the great features of Innisfallen. - Every circumstance of the wood, the rocks, and lawn are - characteristic, and have a beauty in the assemblage from mere - disposition.” - -With the exception of the “miserable room where travellers dine,” -which happily has disappeared, this is a good picture of the scene when -the writer visited this lovely spot. Young elsewhere complains of the -“want of accommodations and extravagant expense of strangers” visiting -Killarney. The “Victoria,” the “Lake,” and other good hotels now leave -no room for reproach on the first score; though the “stranger” may still -feelingly recognize the point of Young’s last remark. - -Moore had not yet written: - - “Sweet Innisfallen long shall dwell - In memory’s dream, that sunny smile - Which o’er thee on that evening fell, - When first I saw thy fairy isle.” - -From Killarney Young took the road through Limerick and Tipperary. Here -he stopped at Sir William Osborne’s, near Clonmel. Always on the alert to -note improvements, he here describes a scene of industry and labor which -in an extended form still attracts the attention of the tourist: - - “This gentleman” (Sir W. Osborne), he says, “has made a - mountain improvement which demands particular attention, being - upon a principle very different from common ones. Twelve years - ago he met a hearty-looking fellow of forty, followed by a wife - and six children in rags, who begged. Sir William questioned - him upon the scandal of a man in full health and vigor - supporting himself in such a manner. The man said he could get - no work. ‘Come along with me, I will show you a spot of land - upon which I will build a cabin for you, and if you like you - shall fix there.’ The fellow followed Sir William, who was as - good as his word; he built him a cabin, gave him five acres of - a heathy mountain, lent him four pounds to stock with, and gave - him, when he had prepared his ground, as much lime as he would - come for. The fellow flourished; he went on gradually; repaid - the four pounds, and presently became a happy little cottar: he - has at present twelve acres under cultivation, and a stock in - trade worth at least eighty pounds. The success which attended - this man in two or three years brought others, who applied for - land. And Sir William gave them as they applied. The mountain - was under lease to a tenant, who valued it so little that, upon - being reproached with not cultivating or doing something with - it, he assured Sir William that it was utterly impracticable - to do anything with it, and offered it to him without any - deduction of rent. Upon this mountain he fixed them, giving - them terms as they came determinable with the lease of the - farm. In this manner Sir William has fixed twenty-two families, - who are all upon the improving hand, the meanest growing - richer, and find themselves so well off that no consideration - will induce them to work for others, not even in harvest. Their - industry has no bounds; nor is the day long enough for the - revolution of their incessant labor. - - “Too much cannot be said in praise of this undertaking. It - shows that a reflecting, penetrating landlord can scarcely move - without the power of creating opportunities to do himself and - his country service. It shows that the villany of the greatest - miscreants is all situation and circumstance; _employ_, don’t - _hang_ them. Let it not be in the slavery of the cottar system, - in which industry never meets its reward, but, by giving - property, teach the value of it; by giving them the fruits of - their labor, teach them to be laborious. All this Sir William - Osborne has done, and done it with effect, and there probably - is not an honester set of families in the county than those - which he has formed from the refuse of the Whiteboys.” - -Exception will be justly taken here to the use of the word “miscreants,” -of which nothing appears to show that these poor people were deserving -the name, and which is probably used generally; but let it be remembered -that these sentiments were written one hundred years ago, and by an -Englishman who, from his position, might well be supposed to share all -the prejudices of his race, and the philanthropy and love of justice -which belonged to Young’s character will conspicuously appear. What a -revelation of the state of the country and the condition of its native -people, when a stranger utters these appalling words (to our ears) to its -landlords: “_Employ_, don’t _hang_ them.” - -In September, 1869, the _Times_ Commissioner in Ireland thus wrote of the -great-grandchildren of these men: - - “I took care to visit a tract in this neighborhood which I - expected to find especially interesting. Arthur Young tells us - how, in his day, Sir William Osborne of Newtownanner encouraged - a colony of cottiers to settle along the slopes that lead to - the Commeraghs, and how they had reclaimed this barren wild - with extraordinary energy and success. The great-grandchildren - of these very men now spread in villages along the range for - miles, and, though reduced in numbers since 1846, they still - form a considerable population. The continual labor of these - sons of the soil has carried cultivation high up the mountains, - has fenced thousands of acres and made them fruitful, has - rescued to the uses of man what had been the unprofitable - domain of nature. These people do not pay a high rent. They - are for the most part under good landlords; but I was sorry to - find this remarkable and most honorable creation of industry - was generally unprotected by a certain tenure. The tenants - with hardly a single exception declared they would be happy to - obtain leases, which, as they said truly, would ‘secure them - their own, and stir them up to renewed efforts.’” - -A few years before the visit of the _Times_ Commissioner, the writer -of this article passed along the same road on his way to Clonmel and -Fethard, and still vividly remembers the remarkable appearance of the -long range of these little holdings climbing high up the steep side of -the mountains; the clustering cabins; the narrow paths winding up to -them; and, higher than all, the gray masses of mist sweeping along the -rocks and purple heath. - -From Clonmel Arthur Young proceeded to Waterford, and thence, on the 19th -of October, the wind being fair, took passage in the sailing packet, the -_Countess of Tyrone_, for Milford Haven, Wales--thus bringing to an end -his first and most interesting tour in Ireland. - -In a subsequent volume, he relates his experiences two years later. But -this second volume, though valuable, is not of the same interesting -character as the first. It consists chiefly of chapters under general -headings, such as Manufactures, Commerce, Population, etc. It is -speculative and theorizing, and has not the freshness of particular -incidents and observations. Nevertheless, it will always be consulted by -the student who desires to learn from an impartial English observer the -condition of Ireland one hundred years ago. - -The following are the laws of discovery, as they were called, given by -Young in his chapter on “Religion,” vol. ii., as in force in his day. -They are given in his own words: - - “1. The whole body of Roman Catholics are absolutely disarmed. - - “2. They are incapacitated from purchasing land. - - “3. The entails of their estate are broken. - - “4. If one child abjures that religion, he inherits the whole - estate, though he is the youngest. - - “5. If the son abjures the religion, the father has no power - over his estate, but becomes a pensioner upon it in favor of - such son. - - “6. No Catholic can take a lease for more than 31 years. - - “7. If the rent of any Catholic is less than two-thirds of the - full improved value, whoever discovers takes the benefit of the - lease. - - “8. Priests who celebrate Mass must be transported; and if they - return, to be hanged. - - “9. A Catholic having a horse in his possession above the value - of five pounds to forfeit the same to the discoverer. - - “10. By a construction of Lord Hardwick’s they are - incapacitated from lending money on mortgage.” - -“The preceding catalogue,” says Young, with grave irony, “is very -imperfect. But,” he continues, “it is an exhibition of oppression fully -sufficient.” - -With these words may fitly be concluded a notice of Ireland one hundred -years ago. Twenty years after Arthur Young wrote them, the short period -of comparative peace he chronicled ended, and the pitch-cap became the -emblem of English government in Ireland. - - -BROTHER PHILIP. - -CONCLUDED. - -It was reserved for Brother Philip not only to give a fresh impetus to -the Institute of the Christian Schools, but also to see it acquire an -additional and important title to respect by a new form of self-devotion -on the fields of battle. Never had the Brothers failed to prove their -loyal love of their country, but the year 1870, so terrible to France, -brought out their patriotism in all its active energy. - -There is no need that we should relate how, in the July of that year, -Napoleon III., who was unprepared for anything, provoked King William, -who was prepared for everything, it being our object to give the history -of self-devotion, not to recall mistakes. - -The best Christians are always the truest patriots. The heart of Brother -Philip thrilled at the very name of France, and he so well knew that -France could equally reckon on his Brothers that he did not even consult -them before he wrote his letter of the 15th of August to the Minister -of War, in which he said that they would wish to profit by the time -of vacation to serve their country in another manner than they had -been wont; at the same time placing at his disposal, to be turned into -ambulances, all the establishments belonging to the Institute, as well -as all the communal schools directed by the Brothers, who would devote -themselves to the care of the sick and wounded. “The soldiers love our -Brothers,” wrote the Superior, “and our Brothers love the soldiers, a -large number of whom have been their pupils, and who would feel pleasure -in being attended to by their former masters.… The members of my Council, -the Brother Visitors, and myself will make it our duty to superintend -and to encourage our Brothers in this service.” All the houses of the -Christian Schools, therefore, were speedily put in readiness to receive -the wounded. Some of the Brothers were left in charge of the classes. -Wherever they were wanted they were to be found. We find them for the -first time engaged in their new work after the engagements of the 14th, -16th, and 18th of August, which took place around Metz, where trains -filled with wounded were sent by Thionville to the Ardennes and the -North. Supplies of provisions were organized at Beauregard-lez-Thionville -by the Brother Director of that place, for these poor sufferers, who -were in want of everything; all the families of the town with eager -willingness contributing their share. Thus eight trains, carrying five -hundred wounded, successively received the succor so much needed. At -St. Denis, the Brothers responded to the municipal vote which had just -been passed for their suppression by their active zeal in the service -of the _bureau de subsistence_, or provision-office. In many towns the -military writings were entrusted to them. At Dieppe, being installed in -the citadel, they made more than 120,000 cartridges. On the 17th of -August, Brother Philip received, with the most cordial kindness, two -hundred firemen of Dinan and St. Brieuc, forming part of the companies -of the Côtes-du-Nord, who had hastened to the defence of Paris--himself -presiding at their installation in the mother-house, and bidding them -feel quite at home there, as the Brothers were the “servants of the -servants of their country.” There the good Bretons remained four days, -each receiving a medal of Our Blessed Lady from the Superior-General when -the time came for departure. The Brothers of the _pensionnat_ of S. Marie -at Quimper, during the early part of August, received more than fifteen -hundred military in their dormitories, the Brothers of Aix-les-Bains, -Rodez, Moulins, and Châteaubriant also affording hospitable lodging -to numerous volunteers. “At one time,” said the Brother Director of -Avignon, “we were distributing soup, every morning and evening, to from -five hundred to seven hundred engaged volunteers, and also to a thousand -zouaves who had been housed by the Brothers of the Communal Schools; we -were at the same time lodging at the _pensionnat_ three hundred and sixty -of the _garde mobile_; thus, in all, we had charge of about two thousand -men.” - -The officers and soldiers of the eighth company of _mobiles_ at Aubusson -were so grateful for the kindness shown them by the Brother Director -that they wished to confer on him the rank of honorary quartermaster, -and decorate him with gold stripes. The Brothers at Boulay, six leagues -from Metz, were the first to observe the superior quality of the enemy’s -army and the severity of its discipline. A doctor of the Prussian -army said to them on one occasion, “We shall conquer because we pray -to God. You in France have no religion; instead of praying, you sing -the _Marseillaise_. You have good soldiers, but no leaders capable of -commanding: Wissembourg, Forbach, and Gravelotte[136] have proved this. -Your army is without discipline, while our eight hundred thousand march -as if they were one man. And then our artillery … which has hardly yet -opened fire!” These words were uttered on the 25th of August, by which -time the fate of France could be only too plainly foreseen. The Brothers -of Verdun showed a courage equal to that of the defenders of the place. -From the 24th of August to the 10th of November, they were to be seen on -the ramparts succoring the wounded, carrying away the dead, working with -the firemen, in the midst of the bombs, to extinguish the conflagrations, -besides attending on the wounded in the ambulance of the Bishop’s house. -The Brothers at Pourru-Saint-Rémy, by their courageous remonstrances, -saved the little town from destruction, and also the lives of two -Frenchmen whom the Prussians were about to shoot. - -The same works of mercy were being carried on at Sedan amid the horrors -of that fearful time--when seventy thousand men were prisoners of war, -and in want of everything; when every public building, and even the -church, was filled with wounded. Some of the Brothers went from door to -door begging linen, mattresses, and straw, while others washed and bound -up the wounds, aided the surgeons, and acted as secretaries to the poor -soldiers desirous of sending news of themselves to their families. - -The Brother Director at Rheims gives the following account of his visit -on the 22d of September to the battle-field around Sedan: “We began by -Bazeilles,” he writes, “and truly it was a heartrending spectacle. This -borough of two thousand five hundred inhabitants, which I had recently -seen so rich and prosperous, is entirely destroyed. The only house left -standing is riddled with shot, all the rest being mere heaps of charred -stones, still smoking from the scarcely extinguished burning. The field -of battle was still empurpled with blood, and trampled hard like a road, -while in all directions were scattered torn garments, rifled wallets, and -broken weapons.”[137] - -The ambulance of Rethel received, in four months, eight hundred men, -many Prussians being of the number. Several of the Brothers fell ill -from their excessive exertions, and from typhus, caught in the exercise -of their charitable employment, the latter proving fatal in the case of -Brother Bénonien. One of the Directors dying at Châlons-sur-Marne, the -Prussians, in token of their respect, allowed the bells, which had been -silent since the invasion of the town, to be tolled for his funeral. At -Dîjon the Brothers were repeatedly insulted by a handful of demagogues, -who would fain have compelled them to take arms and go to the war while -they themselves staid at home; but when, soon afterwards, these same -Brothers who had been derided as “lazy cowards,” were seen bearing in -their arms the wounded men--whom they had on more than one occasion -gone out to seek with lanterns, amid rain and mud and darkness--gently -laying them in clean white beds, and attending to all their wants with -the tenderest solicitude, the mockers were silenced, and their derision -forgotten in the admiration of the grateful people. It was here also -that, after the battle of the 30th of October, many Garibaldians who -were among the wounded beheld with astonishment the calm devotedness of -these “black-robes,” whom they had always been accustomed to malign. -Not content with begging their pardon merely, they were exceedingly -desirous that Garibaldi should award military decorations to certain of -the Brothers, who would have had as strong an objection to receive the -honor from such hands as the godless Italian would have had to confer -it; nor did the cares lavished by these religious on his companions in -arms hinder his execrations of the priests and religious orders in his -proclamation of January 29, 1871. - -In Belgium as well as in France the good offices of the Brothers found -ample exercise. After the defeat of Gen. de Failly, more than eleven -hundred exhausted and famishing soldiers, with their uniforms torn to -shreds after a march of ten leagues through the woods, arrived at a late -hour of the night, on the 1st of September, at the house of the Brothers -at Carlsbourg, not knowing what place it was. Great was the joy of the -poor fugitives at the unexpected sight of that well-known habit and those -friendly faces. All were welcomed in, and their lives saved by the timely -hospitality so freely accorded to their needs. The sick and wounded -had already been brought in carts from the scene of the engagement, -and were receiving every care under the same roof. All through the -month of September this house was a centre of assistance, information, -and correspondence, as well as of unbounded hospitality. At Namur the -Brothers converted their house into an ambulance, and, in their work of -nursing the sick and wounded, had able auxiliaries in many Christian -ladies of high rank. - -While the red flag was floating over the Hôtel de Ville at Lyons, and -those who talked the most loudly about “the people” troubled themselves -the least on their account, the Brothers of this town prepared a hundred -beds in their house, and successively had charge of seven hundred -soldiers, the Brother Director during all that time having to maintain -a persevering resistance to the revolutionists, who no less than twelve -times attempted to disperse the community. The devotion of the Brothers -was characterized by a peculiar courage in the ambulance at Beaune, -reserved for sufferers from the small-pox, and which none but they -dared approach. At Châlons-sur-Saône they had four ambulances, in the -charge of which they were aided by some nursing Sisters. Many Germans -were among their wounded at Orléans and at Dreux. It was at the latter -place that one of the chief medical officers of the Prussians, a very -hard-hearted man, who had made himself the terror of the ambulance as -well as of the town, gave orders that every French soldier, as soon as -he began to recover, should be sent a prisoner to Germany; the Brothers, -however, did not rest until they had so far softened him as to save their -convalescents from the threatened captivity. - -But we should far exceed the limits of our notice were we to follow with -anything like completeness the work of the Brothers in the departments -of France. The places particularized suffice as an indication of what -was done in numbers more, in several of which some of the Brothers -fell victims to their charity. The testimony of the medical men, in -praise not only of their unwearied devotion, but also of their skill -in the care of the sick and wounded, was everywhere the same. It seems -scarcely credible that in several localities--at Villefranche and Niort -amongst others--where they were unostentatiously carrying on these -self-denying labors, the municipal councils, as if to punish them for -their generosity, withdrew the annual sum which had for years past (in -one case, for sixty-four years) been allowed to their schools for the -expenses of administration. It frequently happened that, in opening -ambulances, they did not, for that reason, discontinue their classes, -those who taught in the day watching by the sick at night; giving up for -the good of others their time, their repose, their comfort--all they had -to give. The Committees of Succor did much, but it seemed as if without -them something would have been wanting to the ambulances. For additional -particulars we must refer the reader to the interesting pages of M. -Poujoulat, from which we have drawn so largely. And now, having in some -measure sketched the work of the Brothers in the provinces during the -war, we must not leave it unnoticed in the capital. - -Towards the end of November, 1870, Brother Philip, after receiving the -appeal from the ambulances of the Press, issued no order to the Brothers -of the communities in Paris, but simply informed them of the request that -had been made him, bidding them consider it before God, and adding, “You -are free to give your assistance or to withhold it.” The Brothers prayed, -went to Communion, and then said to their Superior, “We are ready.” Even -the young novices in the Rue Oudinot wrote to him letters of touchingly -earnest entreaty to be allowed to serve with their elders. We give the -following in the words of M. Poujoulat: - - “On the 29th of November, at six o’clock in the morning, in - piercing cold, a hundred and fifty of the Brothers of the - Christian Schools were assembled at the extremity of the Quai - d’Orsay, near the Champ de Mars. An old man was with them in - the same habit as themselves; this was Brother Philip, his - eighty years not appearing to him any reason for staying at - home. They were awaiting the order to march. Gen. Trochu, - acting less in accordance with his own judgment than with the - imperious despatches sent from Tours and with the wishes of the - Parisians, proposed to pierce through the enemy’s lines and - join the army of the Loire. The attack having been retarded - by an overflow of the Marne, and the necessity of throwing - additional bridges across the river, the Brothers waited eight - hours for an order which never came. On the following morning, - the 30th, they were again with Brother Philip at the same post, - at the same hour, and shortly received the order to advance, - while, with profound emotion, the venerable Superior, after - seeing his ‘children,’ as he was wont to call them, depart, - returned alone to the Rue Oudinot. - - “Cannonading was heard towards the southeast. The two corps - of the army, under Gens. Blanchard and Renault, had attacked - Champigny and the table-land of Villiers. The Brothers, - mounted in various vehicles, proceeded towards the barrier of - Charenton, on their way receiving many encouraging acclamations - from the people. Their work commenced on the right bank of - the Marne, which they crossed on a bridge of boats, not far - from Champigny and Villiers, amid the rattling of musketry - and the roar of heavy guns. Divided into companies of ten, - each with its surgeon, provided with litters, and wearing the - armlet marked with the Red Cross, they proceed to seek the - wounded, troubling themselves little about finding death. They - are attended by ambulance carriages, in which they place the - sufferers, who are taken to Paris by the _bateaux mouches_ - (small packet-boats of the Seine). When litters are not to - be had, the Brothers themselves carry those whom they pick - up, sometimes for long distances, never seeming to think - themselves near enough to danger, because they wish to be as - near as possible to those who may be reached by the shell and - shot. They walk on tranquilly and fearlessly, the murdering - projectiles appearing to respect them. They have lifted up the - brave Gen. Renault, mortally wounded by the splinter of a bomb. - - “This general, before his death, a few days afterwards, said - to the Brother Director of Montrouge: ‘I have grown gray on - battle-fields; I have seen twenty-two campaigns; but I never - saw so murderous an engagement as this.’ And it was in the - midst of this tempest of fire that the Brothers fulfilled their - charitable mission. No one could see without admiration their - delicate and intelligent care of the wounded.” - -On this latter subject, M. d’Arsac writes as follows: - - “They” (the Brothers) “knelt down upon the damp earth--in the - ice, in the snow, or in the mud--raising the heavy heads, - questioning the livid lips, the extinguished gaze, and, after - affording the last solace that was possible, recommencing - their difficult and perilous journey across the ball-ploughed - land, through the heaps of scattered fragments and of corpses, - amid the movements to and fro upon the field of carnage. Very - gently they lift this poor fellow, wounded in the chest, - raising him on a supple hammock of plaited straw, keeping the - head high, and placing a pillow under the shoulders, avoiding - anything like a shock.… Thus they advance with slow and even - pace never stopping for a moment to wipe their foreheads. A - woollen covering envelops the wounded man from the shoulders - downward. Often his stiffened hand still clutches his weapon - with a spasmodic grasp, … the arm hangs helplessly, and from - minute to minute a shiver runs over the torn frame. He faints, - or in a low whisper names those he loves. The Brothers quicken - their steps. The ‘Binder’ carriage is not yet there; so they - lay their burden gently down upon a mattress, in some room - transformed into an ambulance, where a number of young men, in - turned-up sleeves and aprons of operation, are in attendance. - They pour a cordial through the closed teeth of the sufferer, - complete the amputation of the all but severed limb, and do - that to save life which the enemy did to destroy it.” - -The Brother Director of Montrouge gives the following account of the -night which followed the battle of Champigny: - - “Being stronger and more robust than the rest, I got into one - of Potin’s wagons, and returned to beat the country around - Champigny, Petit-Bry, and Tremblay. On reaching the plateau - of Noisy, where lay many wounded, uttering cries of pain and - despair, a soldier, who was cutting a piece of flesh from a - horse killed that morning, told me that the Prussians would - not allow them to be removed, and that if I went further I - should be made prisoner. I went on, notwithstanding, in the - hope of succoring these poor fellows, but presently a patrol - fire barred the way against me, and compelled me to believe - the statement of the marauding soldier. It was one o’clock - in the morning; and I went away, grieved to the heart at the - thought of those unhappy men lying there on the cold earth, - into which their life-blood was soaking, in the piercing cold, - and under the pitiless eye of an inhuman enemy. The man who - drove my conveyance was afraid, and his wearied horses refused - to go a step further; I left them therefore in the road, and, - lantern in hand, walked along the lanes, through the woods, - across the fields, but found everywhere nothing but corpses. - I called, and listened, but everywhere the only answer was - the silence of death. At last I went towards the glimmering - lights of the watch-fires of our soldiers, and learnt that on - the hill, into a house which had been left standing, several - men had been carried at nightfall; and there in fact I found - them, twenty-one in number, lying at the foot of a wall whither - they had dragged themselves from a ditch where they had been - left, and patiently waiting until some one should come to their - assistance. Happily I was soon joined here by others, who - helped me to place the wounded in different vehicles, and we - set out for Paris, where we arrived at half-past four in the - morning. After seeing them safely housed, I set out again for - Champigny, longing to know the fate of the poor creatures whose - cries had pierced my very soul, without my being able to succor - them. I hastened to the plateau of Noisy, and there found - eighty frozen corpses. Some had died in terrible contortions, - grasping the earth and tearing up the grass around them; - others, with open eyes and closed fists, appeared fierce and - threatening even in death; while others again, whose stiffened - hands were raised to heaven, announced, by the composure of - their countenances, that they had expired in calmness and - resignation, and perhaps pardoning their executioners the - physical and moral tortures they endured.” - -During any suspension of arms, the Brothers buried the dead, digging -long trenches in the hard and snow-covered earth, in which the corpses, -in their uniforms, were laid in rows. A single day did not suffice for -these interments, everything being done with order and respect. When all -was ended, the falling snow soon spread one vast winding-sheet over the -buried ranks, while the Brothers, having finished their sad day’s toil by -torchlight, knelt down and said the _De profundis_. - -Every fresh combat saw these acts of intrepid charity renewed. Brother -Philip, although, on account of his advanced age, not himself on the -field, was the moving spirit of the work. Daily, before the Brothers -started for their labors, he multiplied his affectionate and thoughtful -attentions, going from one to another during the frugal breakfast which -preceded their departure, with here a word of encouragement and there of -regard. He arranged and put in readiness with his own hands the meagre -pittance for the day, and examined the canteens and wallets to see that -nothing was wanting. His paternal countenance wore an expression of -happiness and affection, not untinged with melancholy, and seemed to say, -“They go forth numerous and strong, but will they all return?” - -On the morning of the 21st of December, 1870, long before daybreak, -Brother Philip and a hundred and fifty of his “children” were at their -usual place near the Champ de Mars; others of their number, under the -direction of Brother Clementis, having been sent on the previous evening -to sleep at St. Denis. The roar of the cannon on this morning was -terrible. It was the battle of Bourget. The Brothers, after reaching -the barrier of La Villette, hastened to the points where men must -have fallen, and were soon carrying the wounded in their arms to the -ambulance-carriages, and returning for more, regardless of the hail of -shot whistling around them. Two courageous Dominicans had joined the -company led on by Brother Clementis, which was preceded by a Brother -carrying the red-cross flag of the Convention of Geneva, and not attended -by any soldier, when they received a charge of musketry. One of the -Brothers, “Frère Nethelme,” fell mortally wounded, and was laid on the -litter he was carrying for others, and taken by two of his companions -to St. Denis, whither Brother Philip immediately hastened on receiving -tidings of what had befallen him. Brother Nethelme was one of the masters -at S. Nicolas, Rue Vaugirard, and thirty-one years of age. He lived three -days of great suffering and perfect resignation, and died on Christmas -Eve. His funeral took place on S. Stephen’s Day, December 26, in the -Church of S. Sulpice, which was thronged with a sympathizing multitude. -This death of one of their number, instead of chilling the zeal of the -Brothers, kindled a fresh glow of their courageous ardor. - -Other trials of a similar nature were in store for the Superior-General. -When, in the midst of the bombardment of January, 1871, great havoc was -made in the house of S. Nicolas by the bursting of a shell, it was with -an aching heart that he beheld so many of the pupils killed or wounded, -and that, a fortnight after the funeral of Brother Nethelme, he followed -the young victims to their graves. This cruel bombardment on the quarters -of the Luxembourg and the Invalides excited the minds of the people to -vengeance, and led to the sanguinary attempt of Buzenval. Brother Philip -having had notice the evening before, a hundred of the Brothers assembled -in the Tuileries, from whence they started for the scene of action, and -approached the park of Buzenval through a hailstorm of balls, to find the -ground already strewn with wounded. The soaking in of the snow having -made the land a perfect marsh, greatly increased the difficulty of their -labor, but they only exerted themselves the more, astonishing those who -observed them. On the 19th the Committee of the Ambulances of the Press -for the second time addressed to the Superior-General its thanks and -congratulations. - -After the battle near Joinville-le-Pont, the Brothers had to carry the -wounded a league before reaching the carriages. - -In this brief sketch we can give but a very inadequate idea of the -work of the Brothers, not only in collecting and housing the wounded, -but also in nursing them with unwearied assiduity day and night. The -ambulance at Longchamps, a long wooden building, had been organized by -Dr. Ricord, the first physician in Paris, and an excellent Christian, -who had obtained numerous auxiliaries from Brother Philip. One of -these, Brother Exupérien, showed an extraordinary solicitude for the -four hundred wounded of whom he there shared the charge. The cold was -intense; there was scarcely any fuel; and food of any kind was difficult -to be had. This good Brother never wearied in his constant and often -far-distant search for supplies for the many and pressing necessities of -the sufferers; day after day walking long distances, and often having to -exercise considerable ingenuity to get even the scanty provision which -his perseverance succeeded in obtaining. - -Brother Philip bestowed his especial interest on the ambulance -established in the Mother-house, Rue Oudinot, and which was called the -ambulance of S. Maurice. The novices had been removed into the nooks and -corners of the establishment, so as to give plenty of air and space to -the suffering soldiers. All the Brothers in this house, young and old, -devoted themselves to their sick and wounded; Brother Philip setting the -example. He would go from one bed to another, contrive pleasant little -surprises, and do everything that could be done to cheer the spirits of -the patients as well as to afford them physical relief. The Abbé Roche, -the almoner of the mother-house, exercised with the greatest prudence and -kindness the priestly office in this ambulance. - -On the 1st of January, 1871, one of the soldiers decorated at Champigny -for bravery read aloud to Brother Philip, in the “great room,” turned -into an ambulance, a “compliment,” in which he offered him, as a New -Year’s gift on behalf of all, the expression of their gratitude. On -the 6th, in a letter to the Superior-General from Count Sérurier, -vice-president of the _Société de Secours_, and delegate of the Minister -of War and of the Marine, he says: “All France is penetrated with -admiration, reverence, and gratitude for the examples of patriotism and -self-devotion afforded by your institute in the midst of the trials sent -by Providence upon our country.” - -The first Brother who re-entered Paris on the day after the signing of -the armistice at Versailles was the Director of the orphanage at Igny. It -was like an apparition once more from the world without, after the long -imprisonment under the fire of the enemy. - -It must not be forgotten that, besides all that we have mentioned from -the beginning of the war to the end of the first siege, teaching was -not neglected by the Brothers for a single day; all else that they were -doing was but a supplement to their ordinary occupations; and all went -well at the same time, in the schools, the ambulances, and on the field -of battle. It was as if they multiplied themselves for the good of their -fellow-countrymen. - -Acknowledgments in honor of their courageous devotion were sent from -nearly every civilized country; but amongst all these we select one for -mention as having a particular interest for Americans. We give it in -the words of M. Poujoulat--first stating, however, that the _Académie -Française_ had awarded an exceptional prize, declared “superior to all -the other prizes by its origin and its object,” to the Institute of the -Christian Brothers. M. Poujoulat writes as follows:[138] - - “In 1870, we were abandoned by every government, but when our - days of misfortune commenced, we were not forgotten by the - nations. There arose, as it were, a compassionate charity - over all the earth to assuage our sorrows. The amount of - gifts was something enormous. One single city of the United - States, Boston, with its environs, collected the sum of eight - hundred thousand francs. The _Worcester_, a vessel laden - with provisions, set sail for Havre, but on hearing of the - conclusion of peace, the insurrection, and the second siege - of Paris, the American captain repaired to England, where the - ship’s cargo was sold, and the amount distributed among those - localities in France which had suffered most. When this had - been done, there still remained two thousand francs over, which - the members of the Boston Committee offered to the _Académie - Française_, to be added to the prize for virtue which was to be - given that year. ‘This gift,’ said the letter with which it was - accompanied, ‘is part of a subscription which represents all - classes of the citizens of Boston, and is intended to express - the sympathy and respect of the Americans for the courage, - generosity, and disinterested devotion of the French during the - siege of their capital.’ - - “The Academy, in possession of this gift, deliberated as to - whom the prize should be decreed, it being difficult to point - out the most meritorious among so many admirable deeds. After - having remarked, not without pride, upon the equality of - patriotism, the Academy resolved to give to this prize the - least personal and the most collective character possible. - - “‘We have decreed it,’ said the Duc de Noailles, speaking for - the Academy, ‘to an entire body, as humble as it is useful, - known and esteemed by every one, and which, in these unhappy - times, has, by its devotedness, won for itself a veritable - glory: I allude to the Institute of the Brothers of the - Christian Schools.’ - - “After the Director of the _Académie Française_, in an eloquent - speech had justified the decision, he added that ‘this prize - would be to the Institute as the Cross of Honor fastened to the - flag of the regiment.’” - -Already had the Government of the National Defence perseveringly insisted -upon Brother Philip’s acceptance of the Cross of the Legion of Honor, -the reward of the brave; but his humility led him to do all in his power -to escape it, and he had already refused it four times in the course of -thirty years. It was only when he was assured that it was not himself, -but his Institute, that it was desired to decorate in the person of its -Superior-General, that, sorely against his will, he ceased to resist. Dr. -Ricord, in his quality of principal witness of the devotedness of the -Brothers, was charged to attach the Cross of Honor to Brother Philip’s -cassock, in the _grande salle_, or principal room, of the mother house. -Never had the saintly Superior known a more embarrassing moment than this -in all the course of his long life; and when he conducted Dr. Ricord -to the door of the house, he managed so effectively to conceal his new -decoration that no one would have suspected its existence. He never wore -it after this occasion; and this Cross of Honor which he wished to hide -from earth remains as a sort of mysterious remembrance. It has never been -found again. - -Always clear-sighted and well-informed, the Superior-General had been -watching the approach of the insurrection of the 18th of March, and sent -away the pupils of the Little and Great Novitiates, foreseeing that Paris -was about to fall into the power of the worst enemies of religion and -civilization. The satanic character of the Commune declared itself in the -words of Raoul Rigault, one of its chiefs, who said: “So long as there -remains a single individual who pronounces the name of God, everything -has yet to be done, and there more shooting will always be necessary.” -The Commune began its work by beating down the cross on the church of -S. Géneviève, and putting the red flag in its place. We cannot wonder, -therefore, at its hatred of the Christian Brothers--their Christianity -being an unpardonable crime. They were not even allowed to remove the -wounded, who were left to die untended in the street, rather than that -they should be succored by religious. - -Two decrees were passed, one putting the state in possession of all -property, movable or otherwise, belonging to the religious communities, -and the other incorporating into the marching companies all valid -citizens between nineteen and forty years of age. The Commune was -returning to its traditions of ’93, “interrupted,” it was stated, “by -the 9th of Thermidor.” There were to be no more Christian schools; no -more Christ; no more religion; no more works of piety, Catechism, First -Communion, the Church--all these were proscribed, and none but atheists -might keep a school. - -But we will give some extracts from a circular issued to his community by -the Superior on the 21st of June, 1872, in which he briefly notes down -the events of these dreary days: - - “The festival of Easter (April 9th) was spent in anxiety, - sadness, and mourning, for Monseigneur the Archbishop and - several priests have been arrested as hostages. - - “April 10th: Some of our Brother Directors were officially - informed that my name had been placed on the proscription list, - and that I should be arrested forthwith. Yielding, therefore, - to the solicitations of my Brother Directors, and to the - injunctions of our dear Brother Assistants, I quitted Paris to - visit our houses in the provinces. - - “On the 11th of April, towards ten o’clock in the morning, - a commissioner and delegate of the Commune, accompanied by - forty of the National Guard, surrounded the house, announcing - that they had orders to take me away, and to search the - establishment. Brother Calixtus told them that I was absent, - and accompanied them wherever they wished to go. They carried - off the money that remained in the chest, as well as two - ciboria, two chalices, and a pyx, after which they declared - that, in default of finding the Superior, they were to lead off - the person who had been left there in his place. - - “The dear Brother Calixtus presented himself, and was ordered - by the commissioner to follow him; whereupon there ensued - a scene which it would be impossible to describe. All the - Brothers insisted on following our dear Brother Assistant; - and some even of the National Guards were moved to tears. A - crowd of people collected in the street, expressing grief and - indignation. The commissioner then gave a promise that Brother - Calixtus should not be detained a prisoner, at the same time - bidding him get into a cab, which took him to the prefecture - of police. There he was set at liberty, and returned to the - mother-house. - - “From the 10th to the 13th our Brothers of Montrouge, - Belleville, and S. Nicolas were expelled, and lay teachers - put in their place. On the 17th the house at Ménilmontant was - searched at the very time that the Brothers were engaged with - the classes; they were arrested, and detained prisoners until - the 22d, during which time they were threatened and insulted - in various ways. On the 18th a staff of military _infirmiers_ - was substituted for the Brothers in charge of the ambulance at - Longchamps, and the Brother Assistants were officially informed - that it was resolved upon to arrest the Brothers _en masse_, - in order either to imprison them or to enrol them for military - service. Thus they put soldiers with our sick, and intended to - send us on the ramparts to defend the cause of our persecutors, - who were also the enemies of order and religion. It was a - critical moment, but Providence came to our aid in a particular - manner. Many persons, several of whom were unknown to us, - offered their assistance in contriving to send out of Paris - those of our Brothers who were between nineteen and forty years - of age, and, thanks to God’s goodness and to this friendly - aid, a certain number, by one means or another, daily effected - their escape. - - “During the period between the 19th of April and the 7th of - May, all our free schools were successively closed, and the - emigration of the Brothers continued. This, however, could - not be completely accomplished; new orders, more and mote - suspicious and oppressive, having been issued by the Commune, - an increasingly rigorous surveillance was kept up, and the - Brother Director of S. Marguérite and two of his subordinates - were arrested in their community. Towards the 7th of May, from - thirty to forty of the Brothers who were attempting to escape - were also arrested, either at the railway stations or at the - city gates, or even outside the ramparts. A few of these were - released, but twenty-six were taken to the Concièrgerie, and - from thence to Mazas. - - “Of all our establishments, one alone never ceased working, - namely, that of S. Nicolas, Vaugirard, which, even when times - were at their worst, numbered its thirty Brothers and three - hundred pupils. - - “The projectiles of the besieging army having reached - Longchamps, it was found necessary to remove further, into the - city the sick and wounded with which the ambulance was crowded. - It was then that, on an order of the Committee of Public - Health, our house was requisitioned by the Administration of - the Press, who required there a hundred beds. It was arranged - that the Brothers should undertake the attendance on the - sick, but scarcely had they begun to organize the work before - a new order arrived from the committee, forbidding any of - the Brothers to remain in the house under pain of arrest and - imprisonment. Our dear Brother Assistants therefore, with the - others who until then had remained at the post of danger, as - well as our sick and aged men, found themselves compelled to - quit that home which could no longer, alas! be railed the - mother, but the widowed, house, and, during five or six days, - the abode of pain and death. The ambulance was established - there under the direction of the Press, the administrators of - which testified a kindly interest towards us, and we gladly - acknowledge that to them we owe the preservation of our house, - which, but for them, would in all probability have been given - up to the flames. - - “On Sunday, the 21st of May, there was no Mass in our deserted - chapel, from whence the Blessed Sacrament had been removed the - evening before. The persecution against us had reached its - height, and also its term. That same day the besieging army - forced the Gate of St. Cloud, and on the next, the 22d, took - possession of our quarter, and put an end for us to the Reign - of Terror.… - - “All this week was nothing but one sanguinary conflict; our - mother-house was crowded with wounded to the number of six - hundred; a temporary building had also been erected within its - precincts, to which were brought those who were slain in the - neighborhood; as many as eighty dead would sometimes be carried - in at a time. On Wednesday, the 24th, however, the military - authorities decided that the ambulance should be transferred - back again to Longchamps, and that the Brothers should - immediately be restored to the possession of the mother-house - as well as of their other establishments. From that day a new - order of things commenced for us, and with it the reflux into - Paris of our emigrated Brothers. - - “But all were not able to return; some were prisoners at - Mazas. Already, out of hatred to religion, the Commune had - shot Monseigneur the Archbishop, the _cure_ of the Madeleine, - and several other priests, secular and regular, … and they now - proposed to shoot _all_ their prisoners, and renew in 1871 the - massacre of 1792. But again time failed them. - - “The liberating army, like an irresistible torrent, carried - away the barricades, and the firing soon began around Mazas, - whereupon the keepers of the prison seized the Communist - director and locked him up, opening all the doors, and - bringing down the captives--between four and five hundred in - number--into the court, from whence they made their exit three - by three. Our Brothers went out; but only to find themselves - entangled in the lines of the Federals, and forced to work - at the barricades, until night seemed to favor their escape. - It was while he was thus employed that our dearest Brother - Néomede-Justin, of Issy, was killed by the bursting of a shell.” - -During three days and nights the Brothers were the objects of the most -active surveillance, and had to watch their opportunity to recede from -one barricade to another. In this way several managed to reach the -mother-house on Friday, the 25th; others, on the two following days, but -not all. To continue in the words of Brother Philip: - - “On Whit-Sunday, towards one o’clock in the morning, all the - insurgents were surrounded on the heights of Belleville, - disarmed, chained five together, taken to La Roquette (the - prison of the condemned), and brought before a council of - war. Our two Brothers, who had been also chained to three - insurgents, were present at the interrogation of those who - had preceded them, and at the execution of sentence of death - upon a large number. For the space of three hours they waited - thus in the most anxious expectation. When it was their turn - to appear, they said that they were Brothers of the Christian - Schools, just out of prison, but that for three days they had - found it impossible to escape from the vigilant oppression of - the insurgents. On ascertaining the truth of their statement, - the council gave them a pass, and facilitated their return to - the mother-house. - - “They came back to us worn out and broken down by fatigue, as - well as by all the terrible emotions they had undergone, and - blessing God for their wonderful preservation.” - -On hearing of the restoration of order the emigrated Brothers hastened -back to Paris, their venerable superior joining them at the mother-house -on the evening of the 9th of June. - -“It was,” writes Brother Philip, “the hour of Benediction of the Blessed -Sacrament, … after which we sang the psalm, _Ecce quam bonum_, … and then -I attempted to say a few words to our dearest Brothers, reunited once -more, but I found it impossible, so great was my emotion.” - -When, during his absence, Brother Philip had heard of the arrest of -Brother Calixtus, he immediately set out from Epernay, to give himself -up in the place of his friend; but learning, at St. Denis, that he had -been set at liberty, he proceeded to the visitation of other houses of -his institute in the provinces. We can understand with what joy these two -holy friends would meet again. - -After some great calamity has passed away, life, emerging from the -regions of death, seems as it were to begin anew. Brother Philip, who -regarded the misfortunes of France as a warning from God, invited all the -members of his institute to carry on their work with increased energy -and devotion. From the beginning of the year 1872, as if he had had some -presentiment of his approaching end, he gave more attention than ever to -the perfecting of his “children,” and completed various little works of -piety which he thought might prove useful to them. An illness which he -had at this time he regarded as a first warning. The Archbishop of Paris, -Mgr. Guibert, who had not then long succeeded his martyred predecessor, -came at this time to visit the venerable Superior. - -Brother Philip presided at all the sittings of the general chapter which -was assembled from the 12th of June, 1873, to the 2d of July. Towards the -conclusion of the last sitting, in reply to some respectful words which -had been addressed to him, he answered: “My dearest Brothers, soon, yes, -soon you will again assemble together, but I shall be no longer among -you. I shall have had to render to God an account of my administration.” -It was with heavy hearts that the Brother Assistants heard these words, -while their Superior proceeded to consecrate the Institute to the Sacred -Heart of Jesus. - -Our Holy Father Pius IX. had for the heart of Brother Philip an -unspeakable attraction. On the 22d of October, 1873, the latter set out -on his fifth journey to Rome. His first visit to the Eternal City was in -1859, when he was welcomed by the Pope with paternal affection. He was -there again in 1862, for the canonization of the Martyrs of Japan, when -he had an opportunity of conversing with the bishops of many distant -regions in which the Brothers of the Christian Schools were established. -On this second occasion, the day after his arrival in Rome, he hastened -to the Vatican and mingled with the crowd in the hall of audience; -but the Pope having observed his name in the long list of the persons -present, immediately sought with his eye the humble Superior, and, -perceiving him far off in the last rank of the assembly, his Holiness, -with that clear and sweet voice so well known to the faithful, said to -him, _Philip, where shall we find bread enough for all this multitude?_ -(S. John vi. 5), and bade him come near. Brother Philip, confused at so -great a mark of attention, approached, and, kneeling before the Holy -Father, presented the filial offering of which he was the bearer on the -part of his Institute. He made his third journey to Rome in 1867, to -be present at the eighteenth centenary anniversary of the Martyrdom of -the Apostles SS. Peter and Paul. On seeing him, the Pope said, “Here is -Brother Philip, whose name is known in all the world.” - -“It will soon be so at Madagascar, Most Holy Father,” answered Brother -Philip, smiling, “as we are just now establishing ourselves there.” - -In 1869, about the time of the opening of the Vatican Council, the -Superior-General was again at Rome. True as the needle to the magnet -was his loyal heart to the Vicar of Christ; and yet once more must the -veteran soldier look upon the face of his chief before laying down his -arms and receiving his crown. He took his fifth and last journey to the -city of Peter in 1872, accompanied by Brother Firminien. Of this last -visit, which especially concerned the beatification of the founder of his -Institute, as well as of the preceding ones, full particulars are given -in the work of M. Poujoulat. The Pope received Brother Philip to private -as well as to public audiences, asking many questions and conversing -with interest upon the details of the various works in which the order -was engaged. On the Festival of All Saints, more than a hundred of the -Brothers being assembled with their Superior-General in the throne-room -at the Vatican, the Pope entered, preceded by his court, and attended -by five cardinals, numerous bishops, and other ecclesiastics, for the -reading of the decree referring to the beatification of the venerable De -la Salle. When a few lines had been read, His Holiness said to one of the -prelates, “Do not allow Brother Philip to continue kneeling; the brave -old man must be fatigued.” - -The reading being ended, Brother Philip was invited to approach the -Holy Father, to whom he made an address of thanks for the progress of -his founder’s cause, concluding with the following words: “With regard -to our devotion to the Holy Church, to this ever-celebrated chair of -Peter, and to the illustrious and infallible Pontiff who occupies it so -gloriously, it will be the same all the days of our life; and, moreover, -we shall never cease, Most Holy Father, to offer to God our most fervent -prayers that he will speedily put an end to the calamities which afflict -so profoundly the paternal heart of Your Blessedness, … praying Your -Blessedness to be pleased to bestow your holy benediction upon him who -has at this moment the exceeding happiness of kneeling at your feet, and -also upon all the other children of the venerable De la Salle.” - -Copies of the decree were then distributed amongst those present, the -original manuscript, which was presented to the Superior, being now in -the archives of the _Régime_. The Pope addressed his answer directly to -his “dearest son, Brother Philip,” as if to testify his esteem not only -for the Institute but for the man. Immediately after the closing of the -audience, the Pope despatched messengers to the Palazzo Poli with two -immense baskets full of various kinds of pastry, etc., saying, “Brother -Philip must assemble the Brothers to-day for a little family feast, and -I wish to regale them”; and when afterwards the Superior expressed his -thanks for this paternal mark of attention, the Holy Father answered: -“Some good nuns thought of the Pope, and the Pope thought of Brother -Philip.” - -On his return from this last journey to Rome, the Superior reached Paris -at seven o’clock in the morning, was present at Mass in the mother-house -at eight, and half an hour later was seated at his bureau as usual in the -_Salle du Régime_, as if he had never quitted his place. The longest life -is short; but what can be done by a man who never wastes a moment of his -time is something prodigious. One result of this unceasing activity on -the part of Brother Philip was the fact that, having found 2,300 Brothers -and 143,000 pupils when he was placed at the head of the Institute, he -left 10,000 of the former engaged in the education of 400,000 youths and -children. He was a man of study, prayer, and action; no one could be more -humble than he, nor yet more qualified to govern. He listened patiently -to arguments and suggestions, but, when his resolution was once taken, he -adhered to it. He spoke little, having neither taste nor time for much -talking, but what he said was always to the point, the right thing at -the right time, and the truth on every question. His correspondence was -a reflection of himself, his letters containing just so many syllables -as were sufficient to express his meaning: with him, a letter was an -action. He was at the same time the most devout of religious and the most -assiduous of workers; severe to himself, and never accepting the little -indulgences which others would fain have mingled with the hardness of -his life. The Abbé Roche mentions that on one occasion Brother Philip, -arriving in a little town of Cantal after forty hours of travelling, had -one hour to rest. Being shown the way to the house of the Brothers, he -found them assembled in the chapel, where he remained until the prayers -were over. Then, after exchanging greetings with them, and taking a -morsel of bread moistened with wine and water, he resumed his journey. -There are few communities of his Institute in France which he did not -visit, and in all these his presence left an abiding remembrance. - -The art of ruling presupposes a knowledge of men. Under his simple and -modest exterior, Brother Philip had a keen penetration; he very quickly -formed his judgment of what a man was and what were his capabilities, -and there could be no better proof that he chose his instruments wisely -than the fact that all his establishments have succeeded; not that he -always allowed human prudence to have much voice in his undertakings, -as he frequently preferred to leave much to Providence. His look and -manner were reserved, almost cold, but in his heart were depths of real -tenderness and feeling. He allowed no recreation to his fully occupied -existence except indeed his one refreshment and rest, which was in -attending the services at the chapel; and his great enjoyment, the beauty -of the ceremonies and the grand and ancient music of the church. He never -failed to bestow the most particular attention on every detail of the -procession on the Feast of Corpus Christi, and took an especial delight -in being present at the First Communion of the pupils. For this great act -of the Christian life he recommended a long and serious preparation, and -wrote a manual with this intent, entitled _The Young Communicant_. - -He excelled in the art of solving difficulties, not by having recourse to -human wisdom, but by imploring light and guidance from above. To overcome -obstacles, he prayed; he did the same to lead his enemies to a better -mind; and against their decisions, again he armed himself with prayer. - -The municipal council of Châlons had, in 1863, suppressed the Christian -schools in that town. Brother Philip repaired thither on the 2d of May. -The mayor gave notice that the council would assemble on the following -day. The Superior was suffering from acute rheumatism, but would not -accept anything but the regulation supper of the Brothers, who made -him a bed in the parlor. The next morning, at four o’clock, when the -community had risen, they found Brother Philip kneeling on the pavement -of the chapel, and it was observed that his bed had not been touched. He -had passed the night in prayer before the Tabernacle. At six o’clock he -attended Mass with his foot bound up in linen. On the evening of the same -day the municipal council, annulling its decision of the preceding year, -permitted the re-establishment of the Christian Schools in Châlons. The -Superior had not prayed in vain. - -One of his principal cares was always the reinforcement of his Institute, -and it was with exceeding happiness that, on the 7th of December, 1873, -he presided at the reception of fifty-four postulants. - -It was not without apprehension that the Brothers had seen their -venerated Superior, at eighty-one years of age, undertake his last -journey to Rome, but after his return his activity was unabated, and he -did not in any way diminish his daily amount of work. On the 30th of -December, having returned to the mother-house in the evening from a visit -to Passy, he was indisposed, but rose the next morning at the hour of -the community. After Mass he was seized with a shivering; he repaired, -however, to the _Salle du Régime_, where deputations from the three -establishments of S. Nicolas were waiting to offer him their respectful -greetings for the New Year. On receiving their addresses he answered, -in a weak and failing voice: “My dearest children, I thank you for your -kindness in coming so early to wish me a happy New Year; perhaps I shall -not see its close. I am touched by the sentiments you have so well -expressed, but, for my own part, there is but one thing that I desire, -and that is, that you should go on increasing in virtue.” After a few -more words of paternal counsel, he bade them adieu. - -The exchange of good wishes between himself and the community was not -without sadness. On the 1st of January he made a great effort to go to -the chapel, where he heard Mass and received Holy Communion. This was -the last time that he appeared amid the assembled Brothers; his weakness -was extreme, and his prayers were accompanied by evident suffering. From -the chapel the Superior went to his bed, from which he was to arise no -more. On the 6th of January, the Feast of the Epiphany, he received the -last sacraments, while the Brother Assistants were prostrate around his -bed, weeping and praying. One who appeared more broken down with sorrow -than the rest was Brother Calixtus, the old and most intimately beloved -friend of the dying Superior. The Apostolic Benediction solicited by -Brother Floride at four o’clock arrived at six, but Brother Philip, -having fallen into a profound slumber, was not aware of it until past -midnight. The morning prayers were being said in a low voice in his cell, -it not being known whether he was unconscious or not, but the Brother -who presided having, through distraction, begun the _Angelus_ instead of -the _Memorare_, the dying man gave a sign to show that he was making a -mistake. - -There is a little versicle and response particularly dear to the dying -members of the Institute: “_May Jesus live within our hearts!_” to which -the answer is, “_For ever._” It is, as it were, their watchword on the -threshold of eternity. On the morning of the 7th of January, Brother -Irlide, assistant, bending over the Superior, pronounced the words of -Jesus on the Cross: “_Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit_,” -adding, “_May Jesus live within our hearts_.” Brother Philip, like a -faithful soldier, ever ready with the countersign, attempted to utter -the answer “_For ever_,” but in the effort his soul passed away. The -community being then assembled in the chapel for the recitation of the -Rosary, at once commenced the _De profundis_. The Institute had lost its -father and head. - -The death of Brother Philip produced a profound impression. Together -with the sense of a great loss, a feeling of admiration for the great -qualities of the departed, and gratitude for the immense services he had -rendered to his countrymen, burst forth from all ranks of society. The -working-classes more especially felt keenly how true a friend they had -lost, and the announcement, “Brother Philip is dead,” plunged every heart -into mourning. From the moment of his death the cell of the Superior was -constantly filled by the novices, who in successive companies recited -the Office of the Dead. In the evening, the body was removed into the -Chamber of Relics, which had been transformed into a _chapelle ardente_, -or lighted chapel, and there in the course of two days more than ten -thousand persons came to pay their respects and to pray by the dead. -On the Friday evening the remains were enclosed in a coffin, which was -covered with garlands and bouquets which had been brought, a tall palm -being placed at the top; and on Saturday morning it was transferred to -the chapel, where the sorrowing community had assembled, and where a Low -Mass of requiem was said by the Reverend Almoner, the Abbé Roche. - -But another kind of funeral was awaiting the humble religious. The -Institute, in accordance with its rules, had ordered merely a funeral -of the seventh class; but France, true to herself, was about to honor -her benefactor with triumphant obsequies. The coffin, taken out of the -mother-house at a quarter past seven, and placed upon a bier used for the -poorest of the people, was borne to the church of S. Sulpice, through -silent and respectful multitudes, and placed upon trestles, surrounded -by lighted tapers, in the nave. A white cross on a black ground behind -the high altar composed all the funeral decoration of the church. But -a splendor of its own was attached to this poverty and simplicity, -contrasted as it was with the vast assemblage present, among whom were -two cardinals, several bishops, and many of the most important personages -of the church and state. There were the representatives of all the -parishes of Paris, and of all the religious orders, as well as of the -public administration. Not the smallest space remained unoccupied in the -vast church; and, when it was found necessary to close the doors, more -than ten thousand persons remained in the Place St. Sulpice. Cardinal -Guibert, Archbishop of Paris, gave the absolution, and M. Buffet, -President of the National Assembly, threw the first holy water on the -coffin. - -“On both sides of the streets,” writes an eye-witness, “the crowd formed -a compact mass; the men uncovered, and the women crossing themselves, as -the body of the venerated Superior passed by. Long lines of children -conducted by the Brothers marched continuously on each side. In the -course of the progress to the cemetery of Père la Chaise, ten thousand -pupils of the Christian Brothers, school by school taking its turn, -joined without fatigue in the procession.” - -Paris, this city so wonderful in its contrasts--in the brightness of its -lights and the depths of its shadows--is more Christian than men are -apt to suppose. Out of this Paris no less than _forty thousand persons_ -attended the remains of Brother Philip to the grave, and many were the -tears of heartfelt sorrow which mingled with the last prayers at the -brink of that vault where he was laid, the place of burial reserved for -the Superiors of his order. On the day of the funeral itself, the memory -of Brother Philip received from Cardinal Guibert, in his circular letter -addressed to the venerable _curé_ of S. Sulpice, a testimony which will -remain as a page in the history of the church of Paris. - -And it was not Paris only, but France, which paid its homage to the -memory of Brother Philip. The whole French episcopate testified its -regard for him by requiem Masses on his behalf, by solemn services, -funeral orations, allocutions, or circular letters. Nor was this -religious mourning limited to France: it was expressed in all the lands -where the Christian Schools have been founded, so that throughout the -world honor has been done to him who never sought it, but who, on the -contrary, shrank from celebrity, feared the praise of man, and singly and -simply did all for God. - -As the crown and completion of all other witness to the merits of -the departed Superior, the Brothers received in answer to the letter -announcing their bereavement a Brief from our Holy Father Pius IX., -most honorable to the departed, and for themselves full of sympathy and -consolation. - -Five months after the death of Brother Philip, the venerable Brother -Calixtus, who had for sixty-four years been his dearest friend, and who -was chosen as Superior-General in his place, followed him to the grave. - -His present successor is Brother Jean-Olympe, an excellent and devoted -religious, who, at the time we write, has just returned from Rome, where -with four of the Brother Assistants he has been welcomed by the Holy -Father with marks of particular regard. We conclude our sketch in the -words of M. Poujoulat, the admirable writer already so often quoted: “The -undying remembrance of Brother Philip will remain a motive power for his -Institute, an effective weapon in time of conflict, an incitement to -perseverance in well-doing, to the love of God, our neighbor, and our -duty.” - - -SUBMISSION. - - When the wide earth seems cold and dim around me, - And even the sunshine is a mocking thing; - When the deep sorrow of my soul hath bound me, - As the gloom swept from a dark angel’s wing; - When faces, dearer to my soul than being, - Like shadows faint and frozen past me flee, - I turn to thee--Almighty and all-seeing - God of the universe!--I turn to thee! - - When in my chamber, lone and lowly kneeling, - I pour before thee thoughts that inly burn; - I lay before thy shrine that wealth of feeling - Whose ashes sleep in my heart’s funeral urn: - I pray thee, in a mercy yet untasted, - To raise my spirit from its dark despair; - To give back prospects crushed, and genius wasted, - That have no memory save in that wild prayer. - - It may not be! O Father! high and holy, - Not thus thy _chosen_ bow before thy shrine; - But with submission, beautiful and lowly, - Asking no boon save through thy will divine; - Bearing with faith the Saviour’s cross of sorrow, - Filling his bleeding wounds with tears of balm, - Seeking his cankering crown of thorns to borrow-- - To make them worthy of the pilgrim’s palm. - - -THE ROMAN RITUAL AND ITS CHANT - -_COMPARED WITH THE WORKS OF MODERN MUSIC._ - -II.--CONTINUED. - - -RESPECTIVE AUTHORITY, ECCLESIASTICAL AND MORAL. - -Natural religion attaches the idea of authority to God. God is King, -“Dominus Exercituum,” the Lord of Hosts, the one supreme absolute source -of all power and authority. Moreover, society implies authority, in order -that it may exist. In social life there cannot be discordant purposes -and independent wills. Now, God called all created society into being -out of nothing, and through the principle of authority and subjugation -of the will maintains his work in love, happiness, and mutual concord. -And in the scheme of redemption he has sent his church, a working society -upon earth, to heal by her sweet and divine yoke of a lawful authority -the social anarchies and disorders of a fallen race. In the church, -then, as sent by him who is the absolute source of authority and order, -governed by him, and in continual correspondence with him through prayer, -we expect to find all her important elements and modes of acting upon, -and of dealing with, mankind under the direction of the principle of -authority; and since God declares of himself that he is a God of order, -and the “author, not of confusion, but of peace in the churches” (1 -Cor. xiv. 33), we conclude that God will contemplate sacred song in -the Christian Church as subject to the principle of authority, as an -instrument placed by himself at the disposal of the church for carrying -out her divine work, and as such to be used, under the guidance and -direction of the authority which governs her. - -To put, then, what is meant by the claim about to be made that the Ritual -or Gregorian Chant possesses this authority, in its true light, it would -be a misconception to suppose that the notion of a _positive authority_ -is identical with that of _absolute monopoly_. The positive authority -of the chant of the Ritual by no means implies that the use of modern -music cannot, under certain conditions, enjoy a just toleration, as will -be plain from an instance. The sick man who is slowly recovering from a -severe disease may be fully aware of the positive authority which his -physician has for many reasons attached to a particular rule of diet, -and may yet have the permission occasionally to deviate from it. But -now, if it be asked, what is this authority which is claimed for the -Roman Ritual chant-books? it may be replied, if a spectator, at a review -of British military, were to ask what authority the infantry regiments -had for wearing red coats, he, I suppose, would be answered at once, -that in a disciplined army the regimental uniform could not be otherwise -than authorized. In the same manner, in an organized state of society -so perfect as that of the Catholic Church, the mere existence of such -song-books as the Gradual and Antiphonary, and their immemorial use -in connection with the Missal and Breviary, necessarily implies their -authority. It would be in place here, if space permitted, to cite the -various archiepiscopal and episcopal synods that have made these or -similar song-books the subjects of their legislation, providing, down to -the minutest details, for the different questions which might be liable -to arise out of their use. But it may here suffice to refer to the fact, -not perhaps sufficiently known, that the whole of the Roman Liturgy, the -entire Breviary, the whole of the Missal, except the few parts which the -celebrant himself recites in an undertone of voice at the altar, has -its proper notation in music, which every efficient choir-singer and -celebrant priest is required to know, as the necessary accompaniment of -his functions. - -The authority, therefore, of the Ritual chant is to a considerable -extent identified with that of the Ritual itself in the character of -the authorized form of its solemn celebration. No other music has been -at any time published by the church. No other is co-extensive with the -Ritual; and the use, therefore, of any other, however permissible it may -have become through force of circumstances, can only be regarded as a -deviation from perfect Ritual rule. - -That such was the view of the fathers of the Council of Trent is evident -from the fact, that they seriously debated whether it might not be -advisable to put an end to the scandalous musical excesses that had -found their way into the church through the partial abandonment of the -Ritual chant, by rendering it henceforth imperative. But though this -measure was vehemently urged by more than one father as the best remedy -for the evil complained of, still the father of the council at length -declined to pass the decree. They seemed to have judged it to be on the -whole wiser to leave the Ritual chant to its claims as the acknowledged -and authorized song of the Liturgy, and to have thought that the remedy -required was rather to be sought for in prayer to God to give his people -a better and more sober mind than in a severe and peremptory legislation, -which might end in provoking the further and worse evil of a more formal -and open disobedience. - -But to return to the subject of the positive ecclesiastical authority of -the Ritual chant-books. The truth and the reason of this authority appear -at once, on reflecting how impossible it is that a kingdom directed by -the Spirit of God, under the government of a divinely founded hierarchy, -should employ sacred song to the extent which the Catholic Church does, -without a sanctioned and authenticated form of it. That this form should -be absolutely imperative, to the rigid exclusion of every other, could -occur to no one to maintain. But still, without an acknowledged body and -form of song, of such indisputable authority as to claim the willing -confidence of those whose calling is with sacred song, its efficacy is -certainly lamed and its mission impeded. Men that have work to do in -God’s vineyard require to know not merely the general truth that what -they are engaged with is in the main good, but they also desire to know -that the blessing of God is with the manner of their work, and the means -they employ. Now, such confidence nothing but an authorized body of song -can supply. - -For what reason do we trust the church in her definitions of faith? -Because we feel our own weakness; because we feel how impossible it is -for the mind to repose on its own conclusions. We know, from a voice that -speaks from within the heart, that our heavenly Father could not have -given a revelation without the conditions necessary to fit it to meet our -wants. And because we feel the need of a positive authority in matters of -faith, we believe it to have been given, and that the Catholic Church is -the depository of it, as alone possessing the satisfactory credentials. -Now, although it may be true that an equal need for a positive authority -in matters of song cannot be asserted, yet if ecclesiastical music do -really possess those many healing virtues which at once betoken its -divine origin and heavenly mission, it may be asked, is it a wise, is it -a self-distrusting, is it a pious course for each individual to imagine -himself free from such an authority? Is it not rather true that, in -proportion as his sense of the heavenly mission of the ecclesiastical -chant deepens, the more vivid will become his perception of the need of -an express living authority to which the individual can commit himself, -in perfect confidence that that song which a divinely directed hierarchy -shall put forth and acknowledge as their own work, will be sure to carry -along with it the blessing of God upon its use. - -I do not see how a reasonable person can refuse to admit that such is -the positive authority attaching to the liturgical song-books, and -that it is to the devout and skilful use of these books by her own -priests, cantors, and devout people, that the church mainly looks for the -fulfilment of the divine idea with respect to sacred music. How otherwise -will you account for their existence? to what purpose has the wisdom of -saints who contributed and collected their contents been exerted? Why -has the church not let the Gregorian system of music alone, as she has -the modern? why has she formed a complete system and body of song in the -one, and not in the other, if her work, when complete, has no positive -authority? Or will the advocate of modern art say, that this her work is -defective and superannuated; and that it is time it should be locked up, -out of the way, in collections of antiquities, and cease to be an offence -to ears polite? Yet, if such be the case, an abrogation is not to be -presumed; it must be proved. But the fact is, that the Council of Trent -caused the song-books to be reissued, and directed the ecclesiastical -chant to be taught in the seminaries of the clergy.[139] And when those -very canonized saints, of whose conditional approbation of the use of -modern art so very much is made, came to the dignity of obtaining a -record in the church’s song of her warriors departed, here was surely a -fit occasion, if, indeed the church had abandoned her former song, and -disembarrassed herself of its defective scale and wearisome monotony, to -call for the charms of modern art, that at least it might be identified -with its votaries. Yet with this very natural supposition contrast the -fact that the Ritual chant and its singers continue year by year to hand -on the memory of the virtues of S. Philip Neri and S. Charles Borromeo; -while for these, its supposed patrons, modern art has not even a little -memorial. To the Ritual song it leaves what would seem to be to itself -the unwelcome task of keeping up the record of their sanctity and their -example. - -Nor do I see to what purpose a reference can be made to the anecdote of -Pope Marcellus’ approbation of Palestrina’s composition, since named -_Missa Papæ Marcelli_, with the view to establish an authority for the -system of modern music; for the idea of deviation from the order of the -Ritual chant once admitted to toleration, nothing can be more natural -than that a pontiff, equally with any other person, might come to express -his very high commendation of a particular composition. And if we allow -that such a commendation is not without its weight, it would surely be a -violent inference, singularly betraying the absence of better argument, -if an instance of such approbation of a particular work were to be -claimed as an _ex cathedra_ legislative authorization of a whole system -of music to which it cannot be said to belong.[140] For it should not -be forgotten that Palestrina’s music is essentially different from the -existing system of modern art, inasmuch as his works are either mere -harmonies upon the _Canto Fermo_, or else consist of themes borrowed -from it, which frequently preserve that distinct tonality of the modes of -the ecclesiastical chant which modern art has quite abandoned. - -It has been objected, “that an assertion that the church does not -authorize the use of modern harmony, because she has not herself -furnished her children with any individual compositions, is about as -reasonable a conclusion as the notion that she does not authorize and -sanction sermons, because their composition is left to the judgment, -good or bad, of private clergymen.” But the objection fails, as there -is a total want of parity between the office of singer and preacher. -The preacher passes through a long course of training to the state of -priesthood, before he receives a license to preach; and every person -in the church who has the license to preach, is to be presumed to be -duly qualified both to make known the divine law and recommend it by -his words and example. This is not the case with the singer, who is not -necessarily even in the minor orders, and whose duty is merely to sing -what is placed before him correctly and with feeling. If the education -of the priests were left to the same hazard and caprice that would seem -to be desired for the choice of music for the church, it is easy to -imagine the result. But very far from this, the most thoughtful care is -bestowed by the church on the training of her future ministers: obliged -to fixed and unalterable dogmas of the faith, versed in one sacred -volume, bound to one uniform office of daily prayer and pious reading, -trained in an almost uniform system of studies and external discipline, -the preacher comes forth the living organ of a divine system, fitted to -be the spokesman of a kingdom that is endowed with the power of drawing -its manifold materials to a concordant and coherent system, and moulding -multiform and varied minds to a unity of type and consistency of action. -“Such was the strict subordination of the Catholic Church,” says the -historian Gibbon (_Hist._, ch. XX.), “that the same concerted sounds -might issue at once from a hundred pulpits of Italy or Egypt, if they -were tuned by the master hand of the Roman or Alexandrian primate.” Carry -the same principle of system and order into the song of the church, and -it will be found impossible to stop short of the Ritual chant-books. - -2. With regard to the moral authority of the chant: moral authority, in -the legislation of the church, is ever a necessary companion of any act -of her legislative authority. We should not, however, overlook what seems -to be a distinct element of moral authority, in the historical connection -of the Ritual chant with the generations now past and gone to their rest. -It was their song, the song of saints long ago departed. It is the song -which S. Augustine sang, and which drew forth his tears: “Quantum flevi -in hymnis et canticis, suave sonantis ecclesiæ tuæ vocibus commotus -acriter; voces illæ influebant auribus meis, et eliquebatur veritas tua -in cor meum, et ex ea æstuabat. Inde affectus pietatis, et currebant -lacrymæ, et bene mihi erat cum illis”--“How often have these sacred hymns -and songs moved me to tears, as I have been carried away with the sweetly -musical voices of thy church. How these sounds used to steal upon my ear, -and thy truth to pour itself into my heart, which felt as if it were set -on fire! Then would come tender feelings of devotion, my tears would -flow, and I felt that all was then well with me” (_Confess._ lib. vi. -cap. 6). It was the song of S. Augustine, the apostle of Saxon England, -of S. Stephen the Cistercian, and of all the holy warriors of our Isle -of Saints. Nor is it only the song which the saints sang, but it is the -song that sings of the saints--the only song which cares to pour the -sweet odor of their memory over the year, or to spread around them its -melodious incense, as they too surround the throne of their Lord and King. - -Again: a moral authority attaches to the Roman Ritual chant in the -very name _Gregorian_, by which it is so generally known. S. Gregory -was the first to collect it from the floating tradition in which it -existed in the church, and to digest it into that body of annual song -for the celebration of the Ritual which has come down to us. This work -came to be called after him, _Cantus Gregorianus_, and forms at this -day the substance of the Roman chant-books, enriched and added to by -the new offices and Masses that have since then been incorporated in -the Ritual. Nothing is known with any positive historical certainty as -to the authorship of the several pieces in the song-books; but as to -the main fact, that the music of the Ritual is the work of the greatest -saints of the church--of the Popes Leo, Damasus, Gelasius, and S. Gregory -himself--of many holy monks in the retirement of their cloisters--history -leaves no doubt. This fact, then, is beyond dispute: that the Roman -Ritual chant, which the present inquiry concerns, is the creation of the -saints of the Roman Church, for the decorum and solemnity of the public -celebration of the Liturgy. - -And now, to come to the comparison: if to the adequate realization of -the divine idea of sacred song, as an instrument placed at the disposal -of the church, to aid in carrying out her work of sanctification and -instruction, the notion of a definite authority, both defining what -it should be, and prescribing and regulating the manner of its use, -necessarily belongs, the conclusion I think is that this authority is -found attaching itself to the Ritual chant; and, from the nature of the -case, it is incapable of attaching itself to the works of modern music. -First, because it would seem to be an inseparable principle as regards -their use, that every individual must be at liberty to ask for or to -demand their employment according to his own pleasure; and secondly, -because a positive authority can attach to that alone which exists in a -definite and tangible shape, which is far from being the case with the -works of modern music. They not only do not form a definite collection, -but, such as they are, are subject to perpetual change--that which is on -the surface to-day and admired, being to-morrow nauseated and condemned; -and hence there is no resting point whatever in them for the idea of a -positive authority. - -And as regards the comparison on the score of moral authority, the -attempt to draw it will, I fear, touch upon delicate ground; for, to -confess the honest truth, it cannot be drawn without bringing to light -the degeneracy of our popular ideas respecting sacred music. Who is -there who seriously thinks of claiming for the works of modern music -any connection with the saints, past or present? or who is there who -either cares to ask for, or to attribute any character of sanctity to -its authors? or would even be likely to think very much the more highly -of the music if the fact of its saintly origin could be established? And -what kind of persons, for the most part, have its authors been? Mozart -died rejecting the last sacraments; Beethoven is supposed by his German -biographer, Schindler, to have been a pantheist during the greater part -of his life; Rink was a Protestant; Mendelssohn a Jew, who cared very -little for his Jewish faith; and the different _maestri di capella_ who -have been throughout Europe the chief composers of these works, were, for -the most part, also the directors of the theatres and opera-houses of -their royal patrons. - -But enough has been said to make it evident upon how different a footing -the chant of the Ritual and the works of modern art respectively stand, -as regards moral and ecclesiastical authority. - - -RESPECTIVE CLAIM TO THE COMPLETENESS AND ORDER OF A SYSTEM. - -The idea of a God Incarnate, manifesting himself in the nature of man on -earth, necessarily contains the idea of a system and order displayed in -his works. All apparent system, it is true, does not necessarily imply -God as its author; but absence of system and its consequence, positive -confusion and disorder, is undeniably a sign that the mind of the -Almighty is not there. If, then, the Catholic Church be the kingdom of -God Incarnate, and the abiding-place of his Spirit, it follows that her -song is a _system_, if God is at all to acknowledge it in any respect of -his own. But the idea of system leads at once to the Ritual song-books. -Modern art has not as yet furnished even the necessary materials out -of which to construct a system, not to speak of the hopelessness of -forming one, when the materials should exist. Do but remove the Ritual -chant from the church, and you remove a wonderful and perfect system, -which an order-loving mind takes pleasure in contemplating--one that -moves with the ecclesiastical year, that accompanies the Redeemer -from the annunciation of his advent, the Ave Maria of his coming in -the flesh, to his birth, his circumcision, his manifestation to the -Gentiles, his presentation and discourse with the learned doctors in -the Temple, his miraculous fast in the companionship of the wild beasts -in the wilderness, his last entry into his own city, his betrayal, -his institution of the Holy Eucharist, his agony in the garden, his -death upon the cross, his resurrection from the dead, his ascension -into heaven--a system of song which places around him, as jewels in a -crown, his chosen and sainted servants, as the stars which God set in -the firmament of heaven to give light upon the earth. _Cœli enarrant -gloriam Dei, et opera manuum ejus annuntiat firmamentum_--“The heavens -declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handiwork” (Ps. -xviii.) Yet if we saw the heavens only in the way in which we are treated -to the performances of modern music, the greater and the lesser light -occasionally changing places, after the manner of the vicissitudes of -Mozart and Haydn, the planets moving out of their orbits in indeterminate -succession, at the caprice of some archangel, as the organist changes -his motets and introits, the Psalmist would hardly have spoken of the -“_firmament showing God’s handiwork_.” Where is there a trace of order -and system in the use of the works of modern art? Where is the musician -who regards “duplex,” “semiduplex,” or “simplex”? Mozart in one church, -Haydn in another, Beethoven in a third, and a host of others whose name -is Legion, taken like lots from a bag, as whim or fancy may at the moment -direct, like the chaos described by the poet, where - - “Callida cum frigidis pugnant, humentia siccis, - Mollia cum duris, sine pondere habentia pondus.” - - --_Ovid, Metam._ - -But to approach the comparison. If in the divine idea of the Christian -song there is necessarily contained the notion of a working and efficient -system, the simple truth is, that there is no such system, either in the -works of modern music themselves, or in the manner of their use. On the -one side is the important fact, that the modern art of music leaves the -vastly larger portion of the Ritual without any music at all, embracing -positively not more than its merest fraction; on the other, the equally -great fact of a total absence of any thing like rule to determine their -selection. As a working system, then, full and complete in all its -points, the Ritual chant stands alone the only realization of that part -of the divine idea which contemplates order and system in the use of -Christian song. - - -RESPECTIVE MORAL FITNESS: I. AS A SACRIFICIAL SONG; II. AS A SONG FOR THE -OFFICES OF THE CHURCH. - -I. _As a Sacrificial Song._ - -It has been already remarked that ecclesiastical song is not everything -or anything that is beautiful in music, nor merely a work of art. It -is, strictly speaking, a sacrificial chant, the song of those engaged -in offering sacrifice to God, _Tibi sacrificabo hostiam laudis_. Such -a song is obviously not any kind of song, but one that possesses a -moral type and character, rendering it a fit companion for the holy and -bloodless victim offered on the Christian altar; becoming an offering, -offered not to man, but to the ears of the Most High, and akin to the -solemnity of its subject--redemption from sin and death through the blood -and sufferings of a sinless victim, the crucified Son of God. The divine -idea may then, I think, be said to contemplate sacred song as possessing -a sacrificial character. - -And the reason, if required, will appear, on considering to how great -an extent music possesses the remarkable gift of absorbing and becoming -possessed with an idea. When song has been successfully united to -language, the ideas contained in the latter are found to take possession -of the music, and to form the sound or tune into an image and reflection -of themselves, in a manner almost analogous to the way in which the mind -within moulds the outward features of the face, so as to make them an -index and expression of itself. What I mean by this alleged power of -music to absorb, and afterwards to express, ideas, even those the most -opposite to each other, may be exemplified, if an instance be wanted, -by contrasting any popular melody from the Roman Gradual, as the _Dies -Iræ_, or the _Stabat Mater_, with one of our popular street tunes, -“Cherry ripe,” or “Jim Crow”; and it will be seen at once, on humming -over these tunes, with what perfect truth and to how great an extent -music is able to ally itself to the most opposite ideas, and how, through -the ear, it has the power, not merely to convey them to the mind, but to -leave them there, firmly and vividly impressed. If, then, by virtue of -this power, music may, on the one hand, become the channel of the most -exquisite profaneness in divine worship, so it certainly may, on the -other, contribute wonderfully to its majesty and power of attraction. -And since the music of the field of battle, the military march, and the -roll of the drum, has a character not shared by other kinds, as the song -of the banquet, and of the dance, of the drunkard over his cups, of -the peasant at his plough, of the sailor at sea, of the village maiden -at her home, have each their own stamp and form: so also in the song -of Christian worship, God will regard it as the song of men offering -sacrifice to himself, as having a character inherent in its subject--the -life, sufferings, and death of him who died to take away the sins of the -world--in a word, as a sacrificial chant. - -Now that a sacrificial chant has in all ages accompanied the offering -of sacrifice, is a truth to which history, if examined, will be found -to bear abundant testimony. In the sacrifice described by Virgil in the -Æneid, - - “pueri innuptæque puellæ - Sacra canunt.” - -When, at the command of Nehemias, on the return of the captive Jews -from Babylon, sacrifice was solemnly offered after their custom in -Jerusalem, the priests, it is said (2 Machab. i. 30), _sang psalms until -the burnt-offering was wholly consumed_. Nor is it the whole truth to -say that this sacrificial chant has passed over in its more perfect -reality to the Christian Church, but even in the Song of Heaven among the -redeemed, the sacrificial character still continues, a point well worthy -of the notice of those who are so confident that the type of the modern -music is alone that which is found in heaven. “And they [the twenty-four -ancients] sang a new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book and -open the seals thereof, for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God -by thy blood, out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation.” - -If, then, the ideas which suggest themselves and arise naturally on -reflecting upon what, in the nature of things, would be the type and -character of the Christian sacrificial chant; if these ideas find -themselves absorbed, then expressed, embodied, and brought out into life -and being in the music of the ecclesiastical chant; and if, on the other -hand, they are not to be found in the variety of modern compositions -such as are now in partial use;[141] if it be possible to conceive our -Lord’s apostles, upon the supposition that they could return to the -earth, standing up in any church of Christendom to sing the song of the -Ritual in honor of the Holy Sacrifice, and in company with the celebrant -priest;[142] and if there be something obviously unbecoming in the mere -thought of their taking bass or tenor in such music as that of Mozart’s -or Haydn’s masses, neither of which will be denied; then, I think, it -is not extravagant to infer that the Plain Chant of the Ritual is far -the most adequate fulfilment of that part of the divine idea which -contemplates Christian music as a sacrificial song. - - -II. _Fitness for the Offices of the Church._ - -With regard to the fitness of the ecclesiastical chant for the offices of -the church, it must be remarked, that the ideas of the modern musician -touching the use of music in the church are very widely removed from -those of the fathers of the church. In their idea, a church-singer would -somewhat answer to what would be a ballad-singer in the world, inasmuch -as he has a great deal to convey to his hearers in the way of narrative. -Almighty God has been pleased to work many wonderful works, and the -fathers of the church appointed singers for the churches, to celebrate -these works in song, in order that the people who came to worship, or -even the heathens who came as spectators, might hear and learn something -of the works of the Lord Jehovah, into whose house they had come. -What can be more reasonable than this? “_My song shall be of all thy -marvellous works_,” says the Psalmist. But, according to the notions of -a modern musician, if a Brahmin priest, or the Turkish ambassador, were -to come to Mass, and to hear a choral performance, in which the concord -of voices should be most ravishingly beautiful, but in which not a single -one of the marvellous works of God could be understood from the concert, -he is still to consider that he has heard the perfection of Christian -music, and ought, according to them, to go away converted. Out of two so -contradictory notions one must necessarily be chosen as the one which -best answers to the divine idea. And if persons are prepared to say that -the ideas of the fathers are become antiquated, and that they would have -acted differently had they known better, they are certainly called upon -to make this good. - -But, in the meantime, it will be both reasonable and pious to acquiesce -in the belief that the fathers acted in conformity with the divine idea, -and under the direction of God’s Holy Spirit, in appointing a song for -the church, in which the marvellous and merciful works of God might be -set forth in a charming, becoming, and perfectly intelligible manner, -for the instruction of the people. A serious person, when he goes into -the house of God, is supposed to go there with the intention of learning -something respecting God, and it is to be supposed that Almighty God -desires to see every church in such a condition as that the people -who frequent it may learn all that they need to know respecting God -and his works. To this use the fathers employed chant, and considered -that it was, by the will of God, to be employed to this end. If any -candid and serious person will take the trouble to examine the language -and sentiments of the Ritual apart from its musical notation, he will -be struck with it as a complete manual of popular theology. He will -see that it is full of the works of God, the knowledge of which is -the food of the faithful soul, particularly among the poor and the -unlearned. Next let him examine its notation in song, as contained in -the Gradual and Antiphonary, and he will be struck with a solemnity, -beauty, and force of melody fitted to convey to the people the words of -inspiration, to which melody was annexed in order that they might be -the better relished, and pass current the more easily. And lastly, let -him consider them, in both these respects, as forming one united whole, -and he cannot refuse to acknowledge the fitness of the chant which the -fathers selected for the purpose they had in view. Musicians must be -equitable enough to abstain from complaining of a work on the score of -its unisonous recitative character, if they will not be at the pains to -understand or to sympathize with the end for which it was formed and -destined. Have the fathers ever troubled themselves to criticise what was -innocent and allowable in the world’s music? Then why should musicians -go out of the way to find imaginary faults with that of which they seem -indisposed to consider either the use or the efficacy? The church chant -was framed generations before they and their art were known; and it has -helped to train up whole nations in the faith, and fulfilled its end to -the unbounded satisfaction of the fathers, who adopted, enlarged, and -consolidated it into the form in which it has come down to us, and may -therefore claim a truce to such criticism. - -But here, again, the comparison fails for want of a competitor, and -we are again brought back to the fact that the works of modern art -embrace too small a fraction of the whole Liturgy to be in a condition to -challenge any comparison. And could the comparison be admitted, it would -still remain to insist on the equally certain truth of experience that -the idea of a lengthened and continual recitation of the works of God, -intended to be popularly intelligible, is one unsuited to the employment -on any great scale of even the simplest counterpoint vocal harmonies, -and fundamentally averse to the prevailing use of the canon and fugue of -modern musical science. - - -RESPECTIVE FITNESS TO PASS AMONG THE PEOPLE AS A CONGREGATIONAL SONG. - -Upon this point of the comparison the result, I think, will be tolerably -obvious, if it be admitted that the divine idea contemplates the chant -of the church as designed to pass to some considerable extent among the -people in the form of congregational singing. It will not, however, be -out of place to show briefly on what grounds this assumption rests. - -1. Almighty God has created in people a strong love for congregational -psalmody, and has attached to it peculiar feelings possessed of an -influence far more powerful for good than the somewhat isolated pleasure -that the musician feels on hearing beautiful artificial music, inasmuch -as congregational singing is a common voice of prayer and praise; and -being, as Christians, members one of another, in congregational psalmody -we gain a foretaste of heaven, where it will be far more perfect. - -2. There are obvious benefits arising from it. It is an union of prayer -and praise, and as such is more powerful with God. It kindles in the -individual a livelier sense of Christian fellowship. It is a voice that -expresses the union of the many members in the one body; many voices, one -sound. - -3. The argument from history. The worship of God has always been that of -congregational psalmody; and where trained choirs of singers existed, -their song was always such as to admit of the people at times taking -part with them. This is an undeniable fact of history. “Then sang _Moses -and the children of Israel_ this song unto the Lord” (Exodus xv.) “Then -_sang Israel_ this song, Spring up, O well, sing ye unto it, etc.” -(Numbers xxi. 17). The psalm CXXXV. was composed for the people to sing -the chorus. The Book of Psalms is a kind of historical testimony, in many -of its passages, to the fact of that congregational song to which it so -often exhorts. Fleury, in his _History of the Manners of the Jews and -Christians_ (page 143), acknowledges congregational song as a fact among -both. He cites the testimony of S. Basil, that all the people in his time -sang in the churches--men, women, and children--and he compares their -voices to the waters of the sea. S. Gregory of Nazianzen compares them to -thunder. But it is impossible to conceive such to have been the practice -both of Jews and Christians, without inferring that it was so with the -approbation of Almighty God. - -4. The apostles and the fathers of the church have sanctioned it. -“Teaching and admonishing yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual -songs, singing with melody in your hearts unto the Lord” (Col. iii. 16). - -“Wherefore, since these things are so, let us with the more confidence -give ourselves to the work of song, considering that we have obtained a -great grace of Almighty God, to whom it has been given, in company with -so many and so great saints, the prophets, and the martyrs, to celebrate -the marvellous works of the eternal God.”--_An old author in the first -volume of Gerbert’s Scriptores Musici._ - -“Quocunque te vertis, arator stivam tenens Alleluia decantat, sudans -messor Psalmis se evocat, et curva attollens vitem falce vinator -aliquid Davidicum cantat. Hæc sunt in provincia nostra carmina, hæc -ut vulgo dicitur amatoriæ cantationes, hic pastorum sibilus, hæc arma -culturæ.”--“Wherever you turn, the laborer at his plough sings an -alleluia; the reaper sweating under his work refreshes himself with a -psalm: the vinedresser in his vineyard will sing a passage from the -Psalmist. These are the songs of our part of the world. These are, as -people say, our love-songs. This is the piping of our shepherds, and -these are the arms of our laborers.”--_S. Jerome, Epist. 17 ad Marcellum._ - -“Alas!” observes Mgr. Parisis, upon this passage of S. Jerome, “where are -now the families who seek to enliven the often dangerous leisure of long -winter’s evenings with the songs of the Catholic Liturgy; where are the -workshops in which an accent may be heard borrowed from the remembrance -of our divine offices; where are the country parishes which are edified -and rejoiced by the sweet and pious sounds which in the times of S. -Jerome echoed through the fields and vineyards?”[143] - -S. Augustine: “As for congregational psalmody, what better employment can -there be for a congregation of people met together, what more beneficial -to themselves, or more holy and well-pleasing to God, I am wholly unable -to conceive?”--_Letter to Januarius, towards the end._ - -A passage of S. Chrysostom, exhorting the people to psalmody, will be -found elsewhere. It is unnecessary to do more than to refer to the -example of S. Basil and S. Ambrose, encouraging their people in the same -manner; to which may be added a passage from the life of S. Germanus: - - “Pontificis monitis, psallit plebs, clerus et infans.” - - _Venantius, vita S. Germani._ - -Lastly, the _moral_ reason of the thing. - -This is expressed by S. Basil in the words: “O wonderful wisdom of the -teacher! who hath contrived that we _should both sing_, and therewith -learn that which is good.” - -Now, if it be considered that Providence could not possibly have meant -that the people at large should be formed into singing classes, in order -to be initiated into the mysteries of minim and crotchet, tenor and bass, -and that the _one_ only practical means of bringing them to pick up by -ear the more popular parts of the church chant is by encouraging, as the -system of the Ritual chant does, that clear enunciation of language and -melody which easily fixes itself upon the ear, and which the prevalence -of unison singing gives;[144] it follows at once that the only hope of -procuring general congregational singing in the worship of the Catholic -Church lies in the increased use and zealous propagation of the unison -execution of the Ritual chant. Experience is clear to the point that the -use of the works of modern art, with their rapid movements, elaborate -fugues, scientific combinations of sound, necessarily tends to stifle the -voices of the people, and this is certainly not the will of our merciful -God. - -Now, if this be the case, I do not see how we are to avoid the -conclusion, that any extensive use of these works of modern art tends -to the clear frustration and the making void one great and important -popular end, viz., congregational singing, which the divine idea -contemplates in the song of the church, and which, in the song of the -Ritual, is efficiently realized, as the history of the progress of the -faith abundantly testifies. Might it not, then, be well that those who -advocate the continued cultivation of these elaborate works of art should -consider the full meaning of Mardocheus’ prayer, _Ne claudas ora te -canentium_: “Shut not the mouth of them that sing thy praise, O Lord” -(Esther xiii. 17). - - -RESPECTIVE MORAL INFLUENCE IN THE FORMATION OF CHARACTER. - -The influence upon the mind of sounds that habitually surround the ear -is a fact well known to all moralists. “Whosoever,” says Plato, in -his treatise _De Republicâ_, quoted by Gerbert, “is in the habit of -permitting himself to listen habitually to music, and to allow his mind -to be engaged and soothed by it, pouring in the sweet sounds before -alluded to through the ears, as through an orifice, soft, soothing, -luscious, and plaintive, consuming his life in tunes that fascinate -his soul; when he does this to an excess, he then begins to weaken, -to unstring, and to enervate his understanding, until he loses his -courage, and roots all vigor out of the mind.” Cicero observes, “Nihil -tam facile in animos teneros atque molles influere quam varios canendi -sonos, quorum vix dici potest quanta sit vis in utramque partem; namque -et incitat languentes, et languefacit excitatos, et tum remittit animos, -tum contrahit” (lib. ii. _De Legibus_). These remarks seem very much to -have their exemplification at this day in the effeminate tone and temper -of polished society in all the nations of Europe, who seem to be befooled -with their love for pretty airs and opera music. Now, if the fathers, -observing this power of music insensibly to mould and form the character, -and acting, as it is more than pious to believe, under the guidance of -the Holy Spirit, that his divine intention might be fulfilled, designed -the song of the church to form a character very different from that -of the musical voluptuary--one who was to be no cowardly skulker from -the good fight of faith, but the soldier of Jesus Christ, the disciple -patiently taking up his cross and following his crucified Master--those -who do not participate in these ideas ought not to wonder that they -find so little in the church chant with which they can sympathize; but -above all let them at least have the modesty not to blame the fathers of -the church for adapting it, after their wisdom, to a purpose the need -for which they do not comprehend. The historian Fleury has a pertinent -remark: “Je laisse à ceux qui sont savants en musique à examiner si dans -notre Plain Chant il reste encore quelque trace de cette antiquité [he is -speaking of the force of character of the old chant]; car notre musique -moderne semble en être fort eloignée” (Fleury, _Mœurs des Chrétiens_, -page xliii.)--“I leave to those who are versed in music to determine -whether there remain any traces of this ancient vigor in our Plain Chant; -for our modern music seems very far from it.” - -Is it a thing to be wondered at if the Christian Israel’s Song of the -Cross should have in it something a little strange to the ear of Babylon? -Or are we to content ourselves with the conclusion that nothing but what -is dainty and nice, nothing but that which is as nearly like the world -as possible, will go down with Christian people? On the contrary, is -it not to be presumed that the multitudes, with whom, in the main, the -Christian teacher’s duty lies, are of that sickly, degenerate tone of -mind that nauseates the strong, peculiar, and supplicating energy of the -ecclesiastical chant? - -But on this point the comparison may be drawn in the words of Mgr. -Parisis: - -“External to the Ritual chant, that is to say, the Gregorian, or Plain -Chant, little else is now known except the works of modern music, that -is to say, a music essentially favoring what people have agreed to call -_sensualism_. It is this, almost exclusively this, which, under the -austere title of sacred music, is sought to be introduced into our sacred -offices. Now, without desiring to enter deeply into the matter, we need -but few words to point out how grievously it is misplaced. - -“Worldly music agitates and seeks to agitate, because the world seeks -its pleasure in stir and change. The church, on the contrary, seeks for -melodies that pray and incline to prayer. The church cannot wish for any -others, since her worship has no other object than prayer. - -“In vain will it be said that this is the work of one of the greatest -masters, that it is a scientific and a sublime composition; it may -be all this for the world--it is nothing at all of this for the -church. And especially when this worldly music, by its thrilling -cadences or impassioned character, leads directly to light ideas, -sensual satisfactions, and dangerous recollections, it is not only a -contradiction in the house of God, but a formal scandal.” (_Instruction -Pastorale_, p. 45) - -TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH. - - -A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. - -It is now many years since, during a summer ramble, I found myself at -A----k, now nothing more than a hamlet in population, but retaining -traces of having once been a place of very considerable importance, and -boasting of very remote antiquity. The remains of the wall are, indeed, -locally attributed to the Romans, probably because they are lofty and -very strong, and it is the habit of ignorant people to refer all great -works to that wonderful people. In this instance, however, tradition is -certainly wrong, as the walls bear unmistakable evidence of mediæval -origin, being in parts much enriched with Gothic work. - -The little town stands on a plateau enclosed between a bend of the Rhine -and the steep bluff on which the ruins of an old castle stand perched, -equally watching the little burgh below and the counterpart castle on the -opposite side of the Rhine at its next bend. - -The eagles that once lived in and sought their prey from that lofty nest -have long since crumbled into dust and have even passed from the memory -of man, leaving for sole representatives the choughs and the crows, and -perhaps a jolly old owl to keep up revelry at night. - -The horses that those old knights rode must have been of a sure-footed -breed, for it is hard to conceive how any quadruped, save a goat, could -have mounted the path I scrambled up among the vines; but it is with the -village and the village church that we have to do. - -Who built the Rhine churches? - -They all, with a few exceptions, are strikingly alike; though varying in -size, number of towers, and many other particulars, they have mostly a -strict resemblance in general conception and detail. To cite an instance: -The cathedral at Coblentz might stand as the type of twenty others; -instead of being individual and standing out alone--an effort of genius -like Cologne, Strasbourg, Notre Dame, Ely, or Winchester--they have all -the same resemblance to one another that a little oak has to a big one. - -The church at A----k was no exception. Cathedral it might almost be -called from its great size; but there was no bishop there, and it was -only a parish church! With its three great towers, vast nave, long -aisles, and noble choir, it seemed as if it might well hold all the -population for many miles around, and the extremely small congregation -that were present at the celebration of the High Mass that morning -appeared ridiculously out of proportion. It was a high festival--the -Annunciation--it is therefore to be assumed that the bulk of the -population were there, and the High Mass was at the somewhat early hour -of half-past five! - -After the Mass was over, and the last peal of the organ had died away, -and the patter of the last footstep been lost in the distance, as it -still wanted a considerable time to my breakfast hour, I strolled round -the great empty church. There seemed to be nothing of value in it. If -it had ever possessed any of the treasures of art, they had probably -perished or been carried away during the long wars that devastated the -country after the period of the Reformation, for I found nothing worthy -of notice. I had just concluded to leave the church when my eye was -arrested by what I took to be an accident which had happened to the -crucifix on one of the side altars. At first I supposed that it had -received a blow which had nearly broken off the right arm of the figure. -On looking more closely I perceived that it was evidently of great -age, and the arm I supposed to be broken stood out from the cross at a -considerable angle, and hung about half way down the side, the nail by -which it had once been attached still remaining in the hand. - -Whilst I was still wondering as to the nature of the accident which had -befallen the quaintly-carved crucifix a quiet and pleasant voice roused -me from my revery. - -“I see, sir, that you are examining our curious old crucifix!” - -Turning round I recognized the old priest who had sung Mass, and -encouraged by his amiable manner and address, I stated the matter I had -been pondering over, and asked for an explanation. - -“There has been no accident,” said he; “the distortion which you notice -in the right arm has existed far beyond the memory of man. - -“The figure is carved out of some very hard wood, and all out of a single -block--there being no joining in any part of it.” - -Still more astonished, I asked what could have been the motive of -representing the Saviour in so strange an attitude; the more, as the hole -for the nail still remaining in the hand was still to be seen plainly in -the wood, whilst the hand was in the position in which it would have been -had it just struck a blow. - -“That is a curious story, and is, in fact, the only legend I know of -connected with this church. - -“The crucifix is held in great reverence, and people come from great -distances to pray before it. As I see you are a stranger, perhaps you -will partake of an old man’s breakfast, whilst you listen to him as he -relates the traditional story, which being connected with this church, -where he has grown old, he regards as almost peculiarly his own. Besides, -the story is too long to be listened to either standing or fasting.” - -Thanking the good priest for his kind offer, I followed him into the -little presbytery almost adjoining the church, where we were soon seated -on each side of a little table taking off the edge of our appetites with -eggs, coffee, and rolls. - -When we had somewhat appeased our craving, the good man commenced, saying: - -“The tradition of which I have to speak dates back a long way, and has -at least so much of authenticity about it as attaches to the undoubted -antiquity of the crucifix itself, and to the fact that, for many -generations at least, no other account has been current. - -“My grandfather used to tell it to me when an infant on his knee, and -said that he had heard it from his grandfather in the same way. - -“In which of the many wars which have scourged this unfortunate land -since the rebel monk Luther brought the curse of religious dissension -upon it, the circumstances which I am about to relate occurred, I am -unable to determine; for the traditions, which agree in all other points, -differ on this. - -“On the whole I incline to the one which places these events during -the period of Gustavus Adolphus’ invasion, and attribute them to the -particular band which was led by his lieutenant Oxenstiern, who certainly -did sack the place. This would place it at more than two hundred years -ago, and it certainly is not more recent. - -“At that period there lived in A----k a widow and her daughter. They were -very poor, belonging to the peasant class, and supported themselves in -winter by spinning; and when the spring came round, they would go off to -the steep mountain-sides, where they helped to dress the vines or gather -the vintage, according to the season. - -“They never went to distant vineyards, because the mother, having in her -youth met with a severe accident, was unable, from its effects, to walk -far. There was also another reason: for Gretchen, who was the prettiest -girl for many miles around, was also the best, and never failed, winter -or summer, to hear Mass and to spend some time in prayer before that very -crucifix which has attracted your attention. - -“There was, no doubt, some older tradition about its origin, for it had a -great reputation for sanctity even then; this tradition, whatever it may -have been, seems, however, to have been swallowed up by the overwhelming -interest of the subsequent event, which I am about to relate. - -“All accounts agree that when Gretchen first worshipped there the -crucifix had nothing unusual about it to distinguish it from any other, -except its artistic merit. - -“The hand was then nailed to the cross. There, however, kneeling in front -of it, wrapped in prayer, this young girl spent all the time she could -spare from the humble duties of her life. - -“She milked the cow, the one valuable possession of her mother, who had -the right of common; she washed the clothes, cooked and did the work -about her mother’s house, and acted as her crutch as she climbed the -steep paths of the vineyard--for, in spite of her lameness, she was a -skilful vinedresser--in short, she was all in all to her only parent. - -“With all this labor and care Gretchen grew in grace and beauty; and -though so devout, she was as bright and cheerful and winning in her ways -as the most worldly of her young companions. - -“Never, however, could she be tempted to go to any of the merry-makings -or harvest-homes or vintage feasts that were held at a distance; her -invariable answer was, ‘My mother cannot walk so far.’ - -“She had many suitors; and admirers came from a great distance. - -“To all Gretchen was equally kind and considerate; but to none did she -show any sort of preference, so that all the youths for many miles on -both sides of the Rhine were pulling caps for her. - -“Thus things went on till she was nineteen, when, to the great surprise -of all, she was seen to take up with and give a decided preference to the -attentions of a young stranger who had been in the place only a few weeks. - -“The favored youth was a journeyman clockmaker from Nuremberg, who was -going through his year of wandering, and was at the moment settled in the -town, working for the only tradesman in his line of business in the place. - -“A----k was then much more populous, as you may well suppose, being able -to support such a trade. - -“This youth, whose name was Gotliebe Hunning, was handsome and showy, -wearing his hair in long locks down his back, and spending much of his -earnings in dress. He sung, played the guitar, and was reputed wild, -though no harm could be alleged against him. - -“The old folks shook their heads, and deplored that so sweet and modest a -girl as Gretchen should be seen so much with a roisterer like Gotliebe. - -“Somehow it had been no sin to sing and be gay like God’s unreasoning -creatures before the sour times of Calvin, Huss, and Luther; but though -their errors had not penetrated here to any great extent, something of -their acid had been imparted to the leaven of life. - -“So things were, however, and all the time that Gretchen gave to -pleasure--which was little enough, poor child, for they were very poor -and her mother was very helpless--she spent with this handsome, clever -youth; not that she abandoned her devotion, or was less frequently -prostrated before the crucifix; for indeed, if possible, she was found -there more than ever. Still, the gossips shook their heads and remarked -upon it. - -“One would say, ‘Ah! I never trusted that meek manner of hers. I always -knew she would surprise us some day, and here it is! It is always so with -the very good ones!’ ‘Ay, ay,’ her neighbor would say, ‘cat will after -cream! And Eve has left her mark upon the best of them! The girl is a -girl like other young things; but I did hope better things of Gretchen, -so well brought up as she has been!’--thus they ran on. - -“Soon, however, it began to be said that Gotliebe was sobering down; he -frequented the tavern less, never danced except with Gretchen, sang less -and worked more. - -“He was admitted to be a master of his craft, and when it became known -that he was engaged in all his leisure hours in making a great clock--the -very one the chimes of which you were admiring--for the church, there -was less head-shaking, and more talk about Gretchen’s luck in making so -great a catch. Still he made no change in his showy dress, and indeed -I think that genius, at least in art, often shows itself in that way, -and tradition testifies that he was no mean proficient in the art he -practised, of which indeed we still have proof every hour. - -“Then it began to be observed that Gotliebe was frequently in the church -with Gretchen, and had become a regular attendant at Mass. Still, things -went on in the same way and no betrothal was spoken of, until, after the -war had again broken out and seemed to be drifting this way, it suddenly -became known that Gretchen had consented to be married to Gotliebe -without loss of time, and that he was to take a house and her mother was -to move into it. - -“In this remote place, far from any of the great avenues of trade--for -vessels usually passed it by, no great roads branching off here, and -there being no steamboats invented--news came doubtfully and seldom, and -war was at the very door at a moment when only distant rumors had reached -A----k. - -“However, to return to Gretchen and Gotliebe: You may be sure that what -goes on now went on then, and that all the busybodies were agog as to -what they were to live upon; how she was to be dressed, and who were to -be the bridemaids; but as the world spins round in spite of the flies -that buzz about it, so they went their way regardless of all that was -said about them. - -“In the meantime, the rumors grew more frequent and more particular -concerning the cloud of war which was every day drifting nearer and -nearer, until the dark mass seemed ready at any moment to burst upon the -unfortunate village itself. - -“Indeed, news came from neighboring towns and villages that they had -been taken and burned by the heretic Swedes, and tales, no doubt often -exaggerated, of the violent and dissolute conduct of Oxenstiern’s -troopers, kept every one in terror. - -“Affairs were in this threatening condition when the wedding-morning -came; and, as the story was, though Gretchen had little to spend on -dress, no art and no expense could have produced a lovelier bride than -stood before the altar of the Crucifix that morning. She wore nothing but -a simple dress of white, and a wreath of apple-blossoms, for the trees -were just then in flower. - -“The wedding-bells were ringing, and the humble bridal-party had just -reached the house which Gotliebe had taken, when cannon were heard, and a -band of fierce Swedish soldiers rushed into the village. - -“The firing proceeded from an attack upon the castle, which still stands -at about a mile from this place, and the invaders of the village were -army followers and a few of the more dissolute of Oxenstiern’s soldiery, -who, encountering the bridal-party, at once interrupted its progress, -treating the bridemaids rudely; and one of them, who threw his arms -around Gretchen, was immediately struck down by Gotliebe, who, as before -said, was a spirited youth. - -“One of the invaders, without a moment’s hesitation, struck him lifeless, -and attempted to seize the bride, who, with a shriek, fled and took -refuge in the church. - -“Thither Gretchen was pursued by the band; and when after many hours -the troops were withdrawn, and the priest, with a few of the boldest of -his flock, ventured into the sacred edifice, they found the high altar -desecrated, the sacred vessels gone, and other sacrileges committed, -which filled them with horror; but on turning to the altar of the -Crucifix, they found the bride prostrate before it, either in a trance -or ecstasy, with the soldier who had pursued her lying with his skull -broken, and his iron head-piece smashed in as though a sledge-hammer had -struck it, and the arm of the crucifix distorted as you see it now. - -“On being questioned, the young widow could only say: ‘God has protected -me!’ - -“The poor mother only lingered a day or two afterwards, and was borne to -the grave at the same time as the unfortunate Gotliebe. - -“Gretchen never knew, or would not say, more than I have repeated of what -had occurred at the altar of the Crucifix. It was unplundered! - -“The people, however, all said that God, who had borne the insults and -profanation directed against himself at the high altar, had interposed -when the virtue of a pure virgin was threatened, and had himself, by -the hand of his image, smitten the would-be violator dead, leaving the -distorted arm as an admonition for ever.” - -We were both silent after this recital, and for some moments toyed with -the fragments of our breakfast. - -At length, raising my head, I asked: “And you, father--do you believe -this tale?” - -A sweet, soft smile hovered about his lips, as he replied: “Nothing in -which the goodness of God is instanced is hard for me to believe! He is -less ready to show his anger, so that, though we live in the midst of his -wonders, we have got so used to them that it is said that there are those -who deny his existence.” - -This was said as if to himself. Then, speaking more collectedly, he -continued: - -“You English would rather believe in ghosts and devils than in the good -God. Whence do you suppose they derive their existence and their power?” - -I assured him that I was of the same faith as himself, and only asked -because I wished to have the opinion of a cultivated man on the subject -of this particular legend, which had greatly interested me, and of which -there remained so singular an evidence. - -After a moment’s pause, he said: - -“Think of the facts yourself, sir. This tradition, which is certainly -very old, is either true in its main features or it was made to fit the -crucifix. Assume this last to be the case, how did so singular an image -come into existence? Made to hang the tradition upon? Scarcely in so -small a community, where all must have known each other. Besides, it is a -work of art, and I have been told that as such it is of rare merit. Such -a work could hardly have been produced for an unworthy object, and would -have been difficult to substitute for one of inferior workmanship. If I -called it a legend, it is because it has an air of romance about it. But -God is good, and does what he pleases!” - -I had nothing more to say; so I asked what had become of Gretchen, and -was told that she had been taken as a lay sister in the small convent at -the head of the valley, whence she had continued, to the very day of her -death, to come and pray at the foot of the crucifix, where in fact she -was at last found dead, in her eighty-seventh year, and that during the -whole time she had been regarded as a saint. - -“The altar,” he resumed, “is universally regarded with great reverence, -and is always spoken of as the Altar of Succor to a very considerable -distance up and down the Rhine, and the unusual number of models in wax -or wood which you see hanging before it indicate how special favors are -reputed to have been granted there.” - -“I noticed them,” I replied, “when first I entered Belgium, where I saw -many. I was much struck with what I thought the singular idea of offering -a leg in wax to obtain the cure of lameness, an eye for blindness, and so -on.” - -“I perceive, sir,” said the good priest, “that you have fallen into the -error of mistaking cause for effect. These models and tokens are in no -case hung before the altar until after the cure prayed for has been -effected, when it is the pious custom of the people to commemorate the -blessing they have received--much as one out of the ten lepers cured by -our Lord did--by showing gratitude, that all may see what he has done for -them. - -“Some of these emblems,” continued he, “have curious histories attached -to them, whose events have occurred under my own eye. - -“I will give you one instance only, not to be tedious. - -“Did you notice a small bottle amongst the objects we speak of?” - -I acknowledged that I had not done so, having paid little attention to -them. - -“Well, there is one there at all events, which I myself attached to the -bunch, under the following circumstances: - -“Some years ago, two brothers, both young men, were leaving a wharf -some miles up the river, at twilight. The steamer having landed its -passengers, was on the point of starting, when the elder of the two -remonstrated with his brother upon the condition in which he found him; -in fact, the youth was addicted to drinking, and gave much trouble to his -elder brother, who was a remarkably steady young man. I will not mention -their names, as both are living; but for convenience will call the elder -Fritz and the younger Carl. - -“Carl was given to be quarrelsome in his cups, and on this occasion was -more so than usual, and began to struggle with his brother, who wanted to -get him on board, as the boat was in the act of starting; in doing so, -however, he lost his balance, and they fell into the water together. - -“Carl, with the luck which is proverbially attributed to drunkards, was -almost immediately pulled out by those who had seen the accident. Fritz, -however, appeared to have been carried away by the current, all search -proving in vain. - -“Carl, now completely sobered, was terribly afflicted, as he was deeply -attached to his brother, and remembering the traditional sanctity of the -Altar of Succor, he started off and walked all night, and, wet as he -was, threw himself at the foot of the altar. There he remained for some -hours; whilst prostrate there, another man came in and knelt beside him. - -“It is always rather dark at that side altar, which, being situated in -the north aisle, was darker still at that hour of the morning. - -“I had observed the prostrate man soon after the church had been opened -in the morning. When next I passed I saw him prostrate still, with -another kneeling beside him. - -“Thinking there might be something wrong, I went up, and stooping, laid -my hand upon his shoulder; he was wet, and a shiver ran through him at -my touch. To my surprise I saw that there was a pool of water round the -kneeling man. - -“At my touch the man raised himself, exclaiming, as he did so, ‘Yes, I -did it; but I did not mean it! Take me if you will!’ - -“Before I could explain, the other rose to his feet, exclaiming, in a -voice of great emotion, ‘Carl!’ In an instant the brothers were in each -other’s arms, and explanations were made. It appears that Fritz went down -at once, and, being unable to swim, was borne down for some distance -under water. On coming to the surface his head came in contact with some -substance which he instinctively grasped; it was wood, and was large -enough to enable him to keep his head above water. He drifted down the -current till, almost dead with cold, he found himself cast ashore at a -bend of the river. - -“He was glad to find a cottage door open, where he was welcomed to warm -himself and to share the peasants’ humble meal. There also he learned -that he was not far from A----k and the wonderful Altar of Succor, and -at once resolved to come here, moved by gratitude for his escape, and -anxiety for his brother, of whose fate he was of course ignorant. - -“A year passed, and one morning Carl called upon me, and I then fully -learned the particulars I have just related. - -“At his request I attached the small bottle to the other tokens, in -gratitude, as he said, for the victory there granted to him over the evil -habit which must, otherwise, have rendered his life a curse. - -“He also left a sum of money for the poor, and told me that his brother -and himself were both married, and living as prosperous merchants at a -considerable town lower down the Rhine. - -“Go thou and do likewise!” added the good priest, laughing as we shook -hands at parting. - - -WHY NOT? - - I knelt before the altar-rail - One holy festal morning, - As to and fro the sexton moved, - The holy place adorning. - - Now vases, bright with ruby hues, - He places on the altar, - And now the flowers! O gorgeous sight! - “Good sexton,” I did falter, - - “But for one instant let me smell - Those odors which, like vapor - From censer, rising, lift--” “Smell! marm-- - They’re only made o’ paper!” - - And now the golden candlesticks, - With candles like to rockets, - Lighting afar, quoth he: “Tin, marm: - The candles are in the sockets!” - - Yet there I see a hundred more - With blessed tapers burning. - O happy bees! Lo! here he comes, - From sacristy returning, - - With basket filled with precious load - Of many more for decking - The candelabra round the “throne.” - Said I, his pathway checking: - - “Oh! lift for me the basket-lid; - I’ll only humbly peer in - And see the blessed wax!” “Sakes! marm - Not wax, but only stearine!” - - Oh! sparkle brightly, olive star, - In lamp inscribed with Latin: - “Sweet oil! whose unction--” “Guess not, marm: - The gas is turned on that ’un!” - - “Devotion dims my pious view, - And speech within me throttles, - To see those sacred relics--” “Them? - Them’s ’pothecary bottles!” - - “Now don’t you go a-pokin’ round - Your nose to find ‘abuses’; - We’ll let you know we has these things - Because--because we chooses!” - - -ON THE WAY TO LOURDES. - -CONCLUDED. - -Leaving Lectoure, the railway keeps along the valley of the Gers, a -branch of the Garonne several shades yellower than the Tiber. The sides -of the road are covered with _genêt_, or broom, loaded with yellow -blossoms--the emblem of the Plantagenets, to whom this part of France -was once subject. It is not long before we come to Mount St. Cricq at -the left, where, in the IVth century, the glorious S. Oren, the apostle -of the country, demolished a temple of Apollo-Belen, and set up an altar -to the only true and uncreated Light under the invocation of S. Quiricus -(S. Cyr) and S. Julitta. The church is now gone. A windmill stands near -its site, the only prominent object on the hill, which is as bald and -parched as if Apollo had claimed it for his own again. - -Auch now comes in sight, built on a height, and crowned with the towers -of its noble cathedral. The sides of the hill are covered with houses, -whose arched galleries are open to the sun and pure mountain air, and -gay with vines and flowers. The terraces before them look like hanging -gardens, which give a charming freshness to the picturesque old city. The -Gers flows along at the foot of the hill as quietly as when Fortunatus -sang of its sluggishness centuries ago. We cross it, and gain access to -the city by one of the long, narrow, steep, sunless staircases of stone, -called _pousterles_, which remind us of Naples and Perugia. The place, -in fact, is quite Italian in its whole aspect. As we ascend one of these -flights we see, away up at the top, a large iron cross with all the -emblems of the Passion in the centre of the landing-place, and we feel as -if we were ascending some _Calvaire_. There is a broad modern staircase, -much more grand and elegant, but not so interesting, dignified by the -imposing term of _escalier monumental_, which takes one up a more gradual -and less weary way of two hundred and thirty-two steps--something rather -formidable, however, for the fat and scant o’ breath! - -These old cities, built on heights for greater security, were powerful -holds in the Middle Ages, and all have their history. Their towers are -all scarred over with fearful tragedies, relieved here and there by some -flower of sweet romance or saintly legend. - -Auch was in ancient times called Climberris, the stronghold of the -_Ausci_, who dwelt here before the Roman conquest--descendants of the -Iberians from the Caucasian regions, who left their country and settled -in Spain and this side of the Pyrenees. The chief city of the most -civilized people of the country, a Roman settlement under the Cæsars, -the most important place in Novempopulania, the capital of the Counts -of Fezensac and Armagnac in the Middle Ages, and a wealthy influential -see, whose archbishops took part in all the great movements of the -day, Auch was from early times a place of no small importance, however -insignificant now. - -When Cæsar’s lieutenant, Publius Crassus, took possession of the country, -he established a Roman colony on the banks of the Algersius, and the -Ausci, descending from their heights, it became so flourishing that -it received the imperial name of Augusta Auscorum, and was one of the -few cities of the land to which the Roman emperors accorded the Latin -right--that is, the power of governing itself. In the year 211, Caracalla -allowed it the privilege of having a forum, gymnasium, theatre, baths, -etc., and it became the seat of a senate, the head of which was a Roman -officer called _comes_. Roman domination was at first submitted to -reluctantly, but it proved an advantage to the city. Literature and the -arts were cultivated with success, the people enriched by new sources of -industry, sumptuous villas were built in the environs, and roads opened -to Toulouse and various parts of Novempopulania. The pre-eminence of the -schools here is evident from the poet Ausonius, tutor of the Emperor -Gratian, who spent part of his youth at Auch, pursuing his studies under -Staphylius and Arborius, both of whom he eulogizes for their learning. -Arborius, the brother of Ausonius’ mother, was the son of an astrologer, -from a distant part of Gaul, who married a lady of rank in this country -and settled here. He taught rhetoric, not only at Auch, but at Toulouse, -where he became the confidential friend of Constantine’s brothers, then -in a kind of exile. This led to his fortune. The emperor afterward called -him to Constantinople, where he was loaded with riches and honors. - -Ausonius’ friend, Eutropius, a celebrated Latin author who held offices -under Julian the Apostate, had a seat in the vicinity of Auch. - -The women, too, of this country were inspired with a taste for mental -cultivation, as is shown by Sylvia, sister of the illustrious Rufinus -of Elusa, one of the best-versed women of her day in Greek literature, -and who rivalled the noble Roman matrons of the time of S. Jerome in her -knowledge of sacred science. Sylvia died at Brescia, where her name is -still honored, while her native land has nearly forgotten her memory. - -The prosperity of Auch was put an end to in the Vth century by the -invasion of the Goths and Vandals, and the city was only saved from -destruction by the mediation of S. Oren, its bishop. In the VIIIth -century the country was overrun by the Moors, who destroyed the whole -city, with the exception of a faubourg still known, after more than a -thousand years, as the Place de la Maure. - -Two centuries after, the Counts of Armagnac built a castle on the summit -of the hill where stood the ancient Climberris, and gathered their -vassals around them. Here they held a brilliant court which attracted -gallant knights and the gayest troubadours of the south. We read that -one of the counts, whose stout heart yielded for a time to the softening -influences of the poetic muse, went to Toulouse to breathe out his tender -lays at the feet of a certain fair lady, Lombarda, but prudence getting -the better of his gallantry, he abruptly brought them to an end, and -hurried back to the defence of his castle, suddenly besieged by the enemy. - -It was also in the Xth century Auch became a metropolitan see, which -was so generously endowed by the barons of the country that it became -one of the wealthiest and most powerful in the kingdom. Its archbishops -were to the great lords of the province what the popes then were to -the sovereigns of Europe. They were the lords spiritual, not only of -Novempopulania, but the two Navarres. Kings of England wrote them to -secure their influence, which was so great that there was a rivalry among -the leading families desirous of securing the see for their children. -When the Counts of Armagnac transferred their capital to Lectoure, the -archbishops became sole lords of the city, and in them centred its -history from that time. They bore the proudest names in the land, and -maintained all the state to which their birth and the importance of their -office entitled them. We read that when they came to take possession -of their see, the Baron de Montaut, at the head of all the neighboring -gentry, met them at the entrance to the city, and with bared head and -knee took the archbishop’s mule by the bridle and led him to the castle. -This was in accordance with the customs of feudal times, when vassals -offered homage to their liege lords by bending the bared knee to the -ground, an _extension_, we suppose, of the Oriental practice of baring -the feet. We learn from Andres de Poça, in his work, _De la Antigua Lenga -y Comarcas de las Españas_, that the lords of Biscay took their oaths of -fealty in the sanctuary in this way--a custom derived, perhaps, from the -ancient Cantabrians, who, as Strabo tells us, went to battle with one -foot shod and the other bare, reminding one of the touching nursery rhyme -of “My son John,” or the French ditty which is more to the point: - - “Un pied chaussé et l’autre nu, - Pauvre soldat, que feras-tu?” - -There were two other bishops in the south of France who received a -similar mark of homage at taking possession of their sees. At Lectoure, -it was the Seigneur de Castelnau, and at Cahors the Baron de Ceissac, -whose duty it was to offer it. At Auch, the Baron de Montaut afterwards -served the archbishop at dinner and received the silver plate on the -table as his perquisite. Dom Brugelles, in his Chronicles of the diocese, -gives a ludicrous account of the disappointment of a Baron of Montaut at -the arrival of a cardinal-archbishop of simple habits, whose service was -of glass, though of fine workmanship, which so disappointed the baron -that he forgot his loyalty and smashed all the dishes, to the great -disgust of the cardinal, who left the city and never returned. - -One of the Archbishops of Auch, Geraud de Labarthe, went with Richard -the Lion-Hearted to the Holy Land, and had command of an armament. He -knew also, it seems, how to wield his spiritual weapons, for on the way -he stopped in Sicily for a theological encounter with the celebrated -abbot Joachim, in which he proved himself worthy of his descent from the -Lords of the Four Valleys. He died in the Holy Land in 1191, leaving a -foundation for the repose of his mother’s soul, a touching incident in -the life of this valorous churchman. - -Another archbishop established the Truce of God in his province, issued -indulgences to encourage his people to go to the aid of the Spanish in -their crusade against the Moors, and finally placed himself at the head -of those who responded to his appeal and went to the assistance of Don -Alfonso of Aragon, where he distinguished himself by his bravery and -religious zeal. - -Other prelates have a simpler record which it is pleasant to come upon -in such rude times. Of one we read he granted an indulgence of three days -to all who should bow the head at hearing the Holy Name of Jesus. This -was in 1383, when S. Bernardin of Sienna, the great propagator of this -devotion, was still a child. - -In the XIVth century we find Cardinal Philip d’Alençon, of the blood -royal of France, among the archbishops of Auch. He died in Rome in -the odor of sanctity, and was buried in the church of Santa Maria in -Trastevere, where his beautiful Gothic tomb--a _chef-d’œuvre_ of the -XIVth century--may be seen in the left transept. In the arch is a fresco -of the martyrdom of his patron, S. Philip, who was crucified with his -head downward, like S. Peter; and beneath lies the cardinal on his tomb, -sculptured in marble, with hands folded in eternal prayer. Above are -his cardinal’s hat and the _fleurs-de-lis_ of France, and below is the -epitaph: - - “Francorum genitus Regia de stirpe Philippus - Alenconiadus Ostiæ titulatus ab urbe - Ecclesiæ cardo, tanta virtute reluxit - Ut sua supplicibus cumulentur marmora votis.” - -This prelate was the nephew and godson of Philippe le Bel, the destroyer -of the Knights-Templars and persecutor of Pope Boniface VIII., who -merited the stigma Dante casts on him in his _Purgatorio_: - - “Lo! the flower-de-luce - Enters Alagna: in his vicar, Christ - Himself a captive, and his mockery - Acted again. Lo! to his holy lip - The vinegar and gall once more applied, - And he ’twixt living robbers doomed to bleed.” - -“When, O Lord! shall I behold that vengeance accomplished which, being -already determined in thy secret judgment, thy retributive justice even -now contemplates with delight?” continues the spirit met by the Divine -Poet in the place of expiation--words that might be echoed in these days, -when - - “The new Pilate, of whose cruelty - Such violence cannot fill the measure up, - With no decree to sanction, pushes on - Into the temple his yet eager sails.” - -We are here reminded it was at Auch all the Knights-Templars of Bigorre, -with their commander, Bernard de Montagu, were executed. M. Martin, -in his _History of France_, observes that all the traditions of this -region are favorable to the Templars. There is not one that is not to -their credit. The old saying, “Drink like a Templar,” has no echo in the -mountains of Bigorre. Many of their churches are still standing, objects -of interest to the archæologist, and of devotion to the pious. There -are six or seven skulls shown at Gavarnie, said to be of the martyred -Templars, and every year, on the anniversary of the destruction of the -Order, a knight armed from top to toe, and wearing the great white mantle -of the Order, appears in the churchyard and cries three times: “Who will -defend the Holy Temple? Who will deliver the Sepulchre of the Lord?” Then -the seven heads come to life and reply: “No one! no one! The Temple is -destroyed!” How earnestly these unfortunate knights begged to be tried -by the Inquisition is well known. They felt there was some chance for -justice at a tribunal in which there was a religious element. - -A Cardinal d’Armagnac was Archbishop of Auch when the tragedy of Rodèle -took place, which rivals that of the Torre della Fame at Pisa in horror. -Geraud, brother of Count Bernard VII. of Armagnac, having married his son -to Margaret of Comminges, took up arms against her for forsaking her -youthful husband and withdrawing to the castle of Muret. Count Bernard -took advantage of this to make war on Geraud for holding the county of -Pardiac, on which he himself had claims, and pursued his brother from -one castle to another. Finally taking him captive, he carried him to -the fortress of Rodèle, and threw him into a deep pit, where he died of -hunger and cold in four or five days. - -Geraud’s two sons, John and Guilhem, alarmed at his captivity, but -unaware of his fate, were induced to come to Auch to implore the clemency -of their ferocious uncle, and on Good Friday, 1403, the Count de l’Isle -Jourdain, kneeling with the poor children at his feet, besought him to -pardon them, in memory of the Divine Passion that day celebrated; but -neither the day nor the helplessness of the children, so touchingly -alluded to by their advocate, softened the inflexible count. He had them -imprisoned in the castle of Lavardens, and shortly after, Guilhem, a -lad of barely fifteen, was tied to a horse and taken to the fortress of -Rodèle. There he was shown the horrible pit into which his father had -been let down alive to incur so fearful a death. The poor boy looked into -the fatal pit, fell senseless to the ground, and was never restored to -life. His brother John, the unhappy husband of the faithless Margaret of -Comminges, was carried to the castle of Brugens, where horrid tortures -awaited him. He had only escaped from the hatred of his wife to fall into -the hands of Bonne de Berri, Count Bernard’s wife, a woman of insatiable -ambition and relentless purpose. This new Frédégonde put his eyes out by -passing a red-hot brazier before them, and then, remembering the strength -God gave the blind Samson to take vengeance on his enemies, she had him -thrown into a deep moat, where he died of hunger. - -Never was there a family that reflected more faithfully than the -Armagnacs all the vices and defects as well as the virtues of the Middle -Ages. Its history contains every element to fix the attention, with -its tragedies, its examples of brutal power, its prodigies of valor -and heroism, its struggles in the cause of liberty, and, finally, in -its marvels of faith. Religious influence sooner or later asserted its -triumph in the heart. Many of the counts laid aside their armor for the -cowl and scapular, and atoned for their sins in the cloister. They were -benefactors to the Church, they founded monasteries, they fought in the -holy wars. We find them with Godfrey of Bouillon under the walls of -Jerusalem, and fighting against the Moors with the Kings of Castile and -Aragon. Among the most renowned members of the race, we must not forget -Count John I., a native of Auch, whose valor placed him on a level with -Du Guesclin, the greatest captain of the age. For a time they fought on -the same side, but they met as opponents on the plain of Navarrete, where -Count John fought for Don Pedro and greatly contributed to the victory. -Du Guesclin was taken prisoner. For more than thirty years Count John was -one of the strongest supporters of the King of France. After the battle -of Crécy, he stopped the tide of English invasion, and when the Black -Prince was covering Aquitaine with blood and ruins in 1355, he alone -ventured to resist him and obstruct his victorious march. - -After the defeat at Poitiers, he veiled the humiliation of the king -with the splendor of his munificence. He sent the king all kinds of -provisions, as well as silver utensils, for his table. He convoked the -Etats-Généraux to organize forces to avert calamities that threatened -the country. He fought beside the Duke of Anjou and Du Guesclin in the -immortal campaigns of 1369 and 1370. This was the period in which the -grandeur of the house of Armagnac culminated. John I. married Reine -de Got, niece of Pope Clement V., whom Dante thrusts lower than Simon -Magus. She was buried in the choir of the Cordeliers at Auch, now, -alas! a granary. The count’s second wife was Beatrice de Clermont, -great-granddaughter of S. Louis IX., king of France, and one of his -daughters married the brother of Charles V., and the other the oldest son -of Don Pedro of Aragon. - -Such were the royal pretensions of this great house. Descended from the -Merovingian race of kings through Sanche Mitarra, the terrible scourge -of the Moors, who lies buried at S. Oren’s Priory, founded by the first -Count of Armagnac, on the banks of the Gers, the Counts of Auch, as they -were sometimes called, bore themselves right royally. They acknowledged -no suzerain. They were the first to call themselves counts _by the grace -of God_, a formula then used to express the divine right, but in the -sense of S. Paul and of the Middle Ages, which was simply acknowledging -that all power comes from God, and that the right of exercising it has -for its true source not the force of arms, but in God alone. We must -come down to the XVth century to find the jealous susceptibility that -only interpreted, in the sense of absolute independence of all human -power, such expressions as _Dei gratiâ_; _per Dei gratiam_; _Dei dono_, -etc., which had been used with the sole intention of expressing a truth -of the Christian faith, a profound sentiment of subordination to divine -authority. This intention is nowhere so explicit as in the legend on the -ancient money of Béarn, where its rulers used almost the words of the -apostle: _Gratia autem Dei sumus id quod sumus_. - -Charles VII. thought it worth while to forbid John IV. of Armagnac, in -1442, the use of such formulas. Seven years after, he obliged the Dukes -of Burgundy to declare they bore no prejudice to the crown of France. -Louis XI. vainly tried to prevent the Duke of Brittany from using them. -Since that time it has been claimed as the exclusive right of sovereigns. -Bishops, however, retain the formula _Dei gratia_ in their public acts of -diocesan administration, with the addition: _et apostolicæ sedis_, which -dates from the end of the XIIIth century only. - -It was the independence and royal pretensions of such great vassals that -determined the kings of France to destroy their power. Under the sons -of Philip le Bel began the great struggle between the crown and the -feudal aristocracy. In order to incorporate their provinces with the -royal domains, they availed themselves of every pretext to crush them, -and such pretexts were by no means wanting in the case of the Armagnacs, -where they could claim the necessity of protecting the eternal laws -on which are based all family and social rights and the principles of -true religion. History is full of the cruelty of the last counts, and -forgets all it could offer by way of contrast. It forgets to speak of -Count John III., who put an end to the brigandage of the great bands -in southern France, and went to find a premature death under the walls -of Alessandria, in an expedition too chivalrous not to be glorious. It -insists on the brutal ferocity and excessive ambition of Bernard VII., -the great constable, and passes over all that could palliate his offences -in so rude an age--his fine qualities, his zeal for the maintenance of -legitimate authority, and his interest in the welfare of the Church. -It lays bare the criminal passion of Count John V., and forgets his -repentance and reparation, as well as the holy austerities of Isabella in -the obscure cell of a Spanish monastery, where she effaced the scandal -she had given the world. - -Count John was the last real lord of Armagnac. He filled up the cup -of wrath, and his humiliations and frightful death, the long, unjust -captivity of his brother Charles, the scaffold on which perished Jacques -de Nemours, and the abjection into which his children were plunged, are -fearful examples of divine retribution. - -The spoils of the counts of Armagnac were given as a dowry to Margaret -of Valois when she married Henry II. of Navarre, who, as well as her -first husband, the Duc d’Alençon, descended from the Armagnacs. Henry and -Margaret made their solemn entry into Auch in 1527, and the latter, as -Countess of Armagnac, took her seat as honorary canon in the cathedral. -Her arms are still over the first stall at the left, beneath the lion -rampant of the Armagnacs--a stall assigned those lords as lay canons, in -the time of Bernard III., who was the first to pay homage to S. Mary of -Auch. - -Margaret’s grandson, Henry IV., united the title of Armagnac to the crown -of France, and Louis XIV., on his way from St. Jean-de-Luz, where he was -married to Maria Theresa, the Infanta of Spain, passed through Auch, and, -attending divine service in the cathedral, took his seat in the choir as -Count of Armagnac. - -Napoleon III. accepted the title of honorary canon of this church. - -The cathedral at Auch is remarkable for the stained glass windows of -the time of the Renaissance, which Catherine de Medicis wished to carry -off to Paris, and the one hundred and thirteen stalls of the choir, the -wonderful carvings of which rival those of Amiens. Napoleon I., on his -return from Spain, admired and coveted these beautiful stalls, and wished -to remove the old rood-loft which concealed them from the public. He -endowed the church with an annual sum, and expressed his regret so fair -a _Sposa_ should be bereaved of its lord--the hierarchy not being fully -restored in France at that time. - -The canons of the cathedral were formerly required to be _nobilis -sanguine vel litteris_--noble of birth or distinguished in letters. -That they keep up to their standard in learning seems evident from -the reputation of one of their number, the savant Abbé Canéto, one of -the most distinguished archæologists of the country, whose works are -indispensable to the visitor to Auch and the surrounding places. - -It is quite impressive to see these venerable canons seated in their -carved stalls, worthy of princes, singing the divine Office. Their capes, -we noticed, are trimmed with ermine, probably a mark of their dignity. -To wear furs of any kind was in the Middle Ages an indication of rank, -or, at least, wealth. The English Parliament made a statute in 1334 -forbidding all persons wearing furs that had not an income of one hundred -pounds a year. - -In this church is the altar of Notre Dame d’Auch, the oldest shrine -of the Virgin in the province, first set up at ancient Elusa by S. -Saturninus, the Apostle of Toulouse, and brought here by S. Taurin in the -IVth century, when that place was destroyed by the barbarians. - -The similarity of S. Saturninus’ devotion to that of the present day -is remarkable--devotion to Mary and the Chair of Peter. Everywhere he -erected churches in their honor, as at Elusa, now the town of Eauze. -At Auch he dedicated a church to the Prince of the Apostles, where now -stands the little church of S. Pierre, on the other side of the Gers, -once burned down by the Huguenots. - -The paintings of the Stations of the Cross in the cathedral were given by -a poor servant girl, whose heart at the hour of death turned towards the -sanctuary where she had so often experienced the benefit of meditating -on the Sacred Passion that she was desirous of inciting others to so -salutary a devotion. - -In one of the chapels is a monument to the memory of M. d’Etigny, whose -statue is on the public promenade--the last Intendant of the province, -who employed a part of his immense fortune in building the fine roads -that lead to the watering-places in the Pyrenees, which have added so -much to the prosperity of the country. But he was one of those _cui bono_ -men who always sacrifice the picturesque and the interesting on some -plea of public utility. He destroyed the mediæval character of the city, -with its narrow streets, curious overhanging houses--of which a few -specimens are left--and ancient walls with low arched gateways, made when -mules alone were used for bringing in merchandise. When any sacrifice -is to be made, why must it always fall on what appeals to the eye and -the imagination? Why must some people insist on effacing the venerable -records of past ages to make room for their own utilitarian views? There -are too many of such palimpsests. Is not the world large enough for all -human tastes to find room to express themselves? - -We had, however, no reason to grumble at M. d’Etigny’s fine roads among -the mountains, which saved us, in many instances, from being transported -like the ancient merchandise of Auch, and we nearly forgot his enormities -when we found ourselves at Bagnères-de-Luchon under the shade of the fine -trees he planted in the Cours d’Etigny, where tourists and invalids love -to gather in the evening. - -M. d’Etigny also took an interest in the religious prosperity of -the country. On the corner-stone of a church at Vic Fezensac is the -inscription: _Dominus d’Etigny me posuit_, 1760. This church was built -by Père Pascal, a Franciscan, out of the ruins of the old castle of the -Counts of Fezensac, which he obtained permission to use in spite of the -town authorities, by applying to Mme. de Pompadour, then all-powerful -at court. Do not suppose the good friar paid the least homage to -wickedness in high places by so doing. On the contrary, he boldly began -his petition: “Madame, redeem your sins by your alms.” Instead of taking -offence, the duchess profited by the counsel. The _père_, returning -from Auch with the royal permission, met some of his opponents, wholly -unsuspicious of the truth, to whose pleasantries he replied: “Let me -pass. I am exhausted, for I carry in my cowl the ruins of the castle of -Vic.” - -Auch in those days was only lighted by the lamps that hung before the -niches of the Virgin, and the only night-watchman up to the last century -was the crier, who went about the streets at midnight calling aloud on -the people to be mindful of their soul’s salvation and pray for the -dead. This practice was called the _miseremini_, because the crier -sometimes made use of the words of Job sung in the Mass for the Dead: -_Miseremini, miseremini mei, vos saltem amici mei, quia manus Domini -tetigit me_--“Have pity on me, have pity on me, O ye my friends! for the -hand of the Lord hath touched me.” It was also called the Reveillé, from -the beginning of the verses he sometimes chanted: - - “Réveille-toi, peuple Chrétien, - Réveille-toi, c’est pour ton bien. - Quitte ton lit, prend tes habits, - Pense à la mort de Jésus Christ. - A la mort, à la mort, il faut tous venir, - Tout doit enfin finir. - - Quand de ce monde tu partiras, - Rien qu’un linceul n’emporteras - Ton corps sera mangé des vers - Et peut-être ton âme aux enfers. - A la mort, à la mort, etc. - - Tu passeras le long d’un bois, - Là tu trouveras une croix, - Sur cette croix il y a un écrit - C’est le doux nom de Jésus Christ, - A la mort, à la mort, etc.” - -This crier acted the part of a policeman, keeping an eye on the -evil-doer, and watching over the safety of the town. If he discovered a -door ajar, he entered and aroused the inmates. A startling apparition -he must have been to the offenders of the law. He wore a death’s head -and cross-bones embroidered before and behind, and carried a small bell -in his hand, which he rang from time to time as he passed through -the narrow streets with his lugubrious cry. Of course he was a public -functionary of importance. He figured in full costume in the great -religious processions and took a part in all the public festivities. - -On the sunny terraces of Auch grow the seedless pears which have been so -renowned from time immemorial that they have their place in the annals of -the city. We have fully tested the qualities of these unrivalled pears, -and can sincerely echo all that has been said in their praise. Duchesne, -the physician of Henry IV., an empiric of the school of Paracelsus, and a -famous person in his day, does not forget in his _Diæteticon_ to mention -them among the most famous productions of his country. He places them in -the first rank, and those of Tours in the second. According to him, they -originated in the town of Crustumerium in Italy, and their name, derived -therefrom, was softened by the Italians into Cristiano, whence that -of Bon Chrétien, as they are sometimes called, though not their right -name. Others call them Pompéienne, because, as they say, introduced by -Pompidian, an ancient bishop of Eauze. But everybody with a proper sense -of the case will stoutly attribute them, in accordance with the popular -tradition, to the great S. Oren, whose blessing gave them their rare -qualities, especially the peculiarity of being seedless when the trees -grow within the limit of the city, though this is by no means the case -with those that grow in the environs. - -Dom Brugelles, a Benedictine of last century, mentions this peculiarity -in his Chronicles of the diocese, and says they were in such demand in -his time as to be worth sometimes thirty-six francs a dozen. - -Père Aubéry, in his Latin poem of _Augusta Auscorum_, is enthusiastic in -their praise: “How I love the aspect of these fair gardens enclosed among -sumptuous dwellings! What a wealth of flowers! And the trees bear a fruit -still more worthy of your admiration. The Pompéienne pear, delicious as -the ambrosia of the gods, was reserved for the soil of this city alone. -The trees without its walls, even those that grow close to its trenches, -do not produce the like. This most glorious of fruit is an inappreciable -gift of heaven and earth, which is praised throughout the kingdom and -sold at a great price in distant lands.[145] - -“The pears of the fertile gardens of Touraine cannot be compared to -those whose old name of Pompéienne is now lost in that of Bon Chrétien. -The pears at Tours are as inferior to those of Auch as other honey in -sweetness to that of Hybla. Nay, should the gods themselves by chance -know of these trees, should they taste of these Auscitain pears so -delicious to the palate, they would despise the dishes served at their -celestial banquets--yes, scorn the flowing nectar and sweet ambrosia that -feed their immortality. - -“And as the admirable name of Bon Chrétien is only given the pears that -grow in the gardens of the city, and belongs not to those produced -elsewhere; as it is only within these walls they acquire so agreeable -and appetizing a flavor, their name is a presage that the inhabitants -shall never be infected by the contagion and venom of heresy--a scourge -that has attacked almost all the towns of Armagnac--and that the Mother -of Christ, patroness of Auch, by averting this poison, shall keep them -faithful to the rites of their ancestors, and fill them with eternal love -for the ancient religion.” - -M. Lafforgue, in his _History of Auch_, says these pears are so -prized that they are often presented to princes, governors, and other -distinguished characters. When Elizabeth Farnese, Queen of Spain, passed -through Auch on her way to join her husband Philip V., in Nov., 1714, -the city consuls offered her, as they had done the Dukes of Berry and -Burgundy in 1701, some of the _poires d’Auch_. Twenty dozen, which cost -one hundred and forty-three livres, were presented her in straw boxes -made by the Ursuline nuns.[146] - -When Mr. Laplagne, a native of this part of the country, and Minister of -Finance under Louis Philippe, boasted in M. Guizot’s presence, with true -Gascon expansiveness, of the seedless pears that grow on the terraces of -Auch, the latter, with the distrust of certain great minds, expressed -some incredulity. M. Laplagne resolved to convince the President of -the Council publicly, and procured at some expense an enormous pear, -ripened on the very terrace which a century before had produced the fruit -so vaunted by Dom Brugelles. Fifty guests were invited to witness the -result. They assembled around the table, in the centre of which was -displayed the wonderful pear from Auch. M. Guizot could hardly believe -his eyes at such a prodigy, and declared himself convinced. The dessert -was impatiently awaited. The Minister of Finance, certain of victory, -insisted on M. Guizot’s opening the pear. It was set before him. He cut -it in two with some difficulty--it contained four large seeds! - -In spite of this exceptional case, the _poires d’Auch_ (their right name, -by the way) that grow within the limits of the city are generally without -seeds. The superabundant pulp seems to stifle them. They are still the -pride of the place, and it was only a year or two ago a number were sent -to his Holiness Pius IX. - -Père Aubéry, whom I have quoted, was connected with the college at Auch, -formerly under the direction of the Jesuits. S. Francis Regis was also -for some time one of its professors. Among the eminent men educated here -may be mentioned Cardinal d’Ossat, who, when _chargé d’affaires_ at Rome, -succeeded in obtaining the absolution of Henry IV. from the Holy See. He -was a poor country lad, whose condition, exciting the pity of the canons -of Trie, they made him a choirboy, and sent him to school. He became -successively a charity scholar of the Jesuits at Auch, the _protégé_ of -Cardinal de Foix and his secretary of embassy at Rome, and, finally, -_chargé d’affaires_ at the Papal court and Cardinal-bishop of Bayeux. He -died at Rome in 1604, bequeathing the little he possessed to the poor -and his two secretaries. This celebrated diplomatist was an honor to his -country and the church that developed his talents. - -The famous Nostradamus was another pupil of this college. - -Bernard du Poey, a disciple of Buchanan, and a poet of some note, was -professor here when the college was under the direction of laymen. We -give one of his epigrams, written while connected with this institution: - - “Lucis amore simul fœdam protrudimus omnem - Barbariem: tenebris nec patet ista domus.” - -“The love of light makes us cast away every vestige of barbarism: this -house opens not to darkness.” - -“Barbarism”--“light”--“darkness”--a jargon often heard in our day also, -and it still finds its dupes. The would-be metaphysicians and theologians -who use it should meditate on this sentence of Berkeley’s: “We first -raise a dust, and then complain we cannot see!” - -Once more on the way. It is not till we approach Rabastens we see an -opening in the outer range of the Pyrenees, and behold Mt. Maladetta -raising heavenward its glittering diadem of glaciers. Behind is Spain, -religious Spain, “land of an eternal crusade” and wondrous saints. -Rabastens is one of the most ancient towns in Bigorre, and celebrated in -the religious wars: It was here Blaise de Monluc received the frightful -wound in his face which obliged him to wear a mask the rest of his life, -and gave him the leisure to write his Commentaries, which Henry IV. -called the Soldier’s Bible. This old warrior, deprived of nearly all his -limbs, coolly relates a thousand incidents of incredible bravery in the -boasting manner of a true Gascon, that does not ill become a book written -for the defenders of Gascony. - -Twelve miles or so further on is Tarbes, the _chef-lieu_ of the Hautes -Pyrénées--“gentille Reine.” - -“Bigourdaine,” as Jasmin says, “splendidement assise au milieu de la -plaine la plus fraiche, la plus fertile et la plus variée.” The water -from the Adour, first brought here to fill the moat that surrounded the -city, is now used to turn mills and fertilize the meadows, which are -wonderfully fresh, affording a charming contrast to the mountains in the -background. - -The foundation of Tarbes is lost in the remoteness of time. Its -occupation by the Romans is evident from the camp still pointed out in -the vicinity. Bigorre, of which it was the principal city, was made -a _comté_ in the VIIIth century, and its succession of counts was -uninterrupted till Henry IV. ascended the throne of France. Its first -count was Enéco (or Inigo) Arista, or The Bold, who became King of -Navarre, and rivalled the Cid in prowess. - -Bigorre was ceded to the English by the treaty of Brittany, but when -war again broke out between England and France two great barons of the -province, Menaud de Barbazan and the Sire d’Anchin, as Froissart relates, -seized the city and castle of Tarbes, and all Bigorre rose to expel the -English, who only continued to hold for a time the impregnable fortresses -of Lourdes and Mauvezin. This Lord of Barbazan was a companion in arms -of Du Guesclin and took sides with the Armagnacs, his kinsmen, in their -famous contest with the house of Foix. His son, Arnauld Guilhem de -Barbazan, was the valiant knight who wore so worthily the fair flower of -a blameless life that he received the title, which he was the first to -bear, of the _chevalier sans peur et sans reproche_, conferred on him by -his contemporaries. Monstrelet says he was a noble knight, prompt in -action, fertile in expedients, and renowned in arms. He was the leader -in the famous encounter between seven French and seven English knights -at Saintonge in 1402, when the latter challenged the French to a trial -of arms out of love for _les dames de leurs pensées_. The French knights -began the day by devoutly hearing Mass and receiving the Holy Body of the -Lord. Jouvenel des Ursins depicts the fearful encounter, which took place -in presence of a vast number of spectators, among whom was the Count of -Armagnac. Lances were shivered and terrible blows given with sword and -battle-axe, but it was Barbazan who decided the day, and the English were -forced to acknowledge themselves defeated. The conquerors, clothed in -white, were led in triumph to the King, who loaded them with presents. To -the Chevalier de Barbazan he gave a purse of gold and a sword on one side -of which was graven, _Barbazan sans reproche_, in letters of gold; and -on the other, _Ut lapsu graviore ruant_. This sword is still preserved -in the Château de Faudoas by the descendants of Barbazan’s sister. The -chivalric deeds that won it were commemorated not only in the chronicles -of the time, but in three ballads of Christine de Pisan. - -Barbazan was as noble in heart as heroic in action. He took sides with -Count Bernard VII. of Armagnac against the Duke of Burgundy, but, when -the latter fell a victim to treachery, he indignantly condemned the -crime, and said he would rather have died than had a hand in it. He -fought side by side with Dunois, Lahire, and La Trémouille, at Orleans, -Auxerre, and many another battle-field. His last exploit was to rout -eight thousand English and Burgundian troops near Chalons, with only -three thousand, a few months after the atrocious murder of Joan of Arc, -under whose white banner he had fought. - -So valuable were his services that the king conferred on him the -magnificent title of “Restaurateur du royaume et de la couronne de -France,” and added the _fleurs-de-lis_ to his arms. Soldiers received -knighthood from his hands as if he were a king. When he died, he was -buried at St. Denis among the kings of France with all the honors of -royalty--a supreme honor, of which there are only two other instances in -French history--Du Guesclin and Turenne. - -The feudal castle of Barbazan is on a steep hill a few miles southeast -of Tarbes. The Roman inscriptions found there show it to be of extreme -antiquity. On the summit of the hill is the chapel of Notre Dame de -Piétat, built by Anne de Bourbon, Lord of Barbazan, to receive a -miraculous Madonna that had long been an object of veneration to the -people around. He founded two weekly Masses here, one in honor of the -holy name of God, and the other of the Virgin, and he bequeathed lands -for the support of the chapel, which is still a pious resort for pilgrims. - -The Cathedral of Tarbes is built on the ruins of the ancient fortress -of Bigorre, which gave its name to the surrounding province. The -bishops have an important place in the annals of the country. Under the -Merovingian race of kings they held the rank of princes, and were the -peers of the proudest barons in the land. We find several saints in the -list--S. Justin, S. Faustus, and S. Landeol, whose venerable forms look -down from the windows of the chancel in the cathedral. Gregory of Tours -mentions S. Justin, and speaks of a lily on his tomb that bloomed every -year on the day of his martyrdom. - -Bernard II., a bishop of Tarbes in the year 1009, merits the admiration -of posterity for his efforts to relieve his flock during a terrible -famine of three years, in which people devoured one another to such an -extent that a law was made condemning those who ate human flesh to be -burned alive. The holy bishop, like S. Exuperius of Toulouse, sold all -the vessels and ornaments of the church, and gave all he possessed, to -alleviate the wants of his people. - -His successor stayed a civil war that broke out, to add to the distress -of the country, by assembling the chief lords of the land and conjuring -them not to add fire and pillage to the horrors of famine, but rather -seek to disarm the vengeance of heaven by their prayers. He established -the Truce of God in his diocese, and had the happiness of seeing peace -and abundance restored to the land. These old bishops seemed to have some -correct notions of their obligations, though they did live in the darkest -of the Middle Ages! - -In the time of a bishop who belonged to the house of Foix appeared a -comet which alarmed all Europe. The Pope profited by the universal terror -to recommend a stricter practice of the Christian virtues, in order, as -he said, if any danger were at hand, that the faithful might be saved. -The Bishop of Tarbes instituted public processions on the occasion. - -It was a Bishop of Tarbes, the Cardinal Gabriel de Gramont, who in -the XVIth century played so important a part in the negotiations -between Henry VIII. of England and the Pope to dissolve the marriage -of the former with Catherine of Aragon. The king pretended to act from -conscientious motives, and said the Bishop of Tarbes confirmed his -scruples. We need something more than the mere word of a monarch who -violated the most solemn promises and obligations to induce us to believe -in the complicity of the bishop, though, deceived by the representations -of the king, and alarmed at the consequences of a rupture with the Holy -See, he may have endeavored to temporize, that the crisis might be -delayed. - -Tarbes was taken by the Huguenots under the ferocious Count de Montgomery -in the XVIth century. He devastated the cathedral, and burned its fine -organ, its altars, vestments, choral books, library, and chapter-house. -The bells were melted down, the bishop’s house pillaged and burned, as -well as the residences of the canons, the convents of the Cordeliers, -Carmelites, etc. The bishop was forced to retreat to the mountains, -where, charmed by the picturesque heights above the valley of Luz, he -re-established the springs of S. Sauveur, and built a little chapel with -the inscription: _Vos haurietis aquas de fontibus Salvatoris_; whence the -name since given this watering-place was derived. - -It is recorded of a bishop in the XVIIth century, as something -extraordinary, that, contrary to custom, he allowed his flock, in a time -of famine, to eat meat during Lent on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. -He probably had the liberal proclivities of Bishop Hébert of Agen, -already mentioned! - -Finally, it was a Bishop of Tarbes who, in these days, restored four -devout chapels of the Virgin, of ancient renown in the country, but -profaned at the Revolution and left desolate, and gave them back to Mary -with priests to minister at their altars: Notre Dame de Garaison, in a -valley of the Hautes Pyrénées; Notre Dame de Piétat, overlooking the -plain of Tarbes; Notre Dame de Poueylahun, on a picturesque peak that -rises from the valley of Azun; and Notre Dame de Héas, the Madonna of -shepherds, in a hollow of the wild mountains near the Spanish frontier--a -powerful quadrilateral for the defence of this diocese of Mary. The -memory of Bishop Lawrence will likewise be for ever associated with -the church of Notre Dame de Lourdes, for it was he who, by his zeal, -prudence, and spiritual insight contributed so greatly to its foundation. -It became the cherished object of interest in his old age. He begged for -it, labored for it, and watched over the progress of the work. His last -act before attending the Council of the Vatican was a pilgrimage to the -sacred Grotto, and while at Rome his heart was constantly turning to this -new altar in Mary’s honor, and testifying great joy at the splendor of -the solemnities. He died at Rome in January, 1870, and his remains were -brought back to Tarbes for burial. - -At Tarbes we changed cars for Lourdes. Here we received our first -impressions of the great religious movement in the country, manifested -by the immense pilgrimages, which rival those of the Middle Ages. We -encountered a train of pilgrims with red crosses on their breasts and -huge rosaries around their necks. There were gentlemen and ladies, and -priests and sisters of different religious orders. Among them was a -cardinal, whose hand people knelt to kiss as he issued from the cars. -They all had radiant faces, as if they had been on some joyful mission -instead of a penitential pilgrimage. But one of the fruits of penitence -and faith is joy in the highest sense of the word. Spenser wisely makes -the proud Sansfoy the father of Sansjoy. - -Leaving them behind, we kept on in full view of the mountains along a -fine plateau called Lanne Maurine, or the Land of the Moors. The Moorish -invasion, though more than a thousand years ago, has left ineffaceable -traces all through this country. The traveller is always coming across -them. In one place is the Fountain of the Moors; in another the Castle of -the Moors; and there are many families who still bear the names of Maure -and Mouret. The Lanne Maurine is so called from a bloody combat which -took place here to dispute the possession of the plain. It was a priest -who roused the people to arms and led them against the infidel, whom they -smote hip and thigh. A grateful people have erected an equestrian statue -to his memory at the entrance of his village church. - -We were now rapidly approaching Lourdes. Already the Pic du Gers rose -out of the valley sacred to Mary, and the heart instinctively turns from -everything else to hail the new star that has risen in these favored -heavens to diffuse the pure radiance of the Immaculate Conception! - - -A LITTLE BIRD. - - In his cage my blithe canary, swinging, - Trills with merry voice a roundelay; - From the early sunrise he is singing, - Chirping, flying, flitting all the day. - - They who call it cruel thus to hold him - Never saw his joyous, twinkling eyes, - Never heard the something that I told him - Once, beneath delusive April skies: - - When my hand drew back the sliding casement, - Bidding him be happy and go free, - Thinking all the while, in self-abasement, - Never more a jailer stern to be. - - So I left him, lingering, fearing, sighing, - Loath to watch him soar and speed away, - Loath to see him from my roof-tree flying, - Sad to miss his songs and pretty play. - - Evening fell, and in my chamber lying, - Wondering where the bird had found a nest, - What was that around me feebly flying, - What was that low drooping on my breast? - - Ruffled plumage, tiny pinions weary, - Every flutter seemed a throb of pain; - Ah! the prison-house was not so dreary, - Tired Robin had come home again! - - They who deem it cruel thus to hold him - Should have seen the wanderer’s listless eyes - Greet the loving care so quick to fold him - Safe and warm from show’ry April skies. - - Never morning now but sees him flitting - In and out, as happy as can be; - Never twilight but it finds him sitting - Drowsy-eyed, a willing captive he. - - Birdie, warbler, beautiful canary! - Trill the fulness of thy roundelay; - Of the rippling sweetness never chary, - Sing, my pretty Robin, all the day! - - -EARLY ANNALS OF CATHOLICITY IN NEW JERSEY. - -The first navigators who are known to have sailed along the seaboard, -and perhaps to have landed on the soil of that part of America now -called New Jersey, were Catholics, and in fact made their voyages before -Protestantism was heard of. These hardy men were Sebastian Cabot, a -Venetian in the service of King Henry VII. of England, who sailed from -Bristol in the month of May, 1498, and, proceeding considerably to the -north, afterwards turned south and followed the coast-line as far as -the Chesapeake; and John Verazzano, a Florentine in the pay of the King -of France, who, taking a southerly course to America in 1524, proceeded -along the coast from Florida to the fiftieth degree of north latitude, -and is supposed to have entered the harbor of New York. The earliest -colony established here was about 1620, when Dutch Calvinists (emigrants -from Holland) settled the town of Bergen; and in 1638, a party of -Swedes, who were Lutherans, made several settlements on the shore of -the Delaware. They were under the patronage of their celebrated Queen -Christina, who later became a Catholic. In 1664, a grant of the country -between the Connecticut and the Delaware rivers was made by King Charles -II. of England--the Swedes having been subjugated by the Hollanders, and -these in their turn by the English--to his brother the Duke of York, -who afterwards was a sincere convert to the Catholic faith, and reigned -as James II. That portion of this territory which is now New Jersey -was sold by the royal patron to two proprietors, one of whom was Sir -George Carteret; and it was in his honor that it received its present -name, for his having defended during the Parliamentary war against the -Revolutionists the island of _Jersey_, which is one of the so-called -Channel Isles on the coast of France, and is full of ancient churches and -other memorials of the Catholic faith, introduced there by S. Helier in -the VIth century. - -But apart from the name there was nothing that recalled the Catholic -religion in New Jersey. The most intense anti-Catholic sentiment was -prevalent, and the bitter fanaticism of the mother country was extended -even to these parts with perhaps increased virulence. Thus, in 1679, the -26th of November was appointed a day of thanksgiving in the colony for -deliverance from what was called “that horrid plot of the Papists to -murder the King (Charles II.) and destroy all the Protestants!”--which -was the infamous affair of Titus Oates, gotten up maliciously against -the Catholics to have still another pretext for persecuting them. The -whole province having been divided into two parts, called respectively -East and West New Jersey, the latter was settled, to mention only -the English-speaking population, mostly by members of the Society of -Friends, commonly called Quakers, from England, but the former by -Scotch Presbyterians and Congregationalists from New England; and of -this part Robert Barclay was appointed first governor for life, but, -having power to name a deputy, he remained in Scotland. This miserable -man, after having become a Catholic in France, where he had an uncle a -priest, who was at the expense of educating him, relapsed into heresy -shortly after returning to his native country, where his religion was -proscribed, and finally joined the Quakers, for whom he wrote the -famous _Apology_. A circumstance in the life of this apostate shows -well the constancy of the royal convert who lost three kingdoms for his -faith, and must have reminded him of his own instability upon the same -matter. Barclay was in London in 1688, probably on business connected -with his government of East New Jersey, and solicited an interview with -King James. The revolution was already breaking, and his treacherous -son-in-law, afterwards William III., was on his way to dethrone him; -when, standing by an open window of the palace, his Majesty observed to -the governor that the wind was fair for the Prince of Orange to come -over: whereupon Barclay replied that it was hard no expedient could be -found to satisfy the people. The king declared he would do anything -becoming a gentleman except “_parting with liberty of conscience_, which -he never would while he lived.” The king was indeed a martyr to this -principle, and how much it was despised by his Protestant betrayers may -be seen, to give an example out of these parts, from the instruction -given in 1703 to Lord Cornbury, governor of the Jerseys (as well as -of New York), “to permit liberty of conscience to all persons _except -Papists_”; and this barbarous intolerance continued as long as the -colonies remained united to England. Every now and then glaring cases of -anti-Catholic bigotry, calculated only to perpetuate civil dissensions -sprung from religious differences, were found in the history of the -colony; as, for instance, in 1757, when the principal edifice of the -College of New Jersey at Princeton was named by Governor Belcher _Nassau -Hall_--“to express,” he said, “the honor we retain in this remote part -of the globe to the immortal memory of the glorious King William III., -who was a branch of the illustrious house of Nassau, and who, under -God, was the great deliverer of the British nation from those two -_monstrous furies_, _Popery_ and slavery.” About this period there were -a few Jesuit priests in Maryland and Pennsylvania; and the earliest -account that we have of Catholics in New Jersey is in 1744, when we -read that Father Theodore Schneider, a distinguished German Jesuit who -had professed philosophy and theology in Europe, and been rector of a -university, coming to the American Provinces, “visited New Jersey and -held church at Iron Furnaces there.” This good missionary was a native -of Bavaria. He founded the mission at Goshenhoppen, now in Berks county, -Pennsylvania, about forty-five miles from Philadelphia, and ministered -to German Catholics, their descendants, and others. Having some skill in -medicine, he used to cure the body as well as the soul; and, travelling -about on foot or on horseback under the name of Doctor Schneider -(leaving to the _Smelfunguses_ to discover whether he were of medicine -or divinity), he had access to places where he could not otherwise have -gone without personal danger; but sometimes his real character was found -out, and he was several times raced and shot at in New Jersey. He used -to carry about with him on his missionary excursions into this province -a manuscript copy of the _Roman Missal_, carefully written out in his -own handwriting and bound by himself. His poverty or the difficulty of -procuring printed Catholic liturgical books from Europe, or, we are -inclined to think, the danger of discovery should such an one with its -unmistakable marks of “Popery” about it (which he probably dispensed -with in his manuscript), fall into the hands of heretics, must have led -him to this labor of patience and zeal. Father Schneider, who may be -reckoned the first missionary of New Jersey, died on the 11th of July, -1764. Another Jesuit used to visit the province occasionally after 1762, -owing to the growing infirmities of Father Schneider, and there still -exist records of baptisms performed by him here. This was the Rev. Robert -Harding, a native of England, who arrived in America in 1732. He died at -Philadelphia on the 1st of September, 1772. But the priest principally -connected with the early missions in New Jersey is the Rev. Ferdinand -Farmer. He was born in South Germany in 1720, and, having entered the -Society of Jesus, was sent to Maryland in 1752. His real name was -Steenmeyer, but on coming to this country he changed it into one more -easily pronounced by English-speaking people. He was learned and zealous, -and for many years performed priestly duties in New Jersey at several -places in the northern part, and seems to have been the first to visit -this colony regularly. In his baptismal register the following among -other places are named, together with the dates of his ministrations: -a station called Geiger’s, in 1759; Charlottenburg, in 1769; Morris -County, Long Pond, and Mount Hope, in 1776; Sussex County, Ringwood, -and Hunterdon County, in 1785. The chief congregation at this period -was at a place called Macoupin (now in Passaic County), about fifteen -miles from the present city of Paterson. It was settled in the middle of -the last century by Germans, who were brought over to labor in the iron -mines and works in this part of the province. Two families from Baden -among the colonists were Catholics; and the first priest who visited them -is said to have been a Mr. Langrey from Ireland. Mount Hope, not far -from Macoupin, used to be visited by Father Farmer twice a year, and by -other priests, as occasion might require, from Philadelphia. Except the -Catholics in the northern parts, there were very few scattered about New -Jersey before the American Revolution. The schoolmaster at Mount Holly -in 1762 was an Irish Catholic named Thomas McCurtain, and one of his -descendants is the distinguished scholar and antiquarian, John G. Shea. -The Catholics in these colonies before American Independence were subject -in spiritual matters to the Bishop (vicar-apostolic) of London, who used -to appoint a vicar-general (the superior of the Jesuits in Maryland) to -supply his place. After the suppression of the Society of Jesus in 1773, -the vicar-general. Father John Lewis, was the late superior of the order -in this country. The visits of the missionaries to New Jersey seem to -have been interrupted during the Revolutionary War; but a number of very -distinguished foreign Catholics serving in our army honored the land by -their presence in such a cause. Among them we find Lafayette, Chevalier -Massillon, De Kalb, Pulaski, Kosciusko, and Mauduit du Plessis, the -engineer officer who fortified Fort Mercer, at Red Bank on the Delaware, -with so much skill that the attacking Hessians were thoroughly repulsed. -In the months of August and September, 1781, the French troops under -De Rochambeau marched diagonally across the State from Sufferns (just -over line) in New York, by way of Pompton, Whippany, Byram’s Tavern, -Somerville, Princeton, and Trenton. An army chaplain, the Abbé Robin, -published a little book in 1782, describing this French expedition from -New Port to York-town; but, regrettably, he gives his readers not a word -about any Catholics that he may have met or heard of in New Jersey. - -After the evacuation of New York by the British in 1783, there was a -prospect of collecting the few scattered Catholics on Manhattan Island -into a congregation, and the venerable Father Farmer used to go twice a -year to visit the faithful there, across the northern part of this State, -stopping on his way to officiate at Macoupin. On the 22d of September, -1785, the Rev. John Carroll, who had been appointed by the Pope superior -of the church in the United States and empowered to give Confirmation, -set out on a tour to administer this sacrament at Philadelphia, New York, -and (as he writes to a friend) “in the upper counties of the Jerseys and -Pennsylvania, where our worthy German brethren had formed congregations.” -In this year Rev. Mr. Carroll computed the number of Catholics under his -charge at sixteen thousand in Maryland, seven thousand in Pennsylvania, -and two thousand scattered about the other States. The number of priests -was nineteen in Maryland and five in Pennsylvania. We learn how small was -the grain of mustard-seed of the church in this part of the world less -than a hundred years ago, when we see that there was no resident priest -at that time between Canada and Pennsylvania; and it used to be said -contemptuously (so Watson has it in his _Annals_): “John Leary goes once -a year to Philadelphia to get absolution.” This worthy man therefore, -who was certainly living in New York in 1774, had to leave that city and -cross the whole of New Jersey before he could perform his Easter duties. -The earlier editions of Catholic books printed in the United States -were generally gotten up by subscription, and a perusal of the lists of -subscribers is interesting, as giving some idea of the number, zeal, -and original nationality (conjectured from the form of patronymic) of -the Catholics at the time. Thus, to the first Catholic Bible published -in the United States, at Philadelphia in 1790, only six out of the four -hundred and twenty-seven subscribers were from New Jersey. These are -Joseph Bloomfield, Attorney-General of the State; James Craft and R. S. -Jones, Burlington; John Holmes, Cape May; Alexander Kenney, near (New) -Brunswick; and Maurice Moynihan, Atsion; but in considering this, the -most interesting to us of any lists of subscribers to early Catholic -books, we must remember that the names are not all of Catholics; and of -these six from New Jersey the last three only are considered orthodox by -Archbishop Bayley in his appendix to the _History of the Catholic Church -in New York_ (2d ed.) - -The massacre of 1793 in the Island of Hayti drove a number of French -Catholics to the United States, some of whom settled at Mount Holly, -Elizabethtown, and other parts of the State, but we do not know that they -did anything for the church. Catholic advance was to come from quite -another immigration. In 1805, or earlier, the Rev. John Tisserant, one -of the French clergy driven from home by the Revolution, was living at -Elizabethtown. He was an excellent man, and may be considered the first -resident priest in New Jersey, although he cannot be said to have been -_stationed_ here by authority. He returned to Europe in June, 1806. The -minister of the Presbyterian church at Whippany (Morris County) from 1791 -to 1795 was Calvin White. “His ministry, though brief, was useful,” says -the historian. He afterwards connected himself with the Episcopalians, -and finally became a Catholic. A conversion of this kind at that period -was sufficiently remarkable, we think, to be mentioned in notes on the -Catholic Church in New Jersey. - -In the year 1808, the dioceses of New York and Philadelphia were erected, -with the northern part of New Jersey within the former and the southern -within the latter diocese. This arrangement continued until 1853; and -while it lasted religion made some progress here, but slowly. The Rev. -Richard Bulger, a native of Kilkenny, Ireland, having come to the -American Mission, was ordained priest by Bishop Connolly of New York, in -1820. He was assistant at the cathedral in New York, and thence regularly -attended Paterson, where he devoted himself to the Catholics gathered in -that manufacturing town, and scattered about the upper part of the State. -The church at Paterson is mentioned in the Almanac of 1822; it being then -the only one in New Jersey. The pastor was exposed to inconvenience, -insults, and hardship. One evening, for instance, a bigoted ruffian threw -a large jagged stone into his lighted room, the shutters or window-blinds -having been left unclosed, and he had a narrow escape from a hole in his -head. On another occasion he was rudely turned out on to the muddy road -with his Breviary and bundle from a country cart, the driver of which had -given him a lift until he discovered that he was a priest. The account, -however, says that it was the farmer’s _wife_ who “declared that he -should not remain in the wagon”; and the man afterwards applied to Father -Bulger for instruction, and was received into the church, but we do not -hear of the conversion of the scold--perhaps because (as an old poet says) - - “Women’s feet run still astray, - If once to ill they know the way”! - - --_Habington._ - -About 1825, that part of New Jersey under the jurisdiction of the Bishop -of Philadelphia used to be visited occasionally by clergymen from beyond -the Delaware, and stations were established at Pleasant Mills and -Trenton, which continued to be served, but without resident pastors (we -believe), until the diocese of Newark was erected. The city of Newark -had a pastor about 1830 in the person of Rev. Gregory Pardow, who was -in 1834 the only priest actually residing in New Jersey. After this -period churches were erected not only in the principal city, Newark, but -also in Jersey City, Perth Amboy, Belleville, Madison, New Brunswick, -Elizabethtown, Macoupin, and other centres of population. The church at -Macoupin was erected in 1841 by Father John Raffeiner, a native of the -Tyrol, who came to this country in 1833, and used to visit the Germans -scattered through New Jersey; and in 1842 a church in Newark for the -German Catholics was erected by Father Balleis, a Benedictine monk. On -the 30th of October, 1853, the Rt. Rev. J. R. Bayley, at the time a -priest in New York, was consecrated first bishop of Newark, the diocese -being coextensive with the State; and, on his taking possession of his -see, found thirty-three churches and thirty clergymen. Since then the -advance of the Catholic religion here has been rapid; and when Bishop -Bayley was transferred to Baltimore, he left to his successor what is -considered, we believe, one of the completest dioceses in the United -States--a disciplined clergy, religious orders of both sexes, diocesan -seminary, college for higher education, academy for young ladies, select -and parochial schools, orphan asylums, hospitals, cemeteries, and other -Christian institutions, in a flourishing condition. The progress of the -church during these latter years has been before the eyes of all; and -as we have intended to limit ourselves to the period anterior to the -erection of New Jersey into a diocese, in making notes on Catholicity in -the State, we now end them, if even a little abruptly. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - MANUAL OF THE BLESSED SACRAMENT. Translated from the French of - Rev. T. B. Boone, S.J., by Mrs. Annie Blount Storrs. New York: - The Catholic Publication Society. 1875. 18mo, pp. 509. - -The publication of this manual supplies a real want which many devout -persons have felt, and which they will now find fully satisfied. It is -a companion for the altar, a treasure of pious reading, of meditation -and prayers, for Mass, Communion, Visits to the Blessed Sacrament, -Confraternities, and days of special devotion, such as Corpus Christi -and the Forty Hours’ Adoration. It is translated from the French by -an accomplished lady well fitted for the task, and has been carefully -examined and corrected by several clergymen of New York who are -distinguished for their learning and piety. The approbation of the -Cardinal is the best proof of the excellence of the work, for, apart -from the authoritative character of his sanction, no one is better able -to appreciate a work of this kind, or to judge of its merits, than His -Eminence; and we are assured that he has not simply contented himself -with the examination requisite to make sure that this manual is orthodox -in doctrine, and therefore fit for publication, but has warmly interested -himself in its translation and preparation for the press, on account of -his high estimate of its value. In Belgium, where devotion to the Blessed -Sacrament especially flourishes, it is the favorite book of its kind. -The treatise on frequent communion is especially thorough and important; -and there is one, also, on the devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus--a -devotion so intimately connected with that of the Blessed Sacrament of -the Altar. We need not add, after this, that we recommend the manual -in a special manner to religious communities, and to the faithful -generally. We trust that their own personal experience of the benefit and -consolation to be derived from its use will secure their cordial assent -to the praise we have bestowed upon it, and that it will become as -popular here as it is in Belgium. - - THE LIFE OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST. By Louis Veuillot. - Translated into English by the Rev. Anthony Farley. From the - Seventh French Edition. New York: The Catholic Publication - Society. 1875. - -At last we welcome in English a work published eleven years ago. Written -in answer to Renan, “It is truly,” says the translator, “what our Holy -Father Pius IX. calls it, ‘A vindication of the outraged Godhead of -Christ.’” The letter of the Holy Father is prefixed to the table of -contents. - -We transcribe what the translator says in apology for reproducing the -work at this late hour: - - “Appearing as it does some time after the existence of the - original work, it might seem that the object of the book had - ceased to be, had been forgotten, or was of no moment to the - public of our day and of our country. But when we remember - the deep impression produced by Renan’s work--an impression - stamped (it would seem indelibly) upon the religious literature - and religious teaching of our times--we have to admit that a - vindication of Christ, _the God-Man_, is as necessary to-day - as it was when the new Voltaire appeared to shock religious - sentiment in France and in the world. ‘Christus heri et hodie,’ - is the war-cry of the foes, just as much as the trust and - comfort of the faithful lovers of the God-Man.” - -Next comes Louis Veuillot’s preface, which should be read with more -attention than is generally accorded to prefaces. Indeed, we think few -who begin to read it will hesitate to go through. The author reminds us -that himself was once a sceptic; and throws a light upon the unbelieving -mind--upon the cause and nature of unbelief--which only such a man with -such an experience can throw. - -His aim in writing Our Lord’s life is to show the overwhelming force -of the simple Gospel story. He contends (and we are sure he is right) -that, while the “deniers and falsifiers of the truth have been admirably -refuted in every objection raised by them,” yet, “since their supreme -art lies in feigning and producing _ignorance_, the essential point -should be to reply especially to what they do _not_ say. This is what we -unavoidably forget” (pp. 17, 18). Then, referring to Renan, he continues: - - “The last of those wicked impugners of the divinity of - Christ our Lord who has rendered himself celebrated has well - understood, in a book of five or six hundred pages, how to - speak of Jesus Christ without pointing him out. Perpetually - avoiding all that belongs to God, with the same stroke he - perverts all that belongs to _the man_. This artifice of - weakness is the only strength of the book. It has drawn the - apologist into the discussion of trifles in which the Man-God - completely disappears. The refutations are excellent, but they - leave us ignorant of what Jesus Christ has done, and for what - purpose he came into the world. Thus it is not Christ who has - the case gained, yet less the laborious reader of so much - controversy; it is this miserable man, who has proposed to - himself to betray God and his neighbor.” - -And again: - - “The clement wisdom of Jesus has not been left to the mercy of - sophists, nor to the resources of reason, nor to lowliness or - feebleness of faith. It has foreseen the weakness of the mind - of man, and has prepared a succor always victorious. It is not - necessary to ransack the libraries, to collect together so - many dead languages, so much history, so much physics, so much - philosophy, to know with certainty him who came to save the - little ones and the ignorant. The bread of life is as easy to - find as the material bread, on the same conditions. A simple, - faithful Christian or member of the Church of God, a man of the - world, provided he may have studied a few books and heard some - instruction, can render an account of his faith far better than - the ‘savants,’ the pretended unbelievers, are in a condition to - give an account of their incredulity. The Gospel is sufficient - for that. - - “The Gospel contains motives conclusive of the faith in Jesus - Christ, true God and true man--motives, reasons, which the - Saviour himself has put forth. We can paralyze, by the contents - of the Gospel, the sophistry of the infidel, without being - shocked by its contact. What does it matter that the sophist - should amass notes against the sincerity of the Evangelists, if - we have clear proof that he of whom the Evangelists speak is - God? On bended knees, before _the Real Presence_, one is not - tempted to withdraw from its contemplation in order to consider - or view more closely this vile apparition of blasphemy. We - are by no means bound to extract from it open avowals of - repentance.” - -Then he gives the reason for this sufficiency of the Gospel: - - “There are different degrees in the region of the mind; - discussion belongs to the inferior degrees. In discussing, man - is pitted against man; the reason of the one seems as good as - that of the other. In expounding, we place God against man. - - “This exposition of the truth must get the preference when God - is absolutely and personally in the case. From the apex of - those lofty heights the voice of man properly avoids discussing - with nothingness, lest weak human reason might be inclined to - believe that nothingness could reply; that the beauty of truth - might appear alone in the presence of the absolute deformity of - falsehood.” - -And again: - - “Among infidels ignorance of the Gospel is generally complete; - among a great many Christians it is hardly less so. They know - the Gospel by heart, and they do not understand it. They - have not read it with care, with order, such as it has been - delivered. They do not know how to explain it or meditate on it - as they ought. Whosoever sees in the Gospel only the letter, - does not understand even the letter; and whosoever seeks for - morality only in its pages, does not find the morality they - contain.” - -Lastly, he dismisses Renan’s _Life_ in the following masterly words: - - “As to a certain malicious book which unhappily signalizes the - age in which we live, we have been obliged to refer to it two - or three times. We could have wished not to touch on it. The - first sentiments of Catholics on this deplorable book have - become much modified since they have been enabled to perceive - more exactly the malicious industry of the author. While we see - him assume the task of ignoring, we are convinced he is yet far - from having lost the faith. He dare not look upon the crucifix - face to face--he would fear to see the blood trickling down. - In his conscience he declares himself a traitor. This is the - confession which we read in his book, turned resolutely away - from the light of day. We blame this miserable man, and we - detest and abhor his crime; but he is to be pitied, and every - Christian will be happy to say to him what Ananias said to - Saul: ‘My brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, _who appeared to you on - the road whence you are coming_, has sent me to meet you, so - that you may receive your sight.’” - - A DISCOURSE COMMEMORATIVE OF HON. SAMUEL WILLISTON. By W. - S. Tyler, Williston Professor of Greek in Amherst College. - Springfield, Mass.: Clark W. Bryan & Co. 1874. - -The venerable gentleman commemorated in this discourse died on the -18th of July, 1874, at an advanced age, after a life which is in many -respects remarkable and worthy of lasting remembrance. His history is -interesting, as presenting the most distinctive and admirable traits of -the genuine old-fashioned New England type of character. It is remarkable -on account of the great works which he performed during his lifetime. It -is honorable and worthy of remembrance on account of the great example -it presents to wealthy men, of a man who realized the proper position -which men of large fortunes ought to take in the community, as public -benefactors, as founders, as stewards of wealth for the common good. -Mr. Williston was the son of a poor country clergyman whose salary was -$300 a year. Disappointed in his early efforts to obtain a liberal -education by an affection of the eyes which debarred him from the -pleasure of reading all his lifetime, he set himself to the task of -making a fortune that he might have the means of promoting education and -in other ways benefiting his fellow-men, especially those of his own -neighborhood and commonwealth. He was successful in this undertaking, -and, besides the large fortune which he left at death to his heirs, he -is said to have bestowed a million of dollars in public beneficent works -during his lifetime, and to have bequeathed more than half that sum by -testament for similar purposes. He was the second founder of Amherst -College, the founder of the Williston Seminary at Easthampton, and of -the beautiful town of that name, which Prof. Tyler says “he found a -mere hamlet, and left one of the richest and most beautiful towns in -Hampshire County, a great educational and manufacturing centre, with -beautiful farmhouses (villas they might almost be called) and several -model villages clustered about elegant churches, and a model seminary -of learning.” Mr. Williston gained during life, and left after him, the -reputation of a man of integrity, probity, and high moral principle. His -religious belief, which was that of the old-fashioned Congregationalists -of Massachusetts, was his guiding and dominating idea, and he followed it -up in practice consistently and conscientiously. The portrait prefixed -to Prof. Tyler’s discourse is one very pleasant to look upon, and shows -the face of an honest, sensible, good man, surmounted by an expansive, -intellectual forehead, and set firmly upon a manly bust. One excellent -feature in Mr. Williston’s character was his adherence to the principle -that good education and healthy civilization must rest on a religious -and Christian basis. In this respect, he contrasts favorably with a -large and increasing class of Protestants, who are taking sides openly -with infidels in the accursed work of secularizing education, and crying -up merely material or intellectual progress. His panegyrist, Prof. -Tyler, writes admirably upon this theme. This discourse, apart from -the interest given to it by the truly noble life which it describes, -is in itself remarkably full of fine thoughts, showing the effect of -the deep study of the classics to which the learned author has devoted -his life. We are pleased to notice the calm and just manner in which he -touches incidentally upon some topics connected with the Catholic Church. -Speaking of the honor which is due to those men who are founders of -institutions useful to mankind, in a truly philosophical strain, and with -illustrations drawn from both pagan and Christian history, he proceeds to -say: “There are no names more hallowed in the Catholic Church than the -founders of those monasteries which, with all their sins, have the merit -of keeping religion and learning alive through the darkness and confusion -of the Middle Ages. The founders, too, of those religious orders whose -influence has been felt to the remotest bounds of Christendom, what -veneration is felt for them by all good Catholics, from age to age! -The names of S. Benedict, S. Dominic, S. Francis, and Ignatius Loyola -have been canonized and embalmed in the religious societies which they -established.” The fact that these words were pronounced in the pulpit of -the chapel of Amherst College gives them a peculiar significance. We do -not consider them as denoting any Catholic tendencies in Prof. Tyler or -his associates, but merely a diminution of power in the old Protestant -and Puritan tradition, and the existence of a more philosophical and -eclectic spirit. The rationalizing movement which is disintegrating -Protestant societies carries away a great deal of prejudice and error on -its tide. It threatens also to sweep away the remnants and fragments of -truth. Amherst, seated on the remote hills of Hampshire, has been safer -from the flood, hitherto, than Cambridge and New Haven. Nevertheless, -it must be invaded by the rising waters in its turn. There is nothing -but the Catholic Church which can stand, when knowledge and reason -take the place of the ignorance and credulity necessary to a blind -following of the Reformation. The remnant of orthodox Protestants must -therefore follow the inexorable logic of Luther’s principle into its -consequences of sheer rationalism, or make their way back to Catholic -faith. Individuals may remain stationary, but the mass has to move, -and even the works of men who are both great and good rest on a sandy -foundation, which will be undermined in a short time unless they are -built on the rock of Catholic stability. Mr. Williston, we have no doubt, -did his best, not only to create temporal well-being and prosperity, -but also that which is higher, more lasting, and directed toward the -eternal good, which is the chief end of man. Numbers of generous and -noble hearts, like himself, have endeavored and are now striving toward -the same objects, from the same motives. They are the pillars of the -commonwealth, the real peers of the realm, the chief bulwark of our -political and social state amid the horde of base, corrupt intriguers and -demagogues, mammon worshippers and spendthrifts, crowding our legislative -halls and marts of business, and flaunting in vulgar show through our -streets. It is impossible, however, that the work which they strive -singly to accomplish, whether for education, philanthropy, political -reform and progress, or the promotion of the Christian religion, should -be successfully performed except through Catholic unity and organization -in the communion of the one true Church. If all the enlightened and -virtuous men and women in the United States who believe that Jesus Christ -is the Saviour, and Christianity the salvation of mankind were united in -faith and directed by one authority, there is nothing which they could -not accomplish on this vast field which God has given us, and which at -present is to a great extent mere wild land. In conclusion, we express -our thanks to Mrs. Emily G. Williston and the other executors of the Hon. -Mr. Williston for their courtesy in sending us a copy of this discourse, -which is printed in a most beautiful and tasteful manner. - - THE CHILD. By Mgr. Dupanloup, Bishop of Orleans. Translated, - with the author’s permission, by Kate Anderson. Boston: Patrick - Donahoe. 1875. - -Mgr. Dupanloup is one of the most eloquent orators and writers of France. -The theme of the present book, which might have been handled in an able -and complete and yet dull manner by another, is treated in a spirited, -glowing, fascinating style by the illustrious Bishop of Orleans. It is a -charming, attractive, and most important theme, handled by one who was -a most enthusiastic and successful teacher of boys and youths before -he became a bishop. Every parent, and especially every mother, should -read this book; so also should those who have the charge of children -and young people in schools or elsewhere. It is more specifically and -precisely suitable to the case and condition of boys, as is natural, -considering that the author has been more immediately engaged in the -care of colleges than of convents. Yet, in general, its principles and -instructions are appropriate for girls also, children being very nearly -alike in most respects, whether they are boys or girls. In respect to -the moral training of boys, there are some instructions very plainly and -yet delicately given in the fourteenth and fifteenth chapters, which are -specially necessary for a very large class at the present day and in -our very corrupt state of society. In the wealthy and fashionable circle -of American society, the children are very generally spoiled. Who is not -familiar with the fast boy of fourteen, whose outward and visible sign is -a blue ribbon on his straw hat, and with his sister of twelve, in short -clothes, sparkling with jewelry, but dim-eyed, pale-faced, and thin, from -keeping late hours and other precocious dissipations? The end of these -fast young people is usually tragical. If not so, they are at the best -wilted and spoiled, like bouquets of flowers which have remained for a -whole day among lighted candles. - -We regret to say that many of our wealthy Catholics, especially those -who have suddenly acquired riches, strive to emulate in the race of -extravagance and luxury the most utterly worldly class of people, who -live professedly for mere earthly enjoyment. Their children are therefore -trained in a way which is morally the very opposite of the Christian and -Catholic method. In a lesser degree, the same loose, indulgent, soft, -and effeminate style of bringing up children prevails in families where -the spirit of the parents is less worldly and more religious. Boys and -girls do not remain children long enough, and are not treated as children -ought to be treated. They are too precociously developed into young -ladies and gentlemen. So far as our observation extends, the education -at home and at school which our Catholic boys of the more affluent class -are receiving is much more defective in respect to religion and morality -than that of the girls. They are more spoiled at home, and are less -amenable to wholesome discipline and intellectual training at school than -their sisters. They are also exposed to much greater danger of becoming -essentially irreligious and vicious, and going utterly to ruin, before -or soon after they attain their majority, and therefore great errors in -their early training are more deplorable. All parents, and especially -mothers, who are not wholly careless and frivolous, must perceive clearly -and feel deeply the vital importance of this subject of the early -training of boys. Let them read carefully and frequently this choice book -of Bishop Dupanloup, and they will understand better how to reverence -that wonderful and beautiful being--a regenerate child; how to train the -child for the duty and the solid happiness of its earthly life, how to -educate it for heaven. - - SPAIN AND THE SPANIARDS. By N. L. Thiéblin. Boston: Lee & - Shepard; New York: Lee, Shepard & Dillingham. 1875. - -The corps of professional writers for the great newspapers of Europe -and America is remarkable in many ways for talent, enterprise, courage, -sagacity, and skill in that style of composition which is the most -effective for the purposes of the secular press. Its _esprit de corps_ -is not very high as regards truth, the eternal principles of right and -devotion to just and noble causes. It is to a great extent mercenary, -unscrupulous, time-serving, skeptical, and superficial. Incidentally it -often serves the cause of right and truth with great efficacy, and no -doubt wages a very successful war on many evils and abuses in favor of -certain temporal interests, diffuses a vast amount of information, and -contributes its full quantity of force to the wheels that make the world -spin round with an ever-increasing velocity. Certain of its members have -made themselves truly famous in this present age by their explorations -and their chronicles of wars or other great contemporary events, that -almost rival Livy and Cæsar. It is only necessary to mention the names of -Russell and Stanley as illustrations of this statement. - -Mr. Thiéblin has won a high place among these brilliant writers for the -press, by his extraordinary courage and enterprise in following up, first -the military movements of the Franco-Prussian war, and more recently -those of the Carlist campaigns, and his very great talent in describing -what he has seen and learned with so much perseverance and effort. He -is a good specimen of the corps to which he belongs. Apparently a mere -free-thinker in respect to all the higher order of truth, solicitous only -to see and narrate what is transpiring on the earth, an intellectual -knight-errant and free lance, without any kind of allegiance to any -power higher than the _Pall Mall Gazette_ or the _New York Herald_, he -is brave, good-humored, witty, and graphic; a keen observer, a charming -narrator, with a great deal of justice and impartiality, and evidently -telling the truth about those things which can be apprehended through -the senses, and which his mind is capable of understanding. There are -a few offensive remarks about Catholic matters, a few jeering allusions -to things beyond his rather limited sphere of vision, and a moderate -quantity of the usual newspaper political wisdom, upon which we place, -of course, a very low estimate. The real substance of the book, however, -which is the testimony of the writer respecting what he learned by -personal observation respecting the army of Don Carlos and the state of -things in Spain, is of the highest value and interest. We have not read -a book with so much pleasure for a long time. The author takes us right -into the Carlist camp and the romantic Vasco Navarrese country where Don -Carlos is king, into the company of his generals and soldiers, into the -houses of the parish priests, and among the loyal, religious peasantry. -He has no sympathy with the religion of the Spaniards or the cause of -Don Carlos, and his favorable testimony to the piety, morality, bravery, -and good discipline of the faithful soldiers and subjects of the gallant -prince are beyond cavil. The history of the eccentric and famous Curé of -Santa Cruz is most curious. The authentic narrative of facts concerning -the Carlist movement makes it evident to our mind that the prospects -of ultimate and complete success in the effort of Don Carlos to gain -possession of the kingdom are very encouraging. Mr. Thiéblin does not -confine himself to an account of his experience in the Carlist camps. -He gives a great deal of information gathered from the visits he made -to the quarters of the Republicans, personal observation of the state -of things in Madrid and other places, and conversations with prominent -personages. He can appreciate what is admirable in Spain and the -Spaniards much better than most non-Catholics; and being wholly free from -Protestant sympathies, perceives clearly and ridicules freely the sham -of Evangelical missions with their invariable concomitant of boastful -and calumnious lying. As a very good sort of heathen, and an extremely -clever man, with a fine taste for what is beautiful, and an eclectic -habit of mind, he gives just and charming descriptions of many things in -that Catholic country and people--in short, understanding the principles -and causes which have produced that which he partially approves, but -cannot estimate at its full worth, as he would do if he were a thorough -and intelligent Catholic, in respect to the state of Catholic religion -and piety in Spain, his account of the lapse from ancient faith is -partly correct, but one-sided and imperfect, as that of a foreign and -anti-Catholic observer must be. In respect to morality and general -well-being and happiness, he is a competent witness, and his testimony -shows how much better, happier, and more refined, in the true sense, the -Spanish people, even in their present disorganized state are, than the -mass of the population in England or the United States. In regard to -Spanish politics, he sympathizes, of course, most perfectly with Castelar -and the orderly, moderate Republicans, and next to these with the party -of Don Alfonso. He makes an elaborate argument in favor of the claim of -this young prince to be the inheritor of all the rights of Ferdinand VII. -In our opinion, Don Carlos has the most valid title to this inheritance. -But as we have no time to prove this, we must waive the question of -legitimacy. - -There is another right which has precedence of any right to inherit the -throne: This is the right of the Church and nation to have restored -and preserved the ancient heritage of the Spanish nation, those laws -and institutions, and that government which are necessary to the -religious and political well being of the whole people. The régime of -the Christinos was destructive to both, and almost the whole nation -acquiesced in the expulsion of Isabella. We do not think that the -majority of even that portion of the Spaniards who are at present -subject to Don Alfonso really consent to his rule, or that there is any -guarantee that it will be better than that of the late queen. He has -been taken up by the Liberals as a _pis aller_, and is only tolerated by -the greater part of those who are loyal to the religion and constitution -of the Spanish monarchy. Don Carlos, as his own published statements, -particularly his recent letter to Louis Veuillot, prove, is the champion -of religious and political regeneration. It is, therefore, desirable that -his claim to the crown should be lawfully ratified, and receive whatever -may be requisite to make it a perfect right in actual possession, by the -act of the Spanish nation. We may say the same of the Comte de Chambord -in respect to the throne of France. This is a sufficient reason why -Catholics, even American Catholics, who are faithful to the Republic -here, because it is an established and legitimate order, should be -hostile to the Republican party in Spain and France, and to any kind -of patched-up liberalistic monarchy in either country, and wish for -the success of Don Carlos and Henri de Bourbon. There are some very -good Catholics who think differently, even such staunch champions of -the Catholic cause as our illustrious friend the Bishop of Salford, -the editor of the _London Tablet_, and Dr. Ward. They seem to us to be -mistaken and inconsistent, and we agree personally with the _Civiltà -Cattolica_ and the _Univers_ that the cause of Charles VII. and Henry V. -is the same with that of Pius IX. considered as a temporal sovereign, and -closely connected with the triumph of his rights as Sovereign Pontiff. -We have, moreover, the confident hope that the one will yet reign over -regenerated Spain and the other over regenerated France, after the -infamous Prussian tyranny shall have been trampled in the dust, and -the usurper of the Quirinal shall have met the fate of all foregoing -oppressors of the Holy See. - -DIOS, PATRIA, Y REY is the true watchword of beautiful, Catholic, unhappy -Spain. - - A PILGRIMAGE TO THE LAND OF THE CID. Translated from the French - of Frederic Ozanam. By P. S. New York: The Catholic Publication - Society. 1875. - -This little volume, by the eminent writer and lecturer Prof. Ozanam, -supplies much that was wanting in the one just noticed, in its -appreciative sketches of Catholic objects and traditions. The book was -the result of a tour made a year before the author’s death. It would be a -good travelling companion in the country described, or elsewhere. - - A FULL CATECHISM OF THE CATHOLIC RELIGION (preceded by a Short - History of Religion), from the Creation of the World to the - Present Time. With Questions for Examination. Translated from - the German of the Rev. Joseph Deharbe, S.J., by the Rev. John - Fander. First American Edition. _Permissu Superiorum._ New - York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875. - -“This is the most celebrated catechism of the century, has been most -extensively approved and brought into use, and will be of great service -to those who are employed in teaching young people the Christian -doctrine, as well as for the instruction of converts.” - -We can add nothing to the above notice of the London edition of this -catechism, which heretofore appeared in this magazine, except to say that -the American edition has been revised and corrected, and adopted into the -Young Catholic’s School Series. - - THE VICTIMS OF THE MAMERTINE. By Rev. A. J. O’Reilly, D.D. New - York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1875. - -_The Martyrs of the Coliseum_ will have prepared the reader for another -treat in this later work of the same author. Dr. O’Reilly is one of -the most diligent workers of the rich mine of Christian traditions -so successfully explored by Cardinal Wiseman, in the preparation of -_Fabiola_. The author properly claims great authenticity for the records -of this prison, the high position of its victims rendering the task of -identification one of comparative ease. While the world is being filled -with the exploits of “the heroes of paganism, who were at best but -tyrants and murderers,” we should not ignore the deeds of those truer -heroes--the persecuted champions of the early Christian Church. - - THE SPIRIT OF FAITH; or, What I Must do to Believe. By Bishop - Hedley, O.S.B. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875. - -This _brochure_ is made up of a series of lectures delivered in St. -Peter’s, Cardiff, by its right reverend author. The reader will not -have proceeded far to be convinced of the opportuneness of the subjects -discussed, and the competence of the writer, who may also be recognized -as a former contributor to these pages. - - SERMONS FOR EVERY SUNDAY IN THE YEAR, AND FOR THE LEADING - HOLIDAYS OF OBLIGATION. By Rev. William Gahan. With a Preface - by the Right Rev. Dr. Walsh. Edited by Rev. J. O’Leary, D.D. - New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1875. - -The reverend clergy will be content with the announcement of a new -edition of these standard discourses. Their quality was long ago -determined. - - - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XXI., No. 125.--AUGUST, 1875. - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by Rev. I. T. -HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. - - -THE PERSECUTION IN SWITZERLAND FROM THE REVUE GENERALE. - -For seven months have we kept silence on the religious persecution in -Switzerland. Not that during that interval the rage of the persecutors -has become appeased; very far from it. But the spectacle they afford -is so repulsive to the conscience that the pen falls from the hand in -disgust whilst narrating their exploits. Nevertheless, we suppose it -may be of service to give a complete although succinct history of the -violence and hypocrisy of Swiss liberalism. And for that reason we renew -our recital. - -Up to the present time, the persecution has only raged in two dioceses, -the smallest, Geneva, and the largest, Basel. But elsewhere the fire -smoulders beneath the ashes, and everything goes to prove that, if the -liberals should succeed in overthrowing the church in the cantons where -they have inaugurated their barbarous and intolerant rule, they will -continue their efforts even into the heart of the country. Already, -indeed, here and there, outside of the two just-named dioceses, they -reveal their intentions by isolated measures. - -Thus at St. Gall, the cantonal council, the majority of which consists of -Protestants and free-thinkers, has forbidden the Catholic clergy to teach -the Syllabus and the dogma of Papal Infallibility; and, as the clergy -have refused to obey such an order, the Council of Public Instruction -has withdrawn from them the teaching the catechism during Lent, and has -placed the duty in the hands of schoolmasters in absolute dependence on -the state. This example betrays the intention of liberalism, in the name -of liberty, no longer to tolerate any religion but such as is fashioned -by its own hand. This intention is now betraying itself openly in the -two dioceses of Geneva and Basel. It is useless to speak of the rights -of Catholics consecrated by treaties, to invoke the respect due to their -conscience; useless is it to adduce in their behalf the religious -equality which they scrupulously maintain in the cantons, such as Lucerne -and Freyburg, where they have the superiority; useless to insist on their -patriotism, and on their loyal submission to laws which do not encroach -on the domain of religion. No, there are no rights for Catholics, there -is no justice for them; and when it is a question of attacking them, the -end justifies the means. - -This is no invention of ours. We will cite a few examples in support of -our assertion. - -M. Teuscher in the canton of Bern, and M. Carteret at Geneva, have -founded churches to which they have assigned the name of Catholic, which -they support with unusual zeal. Now, in the journal of these churches, -the _Démocratie catholique_, which is published at Bern, of the date of -January 2, is the following statement: “Ultramontanes are malefactors, -and there is no liberty for malefactors.” It may be objected, that these -words are merely the expression of an individual opinion. Let us listen -then to M. Carteret, speaking, about the same time, before the Grand -Council of Geneva: “Ultramontanism is dangerous; it is necessary to -combat it, to make on it a war of extermination and without mercy; it is -affectation to dream of being just and equitable with such an adversary.” -A little later on, in the same assembly, a credit was voted for the -maintenance of candidates for Catholic cures, whose rightful possessors -had been arbitrarily ejected; and when M. Vogt expressed his astonishment -that the canton should keep a tavern for liberal _abbés_, a deputy -exclaimed, “We shall act as we please.” - -It would seem impossible for cynicism to go beyond this. But no; the -brutality of despotism was able to surpass even it. At the moment -when, in the canton of Soleure, the people were summoned to vote -the suppression of the secular foundations, of which we shall speak -presently, one of their journals published the following: “If we should -be conquered, and the _blacks_ should defeat the measure, _we shall -handle the knife_.” It sounds like a sinister echo of 1793. - -What can be the object of the persecutors? Is it the substitution of -Protestantism for Catholicity? Scarcely. Protestants who really believe -in their religion disapprove of these iniquities. The object is akin, -rather, we may be sure, to the sentiment lately given utterance to by -the Pastor Lang of Zurich: “We are slowly but surely approaching the -end towards which the development of our spiritual life is urging us, -to wit, _the suppression and disappearance of all churches_.” The same -sentiment had been expressed during the debates on the federal revision -by M. Welti. “He who would wish to be free must not belong to any church. -No church gives liberty. The _state_ alone gives that.” In other words, -the ideal to be aimed at is the reign of the state over soul as well -as body. After this, can we wonder at the cry of alarm issuing from a -quarter not at least to be suspected of Catholic bias? It is a Protestant -journal--_l’Union jurassienne_--which exclaims, “The star of liberty -pales, the shadows of spiritual despotism are gathering around us.” -But the cry is lost in the desert. Despotism throws those who exercise -it into a kind of intoxication; every one of the excesses to which it -commits itself becomes the source of fresh ones. Its last word is -proscription, when it is not the scaffold.… In the diocese of Basel the -crimes of liberalism have been perpetrated principally at Soleure, in the -Jura, and at Bern. We will review them successively. - -At Soleure, the Benedictine monastery of Maria-Stein, the collegiate -church of Schoenwerth, and that of S. Urs and S. Victor have been -overthrown at one stroke. - -The monastery of Maria-Stein was founded in 1085, and had cleared and -cultivated the country. But the church can no more reckon upon the -gratitude of its enemies than upon their justice. They determined to -seize the property of the convent, to convert the building into a -madhouse, and to mock justice with the bestowal of a trifling alms on -the religious thus iniquitously dispossessed. At the first news of this -project, the ex-Father Hyacinthe again gave expression to the indignation -he had exhibited before on similar provocation, and sent to the abbot of -the monastery a protest against “this attack on property and religion.” - -The foundation of the collegiate church of Schoenwerth, situated near -Olten, dates from the Xth century. It had only five canons, who served -four parishes, and gave instruction in the schools. That of S. Urs and S. -Victor from the VIIIth. It was erected into a cathedral in 1828; when the -residence of the Bishop of Basel was transferred to Soleure. Its chapter -has kept perpetual watch for nearly a thousand years at the tombs of the -Theban martyrs. These venerable memories arrested not the arms of the -spoilers. What was wanted was to punish the canons of Schoenwerth and of -Soleure for their loyalty to their bishop, and at the same time to get -possession of the endowments they administered. - -Consequently, the suppression of the two collegiate churches, as well as -of the monastery of Maria-Stein, was submitted to the popular vote. It -was adopted by 8,356 votes against 5,896. But when it is remembered that -the majority included about 3,000 Protestants, besides the manufacturing -population of Olten, who are in complete subjection to the tyranny of -their Freemason employers; that more than 3,000 timid Catholics abstained -from voting, and that the women and children were not consulted, there -can remain no doubt that once again a Catholic majority has been -sacrificed to a coalition of Protestants and free-thinkers. - -However it may be, this vote remarkably facilitated the object the -liberals have had in view for some time, namely, of abolishing the -chapter of Basel. This chapter consisted of canons from seven states of -the diocese--Bern, Basel, Thurgau, Aargau, Soleure, Zug, Lucerne. The -state of Soleure having suppressed its own, and the states of Aargau and -Bern being urged to do the same to theirs, the conference of the diocesan -states, on the 21st December, decreed the suppression of the chapter -itself and the sale of its effects. The support of five of these states -had been procured. No heed was taken of the opposition of Lucerne and Zug. - -And it is asserted that it is in the name of religious liberty that -Swiss liberalism has deprived the diocese of Basel of its bishop and -its chapter! But what cares liberalism for the rights of Catholic -consciences? However, in thus decapitating the diocese it was carrying -out a purpose on which it was inexorably bent. It had long resolved -to create a national church calling itself Catholic, and it hugged the -illusion that the suppression of the Catholic bishoprics would contribute -to the success of this design. It is in pursuance of the same object that -it opened in Bern, in the month of October, a faculty of Old Catholic -theology. - -These facts display a complete change of tactics on the part of unbelief. -In the last century, Voltaire and his satellites tried to batter down -the church, without dreaming of putting anything in her place. They -failed. Their successors of to-day adopt another plan. It is to create -anti-Catholic churches, calling themselves Catholic, to which they do not -belong, whose dogmas they abjure, and whose priests they despise. They -trust thus to satisfy the people, whilst retaining for themselves the -benefits of unbelief. - -Next, in the month of October, the government of Bern opened, in the -federal capital, a faculty of theology, which it called “faculty of -Catholic theology,” and it invited chiefly foreigners to occupy its -chairs. It nominated dean of the faculty a German, that unfortunate Dr. -Friedrich of Munich, who was amongst the first to follow Döllinger in -his perversity, and they appointed as his subordinates a few apostates -picked up wherever they could find them. Eight students, almost all from -the canton of Soleure, the real focus of Swiss liberalism, were enrolled. -With such a contingent, the dream of a national church does not appear -certain to be realized. But the government of Bern flatters itself that -in time the number of students will increase, and that it will thus have -at its disposal submissive agents ready to assist it in its detestable -undertaking, the perversion of the Jura. - -The Jura! It is impossible to cast a glance around that unfortunate -country without being filled with gratitude to God for the religious -heroism it perseveres in displaying in the presence of a powerful and -treacherous enemy who is striving to crush it utterly. - -It is notorious that the ninety-seven parishes of the Jura have been -arbitrarily reconstructed by the government of Bern; and that, after -having reduced them to the number of twenty-five, it finally increased -them to forty-two. Nothing has been left undone to place at the head of -every one of these an apostate priest. But in spite of all its efforts -it has only been able to muster seventeen. Besides, what trouble do the -recruits swept up from all the by-ways of Europe cause them! Some have -already sent in their resignation. - -Thus it was with Giaut, curate of Bonfol, who, in a public letter -announced his abandonment of the mission he had assumed, “because he saw -no immediate prospect of the realization, in the Jura, of his aspirations -and ideas.” Of the same kind was the course pursued by d’Omer Camerle, -who, on his withdrawal, declared that the new clergy, “utterly despised -by the liberals and execrated by the ultramontanes, were attempting a -work which was entirely useless if not contemptible.” Others have been -obliged to escape, or had to evade justice. - -We have before narrated the misfortunes of Rupplin. His rival Naudot, -arrested for abduction of a minor, was condemned to six months’ -imprisonment. In his defence, made by himself, he demanded, “Am I more -guilty than Giaut, _curé_ of Bonfol, who calls himself Guiot; than -Choisel, _curé_ of Courgenay, whose real name is Chastel; than Déramey, -who calls himself Pipy?” We must, however, state to his credit that he -abjured his errors and returned into the bosom of the church. - -At Bienne, the intruder, St. Ange Lièvre, threw off the mask, and -married a Protestant named Tsantré-Boll. The union was blessed by M. -Saintes, a Protestant minister, after an address by M. Hurtault, from -Geneva, who complimented his colleague “for having had the courage to -throw off the yoke of bondage imposed upon him by the Roman papacy.” -This was overshooting the mark. The intruders may commit all imaginable -escapades without provoking attention. But they must not marry. It -reveals prematurely the programme of the free-thinkers of Bern, who, in -order to conciliate the population of the Jura, declare that they have -no intention to meddle with the dogmas of the church. Accordingly, the -“Provisionary Catholic Synodal Commission,” in a letter addressed to -“MM. the curates of the Jura,” “severely rebuked the deplorable example -given by M. St. Ange Lièvre, and promised to demand from the authorities -a remedy, which could not be refused if another member of the clergy -should venture to violate the venerable laws of the church.” Ludicrous -imbecility! They will try to hinder for the future a renewal of these -wanton freaks, but they respect what has been already perpetrated. And -so M. Lièvre and his Protestant wife remain at the head of the parish of -Bienne! - -But do any of the intruded meet with success in their propaganda? No! At -Alle, Salis rings the bell for Masses which he does not say. At Bienne, -only twenty or thirty persons attend the service of St. Ange Lièvre. At -Delémont, the chief place of the district, enjoying a radical priest, a -radical president of the tribunal, radical functionaries, so empty is the -church usurped by Portaz-Grassis that, on the 7th of January, the council -of the parish gave vent to the following cry of distress in a circular -addressed to “Liberal Catholics”: “The religious question in the Jura -being intimately associated with the political one, it is important, now -that our national church is constituted on solid and legal foundations, -that all liberals should support this church and sustain the majority -of the Bernese people in the steps that have been taken. [It must be -remembered that the majority of the Bernese people is Protestant.] - -“Yet is our worship little frequented, and our enemies proclaim -everywhere that our church is deserted. - -“In presence of this carelessness--we may say, even of this culpable -indifference--we make a last appeal to the patriotic sentiments of the -liberal Catholics of Delémont, beseeching them to assist more regularly -at the Sunday Mass, and above all to induce their wives and children to -be present at it. If Catholics [!] will not show more zeal in supporting -the liberal curate and the council of the parish, the latter will resign -_in globo_ the charge entrusted to it.” - -Nothing, however, discourages the government of Bern, and in conformity -with the law of worship, voted some months ago, it has obliged the new -parishes of the Jura to proceed to the formation of parochial councils, -and to the nomination, or rather confirmation, of the intruding curates. -But here, also, what deception! Out of 12,000 electors, only the tenth -part voted. In 28 communes, not a single elector presented himself at -the ballot. In the others, the number was laughably small. At St. Imier, -for instance, out of 1,933 electors, only eight answered the summons. At -Moustier, out of 1,429, only 24. No less significant are the numbers of -votes polled for the elected curates: - -Fontenais: M. d’Abbadie (Frenchman) had 77 votes out of 1,651 electors. - -Courtemaiche: M. Coffignal (Frenchman) had 15 votes out of 1,683 electors. - -Undervelier: M. Salis (Italian) had 13 votes out of 1,046 electors. - -Courroux: M. Maestrelli (Italian) had 60 votes out of 1,557 electors. - -Roggenburg: M. Oser (German) had 40 votes out of 465 electors. - -Bislach: M. Schoenberger (German) had 33 votes out of 669 electors. - -Dittengen: M. Fuchs (Austrian) had 33 votes out of 667 electors. - -Bienne: M. St. Ange Lièvre (Frenchman) had 50 votes out of 1,040 electors. - -Imagine the Bernese government being eager to confirm nominations made -under such circumstances! - -As to the Catholics, they continue to assemble in barns and cart-sheds, -and there to lift with faith their hands towards heaven, and to rest -firm in their fidelity. This attitude only aggravates the rage of their -persecutors. We have already spoken of the suppression of the Ursulines -of Porrentruy. The last remaining religious congregation in that town -could not long escape the same fate. It was that of the Sisters of -Charity of Ste. Ursanne, who had for twenty years ministered in the -hospital for the poor of the chief town of the Bernese Jura. They began -with seizing their chapel and handing it over to schism. Then, without -any pretext, they cast into prison the Superior and two of the Sisters, -where they remained four days. At length, one fine morning, they were -informed that they must leave the place within four hours; at the -expiration of which period, if they had not left, “they would be forcibly -expelled.” The execution soon followed the sentence; and these religious -ladies, whose presence had only been known by good works, were, in their -turn, compelled to tread the path of exile! - -In spite of the implacable intolerance of their enemies, the Jurassians -do not cease petitioning the federal authorities; and to the number of -9,000 they have demanded the restitution of their churches and of their -ecclesiastical property, the re-establishment of the Catholic worship, -and the recall of the 97 priests unjustly expelled. The restitution -of the churches, and the re-establishment of the Catholic as a public -worship, have been flatly refused, on the plea that there cannot exist -in the canton any other public Catholic worship than that established -by the law of January, 1874! But the federal council, notwithstanding -its notorious hostility, shrunk from an open and avowed approbation of -the ostracism of the faithful priests; and it requested of the Bernese -government an explanation of the reasons which, in its opinion, justified -the continuance of that rigorous measure; reserving to itself to give a -subsequent decision on the appeal which had been made to it. - -Opinions are divided as to the real intentions of the federal council, -and at the moment when we write the definitive decision has not been -announced. But whatever may be the fate of the appeal, the situation of -the church in the Jura will remain no less lamentable. - -Whilst the Jurassian population give, thus, an example of fidelity worthy -of the first ages of the Christian era, the tempest has burst upon the -Catholic parish of the town of Bern. - -This parish possesses a church built by the late Mgr. Baud, predecessor -of the present curate, M. Perroulaz, and paid for by the alms of the -Catholics of the entire country. The schismatics cast longing eyes upon -it; but their designs were for a while impeded by the fear of displeasing -the ambassadors. This fear was unfounded. For since the overthrow of -governments caused by the detestable policy of Napoleon III., there is no -longer an Europe; and everywhere violence and injustice, having nothing -to fear from the once protective influence of the great powers, commit -themselves to every license. It is thus, then, they set about to compass -their end. - -First, an assembly of the parish was convoked to elect a parochial -council. But as such an assembly owes its existence to the late law of -worship, and as the faithful Catholics could not consequently take any -part in it, the council was chosen by one hundred out of three hundred -and sixty electors. Scarcely was it installed when it received a request -from the professors of the Old Catholic faculty of Bern, that the -church might be placed at their disposition, for their Masses, worship, -and preachings. It eagerly acceded to this request, and desired M. -Perroulaz to open the gates of the church to the schismatic priests of -the university. He refused. They ordered him to give up the keys. He -did nothing of the kind. They went to his house and took them from him; -and on Sunday, 28th February, Dr. Friedrich and his accomplices took -possession of the sanctuary. M. Perroulaz, to avoid scandal, assembled -his parishioners for the celebration of their worship in the great -hall of the Museum. Thither they flocked in crowds. Foremost amongst -the worshippers were the ambassadors of France, Austria, Italy, Spain, -Portugal, Brazil, etc. Thirty years ago, such a demonstration of the -diplomatic body would not have remained without results. But in the -year of grace 1875, “might makes right,” and the petty tyrants of Bern, -supported by certain foreign cabinets, satiate with impunity their hatred -of the church. - -But even this did not content them. It was not sufficient for them to -have deprived Catholics of their church. They wanted, further, to compel -M. Perroulaz to say Mass in it together with the apostates. The Council -of State designed, in this way, to place him in a position in which they -might be able, in due form of law, to relieve him of his functions. On -his refusal it decided to institute a process of revocation; and, pending -the trial, it suspended him! Then he was driven out of the presbytery, -and a Bavarian impostor was installed in his place. What! After having -despoiled the faithful of the sanctuary built by their own hands and -with their own money, they command them, besides, to make common cause -with renegades, and make it a crime in their pastor to assemble them -elsewhere to adore God according to their conscience. At Rome, under the -pagan emperors, the Christians had the freedom of the Catacombs; at Bern, -in 1875, even such freedom would be grudged by the ingrates whose cradle -was enlightened by the rays of divine truth! - -At Geneva affairs are as gloomy as in the canton of Bern. Last August, -at the moment when we were relating the high-handed proceedings of the -government, M. Loyson had just distinguished himself by breaking his -connection with the lay chiefs of the schism. “I will not engage,” he -said, “in useless discussions with men who confound liberalism with -radicalism, Catholicism with the _Profession of Faith_ of the Savoyard -vicar.” The poor apostate would, we suspect, have been but too glad to -return to the venerable church which received his first oaths. But how -dispose of Mme. Loyson and the little Emmanuel? He continued therefore -schismatic, and he announced that he should remain at Geneva “until the -election of a bishop, who, with his synod, was the only authority,” he -added, “which he could recognize in the religious order.” In pursuance of -this secession, he founded a free worship, which has a small number of -sectaries as its following. - -As to the official church, its misfortunes are beyond calculation. The -town of Geneva itself was favored with three curates, each receiving -from four to five thousand francs a year, and a few vicars. After -the retirement of M. Loyson, the second of the three curates--M. -Hurtault--left, in order to occupy one of the chairs of the Old Catholic -faculty at Bern. It was, no doubt, to console the new church in these -bereavements, that one of the vicars, M. Vergoin, in imitation of his -accomplices, took to himself a wife in the person of a Freyburg damsel. - -However, the law of the organization of religious worship enjoined on all -the curates and vicars of the canton the oath of obedience to the laws. -The Council of State shrunk for a long time from the application of this -provision in the rural communes. At length, yielding to the impatience -of the “Catholic Superior Council,” it decreed that the oath should be -taken on the 4th September by the seventeen curates and the two vicars -officiating in the country. - -On the appointed day, a large crowd assembled around the entrance of the -town-hall. Not a priest summoned presented himself. They, too, were proud -to wear the device of Mgr. Lachat: _Potius mori quam fœdari!_--“Death -rather than shame!” - -Immediately afterwards, the Council of State pronounced the aforesaid -cures vacant, and suppressed the pay of their occupiers from October 31. -This measure was communicated to the “Catholic Superior Council,” with -the view of its filling the vacancies. - -Great was the embarrassment of the latter. As a commencement, it demanded -of the Council of State the power of disposing of the country churches -from the 31st October. The reply was that it had only to apply to the -municipal authorities. It then devised the plan of publishing in the -journals, amongst the advertisements, a notice to the effect that “the -registry was open at the office of the superior council for the offices -of curate and vicar in twenty-two parishes of the canton, which had -become vacant in consequence of death, dismissal, and revocation.” When -at length it had found a candidate, it resolved to present him to the -parish of Grand-Saconnex, one of the nearest to Geneva, and which on -that account appeared to it to be ripe for schism. But only thirty-three -electors out of one hundred and sixty-six responded to the call. It was -less than a third, and the election was abortive in consequence. - -Such a check was suggestive. The measure decreed on the 4th September -was not put in force, except that the salaries of the faithful curates -remained suppressed. But they revenged themselves by annoying the -Catholics in every possible way. - -We will cite two instances. - -An Old Catholic interment having taken place at Hermance, after several -provocations, the population threw some stones on the coffin of the -defunct. The blame was immediately laid on the curate, and he was -expelled from the canton on the pretext that “he troubled the public -peace,” said the decree, “by his preachings, and excited hatred of one -another among the citizens.” No accusation could be more serious than -this. For, indeed, had he been guilty of it, it was before the courts he -should have been brought. But all that was wanted then was to punish the -parishioners for having, a few days before, given an ill reception to two -intruders who had attempted to pervert the village. - -The second is a yet sadder incident. One fine day, an Old Catholic -inhabitant of Geneva, named Maurice, who lived close to the Old Catholic -church, took it into his head to have his infant child baptized by the -intruding priest, Marchal, in the Catholic Church of Compesières, used -for two communes, Bardonnex and Plan-les-Ouates. On the arrival of the -cortége, the mayors of these communes, habited in their scarfs of office, -and surrounded by their subordinates, opposed its entry into the church, -and forced it to beat a retreat. At the news of this there was great -consternation at Geneva. - -The whim of M. Maurice was not only a violation of the liberty of -religion; it was a wanton provocation, since he belonged to the commune -of Geneva, and could have had his child baptized in the church of S. -Germain, of which the schism had taken possession. No matter. The -Council of State took advantage of the incident, and ordered the mayors -of Compesières to keep the parish church open for baptism of the little -Maurice. At the same time it ordered thither some squadrons of gendarmes -and of carabineers, and, thanks to this display of the public force, a -locksmith was able to force open the doors of the sacred edifice. They -had it sealed with the borough-seal, and a huge placard was stuck on it, -bearing the following inscription: “Property is inviolable.” Before the -profanation, a delegate from the communal authorities of Bardonnex and of -Plan-les-Ouates had communicated to the invaders a final protest. - -Any commentary would be superfluous. We limit ourselves to quoting -the following words of the _Journal de Genève_: “What has passed at -Compesières has but too quickly justified the mournful forebodings -inspired by the violent policy which is growing from bad to worse in -official quarters. We persist in demanding that a stop be put to this -sowing the wind at the risk of reaping the whirlwind.” But the object -had been achieved. The Catholics had been outraged, and a pretext had -been made for dismissing M. de Montfalcon, mayor of Plan-les-Ouates and -president of “l’Union des Campagnes.” - -It appears, however, that this was not enough. In the bosom of the -“Catholic Superior Council,” M. Héridier exclaimed: “We must follow -the course of the Bernese government.” Such bitter hatred can only -be accounted for by the negative results of the country enterprise. -The firmness of the Catholics, in fact, increases, instead of growing -fainter, and they are unanimous in adopting the sentiments of a speaker -of the “Union des Campagnes,” who exclaimed lately: “Whatever happens -we will not be found wanting. If they despoil us of our churches, they -can only take the walls; they cannot take our souls. We will follow our -stripped and proscribed altars even into the poverty of a barn or the -darkness of a cavern. If they hunt our priests from their presbyteries, -we will offer them an asylum under our modest and friendly roofs. If they -rob them of their salaries, we will share with them the wages of our -labor and the bread of our tables.” - -A special cause of irritation to the liberals and free-thinkers was the -circumstance that scarcely had the Catholics been despoiled of the church -of S. Germain before they bought, to replace it, the Temple Unique, -formerly occupied by the Freemasons, and which they dedicated to the -Sacred Heart. Accordingly, no sooner had the elections for the renewal of -the Grand Council given a majority to M. Carteret, before that gentleman -set to work to inflict a fresh blow upon the Catholics, by robbing them -of the Church of Notre Dame. This magnificent church was built in 1857 -by means of subscription collected throughout the Christian world by -Mgr. Mermillod, and M. Dunoyer, the dismissed curate of Geneva. The -subscriptions had been given, we need scarcely say, on the faith of the -Catholic worship, and that alone, being celebrated in the church; and for -seventeen years no other had been celebrated there. - -For a long while M. Carteret and the free-thinking liberals had been -casting longing looks on this prey. They had been impeded in their -designs by energetic resistance, and, amongst others, by that of the -ex-Father Hyacinthe. But at last they lost patience, and at their -instigation, backed by the pressure of a populace whose worst passions -they had inflamed, the Grand Council, at the beginning of January, -adopted an order of the day requiring the prompt execution of the law of -2d November, 1850. - -This law, which had bestowed upon Catholics the land on which the sacred -edifice is built, enacted that the administration of the church should -be entrusted to a commission of five members, chosen by the Catholics of -the parish of Geneva. By demanding the putting in force of this clause, -they hoped to form a commission of Old Catholics who would hand over the -church to the radicals concealed under a schismatic mask. - -We do not intend to discuss here the question of right; although it -appears clear to us that they could not justly turn against Catholics -a stipulation which had been made expressly in their favor. The mere -equity of the case should have sufficed to prevent, under existing -circumstances, the application of the clause. This was the view taken -by two distinguished Protestants who had not abandoned all regard for -justice--M. Naville and M. de la Rive. The latter, in a remarkable -production, observed: “There is not, I think, an impartial mind, which, -looking at the matter from the point of view of simple equity, will not -decide in favor of that one of the two churches which has borne the whole -of the large outlay by which the value of the original grant has been -increased more than tenfold. The spot on which now stands one of the most -splendid monuments of our city would be still a waste space but for the -sums collected and furnished precisely by those persons whose possession -of it is now disputed. Notre Dame is exclusively the work of the priests -and faithful of the Catholic Church. That is a notorious, undisputed -fact.” - -There could be no reply to language so true and striking. Moreover, one -of those who had collected the subscriptions, in a published letter, -stated that “the principal part of the sums employed in the erection of -the building had been subscribed by Roman Catholics throughout the world, -and that he could assert and prove that those who are separated from the -Catholic Church had nothing whatsoever to do with its construction.” - -But these protests were useless. Had, however, the sectaries the pretence -that they were in a majority in Geneva, and that they had need of Notre -Dame? By no means. And the _Chronique radical_ remarked it, demanding: -“What will you do with the church of Notre Dame? Can you fill it?” -Indeed, no! They will never be able to fill it. But the object was to -wrest it from the faithful--from those who flocked to it in crowds, -whose registry records, in 1874, 260 Baptisms, 170 Burials, 60 Marriages, -174 First Communions, and 30,000 Communions of adults; and for whom five -Masses were celebrated every Sunday. Here, once more the end justifies -the means. - -The Council of State, moved thus to put in force the law of 1850, -convoked the electoral body, deciding, as a preliminary, that the -citizens of Geneva alone should take part in the election. To understand -the importance of this qualification it will suffice to observe that -there are in the canton of Geneva 25,000 Catholic foreigners,[147] and -that, by depriving them of the right of voting, the Catholic strength -would be seriously weakened. - -In spite of this subterfuge, there was every prospect of victory for -the faithful, when, on the very eve of the elections, the 6th February, -during the afternoon, the number of electors which, in the morning, -stood at 1,500 only, was raised to 1,924. Whence these recruits at the -last moment had been procured may be easily conjectured. The _Courrier -de Genève_ asserted that it saw come to the poll “a band of unknown -individuals who appeared to be formed in brigades.” - -Thanks to this reinforcement, the free-thinking list obtained a majority -of 187 votes. - -The commission thus elected immediately entered upon its duties, and -instead of taking their church away from the Catholics, it hurriedly -decided that “the inhabitants of the right bank of the Rhone and of the -Lake, who belong to the religion recognized by the state, should be at -liberty to perform in the temple the ceremonies of Baptism, Marriage, and -Burial,” and that it reserved for itself to take what steps it might deem -advisable to take against ecclesiastics who should give occasion to just -complaints, specially in aught that concerns the public peace, obedience -to the laws, and the respect due to magistrates. - -These resolutions were on the point of being executed when Mgr. -Mermillod, M. Dunoyer, as representatives of the subscribers, and M. -Lany, rector of Notre Dame, claimed, before the courts, the ownership of -the edifice. - -Do judges still exist at Geneva? It remains to be seen. - -But this was not all. On the 6th April, at five o’clock in the morning, -the recently-elected commission had the doors of the church broken open -by a locksmith, protected by a squad of gendarmes and police-agents; -after which seals were placed on the doors, and further worship -interdicted! - -The situation becomes thus more and more critical. M. Carteret envies -M. Bismarck his laurels, and, supported by all that is evil in Geneva, -we must expect to see him rush headlong to the utmost extremities. Far -distant, indeed, is the time when one could talk of Swiss liberty. The -violence of every description which has gone on increasing in the old -Helvetic land demonstrates that despotism can run riot as savagely under -a republican form of government as under any other; and that they who cry -out the most lustily against the tyranny of kings are themselves tyrants -of the worst kind when they have power in their hands. - -It is clear that in the course they are pursuing the Swiss radicals -will not suffer themselves to be distanced by any one. They have formed -a vast association, called the _Volksverein_, at one of whose meetings, -held at Olten last autumn, a programme was voted containing the following -clause: “The moment has arrived for the application of the principles -which are the foundation of the new federal party. In order to crush -for ever the influence of Ultramontanism it is not enough to emancipate -from the church the individual as such, it is necessary that churches -themselves should be governed democratically and nationally and that -every hierarchical institution be suppressed, as dangerous to the state -and to liberty; and that, by virtue of Art. 50 of the new constitution, -the existing bishoprics be suppressed by the federal assembly.” The -hypocrites! They dare to take the name of liberty upon their lips! True, -the “National Convention,” and the Paris “Commune,” they too scribbled -the word everywhere! - -The demonstrations, the principal of which we have indicated, must end -in the definitive constitution of the projected national church, before -which all will be expected to bow the knee, as the pagans demanded of the -primitive church to adore their false gods. Active negotiations for this -object are being carried on between five states of the ancient diocese -of Basel, the cantons of Zurich, Schaffhausen, Ticino, Geneva, etc. It -has been decided to have a bishop. All will be required to submit to -this bishop. But he will have a superior in the form of a synod composed -of sectaries of all creeds or of no creed, and these will enjoy, in his -regard, the right of deposition. It is asserted that M. Reinkens will -consecrate the new bishop. The consecration of an apostate does not share -in the promise of indefectibility. - -Anyhow, the Old Catholics will not succeed in erecting a serious edifice. -To found a church there are needed faith, zeal, devotedness, religious -conviction. Radicals and free-thinkers have none of these. - -Without belief of any kind, their one aim is the overthrow of all -religion. Let them, then, seize our churches--let them decree the -formation of an ecclesiastical hierarchy! The profaned churches will be -deserted, their priests will be despised, and again they will be taught -the lesson that the Living God does not preside over schismatics and -heretics! - - -COFFIN FLOWERS. - - And doth Saint Peter ope the gates - Of heaven to such a toll? - Or do you think this show of flowers - Will deck my naked soul? - - Perhaps you wish the folks to know - How much you can afford; - And prove upon my coffin-lid - You don’t “let out,” nor board. - - Oh! cast an humble flower or two - Upon my funeral bier; - And drop upon my lifeless form - One true, love-speaking tear. - - But take away these shop-made things, - They mock my sighs and groans; - And soon, like me, will rot, and show - Their framework, like my bones. - - God only asks if my poor soul - A wedding garment wears. - A bridal wreath? Yes, make _it_ up - Of flowers. God’s flowers are prayers! - - -ARE YOU MY WIFE? - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” “PIUS VI.,” -ETC. - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE SEARCH RENEWED. - -Everybody was late next day at the Court; everybody except Clide de -Winton, whose waking dreams being brighter than any that his pillow -could suggest, had deserted it at a comparatively early hour, and had -been for a stroll in the park before breakfast. He re-entered the house -whistling an air from _Don Giovanni_, and went into the library, where he -expected to find Sir Simon. The baronet generally came in there to read -his letters when there were people staying in the house. The library was -a noble room with its six high pointed windows set in deep mullions, and -its walls wainscoted with books on the east and west--rich-clad volumes -of crimson and brown, with the gold letters of their names relieving the -sombre hues like thin streaks of light, while at intervals great old -florentines in folios “garmented in white” made a break in the general -solemnity. The end opposite the windows was left clear for a group of -family portraits; and beneath these, as Clide burst into the room, -there stood a living group, conversing together in low tones, and with -anxious, harassed faces. Mrs. de Winton, contrary to her custom, had on -a gray cashmere dressing-gown, whose soft, clinging drapery gave her -tall figure some resemblance to a classical statue; she was leaning her -arm on the high mantel-piece, with an open letter in her hand, which -she was apparently discussing with deep annoyance, and with a cloud of -incredulity on her handsome, cold features; the admiral was striking the -marble with his clenched hand, and looking steadily at the bronze clock, -as if vehemently remonstrating with it for marking ten minutes to eleven; -Sir Simon was standing with his hands in his pockets, his back against -the base of Cicero’s bust, very nearly as white as the Roman orator -himself. - -The three figures started when Clide opened the door. He felt -instantaneously that something was amiss, but there was a momentary pause -before he said: - -“Has anything happened?” - -Mrs. de Winton, seeing that no one else spoke, came forward: “Nothing -that we are certain of; but your uncle has received a letter that has -shocked and startled us a good deal, although it seems on the face of -it quite impossible that the thing can be true. But you will be brave, -Clide, and meet it as becomes a Christian.” She spoke calmly, but her -voice trembled a little. - -“For heaven’s sake what is it?” said Clide, a horrible thought darting -through him like a sting. Why did his uncle keep looking away from him? -“Uncle, what is it?” - -“It is a letter from Ralph Cromer--you remember your uncle’s old -valet?--he is in London now; he was at Glanworth on that dreadful night.… -My dear boy,” laying her hand kindly on his arm, “it may be a mere fancy -of his; in fact, it seems impossible for a moment to admit of its being -anything else; but Cromer says he has seen her.…” - -“Seen whom? My dead wife … Isabel! The man is mad!” - -“It must be a delusion; we are certain it is; but still it has given us a -shock,” said his stepmother. - -“What does the man say? Show me his letter!” - -She handed it to him. - - “HONORED MASTER: I am hard set to believe it; but if it an’t - her, it’s her ghost as I seen this mornin’ comin’ out of a - house in Wimpole Street, and though I ran after her as hard as - my bad leg ’ud let me, she jumped into a cab and was off before - I could get another look of her. It was the young missis, - Master Clide’s wife, as you buried eight year ago, Sir, as I’m - a live man; unless I went blind of a sudden and saw wrong, - which an’t likely, as you know to the last my eyes was strong - and far-seein’. I went back to the house, but the man could - tell me nothin’ except as all sorts of people keep comin’ and - goin’ with the toothache, in and out, his employer bein’ a - dentist, and too busy to be disturbed with questions as didn’t - pay. I lose no time in acquaintin’ you of, honored master, and - remain yours dutifully to command, - - RALPH CROMER.” - -There was a dead silence in the room while Clide read the letter. Every -one of the six eyes was fixed on him eagerly. He crushed the paper in his -hand, and sat down without uttering a word. - -“Don’t let yourself be scared too quickly, De Winton,” said Sir Simon; -“it is perfectly clear to my mind that the thing is a mere imagination of -Cromer’s; he’s nearly in his dotage; he sees somebody who bears a strong -likeness to a person he knew nearly eight years ago, and he jumps at the -conclusion that it is that person.” - -Clide made no answer to this, but turned round and faced his uncle, who -still stood with his hand clenched stolidly on the mantel-piece. - -“Uncle, what do you think of it?” he said hoarsely. - -The admiral walked deliberately towards the sofa and sat down beside his -nephew. Before he spoke he held out his horny palm, and grasped Clide’s -hand tightly. The action was too significant not to convey to Clide all -it was meant--perhaps unconsciously--to express. - -The admiral did not believe the story to be the phantom of dotage; he -believed Cromer had seen Isabel. - -“My boy,” he said, speaking in a harsh, abrupt tone, as if the words were -being dragged out of him, “I can say nothing until we have investigated -the matter. An hour ago I would have sworn it was absurd, impossible. I -would have said, with an oath, it cannot be true. I saw her laid in her -coffin and buried at St. Valéry. But I might have sworn falsely. Several -days had elapsed between the death and the burial; the features were -swollen, scarcely recognizable. I took it perhaps too readily for granted -that they were hers; I ought to have looked closer and longer; but I -shrank from looking at all; I only glanced; they showed me the hair; it -was the same length and apparently the same color, deep jet black; the -height too corresponded. This, as well as all the collateral evidence, -satisfied me at once as to the identity. It may be that I was too rash, -too anxious to be convinced.” - -Clide was silent for a few moments. Then he said: - -“Where did the dentist live that gave us the clew before?” - -“In Wimpole Street.” - -Clide drew away his hand quickly from his uncle’s with a visible shudder. -The coincidence had done its work with the others before he came in. An -inarticulate exclamation, full of passionate emotion of some sort, broke -from him. - -“Come, come,” said Sir Simon, striding towards the window, “it’s sheer -nonsense to take for granted that the house is burnt down because there’s -a smell of fire. The coincidences are strange, very singular certainly; -but such things happen every day. I stick to my first impression that -it’s nothing but a delusion of Cromer’s in the first instance, to which -the chance similarity of the dentist’s address gives a color of reality -too faint to be worth more than it actually is. You must go up to town at -once, and clear away the mistake; it’s too monstrous to be anything else.” - -He spoke in a very determined manner, as if he were too thoroughly -convinced himself to doubt of convincing others. Clide made a resolute -effort to be convinced. - -“Yes, you say truly; it’s unreasonable to accept the story without -further evidence. I will go in search of it without an hour’s delay. -Uncle, you will come with me?” - -“Yes, my boy, yes; we will go together; we must start in about an hour -from this”--pulling out his watch--“meantime, come in and have your -breakfast; it wont help matters to travel on an empty stomach.” - -Mrs. de Vinton left the room hurriedly; the others were following; but -Clide had weightier things on his mind than breakfast; he closed the -door after his uncle and turned round, facing Sir Simon. - -The latter was the first to speak. - -“Has anything definite passed between you and Franceline?” - -It was precisely to speak about this that he had detained Sir -Simon, yet when the baronet broached the subject in this frank, -straight-to-the-point way, he answered him almost savagely: “What’s -the use of reminding me of her now! As if the thought were not already -driving me mad!” - -“I must speak of it. Whatever misery may be in store for the rest of -us, I am responsible for her share in it. I insist upon knowing how far -things have gone between you. Have you distinctly committed yourself?” - -“If following a woman like her shadow, and hanging on every word she -says, and telling her by every look and tone that he worships the ground -she walks on--if you call that distinctly committing myself, I shouldn’t -think you needed to ask.” - -“Have you asked her to be your wife?” - -“Not in so many words.” - -“Does she care for you? De Winton, be honest with me. This is no time for -squeamishness. Speak out to me as man to man. I feel towards this young -girl as if she were my own child. I have known all along how it was with -you. But how about her? Have I guessed right--does she love you?” - -“God help me! God help us both!” And with this passionate cry Clide -turned away and, hiding his face in his hands, let himself fall into a -chair. - -“God help you, my poor lad! And God forgive me!” muttered Sir Simon. - -The accent of self-reproach in which the prayer was uttered smote Clide -to the heart; it stirred all that was noble and unselfish within him, -and in the midst of his overwhelming anguish bade him forget himself to -comfort his friend. - -“You have nothing to reproach yourself with; you acted like a true -friend, like a father to me. You meant to make me the happiest of men, -to give me a treasure that I never could be worthy of. God bless you for -it!” He held out his hand, and grasped Sir Simon’s. “No, nobody is to -blame; it is my own destiny that pursues me. I thought I had lived it -down; but I was mistaken. I am never to live it down. I could bear it if -it fell upon myself alone. I had grown used to it. But that it should -fall upon her! What has she done to deserve it?… What do I not deserve -for bringing this curse upon her?” He rose up with flashing eye, his -whole frame quivering with passion--he struck out against the air with -both arms, as if striving to burst some invisible, unendurable bond. - -Sir Simon started back affrighted. Kind-hearted, easy-going Sir Simon had -never experienced the overmastering force of passion, whether of anger -or grief, love or joy; his was one of those natures that when the storm -comes lie down and let it sweep over them. He was brought now for the -first time in his life in contact with the spectacle of one who did not -bend under the tempest, but rose up in frantic defiance, breasting and -resisting it. He quailed before the sight; he could not make a sign or -find a word to say. But the transient paroxysm of madness spent itself, -and after a few minutes Clide said, hopelessly yet fiercely: - -“Speak to me, why don’t you, Harness?” Emotion swept away his habitual -tone of respect towards the man who might have been his father. “Help me -to help her! What can I do to stand between her and this misery? I must -see her before I go, and what in Heaven’s name shall I say to her?” - -“You shall not see her,” said Sir Simon; “you would not think of such a -thing if you were in your right mind; but you are mad, De Winton. Say to -her, indeed! That you find you are a married man--I don’t believe it, -mind--but what else could you say if you were to see her? While there -is the shadow of a doubt on this head you must not see her, must not -directly or indirectly hold any communication with her.” - -“And I am to sneak off without a word of explanation, and leave her to -think of me as a heartless, dishonorable scoundrel!” - -“A bitter alternative; but it is better to seem a scoundrel than to be -one,” answered Sir Simon. “What could you say to her if you saw her?” - -“I would tell her the truth and ask her to forgive me,” said the young -man, his face kindling with tenderness and passion of a softer kind than -that which had just convulsed its fine lineaments. “I would bless her for -what the memory of her love must be to me while I live. Harness, if it is -only to say ‘God bless you and forgive me!’ I must see her.” - -“I’ll shoot you first!” said the baronet, clutching his arm and arresting -his steps toward the door. “You call that love? I call it the basest -selfishness. You would see the woman who loves you for the sole purpose -of planting yourself so firmly in the ruins of her broken heart that -nothing could ever uproot it; but then she would worship you as a -victim--a victim of her own making, and this would be compensation to you -for a great deal. I thought better of you, De Winton, than to suppose you -capable of such heartless foppery.” - -It was Clide’s turn to quail. But he answered quickly: - -“You are right. It would be selfish and cruel. I was mad to think of it.” - -“Of course you were. I knew you would see it in a moment.” - -“But there is no reason why I should not see her father,” said Clide; “it -is only fit that I should speak to him. Shall I go there, or will you -bring him up here?” - -“You shall not see him, here or anywhere else,” was the peremptory reply. -“Have you spoken to him already?” - -“No. I went down this morning for the purpose, but he was not up.” - -“That was providential. And about Franceline, am I to understand there is -a distinct engagement between you?” - -“As distinct as need be for a man of honor.” - -“Since when?” - -“Last night.” - -Sir Simon winced. This at any rate was his doing. He had taken every -pains to precipitate what now he would have given almost anything he -possessed to undo. - -“I’ll tell you what it is, you must leave the matter in my hands. I will -see the count as soon as you are gone. I will tell him that your uncle -has been called off suddenly on important business that required your -presence, and that you have gone with him. For the present it is not -necessary to say more; it would be cruel to do so.” - -“I will abide by your advice,” said Clide submissively; “but -afterwards--what if this terrible news turns out to be true?” - -“It has yet to be proved.” - -“If it is proved it will kill her!” exclaimed Clide, speaking rather to -himself than to his companion. - -“Pooh! nonsense! All fancy that. Lovers’ dead are easily buried,” said -Sir Simon, affecting a cheerfulness he was very far from feeling. He knew -better than Clide how ill-fitted Franceline was, both by the sensitive -delicacy of her own nature and the inherited delicacy of a consumptive -mother, to bear up against such a blow as that which threatened her; -but he would not lacerate the poor fellow’s heart by letting him share -these gloomy forebodings that were based on surer ground than the -sentimental fears of a lover. Perhaps the expression of his undisciplined -features--the brow that could frown but knew not how to dissemble; -the lip that could smile so kindly, or curl in contempt, but knew not -how to lie; the eye that was the faithful, even when the unconscious, -interpreter of the mind--may have said more to Clide than was intended. - -“I trust you to watch over her,” he said; and then added in a tone that -went to Sir Simon’s very heart, “don’t spare me if it can help you to -spare her. Tell her I am a blackguard--it’s true by comparison; compared -to her snow-white purity and angelic innocence of heart, I am no better -than a false and selfish brute. Blacken me as much as you like--make her -hate me--anything rather than that she should suffer, or guess what I am -suffering. God knows I would bear it and ten times worse to shield her -from one pang!” - -“That is spoken like yourself,” said the baronet. “I recognize your -father’s son now.” - -They grasped each other’s hands in silence. Clide was opening the door -when suddenly he turned round and said with a smile of touching pathos: - -“You will not begin the blackening process at once? You will wait till we -know if it is necessary?” - -“All right--you may trust me,” was the rejoinder, and they went together -into the breakfast-room. - - * * * * * - -They had the carriage to themselves. Clide was glad of it. It was a -strange fatality that drew these two men, alike only in name, so closely -together in the most trying crises of the younger man’s life. He spoke of -it gratefully, but bitterly. - -“Yes, your support is the one drop of comfort granted me in this trouble, -as it was in the other,” he said, as the train carried them through the -green fields and past many a spot made dear and beautiful by memory; “it -is abominably selfish of me to use it as I do, but where should I be -without it! I should have been in a mad-house before this if it were not -for you, uncle, hunted as I am like a mad-dog. What have I done so much -worse than other men to be cursed like this!” - -The admiral had hitherto been as gentle towards his nephew as a fond but -awkward nurse handling a sick child; but he turned on him now with a -severe countenance. - -“What right have you to turn round on your Maker and upbraid him for the -consequences of your own folly? You talk of being cursed; we make our -own curses. We commit follies and sins, and we have to pay for it, and -then we call it destiny! It is your own misdoing that is hunting you. -You thought to make life into a holiday; to shirk every duty, everything -that was the least irksome or distasteful; you flew in the face of -common-sense, and family dignity, and all the responsibilities of life -in your marriage; you rushed into the most solemn act of a man’s life -with about as much decency and reverence as a masquerader at a fancy -ball. Instead of acting openly in the matter and taking counsel with -your relatives, you fall in love with a pretty face and marry it without -even as much prudence as a man exercises in hiring a groom. You pay the -penalty of this, and then, forsooth, you turn round on Providence and -complain of being cursed! I don’t want to be hard on you, and I’m not -fond of playing Job’s comforter; but I can’t sit here and listen to you -blaspheming without protesting against it.” - -When the admiral had finished this harangue, the longest he ever made in -his life, he took out his snuff-box and gave it a sharp tap preparatory -to taking a pinch. - -“You are quite right, sir; you are perfectly right,” said Clide; “I have -no one to blame but myself for that misfortune.” - -“Well, if you see it and own it like a man that’s a great point,” said -the admiral, mollified at once. “The first step towards getting on the -right tack is to see that we have been going on the wrong one.” - -“I was very young too,” pleaded Clide; “barely of age. That ought to -count for something in my favor.” - -“So it does; of course it does, my boy,” assented his uncle warmly. - -“I came to see the folly and the sinfulness of it all--of shirking my -duties, as you say--and I was resolved to turn over a new leaf and make -up for what I had left undone too long. M. de la Bourbonais said to me, -‘We most of us are asleep until the sting of sorrow wakes us up.’ It -had taken a long time to do it, but it did wake me up at last; and just -as I was thoroughly stung into activity, into a desire to be of use to -somebody, to make my life what it ought to be, there comes down this -thunderclap upon me, and dashes it all to pieces again. That is what I -complain of. That is what is hard. This has been no doing of mine.” - -“Whose doing is it? It is the old mistake sticking to you still. It is -the day of reckoning that comes sooner or later after every man’s guilt -or folly. We bury it out of sight, but it rises up like a day of judgment -on us when we least expect it.” - -“I was not kept long waiting for the day of reckoning to my first -folly--call it sin, if you like--” said Clide bitterly. “I should have -thought it was expiated by this. Eight of the best years of my life -wasted in wretchedness.” - -“You wasted them because you liked it; because it was pleasanter to you -to go mooning about the world than to come back to your post at home, -and do your duty to God and yourself and your fellow-men,” retorted the -admiral gruffly. “If we swallow poison, are its gripings to be reckoned -merit to us? You spent eight years eating the fruit of your own act, and -you expect the bitterness to count as an atonement. My boy, I have no -right to preach to you, or to any one; I have too many holes in my own -coat; but I have this advantage over you--that I see where the holes -are and what made them. We need never expect things to go right with us -unless we do the right thing; and if we do right and things seem to go -wrong, they are sure to be right all the same, though we can’t see it. -It is not all over here; the real reckoning is on the other side. But -we have not come to that yet,” he added, in an encouraging tone; “this -threat may turn out to be a vain one, and if so you will be none the -worse for it--probably all the better. We want to be reminded every now -and then that we don’t command either waves or wind; that when we are -brought through smooth seas safe into port, a Hand mightier than ours has -been guiding the helm for us. We are not quite such independent, fine -fellows as we like to think. But come what may, fine weather or foul, you -will meet it like a Christian, you will bow your head and submit.” - -The admiral tapped his snuff-box again at this climax, took another -pinch, and then fell back on the cushions and opened his paper. - -Clide was glad to be left to himself, although his thoughts were not -cheerful. - -Sir Simon had said truly, he was or ought to have been a Catholic. At -almost the very outset of his acquaintance with Franceline, he had -intimated this fact to her, and though she did not inform her father of -it, the knowledge undoubtedly went far in attracting her towards the -young man and inspiring the confidence that she yielded to him so quickly -and unquestioningly. - -Mrs. de Winton, Clide’s mother, had been a sincere Catholic, although -her heart had beguiled her into the treacherous error of marrying a man -who was not of her faith. She had stipulated unconditionally that her -children should be brought up Catholics; and on her death-bed demanded -a renewal of the promise--then, as formerly, freely given--that Clide, -their only child, should be carefully educated in his mother’s religion. -But these things can never safely be entrusted to the good-will of any -human being. The mother compromised--if she did not betray--her solemn -trust, and her child paid the penalty. Mr. de Winton kept his promise as -far as he could. He had no prejudices against the old religion--he was -too indifferent to religion in the main for that--the antiquity and noble -traditions of the Catholic Church claimed his intellectual sympathies, -while its spirit and teaching, as exemplified in the life of her whom -he revered as the model of all the virtues, inclined him to look on the -doctrines of Catholicity with an indulgence leaning to reverence, even -where he felt them most antagonistic. - -Clide had a Catholic nurse to wash and scold him in his infantine -days, and when, too soon after his father’s second marriage, the boy -became an orphan and was left to the care of a stepmother, that cold -but conscientious lady carried out her husband’s dying injunctions by -engaging a Catholic governess to teach him his letters. Conscience, -however, gave other promptings which Mrs. de Winton found it hard to -reconcile with the faithful discharge of her late husband’s wishes. She -maintained the Catholic influence at home, but she would not prolong the -evil day an hour more than was absolutely necessary. She felt justified, -therefore, in precipitating Clide’s entrance at Eton at an age when many -children were still in the nursery. The Catholic catechism was not on the -list of Etonian school-books, and he would be otherwise safe from the -corroding influence which as yet could scarcely have penetrated below the -surface of his mind. It was reasonably to be hoped that in course of time -the false tenets he had imbibed would fade out of his mind altogether, -and that when he was of an age to choose for himself the boy would elect -the more respectable and rational creed of the De Wintons. His stepmother -carried her conscientious scruples so far in this respect, however, as -to inform the dame who was charged with the care of Clide’s linen, and -the tutor who was to train his mind, that the boy was a Catholic and -that his religion was to be respected. This injunction was, after a -certain fashion, strictly obeyed. The subject of religion was carefully -avoided, never mentioned to Clide directly or indirectly; and he was left -to grow up with about as much spiritual culture as the laborer bestows -on the flowers of the field. The seeds sown by his mother’s hand were -quickly carried away by the winds that blow from the four points of the -compass in those early, youthful days. If some sunk deeper and remained, -they had not sun or dew enough to blossom forth and fructify. Perhaps, -nevertheless, they did their work, and acted as an antidote in the -virgin, untilled soil, and preserved the young infidel from the vicious -vapors that tainted the air around him. It is certain that Clide left -the immoral atmosphere of the great public school quite uncorrupted, -guileless and upright, and still calling himself a Catholic, although -he had practically broken off from all communion with the church of -his childhood. He was more to be pitied than blamed. He was thinking -so now as he lay back in the railway carriage, while the admiral sat -beside him grunting complacently over the leading article, and mentally -prognosticating that the country was going to the dogs, thanks to those -blundering, unpatriotic Whigs. Yes, Clide pitied himself as he surveyed -the past, and saw how his young life had been wasted and shipwrecked. If -he felt that he had been too severely punished for follies that he had -never been warned against, you must make allowance for him. His face wore -a very sad, subdued look as he gazed out vacantly at the quiet fields and -villages and steeples flying past. Why does he suddenly make that almost -imperceptible movement, starting as if a voice had sounded close to his -side? Was it fancy, or did he really hear a voice, low and soft, like -faint, distant music that stirred his soul, making it vibrate to some -dimly remembered melody? Could it be his mother’s voice echoing through -the far-off years when he was a little child and knelt with his small -hands clasped upon her knee, and lisped out some forgotten words that she -dictated? Was it a trick of his imagination, or did some one stand at -his side, gently touching his right hand and constraining him to lift it -to his forehead, while his tongue mechanically accompanied the movement -with some once familiar, long disused formula? There was in truth a -presence near him, and a voice sounding from afar, murmuring those notes -of memory which are the mother-tongue of the soul, subtle, persuasive, -irresistible; accents that live when we have forgotten languages -acquired with mature choice and arduous study; a presence that clings to -us through life, and reveals itself when we have the will and the gift -to see and to recognize it. That power is mostly the purchase of a great -pain; the answer to our soul’s cry in the hour of its deepest need. - -It flashed suddenly upon Clide, as that sweet and solemn influence -pervaded and uplifted him, that here lay the unexpected solution of -the problem--the missing key of life. He had fancied for a moment that -he had found it in M. de la Bourbonais’ serene theories and practical -philosophy. These had done much for him, it is true; but they had fallen -away; they failed like a broken sword in the hour of trial; they did -well enough for peaceful times, but they could not help and rescue him -when all the forces of the enemy were let loose. Yet they seemed to have -sufficed for Raymond. - -Clide did not know that the calm philosophy was grafted on a root of -faith in the French gentleman’s mind; his faith was not dead; far from -it, and its vital heat had fed the strength which philosophy alone could -never have supplied. Poor Clide! If any one had been at hand to interpret -to him the message of that voice from his childhood, the whole aspect of -life might there and then have changed for him. But no spiritual guide, -no gentle monitor was there to tell him what it meant. The music died -away; the presence was clouded over and ceased to be felt. When the train -entered the station the passing emotion had disappeared, drowned without -by the roar of the great city; within, by the agitation of the present -which other thoughts had for a moment lulled to sleep. - -The travellers drove straight from the railway station to Wimpole Street. -Mr. Peckett, the dentist, was at home. They were admitted at once, and a -few minutes’ conversation sufficed to confirm their worst forebodings. -There could be no doubt but that the person whom Cromer had recognized in -that transitory glimpse the day before was the beautiful and mysterious -creature, Clide’s wife. - -The dentist had very little definite information to give concerning her. -He could only certify that she was the same who had come to him nearly -ten years ago to have a silver tooth made. It was a fantastic idea of -her own, and in spite of all his remonstrances she insisted on having -it carried out; it had seriously injured the neighboring tooth--nearly -eaten it away. This was what Mr. Peckett had foretold. He was launching -out into a rather excited denunciation of the thing, an absurdity against -all the laws of dentistry, when the admiral called him back to the point. -Did this tooth still exist? Yes; and if it was of no other use, it would -serve to identify the wearer. She had been to have it arranged about four -years ago, and again within the last few days. Mr. Peckett said she was -very little changed in appearance; as beautiful as ever, and considerably -developed in figure; but in manner she was greatly altered. Her former -childlike gayety was quite gone; she sat demure and silent, and when she -spoke it was with a sort of frightened restraint; if a door opened, or -if he asked a question abruptly, she started as if in terror. It was not -the ordinary starting of a nervous person; there was something in the -expression of the face, in the quivering of the mouth and the wavering -glance of the eyes, that had on one occasion especially suggested -to him the idea of a person whose mental faculties had suffered some -derangement. She gave him the impression, in fact, of one who either -had been or might on slight provocation become mad. She never gave any -name or address, but had always been accompanied by either the man whom -she called “uncle,” or an elderly woman with the manner of a well-to-do -shopkeeper; and she seemed in great awe of both of them. Yesterday was -the first time she had ever come by herself, and Mr. Peckett thought that -very likely either of these persons was waiting for her in the cab into -which she had jumped so quickly when Cromer was trying to come up with -her. She had left no clew as to her residence or projected movements; -only once, in reply to some question about a recipe which her uncle -wanted the dentist to see, she said that it had been forgotten in St. -Petersburg. His answer seemed to imply that they meant to return there. -Mr. Peckett was quite sure she sang in public, but whether on the stage -or only in concerts he could not say. - -This was all he had to tell about his mysterious patient. He was very -frank, and appeared anxious to give any assistance in his power, and -promised to let Admiral de Winton know if she came to him again. But he -thought this was not likely for some time, at any rate. He had finished -with her on the last visit, and there was no reason that he foresaw for -her coming back at present. - -There was not a shadow of doubt on Clide’s mind but that the person in -question was his lost Isabel. The admiral, however, stoutly continued -to pooh-pooh the idea as absurd and impossible. He was determined, at -any rate, not to give in to it until he had been to St. Valéry, and -investigated the question of the dead Isabel whom he had seen buried -there. So he left Clide to open communications once more with Scotland -Yard, and set the police in motion amongst the managers of theatres and -other agents of the musical world, while he went on board the steamer to -Dieppe. He was not long searching for the link he dreaded to find. The -young woman whom he had so hastily concluded to be his nephew’s missing -wife had been proved to be the daughter of a Spanish merchant, whose -ship had foundered on the Normandy coast in the gales that had done so -much damage during that eventful week. He himself had been saved almost -miraculously, and after many weeks of agonized suspense as to the fate of -his child, he heard of a body having been washed ashore at St. Valéry, -and buried after waiting several days for recognition. He hastened to the -spot, and, in spite of the swift ravages of death, recognized it beyond a -doubt as that of his child. The English milord who had paid for all the -expenses of the little grave, and manifested such emotion on beholding -the body, turning away without another glance when he saw the long hair -sweeping over it like a veil, had left no address, so the authorities had -no means of communicating with him. - -This was the intelligence which Clide received two days after his -interview with the dentist. It only confirmed his previous conviction. He -was as satisfied that his wife was alive as if he had seen and spoken to -her. About an hour after his uncle’s return there came a note from Mr. -Peckett saying that “the person in question” was on her way to Berlin, if -she had not already arrived there. The landlady of the house where she -had been lodging, under the name of Mme. Villar, had called at Wimpole -Street for a pocket-book which her late tenant believed she must have -dropped there. While she was inquiring about it of the servant, Mr. -Peckett came out; he inquired after his patient; the landlady was glad -to say she was well, and sorry to say she was gone; she had left the day -before for Berlin, going _via_ Paris. - -“Now, uncle, we must part,” said Clide; “I can’t drag you about on this -miserable business any more. I must do what remains to be done myself. I -will start at once for Berlin, and once there, à la grace de Dieu! you -will hear from me when I have anything to say.” - -“I shall hear from you as soon as you arrive; you must write to me -without waiting for news,” said the admiral. “You will take Stanton with -you?” - -“I suppose I had better; he knows everything, so there is no need to -shirk him, and he’s a discreet fellow, as well as intelligent and -good-natured. He may be of use to me.” - -“Then God be with you both, my boy. Bear up, and keep a stout heart -whatever comes,” said the admiral, wringing his hand. - -“You will write to Harness for me,” said Clide; “tell him I can’t write -myself; and say I trust to his doing whatever is best for me.…” - -He turned away abruptly; and so they parted. - -No incident broke the monotony of the road until Clide reached Cologne. -There, as he was crossing the platform, a lady passed him; she looked -at him, and started, or he fancied she did, and instead of getting into -the carriage that they were both evidently making for, she hurried on -to the one higher up. He drew his hand across his forehead, and stood -for a moment trying to remember where he had seen the face, but his -memory failed him. His curiosity was roused, however, and he was in -that frame of mind when every insignificant trifle comes to us pregnant -with unlooked-for possibilities. He went on to the carriage the lady -had entered. There was only another occupant beside herself, an elderly -German, with a beery countenance and brick-red whiskers. Clide got in -and seated himself opposite the lady, who was at the other end of the -compartment, and steadily looking out of the window. He felt sure she had -seen him come up to the door, but she did not turn round when he opened -it and closed it again with a bang. They had five minutes to wait before -the train started. Clide employed them in getting out a book and making -himself comfortable for the long ride in prospect. The lady was still -absorbed in the landscape. The German made his preparations by taking -a clay pipe from his pocket, filling it as full as it would hold with -tobacco, and then striking a light. Clide had started bolt upright, and -was watching in amazement. The lady was in front of him. Did the brute -mean to puff his disgusting weed into her face? He was making a chimney -of his hand to let the match light thoroughly. Perhaps Clide’s vehement -look of indignation touched him mesmerically, for before applying it to -the pipe he looked round at him and said in very intelligible English: - -“I hope you don’t object to smoking?” - -“I can’t say I much relish tobacco, but I sha’n’t interfere with you if -this lady does not object.” - -Mein herr asked her if she did. She was compelled to turn round at the -question. - -“I am sorry to say I do, sir; the smell of tobacco makes me quite sick.” - -Hem! She is not a lady, at any rate, thought Clide. - -“Oh! I am sorry for that,” said the German; “for you’ll have the trouble -of getting out.” - -Before Clide could recover sufficient presence of mind to collar the man -and pitch him headforemost out of the window, the lady had grasped her -bag, rug, and umbrella, and was standing on the platform. The impending -ejectment was clearly a most welcome release; nothing but the utmost -goodwill could have enabled her to effect such a rapid exit. Clide was -so struck by it that he forgot to collar the German, who had begun with -equal alacrity to puff away at his pipe, and the train moved on. - -The first thing Clide saw on alighting at the next station was his -recent _vis-à-vis_ marshalling an array of luggage that struck even his -inexperienced eye as somewhat out of keeping with a person who said “sir” -and travelled without a servant. What could one lone woman want with such -a lot of boxes, and such big ones? She waylaid a porter, who proceeded to -pile them on a truck while she stood mounting guard over them. - -“Follow that man and see where he is taking that luggage to,” Clide -whispered to Stanton, and the latter, leaving his master to look after -their respective portmanteaux, hurried on in the direction indicated. - -“They are going to the Hotel of the Great Frederick, sir,” he said, -returning in a few minutes. - -“Then call a cab and let us drive there.” - -The Hotel of the Great Frederick was not one of the fashionable -caravansaries of the place; it was a large, old-fashioned kind of -hostelry, chiefly frequented by business people, travelling clerks, -dress-makers, etc.; and its customers were numerous enough to make it -often difficult to secure accommodation there on short notice. This was -a busy season; everybody was flitting to and from the watering-places, -where the invalids and gamblers of Europe were ruining or repairing their -fortunes and their constitutions, so that Mr. de Winton was obliged to -content himself with two small rooms in the third story for the night; -to-morrow many travellers would be moving on, and he could have more -convenient quarters. - -“Stanton, keep a lookout after that person. I am in a mood for suspecting -everything and everybody; but I don’t think it’s all fancy in this case. -I believe the woman is trying to avoid me; and if so, she must have a -motive for it. Ask for the visitors’ book, and bring it to me at once.” - -Stanton brought the book, and while his master was running his eye -searchingly over the roll of names, hoping and dreading to see Mme. -Villar among the number, he set off to look after the woman with the -multitude of boxes. She was lodging on the first floor, and had been -expected by a lady and gentleman who had taken rooms in the house the day -before. This much Stanton learned from a _Kellner_,[148] whom he met -coming out of the said rooms with a tray in his hands. - -“I think I know her,” said Stanton. “What is her name?” - -But before the _Kellner_ could answer the door opened, and the lady -herself stood face to face with Mr. de Winton’s valet. Their eyes -met with a sudden flash of recognition; Stanton turned away with an -almost inaudible whistle, and was vaulting up to the third story in the -twinkling of an eye. - -“I’ve seen her, sir, and I can tell you who she is. She is the dressmaker -that made Mrs. de Winton’s gowns before you brought her to Glanworth. I -remembered her the moment I saw her without a bonnet. I had been twice -to her place in Brook Street, with messages and a band-box from Mrs. de -Winton.” - -Clide had started up with an exclamation of anger and triumph. Here, -then, was a clew. Evidently the woman held communication or was in some -way connected with Isabel, else why should she have shrunk from meeting -him? It was clear as daylight now that she did shrink. - -“Tell the landlord I wish to speak to him,” said Clide. - -He was walking up and down the room, his hands in his pockets, and his -head tossed back like an impatient horse, when the owner of the Great -Frederick came in. - -“I want to have a word of conversation with you; sit down, pray,” said -Clide; but he continued walking, as we are apt to do when agitation is -too vehement to bear immobility, and must have an outlet in motion. The -landlord had taken a chair as desired, but rose again on seeing that his -guest did not sit down; the hotel-keeper was a well-mannered man. There -was a lapse of two or three moments while Clide considered what he should -say. It was impossible to acknowledge the real motive of his curiosity -about the occupants of the first-floor rooms, and how otherwise could he -justify any inquiries about them and their movements? He recoiled from -the odious necessity that drove him to pry into people’s affairs, to ask -questions and set watches like a police agent; but this was the mere husk -of the bitter kernel he had to eat. It may have been the extraordinary -agitation visible in the young man’s face and gait and manner that -aroused the hotel-keeper’s suspicions and put him on the defensive, or -it may have been that some one had been beforehand with Clide, and cut -the ground from under his feet by warning the landlord not to give any -information; but at any rate the latter acted with a circumspection that -was remarkable in a person so unskilled in the science of diplomacy. -These first-floor people were good customers; this was the third time -they had stopped at the Great Frederick, and it was not likely to be the -last, unless, indeed, the house should be made objectionable to them in -some way; and no landlord who knew his duty to his customers could be a -party to such a proceeding. - -“Mme. Brack is a most excellent customer, but no dressmaker--that I -can assure milord of; she has many boxes because she goes to spend -many months at Vienna; that is her custom, as also that of the friends -she travels with--M. Roncemar and his daughter, people of quality like -milord, and large fortune. Unfortunately they do not tarry long at the -Great Frederick, only remaining three days to rest themselves; their -rooms are already bespoke from Friday morning, when they start by the -midday train. But why should not milord go himself and ask of M. Roncemar -any information he desires? M. Roncemar is a most polite gentleman, and -would no doubt be happy to see a compatriot.” - -This was all that Clide could extract from the wily master of the Great -Frederick. If he had been more outspoken, he might have been more -successful; but he could not bring himself to this; he spoke so vaguely -that his motives might have borne the most opposite constructions. The -landlord’s private opinion was that there was a money-claim in the way, -and that he was on the track of some fugitive, perhaps fraudulent, -debtor; it was no part of a landlord’s business to pry into matters of -this sort, or bring a customer into trouble. - -“Well, sir?” said Stanton, coming in when he saw the landlord come out. - -“I did not make much out of him; the fellow either knows more than he -cares to tell, or we are on the wrong scent. You must lose no time in -finding out from the waiters whether these names are the real ones; -whether, at least, they are the same the people have borne here before, -and also if it is true that the rooms are taken till Friday next; if so, -it gives me time to go to the consul and take proper legal steps for -their arrest. But it may be a dodge of his; if the woman recognized us -both, as I am strongly inclined to believe, they have put the landlord up -to telling me this, just to prevent my entrapping them, and so as to give -them time to escape. The people whom he calls Roncemar have been here at -any rate before the alarm came, and it will be known most likely whether -they are on their way to Vienna or not. Be cautious, Stanton; don’t rouse -suspicion by asking too pointed questions, because you see it may be that -as yet there is no suspicion, it may be my fancy about the man’s throwing -me off the scent. He urged me to go and see M. Roncemar myself, which -was either a proof that he suspects nothing, or that he is the cleverest -knave who ever outwitted another. Be off and see what you can learn. I -will dine at the _table d’hôte_.” - -The few details that Stanton gleaned from the _kellner_ attached to the -first floor corroborated all that the landlord had said: the party were -to remain until Friday--in fact they were not quite decided about going -so soon; the younger lady was in delicate health, and greatly fatigued -by the journey; it was possible they might remain until the Monday. “So -if you are counting on the rooms you may be disappointed,” he added, -winking at Stanton as he whipped up a tray and darted up the stairs like -a monkey, three steps at a time. - -So far, then, Clide was sure of his course. He walked about after -dinner--supper, as it was called there--and called at the consulate; but -the consul had been out of town for the last week, and was not expected -home until the next day. - -“And he is sure to be here to-morrow?” inquired the visitor. - -“Yes, sir; he has an appointment of great importance at one o’clock. We -expect him home at twelve.” - -“Then I will call at two. You will not neglect to give him this card?” -He wrote a line in pencil on it announcing his visit at two next day, -and returned to the hotel. As he was crossing the hall he heard the -heavy tramp of hobnailed shoes on the stairs, and a noise as of men -toiling under a weight. It was a piano. Clide walked slowly up after the -carriers, saw them halt at the rooms on the first floor, saw the doors -thrown open and the instrument carried in; there was no mistake about it; -the occupants meant to remain there for some few days at least. - -He sat down and wrote a long letter to the admiral, lit a cigar, and -killed time as best he could with the newspapers until, physically worn -out, he lay down in hopes of catching a few hours’ sleep. Stanton, -satisfied with the information he already possessed, felt it might be -unwise to ask further questions, and contented himself with hanging about -the corridors in the neighborhood of Mrs. Brack’s rooms, in hopes of -seeing her coming in or out, and catching a glimpse, perhaps, of another -inmate who interested him more closely. It may seem irrational in him, -and especially in his master, to have jumped at a positive conclusion -as to the identity of that inmate on such a flimsy tissue of evidence; -but when our minds are entirely possessed by an idea, we magnify trifles -into important facts, and see all things colored by the medium of our -prepossessions, and go on hooking link after link in the chain of -witnesses till we have completed it, and made our internal evidence do -the work of substantial testimony. - -It was a glorious day, and when Clide had breakfasted he was glad to -go out and reconnoitre the town instead of sitting in his dingy room, -or lounging about the reading-room. He was a trained walker, thanks -to his years of travel, and once set going he would go on for hours, -oblivious of time, and quite unconscious of fatigue as long as the -landscape offered him beauty or novelty enough to interest him. It was -about half-past ten when he left the house, and he tramped on far beyond -the town, and walked for nearly two hours, when the chimes of a village -Angelus bell reminded him that time was marching too, and that he had -better be retracing his steps. It was close upon two o’clock when he -appeared at the consul’s door. On entering the hall, the first person he -saw was Stanton. - -“Sir, I’ve been waiting here these two hours for you. You’d better please -let me have a word with you before you go in”; and Clide turned into -the dining-room, which the servant of the house civilly opened for him. -“We’ve been sold. They were off this morning at six. The three started -together. They are gone to Berlin--at least so one of the _kellners_ let -out to me; the one I spoke to yesterday was coached-up by the landlord -and the people themselves, I suppose, for he told me it was Vienna they -were gone to; he had a trumped-up story about the _fraulein’s_ mother -being taken suddenly ill and telegraphing for them. They are a cunning -lot. That piano was a dodge to put us to sleep, sir.” - -“What proof have you that they are gone to Berlin? That other man may -be mistaken, or lying to order like the rest? I must see the consul and -take advice with him. This scoundrel of a landlord shall pay for his -lies,” said Clide, beating his foot with a quick, nervous movement on the -ground; “he must be forced to speak, and to speak the truth.” - -“No need, sir; I’ve found it out without him. I’ve been to the railway. I -made believe I was the servant following with luggage that was forgotten, -and they told me the train they started by and the hour it arrives, and -described them all three as true as life,” said Stanton. - -“And it is _she_?” - -“Not a doubt of it, sir. As certain as I’m Stanton.” Clide felt -nevertheless that it would be well to see the consul; the case was -so delicate, so fraught with difficulties on all sides, that it was -desirable at any cost of personal feeling to furnish himself with all the -information he could get as to how he should now proceed, so as not to -entangle things still further. - -On hearing his visitor’s strange tale, the consul’s advice was that he -should see with his own eyes the person whom he took for granted was his -wife, before venturing on any active steps. “The fact is quite clear to -you,” he remarked, “and from what you say it is equally clear to me; but -the evidence on which we build this assumption would not hold water for -one minute before a magistrate. Suppose, after all, it turns out to be a -case of mistaken identity; what a position you would be in!” - -“That is impossible,” affirmed Clide. - -“No, not impossible; highly improbable, I grant you; but such improbable -things occur every day. You must have more substantial ground than -second-hand evidence and corroborating circumstances to go upon before -you stir in the matter, and then you must do nothing without proper legal -advice.” - -Clide recognized the common-sense and justice of this, and determined to -be advised. He started for Berlin, and on arriving there went straight -from the railway to the British Embassy, where he obtained a letter from -the ambassador to the Minister of Police, requesting that functionary to -give the young Englishman every assistance and facility. The minister -was going to bed; it was near twelve o’clock; the ambassador’s letter, -however, secured the untimely visitor immediate admission, and a civil -and attentive hearing. He took some notes down from Clide’s dictation, -and promised that all the resources of the body which he controlled -should be enlisted in the matter, and as soon as they had discovered -where the party they were in pursuit of had alighted, he would -communicate with Mr. de Winton. - -The latter then went to the hotel, where Stanton had preceded him, and -was waiting impatiently for his arrival. The moment he entered the room, -Stanton was struck by his pale, haggard look; he had not noticed it on -the journey; when the train stopped, they saw each other in the shade -or in the dark, and after exchanging a hasty word passed each to his -separate buffets and carriages. It was indeed no wonder his master should -be worn out after the terrible emotions of the last few days, added to -the continued travelling and scarcely any sleep or food, but it did not -look like ordinary fatigue. - -“You had better go to bed, sir; you’ll be used up if you take on like -this; and that won’t mend much,” he said, when Clide, after lighting a -cigar, flung himself into a chair and bade Stanton bring him the papers. - -“I’ll go to bed presently; bring me the papers,” repeated Clide, and the -man left the room. - -When he returned he found his master standing up and holding on by the -back of his chair as if to steady himself. - -“I feel queerish, Stanton; get me some brandy and water; make haste,” he -said, speaking faintly. - -Instead of obeying him, Stanton forced him gently into the chair, and -proceeded to undress him Clide resigning himself passively to it, as if -he were in a stupor; he let himself be put to bed in the same way, like a -child too sleepy to know what was being done to it. - -“I don’t like the looks of him at all,” thought Stanton, as he stole -softly out of the room; “if he’s not all right to-morrow, I send for the -admiral.” - -Clide was not all right in the morning; he was feverish and exhausted, -and complained in a querulous way, quite unlike his usual self, of a -burning, hammering pain in his head. Stanton sent for a medical man -without consulting him. When he said he had done so, Clide gave no sign -of displeasure; he did not seem quite to take it in. - -“I’ve got fifty thousand toothaches in my skull, Stanton; what the deuce -is it, eh?” he cried, tossing from side to side on his pillow. Then -suddenly he raised himself: - -“Stanton!” - -“Yes, sir!” - -“You think I’m going to be ill. Don’t deny it; I see it in your face. -Perhaps I am; I feel uncommonly odd here”--passing his hand over his -forehead--“but I want to say one thing while I think of it: you don’t -write a word to any one in England until the doctor says I’m a dead man. -Do you hear me speaking to you?” - -“Yes, sir; but don’t you think if the admiral…” - -“If you attempt to write to him, I’ll dismiss you that very instant!” And -his eyes flashed angrily. “You mind what I say, Stanton!” - -“All right, sir; you know best what you like about it.” - -The excitement seemed to have exhausted his remaining strength; he grew -rapidly worse; and when the doctor came, he declared his patient was in -for a brain fever that might turn to worse unless the circumstances were -specially propitious. - -Why should we linger by his bedside? It would be only a repetition of the -old story; delirium following on days of pain and restlessness; a long -period of anxiety while youth battled with the enemy, now seemingly about -to be worsted in the fight, then rising above the disease with unexpected -starts, showing how rich and strong the resources of the young frame -were. The medical man was not communicative with the valet; he kept his -alternations of hope and fear to himself; it was only by scrutinizing -the expression of his face as he felt the patient’s pulse that Stanton -could make a guess at his opinion. To his eager inquiries on accompanying -the oracle to the door, he received the uniform reply that this was a -case in which the disease must run its course, when no one could say -what a day might bring forth, when much depended on the quality of the -patient’s constitution; the one drop of comfort Stanton extracted from -him was the emphatic assurance that in this instance the patient had a -constitution of gold. The crisis came, and then Stanton, convinced in his -inexperienced mind that no mortal constitution could pass this strait, -boldly asked the doctor if it was not time to write to the family. - -“These things must run their course; in twenty-four hours it will be -decided,” was the sententious reply. - -Stanton was fain to be content with it, and wait. The day passed, and the -night dragged on slowly as a passing bell, until at last the decisive -hour came and was passed; then the medical man spoke again. - -“He is saved. The worst is now over; he is entering on the period of -convalescence.” - -The period was long--longer than he had anticipated; for the golden -constitution had been fiercely tried and shaken; it was more than two -months from the day of Clide’s arrival in Berlin until he was able to -leave the hotel. In the meantime, what had become of Isabel, or Mme. -Villar, as we shall call her for the present? All that Stanton could -ascertain was that she had left Berlin about a week after his master had -been struck down, and had gone--so it was said at the hotel where she and -her party put up--for a tour in the neighboring spas, after which she was -to proceed to St. Petersburg to fulfil an engagement for the season. This -was the last link the police had got hold of; but as nobody had taken it -up at the time, it was impossible to say how many others had intervened -in the two months that had gone by. - -It was now late in September. Clide was very weak still, and unfit for -a long railway journey, and besides, it was unlikely Mme. Villar would -be yet in St. Petersburg, assuming that the story of her going there at -all was true. He yielded therefore to the doctor’s advice, and went to -recruit himself at the nearest watering-place, after having again seen -the authorities at Berlin, and urged them not to let the affair sleep, -but to keep a sharp lookout in every direction. - -In the first week of October he arrived in St. Petersburg. The city -of the Czars looked dreary and desolate enough in these keen autumn -days; there was not much movement in its immense market-places--its -bald, spacious squares, and high, broad houses standing unsocial and -mistrustful, far apart in the wide, noiseless streets; but people were -dropping in quickly from day to day from their country-houses, getting -out their furs, and settling down for the winter campaign that was at -hand; for the foe was marching steadily on them, girt with sullen skies -of lead, and tawny mists, and trumpeted by the shrill blast of the north -wind, a few strong puffs from whose ice-breathing nostrils would soon -paralyze the rivers and lay them to sleep under twenty feet of ice. Clide -was weary after his long ride, and was in a mood to be exasperated when, -on stepping out of the train, and seeking for their two portmanteaus -amongst the heaps of luggage, the porters said they were missing. It was -no small inconvenience, for the said portmanteaus contained all their -clothes, and nearly all their money. - -The officials were very civil, however, and assured the travellers that -their luggage would be forthcoming next day. There was nothing for it -but to console themselves with this promise, and go on to the hotel. -Clide then gave his purse to Stanton and bade him go out and purchase -such things as were indispensable for the night. The valet accordingly -set off, accompanied by an English waiter who volunteered to interpret -for him, and Clide sallied forth for a stroll along the Neva, that still -flowed high and free between its broad quays. He walked on and on, -forgetting time, as was his habit, until lassitude recalled him to his -senses, and he looked around him and began to wonder where he had strayed -to. He had drifted far beyond his intention, and now found himself on -an island where handsome villas amidst groves and long avenues were to -be seen on every side. Happily a drosky passed empty at the moment; he -hailed it, gave the name of his hotel, and drove home. Stanton had not -yet returned. This was odd, for his interpreter had come back an hour -since, and said that the valet, after doing all his commissions, had -lingered behind merely to see the quays, saying he would follow in ten -minutes. It was impossible he could have lost his way, for the hotel -was in sight. The fact was, Stanton had had an adventure. He happened -to be crossing the bridge when he noticed a man bestriding the parapet -at the other end, swinging from side to side, and apostrophizing the -lamp-post with great earnestness. Stanton watched him as he walked on, -mentally wondering how long this social position would prove tenable, -when the man gave a sudden lunge, and was precipitated with a shriek -into the water. There were several foot-passengers close to the spot; -they rushed towards the parapet, and began screaming to each other in -Russian and gesticulating with great animation, hailing everybody and -everything within sight, but no one gave any sign of doing the only thing -that could be of avail, namely, jumping in after the drowning man. The -unfortunate wretch was struggling frantically, and gasping out cries -for help whenever he got his head above the water. There was a stair -running down from the quay, where boats were moored to rings in the -wall. Stanton saw this; he was a capital swimmer; so, without stopping -to reflect, he pulled off his coat, flew down the steps, and plunged -in. A loud cheer rang all along the parapet, then a breathless silence -followed; the two men in the water were wrestling in a desperate embrace; -Stanton had the Russian by the collar, and the latter with the suicidal -impulse of a drowning man, was clutching him wildly, and dragging him -down with all his might. Happily, he was no match for the Englishman’s -sinewy arms; Stanton shook himself free with a vigorous effort, swam out -a few yards, then he turned and swam back, caught the drowning man by the -hair, and drew him on with him to the steps. A thundering salvo greeted -his achievement; the group had now swelled to a crowd, and a score of -spectators came tumbling down the steps gabbling their congratulations, -and, what was more to the purpose, helping the hero to lift the rescued -man on to the steps, and then haul him up to the landing-place. Stanton -broke through the press to snatch up his coat, and was elbowing his way -out, when two individuals, whom he rightly took for policemen, came -up to him, and began to hold forth volubly in the same unintelligible -jargon. Stanton only understood, by their pointing to some place and -clutching him by the shoulder, that they wanted him to accompany them. -With native instinct, Stanton suspected they were proposing a tribute -of admiration to him in the shape of a bumper at the tavern; but he was -more intent on his wet clothes, and, thanking them by signs, indicated -that he must go in the opposite direction, shouting meanwhile, at the -very top of his lungs, “Hôtel Peterhof! I’m going to Peterhof!” But the -policemen shook their heads, and still pointed and tugged, until, finding -further expostulation useless, one of them took a stout grip of Stanton’s -collar and proceeded to drag him on, _nolens volens_. The British lion -rose up in Stanton “and roared a roar.” He levelled his clenched fist -at the aggressor’s chest, struck him a vigorous blow, and in language -more forcible than genteel bade him stand off. But the Russian held -on like grim death, gabbling away harder than ever, and pointing with -his left thumb to the _spit_ on his own breast, and then touching the -corresponding spot on Stanton’s wet shirt; but Stanton would not see -it. He doubled up his fist for another blow, when the other policeman -suddenly caught him by both arms, and pinned his elbows as in a vise -behind his back. The crowd had gone on swelling, and now numbered several -hundred persons; they crushed round the infuriated Englishman, who stood -there the picture of impotent rage, dripping and foaming and appealing to -everybody to help him. At this juncture a carriage drove up; the coachman -stopped to know what was going on; and great was Stanton’s joy when he -heard a voice cry out to him in English: “You must go with them; they -won’t hurt; they are going to give you a decoration for saving a man’s -life.” - -“Confound their decoration! What the devil do I want with their -decoration? Tell them I’m not a Russian!” - -“They know that, but it don’t matter; the law is the same for natives and -foreigners,” explained the coachman. - -“Hang it, I’m not a foreigner; what do you take me for? I’m an -Englishman!” protested Stanton. - -“Don’t matter; you must be decorated; you may as well do it, and be done -with it.” - -“But look at my clothes, man! I’m as wet as a drowned rat!” - -“Served you right! What business had you jumping into the water after a -fool that wanted to drown himself?” - -“I wish I’d let him,” said Stanton devoutly; “but just you tell these -chaps to let me go or else they’ll ’ear of it; tell them my master will -go to the ambassador and get them flogged all round; tell them that, and -see what comes of it.” - -“No good. The law is the law. Good morning to you; take a friend’s -advice, and keep your skin dry next time”; and, nodding to Stanton, he -touched his horses and was off at a pace. - -There was nothing for it but to resign himself to his fate. Stanton -ceased all resistance, and let himself be led to the altar where glory -awaited him in the form of a yellow _spit_. He was marched on to a -large, barrack-like building; two sentries were mounting guard over its -ponderous iron gate. He passed through them and was marched from bureau -to bureau, addressed by several officials in every tongue under the sun, -it seemed to him, till they came to the right one, requested to record -his name, age, and state of life in several ominous-looking books, and on -each occasion was embraced and shaken hands with by the presiding genius -of the bureau; at last he was brought into the presence of a gold-laced -and highly decorated individual, who handed him a written document, very -stiff and very long, and with this a knot of ribbon. Stanton without more -ado was stuffing both into the pocket of his soaked pantaloons, when the -gold-laced gentleman exclaimed with friendly warmth, “Oh! you must permit -me to place the _spit_ upon your breast!” Upon which the Englishman -recoiled three steps with a scowl of disgust, and bade him do it if he -dared. The official, apparently surprised to see his polite offer met so -ungraciously, forbore to press it, and demanded the fee. “The fee!--what -fee?” He explained that a fee was always paid on receipt of a decoration. -Stanton declined paying it, for the substantial reason that he had no -money; his luggage had been lost on the railway; so had his master’s. The -polite gentleman was very sorry to hear of their misadventure, but the -law was inexorable--every man who performed that noble feat of saving a -Russian’s life should be decorated, and the decoration involved a fee. - -“Then what in the name of the furies do you want me to do?” cried the -exasperated Stanton; “I can’t coin any, can I?” - -No; this was not a practical alternative, but very likely his master -could devise one; he would have no difficulty in getting credit for the -amount; any one in St. Petersburg would be happy to accommodate a milord -with so small a sum, or indeed any sum. - -Stanton had nothing for it but to write a line to the Peterhof explaining -his pitiable position, and entreating his master to come to the rescue -without delay. - -It was late in the evening when this missive was handed to Clide. The -landlord, with the utmost alacrity, placed the coffers of the Peterhof at -his disposal, and sent for a carriage to convey him to the scene of his -valet’s distress. - -“If ever any one catches me saving a Russian fellow’s life again may I -be drowned myself!” was Stanton’s ejaculation as he shut his master into -the cab, and drove home with the _spit_ in his pocket. - -This little incident gave Clide some food for reflection, and aroused -in him a prudent desire to make some acquaintance with the ways and -customs of Muscovy before he went further. A little knowledge of the -code which included such a very peculiar law as the aforementioned might -prove not only desirable but essential, before he entangled himself in -its treacherous meshes. A paternal government might have its advantages, -but clearly it had its drawbacks. Russia was almost the only spot in -the so-called civilized world that he had not explored in the course -of his wanderings, so the people and their laws were as unknown to him -practically as the people and the laws of the Feejee Islands. He had -gone once as far as Warsaw with the intention of pushing on to Russia, -but what he saw in the Polish city of her spirit and national character -sickened and horrified him; he turned his back on the scene of her -cruelty and demoralizing rule, and went down to Turkey. There at least -barbarism reigned with a comparatively gentle sceptre, and wore no -hypocrite’s mask. He had not furnished himself with a single letter of -introduction to St. Petersburg. It never entered into his imagination -when leaving London that he should want any; he did not dream that the -will-o’-the-wisp he was chasing would have led him so far. But he was -here now, and he must find some one to steer him safe through quicksands -and sunken rocks. - -There was no doubt an English lawyer in the city to whom he could safely -apply. The landlord of the Peterhof gave him the address of one. It was a -Russian name, but he assured Clide that it was that of the English lawyer -of St. Petersburg, who managed all the law affairs of English residents. -Clide went to this gentleman’s office, and found a small, urbane little -man, who spoke English with a very pure accent and fluently, but with -Muscovite written on every line of his face. It was of no consequence, -however, as he showed his client in the first few questions he put that -he was in the habit of dealing with English people and transacting -confidential and intricate cases for them. The present one he frankly -admitted was without precedent in his legal experience, and his advice to -Clide was pretty much the same as the consul’s, reinforced, however, by a -rather startling argument. - -“You must first prove beyond a doubt that it is not a case of mistaken -identity, and, even when this is done, you have to consider whether it -is expedient to run the risks that must attend any active proceedings -against the persons in question. Let us consider the facts as they -stand, setting aside possible antecedents. The lady is engaged here -for the season. I can guarantee that much. I heard her repeatedly last -year, and the announcement, on the night of her last appearance, that -she was to return next season, was received with an enthusiasm that I -cannot describe. She is, therefore, an established favorite with the -public. This in itself is a fact fraught with danger to any one seeking -to molest her--I use the word from the point of view of the public--any -person interfering with so important a branch of their pleasure as the -opera would expose himself to disagreeable consequences. The government -is paternally anxious that the people should be amused. It is not -wise to thwart a paternal government.… The Czar, moreover, has shown -decided appreciation of this prima donna. He condescended to receive -her into the imperial box and himself clasp a costly diamond bracelet -on her arm. He and the rest of the royal family are to be present at -her first reappearance. No one, be they ever so guilty, can be attacked -with impunity while under the favor of the imperial smile. A paternal -government is not trammelled by the conventionalisms and routine that -check the action of other forms of government; it acts promptly, -decisively. If you meddle in this matter rashly, you may find yourself in -very unpleasant circumstances.” - -“I should agree with all you say if I were a subject of the Russian -government,” said Clide, “but I am an Englishman; surely that makes a -difference?” - -The lawyer smiled grimly. - -“I would not advise you to count upon it for security. I have known -some Englishmen whose nationality did not prove such a talisman as they -expected.” - -“You mean that they have been imprisoned without offence or trial, -treated like Russian subjects?” Clide’s lip curled under his moustache as -he emitted the monstrous proposition. - -“I mean to give you the best advice in my power,” returned the urbane -lawyer with unruffled coolness. “You have come to me for counsel. You are -free to follow it or not as you see good.” - -“So far, you have given me only negative advice. You tell me what I must -not do; can you tell me nothing that I can and ought to do?” said Clide. - -“For the present, I can only urge you to be prudent. One rash act may -precipitate you into a still worse dilemma than the present. See this -lady for yourself, and see the man who accompanies her. I do not advise -you to speak to them, nor even to let them know of your presence here, -still less of your intentions. The man, from what you already know of -him, is likely to be an unscrupulous fellow, a dangerous enemy to cope -with. He--on account of his pupil or niece--has patrons in high place. If -he got wind of your designs, he might frustrate them in a manner … that -… that you don’t foresee.…” The lawyer paused, and bent his sharp green -eyes on Clide with a meaning that was not to be misunderstood. - -“You mean that the government would connive at or assist him in some -personal violence to me?” - -“I mean to advise you honestly. I might put you off with a sham, or lay -a trap for you; I should be well paid for it. But I traffic as little -as possible in that sort of thing, and _never_ with an English client.” -It was impossible to doubt the genuine frankness in this assurance, -coupled as it was with the implied admission that the lawyer was less -incorruptible to native clients. Clide was convinced the man was dealing -fairly by him. - -“And when I have seen them both, and thus put a seal on certainty--what -next?” - -“Wait until the season is over; then follow them to their next -destination, out of Russia, and take counsel with a shrewd legal man -of the place. My own opinion is that your wisest course would be to do -nothing until you can attack the affair in England: the mere fact of -being a foreigner puts barriers in the way of the law for helping you -anywhere; but, as you value your liberty, don’t interfere with a prima -donna who is in favor with the Court of St. Petersburg--it were safer for -you to play with fire.” - -Clide laid a large fee on the lawyer’s green table, and wished him good -morning. - -He hesitated as he was stepping into his fly. Should he go to the British -Embassy, and lay the whole story before Lord X----, and so place one -strong barrier between him and the monstrous possibilities with which the -lawyer had threatened him? He stood for a moment with his hand on the -door, which Stanton was holding open for him; his forehead had that hard -line straight down between the horizontal bars over his eyes that had -once so scared Franceline. “To the hotel!” he said, slamming the door, -and Stanton jumped up beside the coachman. - -They had gone about a hundred yards when the window was pulled down in -front, and Clide called out: “To the British Embassy!” - -The horse’s head was turned that way. While they were rattling over the -stones, Clide was arguing his change of resolution, and trying to justify -it. “I will burn my ship and take the consequences. What balderdash he -talked about the danger of letting the man know of my intentions! How -the deuce could they harm me? If I were a Russian, no doubt; but the -government would hardly run their neck into such a noose as assault or -imprisonment of a British subject for the sake of a popular prima donna! -Pshaw! I was an idiot to mind him.” - -The coachman pulled up before the British Embassy. Two private carriages -stopped at the same moment, gentlemen alighted from them and ran up the -steps. Stanton held the door open for his master, but Clide did not move; -he sat with his head bent forward, examining his boots, to all appearance -unconscious of his valet’s presence. - -“Here we are, sir; this is the Embassy,” said Stanton. But Clide sat -dumb, as if he were glued to the seat. At last, starting from his revery, -he said “Home!” and flung himself back in the carriage. - -“That fever has left him a bit queer,” thought Stanton, as he closed the -door on his capricious master. - -“What a fool’s errand it would be!” muttered Clide to himself; “and what -have I to say to Lord X----? If it _should_ turn out to be a case of -mistaken identity.… The lawyer’s advice is after all the safest and the -most rational.” - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -SPACE. - -II. - -It is of the utmost importance in the philosophical investigation -in which we have engaged to bear in mind that the power by which we -attain to the knowledge of the intrinsic nature of things is not our -imagination, but our intellect. The office of imagination is to form -sensible representations of what lies at the surface of the things -apprehended; the intellect alone is competent to reach what lies under -that surface, that is, the essential principles of the thing, and their -ontological relations. This remark is so obvious that it may seem -superfluous; but our imagination has such a power in fashioning our -thoughts, and such an obtrusive manner of interfering with our mental -processes, that we need to be reminded, in season and out of season, of -our liability to mistake its suggestions for intellectual conceptions. -What we have said about absolute space in our past article shows that -even renowned philosophers are liable to such mistakes; for nothing -but imagination could have led Balmes, Descartes, and many others, to -confound absolute space with the material extension of bodies. As to -relative space, the danger of confounding its intellectual notion with -our sensible representation of it, is, perhaps, less serious, when we -have understood the nature of absolute space; yet, here too we are -obliged to guard against the incursions of the imaginative faculty, which -will not cease to obtrude itself, in the shape of an auxiliary, upon our -intellectual ground. - -Absolute space cannot become relative unless it be extrinsically -terminated, or occupied, by distinct terms. Hence, in passing from the -consideration of absolute space to that of relative space, the first -question by which we are met is the following: - -Is absolute space intrinsically modified or affected by being occupied? -or, _Does the creation of a material point in space entail an intrinsic -modification of absolute space?_ - -The answer to this question cannot be doubtful. Absolute space is not -and cannot be intrinsically affected or modified by the presence of a -material point, or of any number of material points. We have shown that -absolute space is nothing else than the virtuality of God’s immensity; -and since no intrinsic change can be conceived as possible in God’s -attributes or in the range of their comprehension, it is evident that -absolute space cannot be intrinsically modified by any work of creation. -On the other hand, nothing can be intrinsically modified unless it -receives in itself, as in a subject, the modifying act; for all intrinsic -modifications result from corresponding impressions made on the subject -which is modified. Thus the modifications of the eye, of the ear, and of -other senses, result from impressions made on them, and received in them -as in so many subjects. But the creation of a material point in space -is not the position of a thing in it as in a subject; for, if absolute -space received the material point in itself as in a subject, this point -would be a mere accident; as nothing but accidents exist in a subject, -and since it is manifest that material elements are not accidents, it is -plain that they are not received in space as in a subject. - -Hence the creation of any number of material points in space implies -nothing but the _extrinsic_ termination of absolute space, which -accordingly remains altogether unaffected and unmodified. Just as a body -created at the surface of the earth immediately acquires weight, without -causing the least intrinsic change in the attractive power which is the -source of all weights on earth, so does a material element, created in -absolute space, acquire its ubication without causing the least intrinsic -change in absolute space which is the source of all possible ubications. -A material element has its formal ubication inasmuch as it occupies a -point in space. This point, as contained in absolute space, is virtual; -but, as occupied by the element, or marked out by a point of matter, it -is formal. Thus the formality of the ubication consists in the actual -termination and real occupation of a virtual point by an extrinsic term -corresponding to it. - -The formal ubication of an element is a mere relativity, or a -_respectus_. The formal reason, or foundation, of this relativity is the -reality through which the term ubicated communicates with absolute space, -viz., the real point which is common to both, though not in the same -manner, as it is _virtual_ in space, and _formal_ in the extrinsic term. -A material element in space is therefore nothing but a term related by -its ubication to divine immensity as existing in a more perfect manner in -the same ubication. But since the formality of the contingent ubication -exclusively belongs to the contingent being itself, absolute space -receives nothing from it except a relative extrinsic denomination. - -Some will say: To have a capacity of containing something, and to contain -it actually, are things intrinsically different. But absolute space, when -void, has a mere capacity of containing bodies, whilst, when occupied, -it actually contains them. Therefore absolute space is intrinsically -modified by occupation. - -To this we answer, that the word “capacity,” on which the objection is -built up, is a mischievous one, no less indeed than the word “potency,” -which, when used indeterminately, is liable to opposite interpretations, -and leads to contradictory conclusions. - -The capacity of containing bodies which is commonly predicated of -absolute space, is not a passive potency destined to be actuated by -contingent occupation; it is, on the contrary, the formal reason of all -contingent ubications, since it contains already in an infinitely better -manner all the ubications of the bodies by which it may be occupied. To -be occupied, and not to be occupied, are not, of course, the same thing; -but it does not follow from this that space unoccupied is intrinsically -different from space occupied; it follows only, that, when space is -occupied, a contingent being corresponds to it as an extrinsic term, -and gives it an extrinsic denomination. In other terms, everything -which occupies space, occupies it by ubication. Now every ubication is -the participation in the contingent being of a reality which absolute -space already contains in a better manner. Consequently, the capacity -of containing bodies, which is predicated of space, already _contains -actually_ the same ubications, which, when bodies are created, are -formally attributed to the bodies themselves. - -This answer is, we think, philosophically evident. But, as our -imagination, too, must be helped to rise to the level of intellectual -conceptions, we will illustrate our answer by an example. Man has -features which can be reflected in any number of mirrors, so as to form -in them an image of him. This “capacity” of having images of self is -called “exemplarity,” and consists in the possession of that of which an -image can be produced. Hence, man’s exemplarity actually, though only -virtually, contains in itself all the images that it can form in any -mirror; and when the image is formed, man’s exemplarity gives existence -to it, but receives nothing from it, except a relative denomination drawn -from the extrinsic term in which it is portrayed. In a like manner, God’s -omnipotence, and his other attributes, are mirrored in every created -thing, and their “capacity” of being imitated in a finite degree arises -from the fact that God’s attributes contain already in an eminent manner -the whole reality which can be made to exist formally in the contingent -things. Hence, when these contingent things are created, God gives -existence to them, but receives nothing from them, except a relative -denomination drawn from the extrinsic terms in which his perfections -are mirrored. In the same manner, too, when a material element is -created, it receives its being, and its mode of being in space, that is, -its ubication, which is a finite image or imitation of God’s infinite -ubication; but it gives nothing to the divine ubication, except the -extrinsic denomination; just as the image in the mirror gives nothing to -the body of which it is the image, but simply borrows its existence from -it. - -From this it follows that material elements are in space _not by -inhesion, but by correlation_, each point which is formally marked out by -an element corresponding to a virtual point of space, to which it gives -an extrinsic denomination. The said correlation consists in this, that -the contingent term, by its formal mode of existing in the point it marks -out, really imitates the eminent mode of being of divine immensity in the -same point; and from this it follows again, that whatever new reality -results from the existence of a material element in space, belongs -entirely to the element itself, and constitutes its mode of being. - -The relation between the contingent being as existing formally in its -ubication, and divine immensity as existing eminently in the same -ubication, is called “presence.” - -We must notice, before we go further, that the virtuality of God’s -immensity, when considered in relation to the distinct terms by which it -is extrinsically terminated, assumes distinct relative denominations, -and therefore, though it is one entitatively, it becomes manifold -terminatively. In this latter sense it is true to say that the virtuality -of divine immensity which is terminated by a certain term _A_, is -distinct from the virtuality which is terminated by a certain other -term _B_; and when a material point moves in space, we may say that its -ubication ceases to correspond to one virtuality of immensity, and begins -to correspond to another. Such virtualities, as we have just remarked, -are not entitatively distinct, for immensity has but _one_ infinite -virtuality. Yet this _one_ virtuality, owing to the possibility of -infinite distinct terminations, is capable of being related to any number -of distinct extrinsic terms, and of receiving from their distinct mode -of existing in it any number of distinct relative denominations. When, -therefore, we speak of distinct virtualities of divine immensity, we -simply refer to the distinct extrinsic terminations of one and the same -infinite virtuality, in the same manner as, when we speak of distinct -creations, we do not mean that God’s creative act is manifold in itself, -but only that its extrinsic termination to one being, v. gr. the sun, is -not its termination to other beings, v. gr. the stars. And in a similar -manner, when a word is heard by many persons, its sound in their ears -is distinct on account of distinct terminations, though the word is not -distinct from itself. - -We have explained the origin and nature of formal ubication; we have -yet to point out its division. Ubication may be considered either -_objectively_ or _subjectively_. Objectively considered, it is nothing -else than a _point in space marked out by a simple point of matter_. -We say, _by a simple point_ of matter, because distinct material -points in space have distinct ubications. Hence, we cannot approve -those philosophers who confound the _ubi_ with the _locus_, that is, -the ubication with the place occupied by a body. It is true that those -philosophers held the continuity of matter; but they should have seen -all the same that all dimensions involved distinct ubications, and that -every term designable in such dimensions has an ubication of its own -independent of the ubications of every other designable term; which -proves that the _locus_ of a body implies a great number of ubications, -and therefore cannot be considered as the synonym of _ubi_. - -If the ubication is considered subjectively, that is, as an appurtenance -of the subject of which it is predicated, it may be defined as _the mode -of being of a simple element in space_. This mode consists of a mere -relativity; for it results from the extrinsic termination of absolute -space, as already explained. Hence, the ubication is not _received_ in -the subject of which it is predicated, and does not _inhere_ in it, but, -like all other relativities and connotations, simply connects it with its -correlative, and lies, so to say, between the two.[149] - -But, although it consists of a mere relativity, the ubication still -admits of being divided into _absolute_ and _relative_, according as -it is conceived absolutely as it is in itself, or compared with other -ubications. Nor is this strange; for relative entities can be considered -both as to what they are in themselves, and as to what they are to one -another. Likeness, for instance, is a relation; and yet when we know the -likeness of Peter to Paul, and the likeness of Peter to John, we can -still compare the one likeness with the other, and pronounce that the one -is greater than the other. - -When the ubication is considered simply as a termination of absolute -space without regard for anything else, then we call it _absolute_, and -we define it as _the mode of being of an element in absolute space_, by -which the element is constituted in the divine presence. This absolute -ubication is an _essential mode_ of the material element no less than -its dependence from the first cause, and is altogether immutable so long -as the element exists; for, on the one hand, the element cannot exist -but within the domain of divine immensity, and, on the other, it cannot -have different modes of being with regard to it, as absolute space is -the same all throughout, and the element, however much we may try to -imagine different positions for it, must always be in the centre, so to -say, of that infinite expanse. Hence, absolute ubication is altogether -unchangeable. - -When the ubication of one element is compared with that of another -element in order to ascertain their mutual relation in space, then the -ubication is called _relative_, and, as such, it may be defined as _the -mode of terminating a relation in space_. This ubication is changeable, -not in its intrinsic entity, but in its relative formality; and it is -only under this formality that the ubication can be ranked among the -predicamental accidents; for this changeable formality is the only thing -in it which bears the stamp of an accidental entity. - -The consideration of relative ubications leads us directly to the -consideration of the relation existing between two points distinctly -ubicated in space. Such a relation is called _distance_. Distance is -commonly considered as a quantity; yet it is not primarily a quantity, -but simply the relation existing between two ubications with room for -movement from the one to the other. Nevertheless, this very possibility -of movement from one point to another gives us a sufficient foundation -for considering the relation of distance as a virtual dimensive quantity. -For the movement which is possible between two distant points may be -greater or less, according to the different manners in which these points -are related. Now, more and less imply quantity. - -The quantity of distance is essentially continuous. For it is by -continuous movement that the length of the distance is measured. The -point which by its movement measures the distance, describes a straight -line by the shifting of its ubication from one term of the distance to -the other. The distance, as a relation, is the object of the intellect, -but, as a virtual quantity, it is the object of imagination also. -We cannot conceive distances as relations without at the same time -apprehending them as quantities. For, as we cannot estimate distances -except by the extent of the movement required in order to pass from one -of its terms to the other, we always conceive distances as relative -quantities of length; and yet distances, objectively, are only relations, -by which such quantities of length are determined. The true quantity of -length is _the line_ which is drawn, or can be drawn, by the movement -of a point from term to term. In fact, a line which reaches from term -to term exhibits in itself the extent of the movement by which it is -generated, and it may rightly be looked upon as a track of it, inasmuch -as the point, which describes it, formally marks by its gliding ubication -all the intermediate space. The marking is, of course, a transient -act; but transient though it is, it gives to the intermediate space a -permanent connotation; for a fact once passed, remains a fact for ever. -Thus the gliding ubication leaves a permanent, intelligible, though -invisible, mark of its passage; and this we call a geometric line. The -line is therefore, formally, a quantity of length, whereas the distance -is only virtually a quantity, inasmuch as it determines the length of -the movement by which the line can be described. Nevertheless, since we -cannot, as already remarked, conceive distances without referring the one -of its terms to the other through space, and, therefore, without drawing, -at least mentally, a line from the one to the other, all distances, as -known to us, are already measured in some manner, and consequently they -exhibit themselves as formal quantities. Distance is the base of all -dimensions in space, and its extension is measured by movement. It is -therefore manifest that no extension in space is conceivable without -movement, and all quantity of extension is measured by movement. - -We have said that distance is a relation between two terms as existing in -distinct ubications; and we have now to inquire what is the foundation of -such a relation. This question is of high philosophical importance, as on -its solution depends whether some of our arguments against Pantheism are -or are not conclusive. Common people, and a great number of philosophers -too, confound relations with their foundation, and do not reflect that -when they talk of distances as _relative spaces_, they do not speak with -sufficient distinctness. - -We are going to show that relative space must be distinguished from -distances, as well as from geometric surfaces and volumes, although these -quantities are also called “relative spaces” by an improper application -of words. Relative space is not an intrinsic constituent, but only -an extrinsic foundation, of these relative quantities; hence these -quantities cannot be styled “relative spaces” without attributing to the -formal results what strictly belongs to their formal reason. - -What is relative space? Whoever understands the meaning of the words -will say that relative space is that through which the movement from a -point to another point is possible. Now, the possibility of movement -can be viewed under three different aspects. First, as a possibility -dependent on the active power of a mover; for movement is impossible -without a mover. Secondly, as a possibility dependent on the passivity of -the movable term; for no movement can be imparted to a term which does -not receive the momentum. Thirdly, as a possibility dependent on the -perviousness of space which allows a free passage to the moving point; -for this is absolutely necessary for the possibility of movement. - -In the present question, it is evident that the possibility of movement -cannot be understood either in the first or in the second of these three -manners; for our question does not regard the relation of the agent to -the patient, or of the patient to the agent, but merely the relation of -one ubication to another, and the freedom for movement between them. If -the possibility of movement were taken here as originating in a motive -power, such a possibility would be greater or less according to the -greater or less power; and thus the relativity of two given ubications -would be changed without altering their relation in space; which is -absurd. And if the possibility of movement were taken as resulting -from the passivity of the term moved, then, since this passivity is a -mere indifference to receive the motion, and since indifference has no -degrees, it would follow that the possibility of movement would be -always the same; and therefore the relativity of the ubications would -remain the same, even though the ubications were relatively changed; -which is another absurdity. Accordingly, the possibility of movement -which is involved in the conception of relative space is that which -arises from space itself, whose virtual extension virtually contains all -possible lines of movement, and allows any such lines to be formally -drawn through it by actual movement. - -From this it follows that relative space is nothing else than _absolute -space as extrinsically terminated by distinct terms, and affording -room for movement between them_. It follows, further, that this space -is relative, not because it is itself related, but because it is that -through which the extrinsic terms are related. It is actively, not -passively, relative; it is the _ratio_, not the _rationatum_, the -foundation, not the result, of the relativities. It follows, also, that -the foundation of the relation of distance is nothing else than space -as terminated by two extrinsic terms, and affording room for movement -from the one to the other. This space is at the same time absolute -and relative; absolute as to its entity, relative as to the extrinsic -denomination derived from the relation of which it is the formal reason. - -The distinction between absolute and relative space is therefore to be -taken, not from space itself, but from its comparison with absolute or -with relative ubications. Space, as absolute, exhibits the possibility -of all absolute ubications; as relative, it exhibits the possibility of -all ubicational changes. Absolute space may therefore be styled simply -“the region of ubications,” whilst relative space maybe defined as “the -region of movement.” - -This notion of relative space will not fail to be opposed by those who -think that all real space results from the dimensions of bodies. Their -objections, however, need not detain us here, as we have already shown -that the grounds of their argumentation are inadmissible. The same notion -will be opposed with greater plausibility by those who confound the -formal reason of local relations with the relations themselves, under the -common name of relative space. Their objections are based on the popular -language, as used, even by philosophers, in connection with relative -space. We will reduce these objections to two heads, and answer them, -together with two others drawn from other sources, that our reader may -thus form a clearer judgment of the doctrine we have developed. - -_First difficulty._ The entity of a relation is the entity of its -foundation. If, then, the foundation of the relation of distance is -absolute space, or the virtuality of God’s immensity, it follows that the -entity of distance is an uncreated entity. But this cannot be admitted, -except by Pantheists. Therefore the relation of distance is not founded -on the virtuality of God’s immensity. - -This difficulty arises from a false supposition. The entity of the -relation is _not_ the entity of its foundation, but it is the entity of -the connotation (_respectus_) which arises from the existence of the -terms under such a foundation. Likeness, for instance, is a relation -resulting between two bodies, say, white, on account of their common -property, say, whiteness. Whiteness is therefore the foundation of their -likeness; but whiteness it not likeness. On the contrary, the whiteness -which founds this relation is still competent to found innumerable -other relations; a thing which would be impossible if the entity of the -foundation were not infinitely superior to the entity of the relation -which results from it. - -This is even more evident in our case; for the foundation of the -relation between two ubications is an entity altogether extrinsic to -the ubications themselves, as we have already shown. Evidently, such an -entity cannot be the relativity of those ubications. The relation of -distance is neither absolute nor relative space, but only the mode of -being of one term in space with respect to another term in space. Now, -surely no one who has any knowledge of things will maintain that space, -either absolute or relative, is a mode of being. The moon is distant from -the earth; and therefore there is space, and possibility of movement, -between the moon and the earth. But is this space _the relation_ of -distance? No. It is the ground of the relation. The relation itself -consists in the mode of being of the moon with respect to the earth; and, -evidently, this mode is not space. - -The assumption that the entity of the relation is the entity of its -foundation may be admitted in the case of transcendental relations, -inasmuch as the actuality of beings, which results from the conspiration -of their essential principles, identifies itself _in concreto_ with -the beings themselves. But the same cannot be said of predicamental -relations. It would be absurd to say that the dependence of the world -on its Creator is the creative act; nor would it be less absurd to say -that the relativity of a son to his father is the act of generation, or -that the fraternity of James and John is the same thing as the identity -of Zebedee, their father, with himself. And yet these absurdities, and -many others, must be admitted, if we admit the assumption that the entity -of predicamental relations is the entity of their foundation. Hence the -assumption must be discarded as false; and the objection, which rested -entirely on this assumption, needs no further discussion. - -We must, however, take this opportunity to again warn the student of the -necessity of not confounding under one and the same name the relative -space with the relations of things existing in space. This confusion is -very frequent, as we often hear of distances, surfaces, and volumes of -bodies spoken of as “relative spaces,” which, properly speaking, they -are not. We ourselves are now and then obliged to use this inaccurate -language, owing to the difficulty of conveying our thoughts to common -readers without employing common phrases. But we would suggest that, to -avoid all misconstruction of such phrases, the relative space, of which -we have determined the notion, might be called “_fundamental_ relative -space,” whilst the relations of things as existing in space might -receive the name of “_resultant_ relative spaces.” At any rate, without -some epithets of this sort, we cannot turn to good account the popular -phraseology on the subject. Such a phraseology expresses things as they -are represented in our imagination, not as they are defined by our -reason. Distances are intervals between certain points in space, surfaces -are intervals between certain lines in space, volumes are intervals -between certain surfaces in spaces; but these intervals are no _parts_ -of space, though they are very frequently so called, but only relations -in space. Space is one, not many; it has no parts, and, whether you call -it absolute or relative, it cannot be cut to pieces. What is called an -interval _of_ space should rather be called an interval _in_ space; for -it is not a portion of space, but a relation of things in space; it is -not a length of space, but the length of the movement possible between -the extrinsic terms of space; it is not a divisible extension, but the -ground on which movement can extend with its divisible extension. In -the smallest conceivable interval of space there is God, with all his -immensity. To affirm that intervals of space are distinct spaces would -be to cut God’s immensity into pieces, by giving it a distinct being in -really distinct intervals. It is therefore necessary to concede that, -whilst the intervals are distinct, the space on which they have their -foundation is one and the same. - -Pantheists have taken advantage of the confusion of fundamental space -with the resulting relations in space, to spread their absurd theories. -If we grant them that _distance is space_, how can we refute their -assertion that distance is a form under which divine substance, or the -Absolute, makes an apparition? For, if distance is space, and space is -no creature, distance consists of something uncreated (and therefore -divine) under a contingent form. This is not the place for us to refute -Pantheism; what we aim at is simply to point out the need we have of -expressing our thoughts on space with philosophical accuracy, lest the -Pantheists may shield themselves with our own loose phraseology. - -God is everywhere, and touches, so to say, every contingent ubication by -his presence to every ubicated thing. But the contingent ubications are -not spaces, nor anything intrinsic to space; they are merely extrinsic -terms, corresponding to space, as we have explained; and therefore such -ubications are not apparitions of the divine substance, but apparitions -of contingent things; they are not points of divine immensity, but points -contingently projected on the virtuality of God’s immensity. It is as -vain to pretend that contingent ubications are points of space, as it -is vain to pretend that contingent essences are the divine substance. -Pantheists, indeed, have said that, because the essences of things are -contained in God, the substance of all things must be God’s substance; -but their paralogism is manifest. For the essences of things are in -God, not formally with the entity which they have in created things, -but eminently and virtually, that is, in an infinitely better manner. -The formal essences of things are _only_ in the things themselves, and -they are extrinsic terms of creation, imperfect images of what exists -perfect in God. In the same manner the ubications of things are not in -God formally, but eminently and virtually. They formally belong to the -things that are ubicated. So also the intervals of space are in God -eminently, not formally; they formally arise from extrinsic terminations, -and therefore are mere correlations of creatures. This suffices to show -that distances and other relations in space involve nothing divine in -their entity, although they are grounded on the existence and universal -presence of God, in whom “we live, and move, and have our being.” - -_Second difficulty._--If the foundation of local relations is uncreated, -it is always the same; and therefore it will cause all such relations -to be always the same. Hence, all distances would be equal; which is -manifestly false. - -This difficulty arises from confounding the absolute entity of the -thing which is the foundation of the relation, with the formal manner -of founding the relation. The same absolute entity may found different -relations by giving to the terms a different relativity; for the same -absolute entity founds different relations whenever it connects the -terms of the relation in a different manner. Thus, when the entity of -the foundation is a generic or a universal notion, it can give rise to -relations of a very different degree. Taking _animality_, for instance, -as the foundation of the relation, we may compare one hound with another, -one wolf with another, one bird with another, or we may compare the -hound with the wolf, the wolf with the bird, the bird with the lion, -etc.; and we shall find as many different relations, all grounded on -the same foundation--that is, on animality. In fact, there will be as -many different relations of likeness as there are different animals -compared. Now, if one general ratio suffices to do this, on account -of its universality, which extends infinitely in its application to -concrete things, it is plain that as much and more can be done by the -infinite virtuality of God’s immensity, which can be terminated by an -infinite variety of extrinsic terminations. It is the proper attribute -of an infinite virtuality to contain in itself the reason of the being -of infinite terms, and of their becoming connected with one another -in infinite manners. This is what the infinite virtuality of divine -immensity can do with respect to ubicated terms. Such an infinite -virtuality is whole, though not wholly, in every point and interval of -space; it is as entire between the two nearest molecules as between -the two remotest stars. Hence its absolute entity, though unchangeable -itself, can have different extrinsic terminations; and, since it founds -the relations in question inasmuch as it has such different terminations, -consequently it can found as many different local relations as it can -have different extrinsic terminations. A hound and a wolf, as we have -said, inasmuch as they are animals, are alike; and the wolf and the bird, -also, inasmuch as they are animals, are alike; but the likeness in the -second case is not the same as in the first, because the animality, which -is one in the abstract, is different in the concrete terms to which it is -applied. Hence the difference, or entitative distance, so to say, between -the wolf and the hound is less than the entitative distance between the -wolf and the bird, although the ground of the comparison is one and the -same. In a like manner, the distance from a molecule to a neighboring -molecule is less than the distance from a star to another star, although -the ground of the relation be one and the same; with this difference, -however, that in the case of the animals above mentioned the relation -has an intrinsic foundation, because “animality” is intrinsic to the -terms compared; whilst in the case of local distances the relation has -an extrinsic foundation; for the ubications compared are nothing but -extrinsic terms of space. - -_Third difficulty._--Distances evidently intercept portions of space, and -differ from one another according as they intercept more or less of it. -But, if space is the virtuality of divine immensity, such portions cannot -be admitted; for the virtuality of divine immensity cannot be divided -into parts distinct from one another. - -This difficulty arises from the confusion of that which belongs to space -intrinsically, with that which belongs to it by extrinsic denomination -only. Space in itself has no parts; and therefore distance cannot -intercept a portion of the entity of space. Nevertheless, parts are -attributed to space by extrinsic denomination, that is, inasmuch as -the movements, which space makes possible between given terms, do not -extend beyond those terms, while other movements are possible outside -of the given terms. Hence, since space is infinite and affords room -for an infinite length of movement in all directions, the space which -corresponds to a limited movement has been called an interval of space -and a portion of space. But this denomination is extrinsic, and does not -imply that space has portions, or that the entity of space is divisible. -That such a denomination is extrinsic, there can be no doubt, for it is -taken from the consideration of the limited movement possible between -the terms of the distance, as all distances are known and estimated by -movement. Indeed, we are wont to say that “movement measures space,” -which expression seems to justify the conclusion that the space measured -is a finite portion of infinite space; but, though the expression is -much used (from want of a better one), it must not be interpreted in a -material sense. Its real meaning is simply that movement “measures the -length of the distance” in space, or that movement “measures its own -extent” in space--that is, the length or the extent, not of space, but -of what space causes to be extrinsically possible between two extrinsic -terms. - -This will be still more manifest by referring to the evident truth -already established, that all ubications as compared with the entity -of space are unchangeable, because the thing ubicated cannot have two -modes of being in the infinite expanse of space, but, wherever it be, is -always, so to say, in the centre of it. This proves that the movement -of a point between the terms of a given distance measures nothing else -than _its own length_ in space; for, had it to measure _space itself_, it -would have to take successively different positions with regard to it, -which we know to be impossible. We must therefore conclude that distance -does not properly intercept space, though it determines the relative -length of a line which can be drawn by a point moving through space; for -this line is not a line of space, but a line of movement. In other words, -distance is not the limit of the space said to be intercepted, but of the -movement possible between the distant terms. - -As this answer may not satisfy our imagination as much as it does -our intellect, and as our habit of expressing things as they are -represented in our imagination makes it difficult to speak correctly of -what transcends the reach of this lower faculty, we will make use of a -comparison which, in our opinion, by putting the intelligible in contact -with the sensible, will not fail to help us fully to realize the truth -of what has been hitherto said. - -Let God create a man, a horse, and a tree. The difference, or, as we will -call it, the entitative distance, between the man and the horse is less -than between the man and the tree, as is evident. Yet the man, the horse, -and the tree are extrinsic terms of _the same_ divine omnipotence, which -neither is divisible nor admits of more or less. Now, can we say that, -because the man is entitatively more distant from the tree than from the -horse, there must be _more of divine omnipotence_ between the man and the -tree than between the man and the horse? It would be folly to say so. -The only consequence which can be deduced from the greater entitative -distance of the man and of the tree, is, that a greater multitude of -creatures (extrinsic terms of divine omnipotence) is possible between the -man and the tree, than between the man and the horse. The reader will -readily see how the comparison applies to our subject; for the two cases -are quite similar. Can we say, then, that, because two points in space -are more distant than two other points, there must be _more of divine -immensity_, or of its virtuality, between the former than between the -latter? By no means. The only consequence which can be deduced from the -greater distance of the two former points is, that a greater multitude of -ubications (extrinsic terms of immensity) is possible between them, than -between the two others. This greater multitude of possible ubications -constitutes the possibility of a greater length of movement; and shows -the truth of what we have maintained, viz., that distance endues the -aspect of quantity through the consideration of the greater or less -extent of the movement possible between its terms, and not through a -greater or less “portion” of space intercepted.[150] - -The difficulty is thus fully answered. Nevertheless, as to the phrases, -“a portion of space,” “an interval of space,” “space measured by -movement,” and a few others of a like nature, we readily admit that their -use, having become so common in the popular language, we cannot avoid -them without exposing ourselves to the charge of affectation, nay, we -must use them, as we frequently do, in order to be better understood. -But we should remember that the common language has a kernel as well as -a shell, and that, when we have to determine the essential notions and -the intelligible relations of things, we must break the shell that we may -reach the kernel. - -_Fourth difficulty._--The notions of space and of ubication above given -imply a sort of vicious circle. For space is explained by the possibility -of ubications, whilst ubications are said to be modes of being in space. -Therefore neither space nor ubication is sufficiently defined. - -We answer, that then only is a sort of vicious circle committed in -defining or explaining things, when an unknown entity is defined or -explained by means of another equally unknown. When, on the contrary, we -explain the common notions of such things as are immediately known and -understood before any definition or explanation of them is given, there -is no danger of a vicious circle. In such a case, things are sufficiently -explained if our definition or description of them agrees with the notion -we have acquired of them by immediate apprehension. We say that _Being_ -is that _which is_, and we explain the extension of time by referring -to movement, while we also explain movement by referring to time and -velocity, and again we explain velocity by referring to the extension -of time and movement. This is no vicious circle; for every one knows -these entities before hearing their formal definition. Now, the same -is true with respect to space and ubication; for the notion of space -is intuitive, and before we hear its philosophical definition, we know -already that it is the region of all possible ubications and movements. - -Moreover, such things as have a mutual connection, or as connote one -another, can be explained and defined by one another without a vicious -circle. Thus we say that a _father_ is one who has a _son_, and a _son_ -is one who has a _father_. In the same manner we define _the matter_ as -the essential term of a form, and _the form_ as the essential act of the -matter. Accordingly, since ubications are extrinsic terms of absolute -space, and space is the formal reason of their extrinsic possibility, it -is plain that we can, without any fear of a vicious circle, define and -explain the former by the latter, and _vice versa_. - -Finally, no philosopher has ever defined space or explained it otherwise -than by reference to possible or actual ubications, nor was ubication -ever described otherwise than as a mode of being in absolute or in -relative space. This shows that it is in the very nature of things that -the one should be explained by reference to the other. Hence it is that -even our own definition of absolute space, which does not explicitly -refer to contingent ubications, refers to them implicitly. For when we -say that “absolute space is the virtuality, or extrinsic terminability, -of divine immensity,” we implicitly affirm the possibility of extrinsic -terms, viz., of ubications. - -And here we will end our discussion on the entity of relative space; for -we do not think that there are other difficulties worthy of a special -solution. We have seen that relative space is entitatively identical -with absolute space, since it does not differ from it by any intrinsic -reality, but only by an extrinsic denomination. We have shown that space -is relative in an active, not in a passive sense, that is, as the formal -reason, not as a result of extrinsic relations. We have also seen that -these extrinsic relations are usually called “relative spaces,” and that -this phrase should not be used in philosophy without some restrictive -epithet, as it is calculated to mislead. - -Let us conclude with a remark on the known division of space into _real_ -and _imaginary_. This division cannot regard the entity of space, -which is unquestionably real. It regards the reality or unreality of -the extrinsic terms conceived as having a relation in space. The true -notion of real, as contrasted with imaginary space, is the following: -Space is called _real_, when it is _really_ relative, viz., when it is -extrinsically terminated by _real_ terms, between which it founds a -_real_ relation; on the contrary, it is called _imaginary_, when the -extrinsic terms do not exist in nature, but only in our imagination; -for, in such a case, space is not really terminated, and does not -found real relations, but both the terminations and the relations are -simply a fiction of our imagination. Thus it appears that void space, -as containing none but imaginary relations, may justly be called -“imaginary,” though in an absolute sense it is intrinsically real. - -Hence we infer that the _indefinite_ space, which we imagine, when we -carry our thoughts beyond the limits of the material world, and which -philosophers have called “imaginary,” is not absolute, but relative -space, and is not imaginary in itself, but only as to its denomination of -relative, because where real terms do not exist there are only imaginary -relations, notwithstanding the reality of the entity through which we -refer the imaginary terms to one another. - -That absolute space, considered in itself, cannot be called “imaginary” -is evident, because absolute space is not an object of imagination. -Imagination cannot conceive space except in connection with imaginary -terms so related as to offer the image of sensible dimensions. It is, -therefore, a blunder to confound imaginary and indefinite space with -absolute and infinite space. Indeed, our intellectual conception of -absolute and infinite space is always accompanied in our minds by a -representation of indefinite space; but this depends on the well-known -connection of our imaginative and intellectual operations: _Proprium -est hominis intelligere cum phantasmate_; and we must be careful not -to attribute to the object what has the reason of its being in the -natural condition of the subject. It was by this confusion of the -objective notion of space with our subjective manner of imagining it, -that Kant formed his false theory of subjective space. He mistook, -as we have already remarked, with Balmes, the product of imagination -for a conception of the intellect, and confounded his phantasma of -the indefinite with the objectivity of the infinite. It was owing to -this same confusion that other philosophers made the reality of space -dependent on real occupation, and denied the reality of vacuum. In -vacuum, of course, they could find no real terms and no real relations, -but they could _imagine_ terms and relations. Hence they concluded that, -since vacuum supplied nothing but imaginary relations, void space was an -imaginary, not a real, entity. This was a paralogism; for the reason why -those relations are imaginary is not the lack of real entity in absolute -space, but the absence of the real terms to which absolute space has to -impart relativity that the relation may ensue. It was not superfluous, -then, to warn our readers, as we did in our introduction to this article, -against the incursions of imagination upon our intellectual field. - - -A FRAGMENT. - -_David Ben-Aser to his friend, Amri Ephraim, health, love, and greeting_: - -MY BEST FRIEND: A month past I would have marvelled greatly that the -fame of one seemingly so obscure as he who calls himself Jesus of -Nazareth--and what good can come out of Nazareth?--could have travelled -to Rome or Damascus. - -But the inquiry in thy friendly epistle from the banks of the Tiber, -brought me to-day by thy faithful Isaac, assures me that the city of the -Emperor has caught wind of the rumors with which Jerusalem is filled, and -’tis but an hour since Yusef, a Damascene merchant, questioned me with -interest concerning this new teacher, whose wonderful doctrines and still -more wonderful deeds have set all Galilee in a flame. - -Strangely enough, it has been my fortune of late to have met him, not -once only, but several times, and always under striking circumstances. -What seemed less likely when we parted than that I should give more than -idle thought to what we both deemed a sensation of the hour; and yet it -has come to pass that this prophet, teacher--what you will, so that it -be kindly--has occupied my reflections for many moments in many days. -Things have so fallen out from a small beginning that I am bidden to dine -to-morrow at the house of Simon the Pharisee, in the company of Jesus. - -At the present writing, I can gratify thy curiosity to a certain -important and strange extent; but after having had opportunity to -converse with him, I hope to be able still further to enlighten thee, -as well as satisfy myself as to the nature and depth of the impression -this strange teacher has made on thy hitherto reserved and unsusceptible -friend. I saw him first about a fortnight past. - -On my way to the house of Marcus the centurion, with whom I had a money -transaction, my attention was attracted by a motley crowd of men, women, -and children, all eager to press closer to what seemed to be some -prominent figure in their midst. - -“What is the cause of this commotion,” I inquired, “and whither are ye -bound?” - -One of the number made answer thus: “We follow Jesus of Nazareth, who has -been sent for by Marcus the centurion, to heal his servant, now lying at -the point of death.” - -“Which is Jesus?” I asked “and is he also a physician?” - -“That is he with the grave face and gentle eyes, and he is not a -physician, but a worker of miracles.” - -Anxious to obtain a nearer view of him whose name is in every mouth, I -endeavored to force my way through the crowd, when a man running at full -speed and making wild gestures with his hands called on the multitude -to part and give him speech with Jesus, which they did, as soon as they -fully understood his meaning and from whence he came. Then he called -out, saying: “Lord, my master saith, Trouble not thyself, for I am not -worthy that thou shouldst enter under my roof; say but the word, and my -servant shall be healed.” Jesus lifted his head, and I saw his face for -the first time; nay, but that part which extends from the top of the -forehead beneath the eyes. But what eyes--how full of life, and holiness, -and truth! And methought they fixed their piercing glance full upon me -as he cried aloud: “I say unto you, I have not found so great faith in -Israel.” - -But the crowd pressed about him and I saw him no more, for he retraced -his steps, followed by the multitude, while I pursued my way, filled -with curiosity as to the result. As I neared the house of Marcus I heard -sounds of thanksgiving, and what was my surprise to hear, and in a moment -after see, the man who had been ill, perfectly restored, and fairly -dancing and laughing with joy. - -Marcus is a man of probity and considerable influence, as you well know, -and his faith in the power of Jesus is very great, which can hardly be -counted singular. - -Having transacted my business, I went on my way, marvelling and -reflecting much, albeit I am not given to running after strange prophets, -nor to walk in new paths. But once lighted upon, it seemed this untrodden -way was to open out fresh scenes to my view. - -The next day I betook my steps early to Nain, where my brother-in-law, -Jonah, lies sick of the fever, which is now making fearful ravages in -that city. Returning in the cool of the evening, I suddenly encountered -a funeral procession. A woman deeply veiled followed the corpse, -piercing the air with heartrending cries. At the same moment a group -of travel-stained men entered the gate of the town. In their leader I -recognized Jesus of Nazareth, and at his approach an indefinable feeling -possessed me. I cannot describe it save in saying that I would fain have -fallen at his feet, as though in the presence of some superior being. - -“Whom do you carry?” inquired one of the travellers. - -“The only son of his mother, and she is a widow,” was the sad response. - -Jesus touched the bier, and the bearers paused. Turning with a look of -ineffable compassion to the heartbroken mother, he said, in tones gentle -as those of a woman, “Weep not.” Then, in a louder voice, “Young man, I -say to thee, Arise.” - -My breath came thick and fast, the cold dews gathered on my forehead, -for, miracle of miracles: the dead arose, cast aside his grave-clothes, -and fell sobbing upon his joyful mother’s breast. This I beheld with my -eyes--I heard him speak, I saw his happy tears. But Jesus calmly gathered -up his robe and pursued his journey, and once again I fancied--or did I -fancy?--that he singled me out from the crowd, and fixed his eyes on mine -with an expression that was almost an appeal. My eager gaze followed him -till I could no longer catch the outline of his garments; after which, I -slowly returned to Jerusalem. - -There is much talk in the city concerning this last great miracle, and I -have been at pains to learn more of Jesus, of whom it is even said that -he calls himself the Messiah. It is argued against him that he consorts -with publicans and sinners, and that his most intimate friends and -disciples are illiterate fishermen. - -However, he preaches that he came not to call the just, but sinners, to -repentance; it is therefore but natural and consistent that he should -seek out such, if his mission lies among them; and, with regard to his -near friends being illiterate, he is himself only a carpenter’s son. - -Again, his enemies say that he casts out devils and works prodigies -through Beelzebub. But he preaches charity, good-will, hatred of -hypocrisy and double-dealing, and surely these are not the weapons of the -prince of darkness. - -Many of the Pharisees, far wiser than I, are disturbed and thoughtful -because of these marvels that are daily occurring, so be not alarmed, nor -fear that your David is losing his wits. - -Three days ago, on my way from the synagogue, I was joined by Simon, to -whom Jesus is well known, and in the conversation which ensued between -us, our friend hospitably invited me to dine with him at his house this -evening, saying that Jesus would be of the company. Of course I assented, -and am all impatience for the hour to arrive. Simon’s recognition of -Jesus speaks well for both, the former being a shrewd and careful man, a -quick observer, and not slow to detect imposture; and if the qualities of -the latter were not sound and commendable, Simon would not thus honor him -with his hospitality. - -But already the sun dips low in the heavens; till to-morrow, my -Ephraim--farewell. - - * * * * * - -I left you last evening aglow with curiosity to see and hear more of the -prophet of Israel, who is agitating all Jerusalem with the fame of his -miracles. I return to you awestruck, fascinated, filled with the spirit -of reverence and admiration. What I have to say may lose much of its -impressiveness by reason of distance and want of actual participation in -the events which have taken place. But you cannot fail to be touched by -the strangeness and sublimity of the soul embodied in the form of Jesus. -Yet you have not seen him, you have not heard the sublime language that -falls from his lips whenever he opens them to speak, you have not felt -his god-like eye penetrating yours, nor seen his rare and wondrous smile. -Therefore, should you scorn my enthusiasm, I shall not blame you, but -abide the time when Jerusalem may claim you once more. For the rest, I do -not doubt that in this, as in all things else, we two shall be one. But I -must hasten to resume my narrative while the events of the past few hours -are still fresh in my memory. - -The sun had gone down behind a huge bank of crimson clouds, portending a -storm, as is not unusual at this wintry season, when we seated ourselves, -to the number of twenty or thereabouts, at the well-spread table of -Simon the Pharisee. Jesus was already present when I arrived, and sat, -the honored guest, at the right hand of the host, while several of his -friends or disciples surrounded him in the semicircle formed by the curve -of the table. Was I mistaken, or did his eyes rest on me, as I entered, -with that half-sad, half-affectionate expression so like an invitation? -Remembering the interest I had manifested in our conversation concerning -him, Simon kindly placed me as near Jesus as could well be, owing to the -proximity of several older guests, but after the first moment of greeting -Jesus resumed his discourse, and I had ample opportunity for observing -him at my leisure. He wore a single garment of woollen stuff, which fell -in graceful folds to his feet, being confined at the waist by a thick -cord. The robe was of soft but coarse material, and, though considerably -worn, appeared quite free from soil or travel-stain. He sat with hands -loosely folded on his knees, and I noticed the peculiar whiteness and -transparency of the fingers, which were long and thin. Those hands do -not look as though they belonged to a carpenter’s son. His forehead is -high and broad, and the hair, tinged with auburn, falls in graceful waves -about half-way to the shoulders. The face is oval, each feature perfect, -the eyebrows delicately pencilled, the nose of a Grecian rather than -our native Hebrew type, the lips not very full, but firm and red. Beard -the color of his hair, and slightly cleft, shows the well-formed chin, -and barely sweeps his breast. But those eyes--those deep, unfathomable, -crystal wells--how can I speak of their many and varied expressions, of -that changeful hue between gray and brown so beautiful and yet so rare. -They seem to unite in themselves all of majesty and sweetness I have -ever dreamed looked forth from eyes of angels--dignity and lowliness, -severity and tenderness, sadness and something higher than joy. But their -prevailing expression is one of sorrow, as though they had looked out -into the world, and, taking in its untold miseries and sins at one deep -glance, must hold the mournful picture there for evermore. Indeed, it is -said, I know not how truly, that Jesus has never been known to laugh. -His voice is low and soft, but very clear. I fancy it would be most -melodious in our Hebrew chants. And yet it can grow strong and loud in -reproach, as you shall presently hear. - -The feast had begun, and the servants were busy attending to the wants -of the guests, when a slight noise was heard in the antechamber, as -though the porter were remonstrating with some one who desired to enter. -Suddenly a woman appeared on the threshold, clothed in a fleecy white -tunic, girdled with blue, and bearing an alabaster box in her hand. A -murmur went round the assembly. Surely our eyes did not deceive us--it -was the notorious courtesan, Mary Magdalen, but divested of the costly -robes and ornaments which were formerly her pride, and with her rich -golden hair loosely coiled at the back of her head and simply fastened -with a silver comb. - -I bethought me of a rumor I had heard, that Jesus had once delivered her -from the hands of those who were about to stone her, and also that since -that time she had renounced her abandoned manner of life. Pale, with -eyes downcast, she stood one hesitating instant in the doorway; then, -falling on her knees before Jesus, she wept aloud, literally bathing his -feet with her tears. He uttered no word of reproach, but suffered her -to unbind that beautiful hair whose golden threads had lured so many to -destruction. Now, as though seeking to make atonement, she wiped with it -his tired feet. Kissing them humbly, and still weeping, she drew from -the alabaster box most precious ointment and anointed them profusely. -All were silent, but many shook their heads with doubt and suspicion. -Simon the Pharisee folded his arms, but spake not, till Jesus, as though -divining the thoughts of his heart, said slowly and impressively: - -“Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee.” - -And he answered him: “Master, say on.” - -Then he said: “There was a certain creditor who had two debtors: the one -owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. And when they had nothing -to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me, therefore, which of them -will love him most?” - -Simon answered and said: “I suppose he to whom he forgave most.” - -And he said unto him: “Thou hast rightly judged.” And he turned to the -woman, and said unto Simon: “Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine -house, thou gavest me no water for my feet; but she hath washed my feet -with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me no -kiss; but this woman, from the time I came in, hath not ceased to kiss -my feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint, but this woman hath -anointed my feet with ointment. Wherefore, I say unto thee, her sins, -which are many, are forgiven, for she hath loved much; but to whom little -is forgiven, the same loveth little.” And he said unto her: “Thy sins are -forgiven.” - -No one made answer as the woman silently departed, but the incident -had strangely disturbed the spirit of the feast. I marvel how the most -critical could have found fault or misjudged what was undoubtedly a -spontaneous expression of gratitude and contrition in the repentant -sinner. Jesus had saved Mary from death, and humbled her accusers with -these remarkable words: “Let he who is without sin among you throw the -first stone.” They slunk away mortified and abashed. - -Since that time she has seen the error of her ways, and surely, if -the God of our fathers pardons sinners, it is but in keeping with his -established character for justice and mercy that so perfect a man as -Jesus should not rebuke them. I am more and more powerfully drawn towards -this wonderful teacher. As the guests dispersed last evening, I contrived -to obtain speech with him, and he replied to several questions of mine -with great mildness and suavity. And although, by reason of my known -wealth and position among the Pharisees, one might suppose he would make -some note of the voluntary admiration and respect I did not hesitate to -manifest, he soon turned with grave dignity to others who surrounded -him, his own friends no doubt, and seemed to forget my presence. They -say he goes to-morrow into various towns and villages, for the purpose -of preaching and instructing. He will be accompanied by the twelve who -always follow him. My interest has been so strongly excited that I am -tempted to defer still longer my journey to Rome, which I had intended to -begin almost immediately. However, I shall not postpone it sufficiently -long to deprive myself of the pleasure of thy company in the capital for -some time previous to thy return to Jerusalem. - -In any event, I shall write thee soon. Blessings upon thee, dearest -friend! I await an answer to this lengthy epistle. - - -II. - -The fury of the first persecution had nearly exhausted itself, and even -Nero, that insatiable butcher whose thirst for blood had enkindled the -fierce flame, seemed to have well-nigh spent the measure of his inhuman -cruelty. - -Hiding like criminals in gloomy abodes and obscure retreats, those -Christians who had escaped martyrdom seldom ventured forth save when the -dusk of evening rendered them less liable to scrutiny or interrogation. - -But among the exceptions to this precautionary rule was one, that of -a very old, white-haired man, who might be seen at all times in the -most public places, and who was well-known to be a fearless and devoted -Christian. Indeed, he seemed rather to court danger than avoid it, and -it was a marvel to the more timid among his brethren how he had thus far -escaped the lion’s jaws or the caldron of boiling oil. - -One raw evening in early March, three drunken soldiers were tumbling -along a narrow Roman street, lined with small, obscure-looking houses, -when a bent figure suddenly issued from one of the low doorways and -walked hurriedly in the direction of the Jews’ quarter, not far distant. - -“Ho there!” called one of the three, eager for adventure of any kind, “ho -there! Who art thou, and whither goest thou?” - -The figure paused, and said in reply, “I am an old man, and I go to -relieve a fellow-man in distress.” - -“Not so fast, not so fast, friend,” retorted the soldier. “In these -times, we guardians of the emperor’s peace must be circumspect and -vigilant.” - -“Ho, ho! It is Andrew, that dog of a Christian who boasteth, I am told, -that he is not afraid of our august emperor himself,” said another of the -three. “Speak, old man; art thou not a Christian, and brave enough to -face thy master, who can, if he so pleases, make a torch of thee to light -belated way-farers home?” - -“Ay, thou sayest truly, I am a Christian,” replied the old man, folding -his arms and standing erect, as he continued: “My name is Andrew; I am -well known in the city, and acknowledge no master in the odious tyrant -who calls himself Emperor of Rome.” - -“Ah! what is this?” said the soldier who had not yet spoken, and who -appeared the most sober of the three. “So--so. A traitor and a Christian. -There is a double reward set upon thy head, old fellow. Comrades, -we would be doing an injustice to the emperor and the state in not -apprehending this venomous traitor. Let us away with him to prison, and -before this time to-morrow he may know what it is to feel the emperor’s -avenging arm.” The old man’s eye brightened, and he would have spoken, -but was prevented by him who had first accosted him. - -“Nay, nay, comrades,” he said, “let the poor creature go. He has been -seen in all public places since the edict, and is well known for a -Christian. Yet his age and infirmities have thus far saved him from -arrest. Let us to our quarters, and permit him to go free.” - -“Not so,” replied his companion gruffly, while the other seized the old -man by the cloak. “It won’t do to make fish of one and flesh of another. -Besides, there’s the booty, and that’s something not to be despised.” - -“Well, so be it,” was the reply; “one against two is but poor odds. Let -us go.” - -The prisoner made no resistance, walking on silently between his captors, -but a strange light shone in his eyes; and when the great iron door of -the cell into which he was rudely hurried closed behind him, he fell on -his knees exclaiming: - -“At last, my God, at last! O Lord! I thank thee--let not this great joy -pass from me.” - -Morning dawned, and Nero sat dispensing death and torture to the doomed -Christians, inventing new cruelties with each death sentence. An old man, -heavily manacled, was led in by three guards. His venerable appearance -attracted the emperor’s notice, and he cried out: - -“Ho, guards! bring forward the patriarch. What offence hath the old Jew -committed? Has he been pursuing some unlucky creditor, or hath his last -enterprise savored too strongly of usury? What is charged against thee, -Jew?” - -“He is no Jew, but a bragging Christian, most noble emperor,” exclaimed -the foremost guard. “He boasted but last night that he would not -acknowledge thee for master, and we have brought him to thy presence that -his boast may wither beneath the light of thy august countenance.” - -“Art thou not a Jew?” cried Nero, as the prisoner lifted his bowed head, -and stood erect. - -“I am a Jew by birth, but a Christian by religion,” he replied in a low -but audible voice. - -“What is thy name?” - -“I was baptized Andrew, and so I am called.” - -Here a murmur ran through the crowd, and a centurion stepped forward, -saying: - -“A most bitter enemy of the gods, most noble emperor. He is the same who -may be seen at all the public executions of Christians, exhorting and -praying with them.” - -“I wonder he has never been apprehended until now--it speaks well for -the devotion of my adherents,” replied the emperor with a sneer. The -centurion drew back somewhat abashed. - -“I have often sought death, but my gray hairs have spared me until now,” -said the old man. - -“Hold thy treacherous tongue, sirrah,” cried one of the guards. “I’ll -warrant thee they will not spare thee now.” - -“Silence!” cried the emperor. “Old man, art thou the same of whom it is -said thou wert a friend of the Galilean ere he went to the gibbet?” - -“What I was it matters not. What I desire to be is the faithful servant -of my Lord Jesus Christ.” - -“Verily, thou art impertinent, and age hath not taught thee humility. -Mayhap, it would please thee to have thy old body cut in slices and -thrown to the wild beasts.” - -“It would be the fulfilment of my most ardent prayers--any death by which -I might suffer martyrdom for Jesus Christ. I have longed for it these -fifty years.” As he spoke his face seemed transfigured, while that of -Nero assumed a new and more malicious expression. - -“How old art thou?” he asked. - -“I am ninety-two.” - -“Where is thy birthplace?” - -“Jerusalem.” - -“And thou wouldst die for Jesus Christ?” - -“Thou knowest it, my judge.” - -“Such death would be the greatest boon thy heart desires?” - -“My God knoweth it.” - -A mocking smile played around the emperor’s lips as he said: - -“Then hear thy sentence. Thou shalt be taken from hence to the Appian -gate--and there bidden go thy way in peace. Thou art not young enough -to be toothsome to the lions, and the sap is so dried in thy veins thou -wouldst make but a sorry torch by night. There is so little flesh upon -thy bones that thou wouldst not sink in Tiber, and we cannot afford to -waste stones in weighting such as thou. Thy withered carcass would not -whet the executioner’s knife; there is naught for it but to let thee -go. Spend the remainder of thy days as thou hast wasted those that are -gone, in longings for martyrdom. Guards! seize your prisoner, and execute -sentence upon him.” - -The light that had illumined the eyes of the old man slowly faded as the -emperor spoke, and great tears rolled down his furrowed cheeks. Clasping -his withered hands high above his head, he exclaimed: - -“It is not to be--it is not to be! My God, I accept the retribution.” - -“What sayest thou?” cried Nero. “Hast thou committed some terrible crime -that thou talkest of retribution?” - -“Ay, a great crime; but I have suffered much, and striven to make -atonement. But my Saviour is not yet satisfied.” - -“Accuse thyself. We may be less lenient here than awhile ago.” - -The old man’s eyes kindled once more and again he stood erect: “Yes, I -will confess,” he cried in a loud voice. “I will let all the world know -that he whom his companions have called just is the meanest sinner of -them all; I will strive by the whiteness of my gray hairs and the years -of sorrow that have passed since that mad day to awaken in thy tyrant -heart some pity, some relenting from thy cruel sentence. - -“But alas! what do I say? The hand of God is in it--my Saviour refuses me -the boon I crave, and thou art but his instrument.” He sighed heavily, -wiped the tears from his eyes, and continued in a less agitated voice: - -“I am a native of Jerusalem--a descendant of the tribe of Aser; my father -was a ruler of much wealth and influence--both of which I inherited. I -had luxurious tastes, and gratified them to a certain extent, filling my -house with rare and costly furniture and ornaments. I travelled much, and -indulged my inclinations to the fullest extent without transgressing the -moral law. I esteemed virtue and practised it, more from a sense of pride -than a feeling of true religion. I was unmarried and had few intimate -friends. One, however, Amri Ephraim, was bound to me by the closest ties -of intimacy and association. He was also wealthy. Business called him to -Rome about the time our Lord Jesus began to preach the gospel in Galilee. -We were both somewhat interested in the new prophet, as he was then -called; but from my first meeting with him I was filled with admiration -for his teachings, and drawn towards him by an attraction I could not -then understand. Alas! I have known its meaning for many sorrowful, -repentant years. - -“His influence grew upon me. I followed him from place to place; he -took kindly notice of me. His gentle looks seemed to beckon me on; his -wondrous miracles became convincing proofs of his divine mission; his -merciful and consoling teachings entered deep into my soul, and left -it glowing with awe and veneration. I felt that he was the Messiah -promised by David; I knew it in my coward heart. And yet this world--this -glittering, hollow sham--it was that which held me back and lured me to -my own perdition. Many times I saw Jesus look upon me with a gaze that -told of affection mingled with doubt and sorrow. For days I would absent -myself from his side, only to return athirst and filled with new desires. - -“One day, as he sat in the shade of a palm-tree with a few of his -disciples, I threw myself at his feet and listened to the wisdom that -fell from his lips. - -“‘Master,’ I said at length, ‘what shall a man do to inherit eternal -life?’ - -“‘Keep the commandments,’ he answered, fixing his eyes upon me as though -he would read my soul. - -“‘I have kept them from my youth,’ I replied. - -“‘Then lackest thou yet one thing,’ he said. ‘Sell all thou hast, give -thy treasure to the poor, and come, follow me.’ - -“The words were spoken--they had appealed to my heart for many days; -Jesus loved me, he had singled me from the multitude of whom but little -is required--he would have chosen me for a familiar disciple. I saw it in -his eye; I heard it in his voice. He had called me to follow him! And I?… - -“Before me there swept a vision of lost delights and despised honors. I -saw myself hungry and cold, and naked and scorned; I heard the censure of -the world, the altered tones of friends, the jibes and sneers of enemies. -If I had dared once more to lift my eyes--if I had met that benignant -glance, so full of affection and assurance--all would have been well, and -the craven heart had never bled these sixty years for that one moment’s -loss. But, alas! I cast down my eyes and bowed my head; I arose and went -away sorrowful. That night I left Jerusalem and fled to Rome. I say -fled, for I was like a criminal fleeing not from a tyrant but a kind -and merciful father. My friend, to whom I had written faithfully of my -interest in Jesus, passed and missed me on the way to Jerusalem.…” - -Here the old man’s voice faltered and his frame shook with sobs. He -seemed unconscious of all but his own sorrow as he continued: - -“He learned to know Jesus--became a faithful disciple; he witnessed his -capture and cruel trial; he followed him to Calvary; he saw the prodigies -that occurred at his death; he saw him ascend into heaven. He enjoyed -the sweet privilege of conversing with Mary; he received the dead body -of Stephen the blessed martyr, and helped to give it decent burial, and -his body lies to-day at the bottom of old Tiber--martyred for the faith -of Christ; while I--coward that I was--awoke to the sense of my sin when -it was too late to return and throw myself at his sacred feet, too late -to touch the hem of his garment, too late to follow his bloody footsteps -up the frightful Mount of Calvary. One expiation I thought to make--one -atonement for my sin; for the poor sacrifice of my wealth was nothing to -me. I sought martyrdom. In the public places, in the forum, by the side -of dying Christians, at the graves of murdered saints. But I seemed to -bear a charmed life. They passed me by, they did not molest me. He is -harmless, said one; he is old, said another. And now, when I thought the -goal within my reach, when I hoped that my expiation had been accepted, -it is again denied me. Be it so, my God, my outraged and despised -Saviour, be it so! I rejected thee--thou rejectest me. Thou didst die for -me--thou wilt not suffer me to die for thee. Thy will be done!” - -The bowed head fell heavily on the clasped hands, and the old man sank -slowly on his knees. At that moment a stray sunbeam, the first of a murky -morning, touched his white hair as with a crown of brightness, then faded -and the clouded heavens grew dark. The guards stooped to lift him. He was -dead. - -“What a dramatic talent those Christians have!” said the emperor to his -friend Apulius, who stood beside his throne. “Pity they do not apply it -to better purpose. Guards! let that old man go free--we pity his gray -hairs--ha! ha!” - -“He is dead, most noble emperor,” replied one of the soldiers, not -without something of softness in his voice. - -“Ah! so? Remove the corpse then; and thou, good Marcellus, be sure thou -hast those fifty Syrian Christian torches well pitched and oiled ere -night--for it will be dark, and we must needs be lighted to Phryma’s -banquet. Come Apulius--make way, lictors.” - -So Nero passed beneath the arched doorway from his tyrant throne--and at -the same moment some timid Christians near its foot bore away the body of -a saint for burial. - - -ART AND SCIENCE. - - A wild swan and an eagle side by side - I marked, careering o’er the ocean-plain, - Emulous a heaven more heavenly each to gain, - Circling in orbits wider and more wide: - Highest, methought, through tempest scarce descried, - One time the bird of battle soared;--in vain; - So soon, exhausted ’mid their joy and pride, - Dropped to one sea the vanquished rivals twain. - Then, o’er the mighty waves around them swelling, - That snowy nursling of low lakes her song - Lifted to God, floating serene along; - While she that in the hills had made her dwelling - Struggled in vain her wings to beat and quiver, - And the deep closed o’er that bright crest for ever. - - AUBREY DE VERE. - - -THE ROMAN RITUAL AND ITS CHANT - -_COMPARED WITH THE WORKS OF MODERN MUSIC._ - -II.--CONCLUDED. - - -VALUE AS A MEDIUM OR VEHICLE OF DIVINE TRUTH AMONG THE PEOPLE. - -Popular national songs with their melodies are not, either in point of -poetry or music, very elaborate or classical works of art. Consummate art -is incapable of passing among a people, and must ever remain confined -to the initiated and the connoisseur; yet national songs are not only -characteristic of all people, but fulfil a very important function. They -not only foster and preserve the national spirit, of which they are the -expression, but also keep up, by tradition among the people, a knowledge -of the history of their race, and of the exploits and noble deeds of its -great men. In a word, the songs of a people have an influence over the -growth of their moral character which it is not easy to overestimate, and -which was well known to that statesman who was heard to say that they who -have the making of a people’s songs will soon have the making of their -laws; a sentiment fully confirmed by the proverb, “Qui mutat cantus, -mutat mores.” - -The above remarks, much too brief to put the importance of the ideas -contained in them in their proper light, seem to issue in the conclusion -that the song of the Christian kingdom will be necessarily something very -different from an elaborate work of musical genius. - -When our divine Redeemer lifted up his eyes, and beheld the multitudes -going astray as sheep without a shepherd, he was moved with compassion. -Surely in his judgment sacred song will be deemed to fulfil its mission -when it passes current among the people, is domesticated in the laboring -man’s cottage among his children, and there teaches the family the -knowledge of their Saviour’s life and sufferings, of their redemption by -these from sin, and the death of the world to come. Sacred song will, -in his compassionate eyes, fulfil its mission of mercy when it takes up -the words of eternal Wisdom, and puts them in the mouth of the people -as a charm against the maxims of a world declared by the Word of God to -be “_lying in wickedness_,” and as a shield against the assaults of a -tempter, said in the same Word “_to be ever going about seeking whom he -may devour_.” It will fulfil its mission when it enters into the heart -and soul of the people, accompanies the departed with a requiem as man -goeth to his long home and the mourners go about the streets, when it -administers comfort to the survivors, while it bids them not to sorrow -as they that have no hope, and, in a word, weeps with them that weep, -and rejoices with them that do rejoice. Nor let it be said that this is -a romantic notion--the making out of the earth an ideal paradise. Surely -the actual and adequate fulfilment of such a mission of sacred song -belongs to the idea of the mission of the Son of God, sent by the Father -to re-establish order, piety, and sanctity on the earth. But what if this -idea was not only familiar to the fathers, but that they actually saw the -progress of its accomplishment? - -“There is no need here,” says S. Chrysostom, exhorting his people to take -part in the church chant, “of the artist’s skill, which requires length -of time to bring to perfection. Let there be but a good will and a ready -mind, and the result will soon be sufficient skill. There is no absolute -need even of time or place, for in every place or time one may sing with -the mind. Though you be walking in the Forum, or are on a journey, or -are seated with your friends, the mind may be on the alert, and find for -itself an utterance. It was thus that Moses cried, and God heard. If you -are an artisan, you may sing Psalms as you sit laboring in your workshop; -you may do the same if you are a soldier, or a judge seated on his bench” -(Hom. on Ps. iv.) - -A formal acknowledgment on the part of the church of this principle of -teaching by means of song, which at the same time proves its antiquity, -though it can be hardly necessary to cite it, may be found in one of -the Collects for Holy Saturday: “Deus, celsitudo humilium, et fortitudo -rectorum, qui per sanctum Moysen puerum tuum ita erudire populum tuum -sacri carminis tui decantatione voluisti, ut illa legis iteratio fiat -etiam, nostra directio,” etc., etc.--“O God! the loftiness of the humble -and the strength of them that are upright, who wast pleased, through thy -holy servant Moses, to instruct thy people by the singing of a sacred -song,” etc., etc. - -If, then, this be a true and just view of the mission of the sacred song -among the poor and the unlearned multitude, as contemplated in the divine -idea; if it be true, as I suppose no one will deny, that the Ritual -Chant is not only fitted to accomplish it, but has realized it in times -past, and does still realize it in countries that might be named; and -if the works of modern art are, from their very scientific character -as music, incapable of being the medium in which divine truth can pass -among the people; and, indeed, if it be their nature to give so much -more of prominence to the beauty of mere sound than to the expression of -intelligible meaning or sentiment, which every one knows is the case, we -seem to gain this obvious result, on drawing the comparison, that the -Ritual chant is a _real medium_ or vehicle for the circulation of divine -truth among the people, fitted with a divine wisdom to its end; while -the great works of art that the musician so much admires are not, to any -practical extent whatever, such a medium, and indeed, if the truth must -be said, were probably _never_ contemplated as such, either by those who -composed or those who now admire them. - - -COMPARATIVE “MEDICINAL VIRTUE.” - -“They that are whole need not a physician,” said our Redeemer (Mark -ii. 17), “but they that are sick. I came not to call the just, but -sinners to repentance.” It was part of the mission of the Son of God -upon earth, that he should be the physician of the souls of men (Isaiæ -lxi.): “Spiritus Domini super me, eo quod unxerit Dominus me, _ut mederer -contritis_ corde.” It will follow, then, that the music which the divine -Physician of souls will desire to see employed in his church will be -strongly marked with the medicinal character. - -And this conclusion becomes the more natural, from observing the -numberless indications which the literature of different countries -affords that music has always been popularly regarded as a medicine for -the spirit; as, for instance, the Greek pastoral poet, Bion: - - Μολπὰν ταὶ Μοῖσαι, μοὶ ἀεὶ ποθέοντι διδοῖεν - Τὰν γλυκερὰν μολπὰν τᾶς φάρμακον ἅδιον οὐδέν. - - BIONIS, _Bucolica_, i. - -“Song than which no medicine so sweet.” Among the Romans, the courtly -Ovid: - - “Hoc est cur cantet vinctus quoque compede fossor - Indocili numero, cum grave mollit opus. - Cantat et innitens limosæ pronus arenæ, - Adverso tardam qui vehit amne ratem; - Qui refert pariter lentos ad pectora remos, - In numerum pulsâ brachia versat aquâ. - … - Cantantis pariter, pariter data pensa trahentis - Fallitur ancillæ, decipiturque labor.” - - OVID, _de Tristibus_, _Eleg._ lib. i. - -And, in our own literature, the great poet of human nature, Shakspeare: - - “When griping grief the heart doth wound, - And doleful dumps the mind oppress, - Then music with her silver sound - With speedy help doth lend redress.” - - SHAKSPEARE’s _Romeo and Juliet_. - -With this view of music, as permitted by a merciful Providence to retain -a large share of healing virtue, even apart from religion, and in the -midst of the disorders of heathenism, expectation will be naturally much -raised on coming to inquire what have been the effects of the Christian -music which the divine Physician of souls has given to his Church. Nor -will there be any disappointment. S. Basil the Great, the well-known -doctor and bishop of the East, speaks of the Plain Chant of his own day -in the following terms: - -“Psalmody is the calm of the soul, the umpire of peace, that sets at rest -the storm and upheaving of the thoughts. Psalmody quiets the turbulence -of the mind, tempers its excess, is the bond of friendship, the union of -the separated, the reconciler of those at variance; for who can count him -any longer an enemy with whom he has but once lifted up his voice to God? -Psalmody putteth evil spirits to flight, calleth for the help of angels, -is a defence from terrors by night, a rest from troubles by day, is the -safety of children, the glory of young men, the comfort of the old, the -fairest ornament of women.… Psalmody calls forth a tear from a heart of -stone, is the work of angels, the government of Heaven, the incense of -the Spirit.” - -S. Ambrose, Archbishop of Milan in the West, in the preface to his -Commentary on the Book of Psalms, speaks as follows: - -“In the Book of Psalms there is something profitable for all; it is a -sort of universal medicine and preservative of health. Whoever will -read therein may be sure to find the proper remedy for the diseased -passion he suffers from. Psalmody is the blessing of the people, a -thanksgiving of the multitude, the delight of numbers, and a language -for all. It is the voice of the Church, the sweetly-loud profession of -faith, the full-voiced worship of men in power, the delight of the free, -the shout of the joyous, the exultation of the merry. It is the soother -of anger, the chaser away of sorrow, the comforter of grief. It is a -defence by night, an ornament by day, a shield in danger, a strong tower -of sanctity, an image of tranquillity, a pledge of peace and concord, -forming its unity of song, as the lyre, from diversity of sound. The -morning echoes to the sound of psalmody, and the evening re-echoes. -The apostle commanded women to be silent in the church; yet the song -of psalmody becomes them (S. Ambrose is speaking of congregational -psalmody). Boys and young men may sing psalms without danger, and even -young women also, without detriment to their matronly reserve. They -are the food of childhood; and infancy itself, that will learn nothing -besides, delights in them. Psalmody befits the rank of the king, may be -sung by magistrates, and chorused by the people, each one vying with his -neighbor in causing that to be heard which is good for all” (_Præfatio in -Comment in Lib. Psalmorum_). - -S. Augustine speaks thus of the Church Chant: “How my heart burned within -me against the Manicheans, and how I pitied them, that they neither -knew its mystery nor healing virtue; and that they should insanely rage -against that very antidote by which they might have recovered their -saneness (insani essent adversus antidotum quo sani esse potuissent)!” -(_Confess._ lib. ix.) To which should certainly be added the fact that, -in some degree, the church may be said to be indebted to this very -medicinal power of her psalmody, and to the tears it drew forth from the -young catechumen Augustine, for one of the profoundest among her saints -and doctors. - -And to come to times nearer our own, the well-known Massillon, in one -of his charges to his clergy, delivered at the Conference at which he -presided, earnestly recommends them to make the study of the Plain Chant -a part of their recreation; for, adds he, “le peuple souvent se calme au -chant du sacerdoce dans le temple.” (_Conferences_, vol. iii.) And our -own times have witnessed a remarkable instance of the same medicinal -power of the church chant when in the Champs Élysées of Paris, during the -summer of 1848, the citizens met in the open air, to celebrate a Requiem -Mass for the repose of those who had fallen in the great civil commotion -of that year, which had been suppressed with such loss of life. Here were -to be seen the murderer and the relations of the murdered, forgetting -that strongest and deadliest feud of the human heart--the thirst for -vengeance for the shedding of kindred blood--joining their own to the -thousands of voices that poured forth the well-known church chant of the -_Dies iræ_. Ten thousand voices supplicating Almighty God to pardon the -past, to grant rest to the souls of the slain, to bear in mind that he -had come on earth to save them, and to beg that he would remember them in -mercy at the day of his judgment, in the language and song of the church! -Of a truth, then, may the church chant say, _Unxit me Spiritus Domini, ut -mederer contritis corde_. - -It is also curious to observe in what a marked manner, even in the recent -Protestant literature of our own country, this medicinal character of the -church chant is still recognized. Mr. Wordsworth has the following lines -in his _Ecclesiastical Sonnets_ (xxx.): - - -CANUTE. - - “A pleasant music floats along the Mere, - From monks in Ely chanting service high, - While--as Canute the King is rowing by-- - ‘My oarsmen,’ quoth the mighty king, ‘draw near, - That we the sweet song of the monks may hear.’ - He listens (all past conquests and all schemes - Of future vanishing like empty dreams) - Heart-touch’d, and haply not without a tear. - The royal minstrel, ere the choir is still, - While his free barge skims the smooth flood along, - Gives to that rapture an accordant Rhyme.[151] - O suffering earth! be thankful; sternest clime - And rudest age are subject to the thrill - Of heav’n-descended piety and song.” - -Henry Kirke White, in the fragment of a ballad entitled the “Fair Maid of -Clifton,” bears even the still more remarkable testimony to a power over -evil spirits. He is describing the death-bed of a female who, fearing -that the demons would carry her away, had sent for her own relations to -pray by her side, and for the “clerk and all the singers besides.” - - “And she begged they would sing the penitent hymn, - And pray with all their might; - For sadly I fear the fiend will be here, - And fetch me away this night. - … - “And now their song it died on their tongue, - For sleep it was seizing their sense, - And Margaret screamed and bid them not sleep, - Or the fiends would bear her hence.”[152] - - _Southey’s edition_, p. 281. - -And now, in drawing the comparison, it is fair to ask, granting the -exception where it may be justly conceded, in favor of particular -compositions: What on the whole is the _medicinal virtue_ of our modern -figured music? how does it take effect? who are the persons whose sorrow -it relieves? who are they who find themselves really made better by it, -and inclined, through its influence, to feel in greater charity with the -remainder of the congregation? To judge from the kind of remarks that are -usually made by persons coming away from a church where one of these -figured music Masses has been executed, one would certainly not say that -they could be many. For what are these remarks but those of connoisseurs, -who criticise the merits of a voice which has reached a very high or -low note, or of a particular solo, trio, or quartet, to which those who -are uninitiated in the mysteries of minim and crotchet pay positively -no attention at all? Now, let us for a moment suppose a person to say, -with S. Ambrose, in praise of Mozart’s famous No. XII., that it was a -“defence by night, an ornament by day, a shield in danger, a strong tower -of sanctity, an image of tranquillity, a pledge of peace”; or with S. -Basil, that “it had the virtue of putting devils to flight”; would any -experience more unfeigned surprise than those very persons who think this -Mass the absolute ideal of church music? Or again: if, unknown to himself -and to others, there were at this moment a future doctor of the church -among our London club politicians, how much would it naturally occur to -us to think that the performance of this same No. XII. would be likely to -contribute towards effecting his conversion? - - -RESPECTIVE CAPACITY FOR DURABLE POPULARITY. - -God, who gave the Ecclesiastical Chant as a gift of mercy to the people, -must needs contemplate it as _popular_. For except it were really -popular, it would fail to attain its end. This, then, will be the place -to examine what indications are to be found that the Ritual Chant is -really, in this particular, the fulfilment of the Divine idea. - -When an invention or an art is such that people come to borrow from -it popular expressions, or when it gives birth to new phrases or -metaphors, or a word or words come to be engrafted from it upon one or -many languages, this becomes an argument for its popularity, such as no -one will be inclined to dispute. Such phrases as those of “Go ahead,” -“Get the steam up,” are quite sufficient to prove the fact of everybody -being well acquainted with the steam-engine, from which they are derived. -Now, if a similar fact can be found relative to the Gregorian chant, its -popularity is in a manner placed beyond the reach of doubt. - -When the poet Gray uses a well-known word in the lines, - - “The next, with _dirges_ due, in sad array. - Slow through the church-yard path we saw him borne,” - -he bears testimony to such a fact. The initial word of the first Antiphon -of the Matins for the dead, “_Dirige_ gressus meos, Domine,” has given -this well-known word to our language. It can be hardly necessary to -refer to a similar reception of the word “Requiem” into many different -languages, which is the initial word of the Introit in the Mass for the -dead. - -The following anecdote, related by Padre Martini, page 437 of the third -volume of his _History of Music_, may be here to the point. It is of -Antonio Bernacchi, the most celebrated singer of his day (the beginning -of the XVIIIth century), and narrated to him by Bernacchi himself: -that, as he happened to be on a journey in Tuscany, near a monastery -of Trappist monks, he felt a desire to visit it, in order to become -acquainted with the way of life of these religious. He entered their -church exactly at the time they were singing Tierce. Bernacchi was -overcome by the effect of a multitude of voices in such perfect union -that they seemed to be only one voice. He admired their precision in -the utterance of every syllable, and in the softening, swelling, and -sustaining of the voice, that although no more than men, they seemed -to him like angels occupied in praising God; whereupon Bernacchi fell -into the following soliloquy: “How deceived have I been in myself; I -thought that, after a long and diligent application to the art of singing -under such a master as Pestocchi, and having the natural gift of a good -voice, I might pretend to exercise my profession without any question. -How have I been deceived, being obliged to confess that the psalmody of -these religious has in it a value and a quality that renders their song -superior to mine!” - -Dom Martene relates that, in his travels to visit the churches of France, -he passed by a church of Benedictine nuns, who met with a patron and -benefactor in the following manner: The Duc de Bournonville retiring from -Paris in disgrace to “Provins,” on his arrival inquired for the nearest -church; and, upon being shown the church of these nuns, he entered it as -they were singing Vespers. So charmed was he by the sweetness of their -song, that he seemed to himself to be listening to angels, and not to -human creatures. On hearing, in an interview that followed, that the -community were in debt, he gave the lady abbess an immediate present of -one thousand ecus, and ever afterwards continued to be a benefactor to -the convent (_Voyage Littéraire_, etc., part i. p. 79). - -Baini (_Mem. Stor._, vol. ii. p. 122) quotes a letter, which is thus -addressed to some English gentlemen who had visited Rome: “To Mr. Edward -Grenfield, Fellow of the Royal Academy of London, to Mr. Davis, Mr. -Morris, and other learned Englishmen, whose ears have not been altered by -fashion, and made obtuse by habit, and who have been more than once heard -to say, that they felt themselves more moved by the Gregorian Chant than -by all the noisy performances of the greater part of our theatres.” - -Nor is this appreciation for Gregorian music confined merely to persons -from among the multitude. The following are the sentiments of two of the -most distinguished musical scholars of the day: - -“All is worthy of admiration in the primitive Roman Chant. The tune of -the ‘Kyrie,’ for doubles and feasts of the first class, runs out to some -length, and is full of beautiful passages. That of Sundays is shorter -and more simple, but not the less full of unction. In both the one and -the other it seems impossible to change or to suppress a note without -destroying a beautiful idea, where all hangs so perfectly together. With -what natural, or rather inspired genius, has not this Kyrie, confined as -it is to such narrow limits, been conceived to form a whole so complete” -(Fetis, _Des Origines du Plain Chant, ou Chant Ecclésiastique_). - -“Musicians may oppose and contradict what I say as they please; they have -full liberty; but I am not afraid to assert that the ancient melodies of -the Gregorian Chant are inimitable. They may be copied, adapted to other -words, heaven knows how, but to make new ones equal to the first, that -will never be done” (Baini, _Memorie Storiche di P. Palæstrina_, vol. ii. -p. 81). - -And again, describing Palæstrina as engaged in the task of revising the -Gradual, he says: “But the Gregorian chant claims a character wholly its -own, has a beauty and a force proper only to itself. It is what it is, -and does not change. But to remain ever the same, and to be susceptible -of a change contrary to its nature, would be impossible. In a word, it -may be said that _heaven_ formed it through the early fathers, and then -fractured the mould.” - -“Palæstrina applied himself with the zeal of one who had deeply at heart -the majesty of divine worship. But having completed the first part, _De -Tempore_, his pen fell from his hands, and more wearied than Atlas under -the weight of the sky, he abandoned his attempt; and nothing was found -at his death but the incomplete manuscript.… And thus we may see the -greatest man ever known in the art and science of figured music _become -less than a mere baby_ when he wished to lay a _profane hand_ on the -fathers and doctors of the Holy Roman Church. …And how wise at last was -he, after having fruitlessly attempted in so many ways to correct this -_divine song_ according to human ideas, to abandon the enterprise for -ever, and to conceal up to his death the useless result of his labor, -which he himself acknowledged to be unworthy of being made public” (_Mem. -Stor._ vol. ii. p. 123). - -Next, as slightly illustrating its power of pleasing even a modern -European people, and that in contrast with the most elaborate products -of modern art; in 1846, at the centenary Jubilee of the Feast of Corpus -Christi at Liege, Mendelssohn’s _Lauda Sion_ was sung at one of the -offices. Yet the general opinion of the people who heard it (and who, by -the by, from its constant use in processions, are well acquainted with -the old Gregorian melody of the same sequence) was, that it was not -to be compared to the ritual _Lauda Sion_. At the Metropolitan Church -of Mechlin, on Easter Day, 1846, the students of the great and little -seminaries united together to sing at the evening Benediction. The pieces -sung were from Italian masters, Baini and a second, and the third was the -Gregorian sequence, _Victimæ Paschali Laudes_. One of the singers himself -told me that the people thought nothing comparable to the old melody, -sung in simple unison. - -The Collegiate Church of S. Gudule, in the city of Brussels, may also -be cited as an existing proof of the power of the old chant. Whoever -has heard the Requiem Mass and the _Te Deum_ sung in that church by -two hundred voices in unison, must cease to think of the idea of its -popularity as if it were strange. - -In the church of Notre Dame, in Paris, the simple melody of the _Stabat -Mater_ is sometimes sung by a congregation of four thousand persons, at -the conclusion of the annual retreats, with an effect that can never be -forgotten. - -Again, as has been already said, the Requiem Mass, which took place -in the Champs Elysées after the terrible days of June (1848), it was -proposed that the Mass should be sung in music; but the Republican -authorities, in conjunction with the bishops, forbade it, and the Plain -Chant was ordered instead. Tens of thousands joined in singing the _Dies -iræ_, and their voices seemed to rend the heavens. - -In Germany, among the melodies that pass by tradition among the people, -are many that are derived from the Ritual Chant of different localities, -as may be seen by merely looking into their numerous printed collections -of these melodies. - -The Gregorian modes, again, as has been said, are far from being -unpopular in their nature. Many of the Scotch and Irish melodies, -traditional among the people, belong to neither of the modern major nor -minor modes. The French in Egypt found many traditional Arab melodies in -the Gregorian modes; and no doubt the same would be found to be the case -over the whole world. - -The chant of the Vespers is exceedingly popular among our congregations -in England, though they are acquainted with it only in a form of -disguise, shorn of its antiphons, and encrusted with the deposit of a -long bandying about from organist to organist, like Ulysses, returning -home in rags and tatters after his many years’ wandering. Why should not -the popularity of the whole, when it shall become known, by the kind -efforts of such as will feel a pleasure in devoting themselves to teach -it to the poor, be believed in, upon the augury of the known popularity -of a mutilated and tattered part? - -This idea has long since found a home among English Catholics. Charles -Butler, Esq., in his _Memoirs of English, Irish, and Scottish Catholics_, -after reviewing the chief Catholic composers of modern music, says: “But, -with great veneration for the composers and performers of these sacred -strains, the writer has no hesitation in expressing a decided wish that -the ancient Gregorian Chant was restored to its pristine honors.” And -again: - -“There (in the church) let that music, and that music only, be performed, -which is at once simple and solemn, which all can feel, and in which most -can join; let the congregation be taught to sing it in exact unison, and -with subdued voices; let the accompaniment be full and chaste; in a -word, let it be the Gregorian Chant” (vol. iv. p. 466). - -Benedict XIV., after expressing his own decided opinion of the superior -fitness of the Plain Chant, accounts, by means of it, for a _fact_, that -those who think the Gregorian Chant an unpopular one, would do well to -study. This, says he, is the chief cause why the people are so much more -fond of the churches of the Regulars than the Seculars. And then he -quotes a very remarkable passage from Jacques Eveillon: “This titillation -of harmonized music is held very cheap by men of religious minds in -comparison with the sweetness of the Plain Chant and simple Psalmody. -And hence it is that the people flock so eagerly to the churches of the -monks, who, taking piety for their guide in singing the praises of God -with a saintly moderation, after the counsel of the Prince of Psalmists, -skilfully sing to their Lord as Lord, and serve God as God, with the -utmost reverence” (_Encyclical Letter_, p. 3). - -The same Dom Martene who has been quoted above, often speaks, in the -narrative of his journey, of the different churches which he visited, -and in which he was present at the celebration of any of the solemn -offices of the Liturgy. The following passages are specimens of his -opinion on the comparative merits of the Plain Chant. Describing the -Cathedral of Sens he says: “Pour ce qui est de l’Eglise Cathedrale, elle -est grande,” etc. “La musique en est proscrite, on n’y chante qu’un -beau Plain Chant, qui est beaucoup plus agréable que la musique.”--“As -regards the cathedral church, it is large and spacious, and figured -music is banished from it. Nothing but a beautiful Plain Chant is sung -in it, which is far more agreeable than music” (Part i. p. 60). Again, -speaking of the Cathedral of Vienne (Dauphinois), he says: “L’Office s’y -fait en tout temps avec une gravité qui ne peut s’exprimer. On en bannit -entièrement l’orgue et la musique; mais le Plain Chant est si beau, -et se chante avec tant de mesure, qu’il n’y a point de musique qui en -approche.”--“The divine Office is sung there with a gravity that cannot -be surpassed. The organ and all figured music are banished from it; but -the Plain Chant is so beautiful, and is sung with so much rhythm, that -there is no music that can come near to it” (Part i. p. 256). - -Even Rousseau, in his _Lexicon Musicum_, article, “Plain Chant,” says: -“It is a name that is given in the Roman Church at this day to the -Ecclesiastical Chant. There remains to it enough of its former charms to -be far preferable, even in the state in which it now is (he is speaking -of the falsified French edition of it), for the use to which it is -destined, than the effeminate and theatrical, frothy and flat, pieces -of music which are substituted for it in many churches, devoid of all -gravity, taste, and propriety, without a spark of respect for the place -they dare thus to profane.” - -Here it occurs to reply to a remark that I have seen made, which unless -it be founded, as is not impossible, on some very faulty version of the -Roman Chant, seems to betray some little inexperience. After having -admitted a superiority of the Gregorian melodies for hymns written in -the classical metre, the writer proceeds to say: “But, on the other -hand, let us take any one of the hymns of the church, in which, though -the words are Latin, the classical quantities are wholly disregarded, -while the verse proceeds in the measured beat of modern poetry, and -the lines are all in rhyme, and let us make an effort to sing it to an -unmutilated Gregorian Chant. What an absurd effect is the result! The -ear is distracted between two principles of rhythm and versification. -The structure of the poetry forces us, whether we will or no, to mark -the divisions of the song in accordance with its beat and its rhyme; -while the unmeasured, unmarked cadences of the music refuse to yield -any willing obedience, and produce no melodious effect, except at an -entire sacrifice of the principles on which they were framed. A wretched, -hybrid, unmeaning series of sounds is the result, neither recitative nor -song, neither classic nor rhyming, neither Gregorian nor modern, but -wholly barbarous.” - -Now, if the writer of this passage be here speaking of the adapting of -melodies to words for which they were not composed, he is himself to -blame for a result of which he is the sole cause. Dress a city alderman -in the uniform of an officer of marines, and send him afloat on duty, if -you will, but do not lay it to his charge if the result is neither very -civic nor very nautical. But if the writer in question really means his -words to apply to the melodies to which these hymns are set in the Roman -Chant-books, he is confronted by the fact that, among these, and they are -now but few, chiefly in the Feast of Corpus Christi, are found the gems -of Gregorian melody. Who is there that has heard the _Ave verum_ and the -_Adoro te_, and the other hymns of S. Thomas on the Blessed Sacrament, -sung to their original melodies, without feeling their exquisite rhythm -and expressiveness? Again, the Gregorian melody of the _Dies iræ_, in the -Requiem Mass, has Châteaubriand’s express commendation as among the most -masterly adaptations of music to words. Lastly, the touching and most -plaintive melody of the _Stabat Mater_, which brings tears into the eyes -of all who hear and sing it. - -If space permitted, it would be no very difficult task to multiply -such proofs and examples as these of an inherent popularity, both in -the general character or effect, and in the particular parts of the -Ritual Chant. But I think enough has been adduced to indicate that the -popularity is one that is co-extensive with mankind, that it finds an -echo in the human heart of every age, nation, or state of life. Of -course, God, who gave the ecclesiastical song to work a work of mercy -among the people, contemplates it as capable of popularity; and I think -we have evidence that this part of the divine idea is really fulfilled -by the Ritual chant. And, without prejudging the result, I would wait -to see whether indications of a similar popularity can be found for the -works of art with which I have been engaged in comparing it. However, I -think this is impossible; and for this reason: Things come to be popular -by being often repeated; and suitableness for perpetual repetition is the -test of popularity. But if I am not mistaken, the perpetual production -of novelties, which appear and then disappear, is a first and indeed -indispensable principle in the mode of dealing with these works of art. - - -SECURITY AGAINST ABUSE. - -All things human are certainly liable to abuse and degeneracy, yet -all are very far from being on a par with each other in this respect. -In all human undertakings, order, discipline, and system are the -divinely-appointed securities against abuse. Now, the Ritual Chant, as -all who are acquainted with it know, is, like the ceremonial of the -church, a perfect system. It has two large folio volumes of music, -embracing the whole annual range of canonical offices, and a body of -rules prescribing even the minutiæ of their celebration. On the other -hand, the modern art has no such system, no such rules. Its use is, in -practice, altogether subject to the dominion of individual taste. The -choir-master who likes Haydn’s music, takes Haydn; another, who likes -Mozart, takes Mozart; another, who takes a trip on the continent, comes -back with the newest French, German, or Italian novelties. I am not here -insisting on the singularly small portion of the liturgy that is set to -compositions of modern art, but on the entire absence of all system in -the use of the pieces themselves, on the complete subjection of the whole -thing to individual caprice and taste. - -It is quite true that the Bride of Christ is encompassed with variety -(_circumdata varietate_). But the church is also the kingdom of the God -of order; and I apprehend that between the _varietate_ characteristic of -such a kingdom, and the variety actually introduced into Catholic worship -by the unrestrained dominion of individual taste in music, there is the -widest possible difference. - -The obvious exposure of modern music to the easiest inroads of every -kind of abuse, in consequence of this absence of system, has been felt -by its best-disposed advocates; and an able writer has maintained the -notion, that the compulsory use of the organ alone, to the exclusion -of all orchestral instruments, especially the violin, would be an -all-sufficient safeguard. But it is not very easy to see upon what -principle orchestral instruments are to be excluded, when the whole thing -is built on the principle of the supremacy of individual taste; and even -could they be excluded, it would still remain to be seen whether the -organ itself were really the impeccable instrument it is represented. - -Let us hear a witness in the Established Church, where, according to this -writer, its dominion has been so unexceptionable. In the _Ecclesiastic_ -for July, 1846, the following remarks occur: “How intolerable to such -saints (Ambrose and Gregory) would have been the attempt to give effect, -as it is called, to the Psalms, by the organist’s skilful management -of the stops. What would they have thought of the mimic roll of the -water-floods, and the crash of the thunder, and the hail rattling on -the ground, the lions roaring after their prey down in the bass, and -the birds singing among the branches, represented by a twittering among -the small pipes? From a heathen poet these gentry might learn a lesson -of reverence--Virgil seems to make it a point of natural piety not to -counterfeit the thunder of the Highest-- - - “Vidi et crudeles dantem Salmonea pœnas, - Dum flammas Jovis et sonitus imitatur Olympi. - Demens qui nimbos et non imitabile fulmen - Ære et cornipedum pulsu simularat equorum.” - - _Æneid_, vi. 585. - -A real thunderstorm interrupting one of these mimic tempests on the -organ, makes one feel the profaneness of the imitation.” - -Now, it is fair to ask, if the organ is to be the guardian of the -sobriety and gravity of modern art, who is to keep the organ in order? - - “Quis custodiet ipsum - Custodem?” - -There were great abuses in the use of modern art at the Council of Trent. -Yet the fathers of the council declined altogether to forbid its use. -They tacitly allowed its continuance, as it had come into existence, -and could not be removed without serious evils. And with regard to the -favorable light in which its use was viewed by some of the bishops of -that council, and by some other men of authority who have since spoken in -its commendation, it should be borne in mind that all such commendation -has had annexed to it the condition, _provided that such music be grave -and decent, that the meaning of the divine words be not disguised in it, -and that it possess nothing in common with the theatre_ (Benedict XIV., -Encyclical Letter). Of which conditions the subsequent history of the use -of modern music in the church is, to say the least, a very inadequate -fulfilment, as the ensuing testimony will show. - -Bishop Lindanus, quoted in the same Encyclical Letter on the subject of -church music, says: “I know that I have often been in churches where I -have listened most attentively to learn what it was that was being sung, -without being able to understand one single word.” - -Salvator Rosa, the celebrated painter of the XVIIth century, gives the -following account of the church music of his day--the middle of the -century: - -“An effeminate and lascivious music is the only thing that people at -all care for. The race of musicians eats up all before it, and princes -do not scruple to lay burdens on their subjects to glut them according -to their desires. The churches are made to serve as nests for these -owls. The Psalms become blasphemies in passing through the mouths of -these wretches; and no scandal can equal that of the Mass and Vespers, -barked, brayed, and roared by such fellows. The air is so filled with -their bellowings that the church resembles Noah’s ark. At one time it -is a _Miserere_ sung to a _chaconne_ (a sort of polka of that day); at -another, some other part of the Office adapted to music in the style of a -farce.” (Quoted in M. Danjou’s _Revue de Musique_, 3d year, page 119.) - -Again, Abbot Gerbert, in 1750, complains so deeply of the degradation -of the church music of his day as to say, in the preface to his learned -work _De Musica Sacra_, that the evil had grown to so great a pitch that, -unless God in his mercy applied the remedy, which he had daily besought -him to do, all was over (_actum est_) with the decorum and solemnity of -the Catholic worship. - -Yet this result ought really not to be a matter of surprise; for how can -it be expected that the majesty and solemnity of worship should long -survive when its music is left to the control of individual tastes? - -Musicians, therefore, when they plead for modern music, must plead for -it as it exists in an ideal form in their own minds; and the advocate -for the use of the Ritual Chant objects to it, not as it might be if -every organist and company of singers were other Davids and the sons of -Asaph, but for being what he hears it to be with his own ears wherever -he goes; for being what he knows it to have been, and still to be, from -the testimony of writers and travellers; and, lastly, from what he -foresees it will be to the end of time. The one has before his mind’s eye -the harmonies of heaven and the choirs of angels, and hopes to attain to -these with the elements of earth. A vision of glory flits before him, -and, forgetting that the earth is peopled by sinners, he thinks it may at -once be grasped. The other remembers the sad reality of what it is; he -thinks of the churches in which he has been present, where he has heard -the sounds of the theatre--the fiddle, the horn, and the kettle-drum; -where he has heard the song of dancing-girls rather than of worshippers, -and choruses rather of idolaters than of men believing in the mysteries -at which they were present. - - Ἠΰτε περ κλαγγὴ γεράνων πέλει οὐρανόθι πρὸ, - Αἵτ’ ἐπεὶ οὖν χειμῶνα φύγον καὶ ἀθέσφατον ὄμβρον. - Κλαγγῇ ταίγε πέτονται ἐπ’ ὠκεανοῖο ῥοάων, - Ἀνδράσι Πυγμαίοισι φόνον καὶ κῆρα φέρουσαι. - - _Iliad_, b. iii. - -Or, in the more humble words of an English poet-- - - “As if all kinds of noise had been - Contracted into one loud din.” - - _Hudibras_, canto ii. book ii. - -And I would ask, considering the endlessly varying caprices of the human -mind, how any thing else except confusion and disorder is to be expected -from the principle of the supremacy of individual taste; and if music in -the Christian Church is to be regarded as called to fulfil the intention -of a God of order, in what way it is expected that this end will ever be -realized, where the safeguards of a fixed order and system are discarded, -and individual discretion enthroned in their stead? - - -LAST POINT OF THE COMPARISON. - - _Catholicity of the Ecclesiastical Song, or its Companionship - of the Catholic Doctrines over the whole Globe._ - -This last point of the comparison, though far from the least weighty, -to those who will fairly consider it, may happily be much more shortly -stated. The Prophet Malachi predicted that, from the rising of the sun -to its setting, God’s name should be great among the Gentiles, and a -“pure offering” (_munda oblatio_) should be offered to him; a prediction -fulfilled by the fact of the Christian missionaries having carried the -Holy Sacrifice of the Mass over the globe. If, then, there be a song -which has ever been the faithful companion of this Holy Sacrifice, -wherever it has been conveyed; that has ever been present with it when -solemnly offered; which has survived the passing away of generations; -has undergone no change, but is now what it was of old; is the same to -the priests of one nation which it is to those of another--if such a -song there be, it will hardly be disputed that such is an accredited -and authentic song of the Christian kingdom. Yet such is the Ritual -Chant, which, at least in its well-known parts, has literally overspread -the whole globe. A French traveller in Russia, finding there the -Ecclesiastical Chant, and that the Greek Church had preserved it equally -with the Latin, speaks of it as a part of the “_Dogme Catholique_”--these -church traditions of song seeming to him as great a bondage as the church -traditions of faith. (See a very well written paper in the _Ecclesiastic_ -for July, 1846, a magazine conducted by clergy of the Established Church.) - -If, then, the advocate for modern music be unable to point to any such -fact as this for his art--if he be compelled to acknowledge that it is -necessarily confined to people either of European origin or education; -that it is no song for the Caffre of Africa, the Tartar of Asia, the -savage of Australia, the Red Indian of North America, the Esquimaux, the -Paraguay Indian--nothing but the luxury of the European; there can be -little room to doubt that, on this last particular also, the Ritual Chant -is the only adequate fulfilment of the divine idea. - - -DR. DRAPER. - -In consequence of the eulogy passed by Prof. Tyndall on Dr. Draper’s -book, which is entitled a _History of the Intellectual Development of -Europe_, we inquired with some curiosity for this work, and have since -examined it. It is evident that Prof. Tyndall himself is largely indebted -to it, as he states; but a more flimsy and superficial attempt to trace -the history of philosophy we have never met with. It seems that this -gentleman, Dr. Draper, is a professor of chemistry and physiology at New -York. His object, as he informs us, in this compilation, was to arrange -the evidence of the intellectual history of Europe on _physiological_ -principles. The style is feeble and incorrect, and the analysis of the -Greek philosophy positively ludicrous. As, however, it might be inferred -from Prof. Tyndall’s address that Dr. Draper was, like himself, a -disciple and admirer of Democritus, we will give the American philosopher -the benefit of citing his own appreciation of the atomic theory. After -stating that the theory of chemistry, as it now exists, essentially -includes the views of Democritus (a point on which we bow to his -authority), he proceeds thus, if we may be permitted slightly to abridge -a very clumsy sentence: - -“A system thus based on secure mathematical considerations, and taking -as its starting-point a vacuum and atoms--the former actionless and -passionless, which recognizes in compound bodies specific arrangements -of atoms to one another; which can rise to the conception that even a -single atom may constitute a world--such a system may commend itself -to our attention for its results, but surely not to our approval, -when we find it carrying us to the conclusion that the soul is only a -finely-constituted form fitted into a grosser frame; that even to reason -itself there is an impossibility of all certainty; that the final result -of human inquiry is the absolute demonstration that man is incapable of -knowledge; that the world is an illusive phantasm; and that there is no -God.” - -Such is the sentence passed upon Democritus and the atomic theory by Dr. -Draper, on whom Prof. Tyndall assures us that he relies implicitly as -an authority in the history of philosophy. Dr. Draper’s account of the -philosophical opinions and writings of Cicero is in the highest degree -inaccurate. But enough; we have done with him, and we advise Prof. -Tyndall to seek a better guide. Suppose, for example, he were to read -the dialogue of Velleius and Cotta in the first book of the _De Natura -Deorum_.[153]--_Edinburgh Review._ - - -DANIEL O’CONNELL. - -Man seeks in nature a hidden sympathy with himself. The quickened -beatings of his heart, the restless currents of his mind, make for -themselves a reflex image in the forces of the sea and sky. For ever, the -white crests of the breakers rolling in from the western ocean curl up -and lash themselves against the rocks on the coast of Kerry. For ever, in -the gray dusk, the waves, advancing and retreating, moan out a sad and -hollow sound. In sorrow and in gladness their monotone is the same. Yet -it well might be that the Irish peasant, in the year 1775, gathering kelp -for his patch of land from the shallow coves where the sea broke in over -his naked feet, felt, without thinking too closely about it, that nature, -chill, leaden, and stern, mirrored there his own lot. The sudden gleams -of blue sky through the drifting clouds reflected a buoyant humor that no -sufferings could quite subdue. - -George III. had reigned fifteen years. Dull, bigoted, cruel; striving -in a blind way to be honest, but his blood tainted with the stains of -centuries of intolerance, he was now the living type of Protestant -fanaticism. In Europe, the old order of things existed without break -or fissure. In America, the first heavings of the volcano were plainly -felt. The King, Lords, and Commons of Ireland existed in name. The Irish -Parliament sat in College Green to register the degrees of the English -Privy Council. But what a Parliament! Four millions of Catholics without -a representative. The broken Treaty of Limerick might still be spoken of -among the traditions of the Irish peasantry, but its guaranties had sunk -more completely out of the mind of the English and Irish legislatures -than the statutes of Gloucester. The Penal Code was in full legal -effect. Burke had described it a few years before with the calmness of -concentrated passion as “well-digested and well-disposed in all its -parts; a machine of wise and elaborate contrivance, and as well fitted -for the oppression, impoverishment, and degradation of a people, and the -debasement in them of human nature itself, as ever proceeded from the -perverted ingenuity of man.” Yet even Burke hardly gave credit enough -to the magnificent qualities of the race which was able to survive this -code. It failed in its object. It did not succeed in extirpating them. It -never could degrade them, for they yielded neither to its blandishments -nor its terrors. - -But though holding fast the faith with such power as if God’s arm -specially supported them therein for providential ends, English -Protestant domination had broken down and crushed this once proud race -to the very earth, in all material ways. The Israelites sweated not -more hopelessly in the Egyptian sands. In some respects the lot of the -Irish was worse. Their task-masters were an intruding race; they were -aliens in their own land. The face of the country in many places still -bore mute witness to Cromwell’s pathway of blood and fire. Then the -scriptural image had been reversed, and the Irish had been hewn down -like the Canaanites of old. The noonday horrors of Drogheda and Wexford -had left a scar in the national memory which time has not yet effaced. -Murder, lust, and rapine, under the guise of religious fanaticism, had -made this people throw up its hands despairingly to heaven, as if hell -itself had been thrown open, and its demons issued forth to scourge the -land. The XVIIIth century had opened under changed, but it could hardly -be said better auspices. The fury of destruction had ceased, but had been -succeeded by the ingenious devices of legislative hatred and tyranny. The -sword of Cromwell, dripping with the blood of men, women, and children, -had given place to the gibbet of William of Orange. The lawless murderer -was followed by the judicial torturer and jailer. The successors of -William III. trod faithfully in his footsteps. The parliaments of Anne, -of George I., of George II. heaped new fetters on the Irish papist. What -wonder that a lethargy like death settled down upon the native race? The -national idea was almost lost. It wavered and flickered like an expiring -flame, yet was not quite extinguished. In caves and barns, by stealth, -and at uncertain times, the Irish priest poured out a little oil from -his scanty cruse which kept alive in the heart of his countrymen the -memory of his religion and his national history. The “iron fangs” of -the code relaxed a little during the first years of the reign of George -III. Its victim lay stretched supine. More truly even than on a later -occasion the words of Henry Grattan might have been applied to the -condition of the country. Ireland “lay helpless and motionless as if in -the tomb.” But though politically dead, the vitality of the race was -inexhaustible, unconquerable. Population increased. There was little or -no emigration except among the Protestant linen weavers of the north. The -amazing fertility of the soil, spite of legislative drawbacks, made food -plentiful. An English traveller, Arthur Young, in 1776, found the Irish -peasantry quiet, apathetic, content to till their wretched holdings, -at the mercy of their landlords, without complaint so long as they -could keep a shelter over their heads, and had potatoes enough to eat. -Political ambition or aspirations, the hope or even desire of shaking -off their chains and asserting their rights as freemen, did not seem to -exist among them. Thus far the oppression of centuries had done its work. -Some efforts at enfranchisement had been made by the Norman Catholic -aristocracy and the few old families of pure Irish blood who still held -their estates, or portions of them, by sufferance; but the words of Swift -continued true of the mass of the native race--not from want of natural -capacity or manhood--far from it; but from the effect of this grinding -oppression of centuries, and the systematic uprooting of all organization -among them by English policy. They were “altogether as inconsiderable,” -said the author of _Drapier’s Letters_, “as the women and children, … -without leaders, without discipline, … little better than hewers of wood -and drawers of water, and out of all capacity of doing any mischief if -they were ever so well inclined.” Swift went further and declared them -devoid of “natural courage.” But this was the libel of the Protestant -Dean, not the belief of the Irish patriot. The title of the land, with -a few unimportant exceptions, had passed completely out of the native -race. Under the law none could be purchased. Education was forbidden. -Yet such was the ardor of the inherited love of learning which had once -distinguished the island, that Arthur Young found everywhere schools -under the hedges, or, as he himself says, often in the ditches. - -The breath of liberty was beginning to stir among the Protestants of -the north, and the Volunteer movement was soon to lead the way to the -short-lived recognition of the legislative independence of Ireland which -terminated with the Union. But among the mass of the Catholic Irish -peasantry no corresponding feeling as to their political rights was -manifested, or was even in any degree possible. Arms were forbidden them. -Terrible as the appellation sounds applied to that chivalrous race which -had won a deserved renown on so many battlefields of Europe, at home -they, were, in all outward respects, helots. The risings which sometimes -took place were seldom or never political. They were solely agrarian. -The infamous tithe-proctor roused a spasmodic, bloody resistance, which -ended with the removal of the special cause exciting it, never extending -to any effective organization against the political slavery under which -they lay torpid. The Whiteboys and Hearts of Steel were not the material, -nor were their aims and programmes the policy, out of which could spring -such a revolution as was contemporaneously taking place in the American -colonies. The mass of the people looked on in hopeless indifference -at the outbreaks of those secret societies, or in some instances -voluntarily combined against their indiscriminate violence. The native -Irish bore their misery alone, without friends or sympathy except from -France; and the interference of this power, by means of some feeble and -unsuccessful landings in Ireland, served only to irritate England and -tighten the chains of her captive. The mighty lever of moral support -which is now wielded by the united voice of her sons in every quarter -of the globe did not exist. In some counties, such as Kerry, where the -native language was chiefly spoken, and the Milesian Irish largely -predominated, the harsh hand of the law was never stretched out but to -seize upon the substance or the life of the people. The memory of liberty -could scarcely be said to exist in the hearts of this ancient race. That -gift which the Greek fable had declared to have remained at the bottom -of Pandora’s box when all else escaped, seemed to have taken wing from -Ireland. Hope had fled. - -In that age, under those skies, Daniel O’Connell was born. - -One hundred years have passed. Rises now the Genius of the Irish race -in America to celebrate the centennial anniversary of that glorious -birth, to invoke in tones that peal across the waves--the memory of that -illustrious and beloved name. A majestic, youthful presence, daughter of -Erin, robed in white and with a garland of green upon her brow, comes -with her sisters to lay a wreath upon the tomb of the Liberator of his -country. _Non omnis moriar_, wrote the Latin poet: - - “I shall not wholly die. Some part, - Nor that a little, shall - Escape the dark Destroyer’s dart - And his grim festival.” - -Conquerors and statesmen have repeated his words. But neither the -glories of war nor the triumphs of politics have won for any a surer -immortality than O’Connell’s. His fortunes waning at the close, his -blighted hopes, the broken column of his labors, have only endeared his -memory the more to his countrymen. Time has terminated discussion or -softened its asperity. Nothing is remembered but his love and his labors -for Ireland. From Montreal to New Orleans, from the first shore on which -the Irish exile set his foot, across the continent to the Pacific Coast, -over an expanse of country so vast that the parent isle would form but an -oasis in its central desert--myriad voices repeat his name, proclaiming -in various forms of words, but with one meaning, this eternal truth, that -freedom beaten to the earth will rise again. If in spirit the heroic -figure of the great Tribune could top once more the Hill of Tara, what -a spectacle would spread out before his eye unobscured by its earthly -veil! A mightier multitude would listen to his strong and mellow voice. -The descendants of the men into whose bruised and downcast hearts he -first breathed the hope and the ardor of liberty have built up a greater -Ireland in America. Sharing in the glories and faithful to the traditions -of American freedom--yielding to none in the duties of citizenship--they -have yet carried with them, and handed down to their sons, that love -of the mother country which seems ever to burn with a brighter flame -in man’s heart in enforced or unmerited exile. Irish-American generals -have equalled or eclipsed the fame of those distinguished soldiers whose -exploits in the service of foreign powers are household words in the -military history of the race. - -Citizens and soldiers unite to commemorate the birth of the man whose -single arm struck off the fetters that had bound their fathers for nearly -three hundred years. - -If we turn to Ireland itself, we shall find the change which has been -accomplished in those one hundred years in some respects more profound -and startling than the corresponding advance in the fortunes of the Irish -in America. The latter has been the regular and graduated result of -causes working in ascertained channels; the former has all the character -of a moral revolution. Ireland has not, it is true, gained that political -independence with which her sons in these United States started. But over -the far longer road before her to reach that goal her stride has been -vast and, if we consider the growth of nations, rapid. To appreciate the -transformation in the character and position of the Irish peasant we must -recall what he was in 1775. Catholic emancipation was a wrench to the -religious and social traditions of the English nation, and at the same -time a dead-lift to the moral status of the Irish, to which no parallel -will be found in history. Repeal failed from causes which we can now -easily discern, but which were hidden from O’Connell by his proximity to -the Union. But no Coercion Bills can conceal the fact that the strength -of Ireland is growing in a ratio greater than her bonds. The tendency -of modern European politics, and, willingly or unwillingly, of English -legislation itself, and the increasing material prosperity of Ireland, -are adverse to them, and continuously wearing them away. Her national -spirit is indomitable. The hour may be distant, but it is inevitable, -when they will fall from around her, and she will step forth in all the -majesty of freedom. - -What, then, is the place O’Connell holds in the national development -of his race during those one hundred years? What are the achievements, -greater than all defeats, which demand from his countrymen a recognition -that no centennial celebration of his memory can too honorably offer. - -In any view of modern Irish history it is essential to a clear -understanding of its motives that we should distinguish the character -and position of the three great races occupying the island. It is not -enough to divide the people into Saxon and Celt. The native Irish race, -the blended result of the successive ancient colonizations of the island, -remained essentially distinct from the Catholic Norman Irish even after -the Reformation. The intermarriages and adoption of Irish customs, which -had early given to the descendants of Strongbow’s followers the title -“Hibernicis Hiberniores,” had still left them a higher caste. They -retained a not inconsiderable portion of their great estates through all -the civil wars. The Penal Code never fell upon them with the rigor and -leaden weight that paralyzed the native Irish. Their wealth purchased -immunity. Although formally ostracized from political life, their -influence as landowners secured them consideration. The observance of the -duties enjoined by their religion was connived at. In other cases they -were powerful enough to make it respected. - -Far different was the case of the Milesian Irish. Their history had -been a series of heroic struggles, ending in what appeared to be -irretrievable disaster. Before the process of consolidation, which was -simultaneously going on all over Europe, and which would have welded -the various septs and kingdoms into one nation, could be completed, the -Norman invasion under Strongbow had introduced a new and more furious -element of strife. The Reformation only changed their masters, but -changed them for the worse. Hitherto they had been serfs. They now became -helots. The glorious deeds of arms of the O’Neals and other chieftains, -which more than once threatened to drive the English into the sea, -delayed but could not finally avert the complete triumph of combined -craft and superior resources. Projects for the extirpation of the native -race were freely mooted. Famine, the sword, and the gallows at one time -seemed almost to promise it. The same price was set on the priest’s and -the wolf’s head. A non-Catholic writer, Lecky, gives this summary of the -Penal Code as it existed when O’Connell was born: - - “By this code the Roman Catholics were absolutely excluded from - the Parliament, from the magistracy, from the corporations, - from the bench, and from the bar. They could not vote at - parliamentary elections or at vestries. They could not act - as constables, or sheriffs, or jurymen, or serve in the army - or navy, or become solicitors, or even hold the position of - gamekeeper or watchman. Schools were established to bring up - their children as Protestants; and if they refused to avail - themselves of these, they were deliberately consigned to - hopeless ignorance, being excluded from the university, and - debarred under crushing penalties from acting as schoolmasters, - as ushers, or as private tutors, or from sending their children - abroad to obtain the instruction they were refused at home. - They could not marry Protestants; and if such a marriage - were celebrated, it was annulled by law, and the priest - who officiated might be hung. They could not buy land, or - inherit or receive it as a gift from Protestants, or hold life - annuities, or leases for more than thirty-one years, or any - lease on such terms that the profit of the land exceeded one - third of the rent. If any Catholic leaseholder so increased - his profits that they exceeded this proportion, and did not - immediately make a corresponding increase in his payments, - any Protestant who gave the information could enter into - possession of his farm. If any Catholic had secretly purchased - his old forfeited estate, or any other land, any Protestant - who informed against him might become the proprietor. The - few Catholic landholders who remained were deprived of the - right which all other classes possessed, of bequeathing their - lands as they pleased. If their sons continued Catholic, it - was divided equally between them. If, however, the eldest son - consented to apostatize, the estate was settled upon him, the - father from that hour becoming only a life-tenant, and losing - all power of selling, mortgaging, or otherwise disposing of - it. If the wife of a Catholic abandoned the religion of her - husband, she was immediately free from his control, and the - chancellor was empowered to assign her a certain proportion of - her husband’s property. If any child, however young, professed - itself a Protestant, it was at once taken from its father’s - care, and the chancellor could oblige the father to declare - upon oath the value of his property, both real and personal, - and could assign for the present maintenance and future portion - of the converted child such proportion of that property as the - court might decree. No Catholic could be guardian either to - his own children or those of any other person; and therefore - a Catholic who died while his children were minors, had the - bitterness of reflecting upon his deathbed that they must pass - into the care of Protestants. An annuity of from twenty to - forty pounds was provided as a bribe for every priest who would - become a Protestant. To convert a Protestant to Catholicism - was a capital offence. In every walk of life the Catholic was - pursued by persecution or restriction. Except in the linen - trade, he could not have more than two apprentices. He could - not possess a horse of more than the value of five pounds, - and any Protestant upon giving him five pounds could take his - horse. He was compelled to pay double to the militia. He was - forbidden, except under particular conditions, to live in - Galway or Limerick. In case of a war with a Catholic power, - the Catholics were obliged to reimburse the damage done by - the enemy’s privateers. The legislature, it is true, did not - venture absolutely to suppress their worship, but it existed - only by a doubtful connivance, stigmatized as if it were a - species of licensed prostitution, and subject to conditions - which, if they had been enforced, would have rendered its - continuance impossible. An old law which prohibited it, and - another which enjoined attendance at the Anglican worship, - remained unrepealed, and might at any time be revived; and the - former was in fact enforced during the Scotch rebellion of - 1715. The parish priests, who alone were allowed to officiate, - were compelled to be registered, and were forbidden to keep - curates, or officiate anywhere except in their own parishes. - The chapels might not have bells or steeples. No crosses - might be publicly erected. Pilgrimages to the holy wells - were forbidden. Not only all monks and friars, but also all - Catholic archbishops, bishops, deacons, and other dignitaries, - were ordered by a certain day to leave the country, and, if - after that date they were found in Ireland, they were liable - to be first imprisoned and then banished; and if after that - banishment they returned to discharge their duties in their - dioceses, they were liable to the punishment of death. To - facilitate the discovery of offences against the code, two - justices of the peace might at any time compel any Catholic of - eighteen years of age to declare when and where he last heard - Mass, what persons were present, and who officiated; and if he - refused to give evidence they might imprison him for twelve - months, or until he paid a fine of twenty pounds. Any one who - harbored ecclesiastics from beyond the seas was subject to - fines which for the third offence amounted to the confiscation - of all his goods. A graduated scale of rewards was offered for - the discovery of Catholic bishops, priests, and schoolmasters; - and a resolution of the House of Commons pronounced the - prosecuting and informing against papists ‘an honorable service - to the government.’”[154] - -This is a dark picture. Yet it is drawn by an unwilling hand. Instances -might be accumulated where the severity of the law was outstripped by -the barbarity of its execution. Important relief bills were passed in -1777 and 1793. But they provided only for the removal of some of the -civil and political disabilities of the Catholics. The badge of religious -degradation remained untouched. The heaviest fetters of that iron code -still trailed after the limbs of the Irish Catholic. It is the glory of -O’Connell that he finally snapped them in twain, and trampled them for -ever in the dust. Englishman, Norman, and Milesian--the British colonist -who clung to a proscribed faith in every quarter of the globe--shared in -the results of that herculean labor. - -But it is the special claim of O’Connell to the eternal gratitude of that -native Irish race to which he belonged, that he, first of all, after -that bondage of centuries, taught them to lift up their heads to the -level of freemen. Had his work stopped at Emancipation, had his claim -to fame and a place in the national memory been included solely in the -noble title of Liberator, enough had been done by one man for humanity -and his own renown. But in the course of that long struggle a greater and -further-reaching consequence was involved. A transformation took place -in the character of the native Irish, the full results of which are not -yet visible. In their journey through the desert, in their marchings and -counter-marchings, their victories and transient defeats, as they neared -the borders of the promised land towards which he led them, a change -wonderful, but not without parallel, became visible in their spirit and -their hopes. Insensibly and by slow degrees the political torpor of -centuries yielded to a new and living warmth. A generation sprang up -which had flung aside the isolation and submissive hopelessness of 1775, -yet was capable of a greater and more sustained effort than the frenzy of -despair which prompted ’98. Under the ardor of O’Connell’s burning words, -a full understanding of the functions of self-government permeated a race -which had hitherto seemed to exist by the sufferance of its masters. He -not only liberated his countrymen from religious bondage, he organized -them into a nation. He gave them the first impact of self-government -since the Invasion. And that impact is never again likely to be lost. - -Daniel O’Connell did not, like some other great popular leaders, spring -directly from the midst of the people whose passions he swayed and -whose actions moved obedient to his will. His family belonged to the -old Irish gentry. He had the advantages of that collegiate course in -France which was the only way then open to Catholics of the upper classes -to afford their sons a liberal education. Yet his family was allied -closely enough to the people to make him share in all their feelings, -sympathies, and sufferings. The author whom we have already quoted, -with that curious blindness, the result of unconscious prejudice, which -makes most non-Catholic writers, however otherwise acute, miss the -true threads of Irish history, and insult the national sensibility at -the very moment they think themselves the most liberal, sets down as a -defect in O’Connell what was in reality the secret of his power. “With -the great qualities,” he says, “of O’Connell there were mingled great -defects, which I have not attempted to conceal, and which are of a kind -peculiarly repulsive to a refined and lofty nature. His character was -essentially that of a Celtic peasant.” - -Yes, this was at once his glory and his strength. O’Connell’s personal -traits of character reflected faithfully, on a heroic scale, the national -features of his race. Not the coarseness nor scurrility ascribed to it -by the stage buffoon or the unsympathetic publicist, but the powerful -yet subtle understanding which has won for Irishmen in every age the -highest distinction in the field and in the schools, the large, warm -heart, easily swayed by generous impulses, the humor closely allied -to tears which is the secret of the most popular oratory. It is this -thorough identification with the national spirit, with the religion which -the persecution of centuries had made inseparable from it, that makes -O’Connell without equal or second among the great men who nobly contended -for their country’s freedom at the end of the last and beginning of the -present century. He stands alone, gifted with a power to which neither -the highest intellect nor the most brilliant oratory could otherwise -obtain. He swayed the force of the nation he had welded into shape. -It was this tremendous lever--obedient, one might almost say without -figure of speech, to his single arm--that enabled him to wrest Catholic -Emancipation from the combined determined opposition of the King, -Parliament, and people of England. - -For forty years Henry Grattan labored with chivalrous devotion in the -service of Ireland. His eloquence has a charm, a poetical inspiration, -a classical finish O’Connell’s never equalled. It thrilled the Irish -Parliament like the sound of a trumpet, and held spell-bound the hostile -English House of Commons. His patriotism was as unselfish, his zeal, in a -certain sense, as ardent as O’Connell’s. Yet what did Grattan ultimately -accomplish? What was the end of all these noble gifts and labors? Having, -as he said, “watched by the cradle” of the constitutional independence of -the Irish Parliament, he lived to “follow its hearse”; and when he died -in 1820, Catholic Emancipation, the cause of which had been committed to -his hands, became more hopelessly distant than ever. His was individual -genius, individual energy, of a very high, if not the highest, type. But -it needed something more to win in such a cause. Classical eloquence was -thrown away in such a struggle. The concentrated strength of national -enthusiasm, careless of form, animated only by a single giant purpose, -was demanded. Grattan, though such a man as Irishmen of every creed might -well be proud of, was, unfortunately for his success in the attainment of -great national aims, neither a Catholic nor identified with the “Celtic -peasant.” He lacked the fundamental force bred of the soil. O’Connell, on -the other hand, might truly be likened to that fabled giant of antiquity, -Antæus, who gained a tenfold strength each time he was flung upon his -mother earth. Well might he declare, when reproached on one occasion -for the violence of his language, “If I did not use the sledge-hammer, -I could never crush our enemies.” It was a war of extremities. It was -an epoch surcharged with the elements of moral explosions, when men’s -passions were roused to the highest pitch. Those who read now the -measured language of Disraeli in Parliament will pause in astonishment -when they turn back to the frenzied raving with which he replied on a -memorable occasion to the terrible invective of O’Connell. In such an era -of violence, of anarchic strife, Grattan’s “winged words” fell harmless, -but O’Connell’s “sledge-hammer,” wielded with the arm of Thor, thundered -its most effective blows. - -Another great Irishman had passed off the stage while the young Dublin -law student, Daniel O’Connell, was still only dreaming of the liberation -of his country. Edmund Burke--revered and illustrious name!--had rounded -off the labors of his long and honorable life in the cause of oppressed -humanity, wherever found, by some strenuous and well-directed efforts for -the relief of his Catholic fellow-countrymen. Yet he too failed, or at -best gained but an indifferent success. The principles he enunciated are -imperishable; his arguments will be preserved for ever among the grandest -vindications of religious liberty in the English tongue. But in that age -they fell upon deaf ears. He too wanted that element of success which -comes from identity of race, religion, feelings, opinions, sympathies. -To that native Irish race which must ever determine the destinies of -Ireland he was a stranger. What a satire upon humanity to expect that men -in their position--bondsmen, systematically, and under legal penalties, -deprived of all education, of every means of information--could -appreciate the teachings of a political philosopher, living in what they -regarded, with good cause, as a foreign or even hostile country. It -was well if they knew of his existence. He was no leader for them. Nor -did Burke ever affect to act with them, but rather for them, upon the -convictions of the higher English and Irish classes. Hence it is that -O’Connell is to be regarded as the purely national type of leader; by -means of action exercising a more powerful influence on human affairs -through the wide-spread Irish race than Burke by means of thought. - -It will thus be seen that we place O’Connell on a high plane--above, -and different from, that of mere orators, or statesmen administering -established affairs, however great. He is to be ranked with the -nation-builders of all ages. This was the verdict of most contemporary -European observers, of Montalembert, of Ventura, and other exponents of -continental public opinion. To the English mind he was, and probably will -always be, a demagogue, pure and simple. But so no doubt was Themistocles -to the Persians. O’Connell stormed too many English prejudices--stormed -them with a violence which to his opponents seemed extravagant and -unendurable, but without which he could never have gained his end--to be -forgiven. The judgment of his countrymen, however--the supreme arbiter -for him--is already maturing to a decision in his favor which will place -him in a niche in the hall of Irish heroes above all others, and side -by side with that old king whose memory recalls the ancient glories and -victories of Ireland. - -But what of his defeats?--of the failure of Repeal? This is not a -panegyric on O’Connell, but a sincere examination of his place in Irish -history. In many instances, and above all on the question of Repeal, -he miscalculated his forces and the strength of the forces opposed -to him. Like the greatest men of action in every age, his movements -were directed by the circumstances and exigencies of the occasion, by -experience, by the shifting currents of events, by his ability to create -those currents, or to turn them to his own purpose. The cast-iron rules -of policy which political philosophers formulate in their closets may -be singularly inappropriate for the uses of popular leaders. In 1829, -under the banner of Moral Force, with the nation arrayed behind him, he -had wrested Emancipation from the king and ministry. It was an immense -triumph. His temperament was sanguine--an element of weakness, but also -of strength. In the hopeless state in which he found Ireland, only a -character of the most enthusiastic kind would have ventured on the -crusade he opened. In 1843, he thought he could repeat his victory on -the question of Repeal. But in 1829 Peel and Wellington yielded, not to -moral force, which, so far as Ireland is concerned, is a term unknown in -English politics, but to the armed figure of rebellion standing behind -it. They were not prepared for the contest. In 1843, the English ministry -were ready to crush opposition with an overwhelming military force. If -they did not invite rebellion, as in ’98, they were equally ready to -ride roughshod over Ireland. The circumstances of the contest had also -changed. Catholic Emancipation attacked the religious prejudices of -England; Repeal threatened its existence as a nation. It could grant the -one, and still maintain its hatred of Popery; it could not yield the -other without setting up a legislature with rival interests in politics -and trade. The instinct of self-preservation was evoked. No argument -will ever convince the average Englishman that in restoring a separate, -independent Parliament to Ireland, he is not laying the foundation of a -hostile state. The result in 1843 was inevitable. As soon as a sufficient -military force was concentrated, remonstrance or negotiation ceased. -England simply drew her sword and flung it into the scale. O’Connell and -his associates were thrown into prison, and the guns of the Pigeon-House -Fort were trained on the road to Clontarf. - -In the varied history of the human race few spectacles have ever been -presented of equal moral grandeur to those immense peaceful open-air -meetings which gathered to hear the great tribune. No greater testimony -was ever given of a nation’s confidence and love. Competent judges put -down the number who assembled at the Hill of Tara at half a million -of people. Yet to the unbiassed observer there is something almost as -pathetic in the helplessness of this great multitude--hoping to wrest -their independence from England without arms--as grand in the mighty -surge of its numbers. It was the confederacy of the sheep against the -wolves. O’Connell’s failure shows vividly how narrow is the plank -upon which the popular leader walks between an immortal triumph and a -prison cell. It reveals the tremendous power residing in an organized -government, capable only of resistance by a people in arms and inured to -the use of arms. That was a monster meeting of a different kind held on -Bunker Hill one hundred years ago, and commemorated this year by these -United States. - -We are neither impeaching here the wisdom of the course pursued by -O’Connell in 1843, nor advising armed rebellion against England at -the present day. We discuss simply the historical aspects of the -question in the light of the experience of other nations. Nothing can -be more hazardous, however, or often absolutely fallacious, than broad -generalizations from the history of other countries as capable of -determining a particular line of policy for any given state. In nothing -else did O’Connell show a higher wisdom as a leader of the Irish people -than in rejecting those specious appeals to the success of arms in -America, made by the more ardent patriots in 1845-46. - -The circumstances of the two countries were radically different. The -Americans exhausted every kind of “moral force” at their disposal, and -their revolution, when it finally came to blows, was not aggressive but -defensive; the policy of England made it incumbent on Ireland to strike -the first blow in a contest which she would quickly have found herself -unable to sustain. The Americans had a boundless territory; the Irish a -narrow island, capable of being pierced from shore to shore by English -troops in three weeks. The Americans were trained to arms by a war of one -hundred years with the French and Indians, in which they were drilled -and fought side by side with English regiments; the Irish--the native -Catholic Irish, the people for whom O’Connell was responsible before -God and mankind--could not keep a pike since the Treaty of Limerick. -An Irish rebellion, therefore, would have meant simply a massacre; -and O’Connell, in choosing the wiser course of present submission to -superior force, merited as much, although in defeat, the gratitude of his -countrymen as he did in his triumph in the cause of Emancipation. For it -will have been gathered from what we have already said that we regard -O’Connell’s greatest achievement in the service of his country--its -political organization, the education of its sons in the knowledge of the -rights and duties of freemen--as going on with equal step as well with -the unsuccessful agitation for Repeal as with the triumphant struggle -for Emancipation. His defeats carried with them the germs of victory. -The most ardent lover of his country can scarce escape an uneasy feeling -when he reads in the annals of Ireland that story, reiterated with -painful monotony, page after page, of the harryings, the devastations, -the ceaseless intestine wars, which mark its early history. It would seem -sometimes as if the ancient learning of Ireland which produced those -numerous and minute chronicles, served only the purpose of a reproach -to the island which fostered it. Other nations had struggled through -this transition period--common to the whole of Europe--and finally -consolidated themselves into peaceful and harmonious states. But it was -the misfortune of Ireland that this opportunity of domestic organization -was snatched from her by a foreign invasion ending in a domination of -which the cardinal principle was to “divide and conquer.” English writers -satirize the civil discord of the Irish race, forgetful that from the -time of Henry II. to that of George III. it was the steady, and as it -then seemed intelligent, policy of successive English statesmen to foster -wars between the rival chieftains and clans, to employ them against one -another, and in every way to break down any incipient attempt at union, -which must have been dangerous, if not fatal, to English power. No man -had arisen among the Irish race till O’Connell’s time who neutralized -that policy. He showed that they were capable of organization and -self-government in a patriotic common cause. In those immense meetings -which marked his progress, where men of every county united in one vast -brotherhood, he proved, first, that the Irish people loved domestic -peace and co-operation as much as any other race; and, secondly, that -under happy auspices they possessed a wonderful capacity for order -and self control. Even hostile observers concur in expressing as much -admiration for the undisturbed peacefulness of those assemblages of from -a quarter to half a million of people, as amazement at their vastness, -unprecedented in history. They were the foundation of the political -education of Ireland. - -In another country, and a more remote age, another man of kindred, kingly -spirit and organizing power, with whom O’Connell is not unworthy to be -compared, had built up his vast empire by like national meetings, not -less than by force of arms. In the great national meetings of the Franks, -the _Champs de Mai_, Charlemagne gave the first impress of government to -Europe, torn to pieces after the fall of the Roman Empire. O’Connell, -another “king of men”--such as the Homeric legend sings of--emulated his -labors on a less extended scale in Ireland. But the empire of Charlemagne -fell to pieces with his death. Chaos reigned again. O’Connell’s work was -more homogeneous, and promises to be more enduring. We are only entering -upon the dawn of a more hopeful Irish history. - -When we seek a comparison of individual action, in the history of -England, with O’Connell’s, we are struck at once with the grand but -sorrowful isolation of his position. Fortunate the country which has -never needed a liberator! Happy the kingdom whose greatest revolution -meant only a change of dynasty, a stronger leaven of republicanism, -and surer guarantees against religious toleration! The growth of -constitutional government in England has been comparatively steady -and uniform. Never--since the amalgamation of races following the -Norman invasion--subjected to the terrible consequences of conquest -and occupation by a race alien in language, religion, and national -prejudices, her political and religious struggles have been wrought -out to an issue among her own population. Whenever her civil liberty -or parliamentary privileges were threatened, sturdy champions were not -wanting among her own sons. Her Pyms, Hampdens, and Eliots find their -counterparts in the Grattans and Floods of Ireland. But the deliverer -of a crushed and hopeless people, the inspired guide who led them out -of bondage and defied their taskmasters, is a figure happily absent in -English history. - -The imagination naturally turns with vivid interest to great deeds of -arms. The pomp and panoply of war, the heroic daring of the headlong -charge, the valor, disdainful of death, that awaits with constancy an -overwhelming foe--these are incentives to action, in presence of which -the labors and even triumphs of peaceful agitation appear tame and slow. -And the Irish are a people strongly susceptible to those influences. -They are a warlike race. Wherever the tide of battle turns against great -odds, where the smoke is thickest, and the carnage deadliest, there will -be found some Irish name upholding the traditions of his country’s fame. -O’Connell had therefore no easy task in restraining within peaceful -limits the immense agitation he had evoked. And in estimating his place -in history the same considerations place him at a disadvantage compared -with those great warriors, the glitter of whose victories is identified -with the warlike glories of their country. The “Bridge of Lodi,” the “Sun -of Austerlitz”--these are talismanic words which then rang in people’s -ears with startling sequence? Yet if we compare O’Connell’s labors and -their results with those of the great soldier whose career had closed -while the former was only beginning his peaceful struggle with England, -there is no reason to shrink from the verdict. Emancipation was worth -many Marengos. The _rôle_ of the Liberator may fairly be set off against -that of the Conqueror. The civic crown of green and gold placed on -O’Connell’s head on the Rath of Mullaghmast, in the presence of 400,000 -men, was an emblem of true sovereignty greater in many ways than that -iron crown which Napoleon lifted with his own ambitious hands from the -altar at Milan. One was rust-eaten, it might be said, with the blood -and tears of unknown thousands; the other was invested with the halo of -peace, which the attainment of religious liberty and education in the -rights of freemen had introduced into a million humble homes. The career -of both Napoleon and O’Connell ended in defeat. But how conflicting -the emotions of each as he gazed for the last time on the shores of his -country! One, preoccupied by the shattering of his gigantic ambition, -and the assertion of petty details of etiquette in the midst of the ruin -around him; the other, oblivious of self, weighed down by the doom of -famine impending over his country--his last words a solemn and pathetic -appeal for its protection. In the hour of adversity, stripped of the -adventitious circumstances of power, O’Connell stands forth a figure of -greater moral grandeur. Of the victories of Napoleon nothing remains -but their name, and the terrible retribution that has followed them. -The influence of O’Connell’s unselfish labors in the cause of religious -freedom has a future practically endless; and after a season of adversity -and apparent forgetfulness, his political maxims and principles are again -reviving in Ireland in the constitutional agitation for Home Rule. Not in -the demand itself, stopping short as it does of Repeal, but in the means -by which alone its advocacy may be made successful. - -It is a curious instance of the ebb and flow of historical movements -that O’Connell was at one time prepared to take up, under the name of -“Federalism,” the present demand for “Home Rule.” Ultimately, as is -well known, he was forced to abandon it by the mutiny of his followers, -who would be satisfied with nothing less than simple “Repeal.” And this -reluctance to adopt a middle course was natural enough at the time. -In 1840-45 the Irish people were still too close to the Union; the -infamous history of that measure and the burning eloquence of Grattan and -Plunkett in denouncing it were too strongly impressed upon the national -memory, to allow any hope of success to a leader who would promise -less than its total erasure from the statute book. Too many were still -living--like O’Connell himself--who could remember the brief yet glorious -history of Irish legislative independence, to give up the belief that it -was yet possible to see an Irish parliament sitting in College Green. -Experience, and the statesmanship which does not aim at the unattainable, -have shown the practical superiority of the lesser demand as a political -programme at the present day. But this does not impugn the wisdom of the -Repeal agitation. The true course of a people in its national affairs is -necessarily learned slowly. There is no ready-made chart in politics; and -were any offered, Burke’s satire upon geometrical demonstrations in state -affairs would be conclusive against it. Experience, even the experience -of failure, is the only trustworthy guide; and successive agitations, -though varying in their object, keep alive the cause in the national -memory. - -Though the best and truest friends of Ireland, including that venerable -hierarchy which has steadily seconded every rational movement for -justice and equal rights, have never hesitated to give their support to -O’Connell’s policy of moral force, there have not been wanting from the -first restless spirits who have made it their bitterest reproach against -him, that he was unwilling to fling away the scabbard and plunge the -country into rebellion. It would be unjust to speak of all these men as -influenced by unworthy motives. Some of them breathed, and still breathe, -the purest aspirations of patriotism. But it was a mistaken patriotism, -influenced by examples which might indeed make martyrs, but which would -never lift one chain from the neck of their country. They might make good -soldiers, but were poor leaders. Ireland was not then, and is not now, in -a position to gain anything by a policy of violence. - -But there are others, inflamed not with a love of Ireland, but with a -spirit of hostility to all governments, who would plunge their country -into bloodshed in hope of themselves floating to the top. These men are -infected with the spirit of the Commune. They are revolutionists--not -in the sense in which Washington or Hampden or O’Connell were -revolutionists--leaders of great movements for the liberties of -peoples--but socialists, whose single incentive is the envy and hatred -of all superior authority. Most of all, they desire to supplant the -Irish priesthood as the guides of the people. A sorry exchange, from the -well-tried friends, proved by the exacting ordeal of a thousand years, to -men of no responsibility--mere political gamblers--whose highest motive -is ambition, but a lower and more common one, the love of easy-gotten -money from confiding people. These conspirators are the promoters of the -secret societies against which O’Connell warned the Irish people. But -unfortunately they too often find that generous-hearted race--embittered -by the recollection of centuries of oppression--willing to give ear to -their delusive promises. Indifferent to their own future, these men -rejoice in anarchy. Some of them are no doubt poltroons, who would fly -as soon as they had led their dupes into danger. But it would be false -to deny them all the attributes of courage. Others would die bravely -enough behind a barricade. But their wars are essentially wars of the -barricades. If defeated they would perish recklessly, having nothing at -stake to make life valuable--absolutely indifferent to the slaughter, to -the burned homes, to the widows and orphans of the unfortunate people who -had submitted to their fatal guidance. If successful, their next attack -would be upon the Catholic Church. But success under such leadership is -a delusion wilder than the most exaggerated dream of fiction. They have -no conception of a national revolution higher than a conspiracy. The -elevated principles, the far-sighted calculations of a Washington, an -Adams, or a Franklin, which almost assured success from the start, are an -unknown language to them. Blind hatred, even of an existing tyranny, is a -poor basis upon which to sustain a long and exhausting war. And no one, -with the history of the American Revolution before him, can doubt what -the character of an armed struggle with England for the independence of -Ireland would be. - -The same spirit of patriotism, therefore, that urged Washington to throw -his sword into the scale in the contest with Great Britain, animated -O’Connell with a contrary purpose in the case of Ireland. Yet not less is -the latter deserving of the title of “Father of his Country.” Success has -crowned the American patriot with a more splendid fame. But when we weigh -the individual exertions of each in his gigantic struggle with the great -empire opposed to him, and consider the incalculable advantages which a -boundless territory and an intervening ocean afforded to the American -leader, the Irish liberator will not suffer from the comparison. -Washington was surrounded and sustained by a group of great men who would -seem to have been providentially raised up at that momentous epoch to lay -the foundations of the noble structure of American liberty. O’Connell, -standing alone, an Atlas supporting the fortunes of six millions of -Irish Catholics on his shoulders, is a figure unexampled in history. -His herculean labors recall the fables of antiquity. In the whole -parliamentary history of England we read of no other example of one man -facing and trampling over the utmost hostility of that proud and powerful -assembly--the English House of Commons. - -Yet though the pre-eminence of O’Connell makes him appear almost a -solitary figure in the records of that day, it would be unjust, in a -notice of him, to pass over the assistance he received from the brilliant -rhetoric and astute intellect of Richard Lalor Sheil. Though holding -a subordinate place to that of the great Agitator, and accused of -lukewarmness, in the end, by O’Connell himself, whose “Sheil, Sheil! this -will never do,” has become historic, his early exertions merit a grateful -remembrance. Nor can any Irishman ever forget the profound learning, -the masterly reasoning, the weight of character which Dr. Doyle, the -celebrated “J. K. L.,” brought to the contest in the early days of the -Catholic Association. Rivalling Swift in the keenness of his satire, and -“Junius” in the brilliancy of his style, he united to those qualities a -purity of purpose and freedom from personal rancor which neither of those -writers possessed. His life is an imperishable monument of the patriotism -of the Catholic hierarchy of Ireland. - -It is not the purpose of this article to speak of O’Connell’s position -in the English House of Commons, of his action on the question of -Reform, or the revenues of the Irish Church, on which he anticipated the -tardy measure of Mr. Gladstone; nor of the truly liberal and tolerant -spirit which made him welcome into the ranks of the Repealers the -talented Protestant youth of Ireland, and oppose every manifestation -of religious rancor wherever he found it. We have sufficiently pointed -out what we believe to be his enduring claims to immortality--Catholic -Emancipation, and, in pursuance of that aim and of Repeal, the new level -of political thought and action to which he lifted the Irish race. He -is the grandest representative of the pure Celtic blood of Ireland that -the ages have produced. His power, like that of all other great national -leaders, depended upon that representative quality. And he used his -power faithfully. Unlike the great German chancellor of the present day, -who, beginning with the _rôle_ of a national liberator and organizer, -has ended in a career of foreign domination and domestic persecution, -O’Connell never perverted the strongest and noblest of popular forces -to the uses of tyranny under any form. Prince Bismarck’s plans lead up -to that very régime of hate, cruelty, and oppression which O’Connell -combated in Ireland, and if they become the settled policy of the Empire, -must in time give birth to a German Liberator. - -It remains only to say a word upon the future of that Irish people to -whom O’Connell devoted his life. We will not venture upon hazardous -speculations. The wisdom of his policy was never more apparent than -to-day. The motives upon which it was founded repeat themselves -anew. There are too many interests in Ireland--Irish and Catholic -interests--opposed to revolutionary violences, to make rebellion either -desirable or practicable. It is only those who want to confiscate and -live by tumult that cry out for it. The same communists who burned Paris -and murdered its priests and archbishop under the name of liberty, would -like to sack Dublin under the cry of “Down with the Saxon!” National -ideas are everywhere the footballs of those radicals, by which they lead -the easily-swayed multitude to follow them in their game of plunder. But -an Irish communist--that is, one born of a Catholic Irish stock--is a -creature of abnormal growth. He will never make much headway in Ireland. - -The true course of modern Irish politics points to the assertion of -that principle of federalism which has been established as the basis of -government in Austro-Hungary, in Canada and all the great free British -Colonies, and in the United States, and which, under the name of “Home -Rule,” is now the matured policy of the trustworthy exponents of Irish -public opinion. We would not be understood to commit ourselves to any -particular political programme, but before any of what may be termed -sentimental considerations, it would seem that the leaders of public -opinion in Ireland must direct their energies to build up its material -prosperity, and this can be best accomplished by local self-government. -Unanimity in its pursuit is therefore demanded even of those who -ultimately look beyond it. A rich and prosperous community will not long -remain enslaved. It is only the poor who are trampled on, among nations -as among individuals. It must be admitted, however, that nothing could -well appear more hopeless than the present position of the Home Rulers in -the English House of Commons. The decisive triumph of the Conservative -reaction has put them out of the calculations of both parties. But -this state of things is not likely to exist in the next Parliament, -nor in the one after. Courage and endurance, therefore--the virtues of -O’Connell--are the virtues that are needed in this temporary Slough of -Despond. The contempt, so loudly and persistently expressed as to imply -some apprehension, the frenzy of opposition, Home Rule has evoked in the -House of Commons, we do not count for more than it is worth. It is not -more bitter or uncompromising than the same feeling prior to Emancipation -or even Reform. The same threats of eternal opposition were then common. -It took sixty years of active opposition to gain the former; the same -number at least and enormous outside agitation to carry the latter. The -success of great national movements is necessarily slow against existing -forces, and must often be transmitted from generation to generation. -There is no need therefore of discouragement at a temporary check. Local -self-government--the same that exists in New York and Massachusetts, and -for the same objects--leaving foreign and exclusively national questions -for the consideration of an Imperial Parliament, as for Congress--is a -demand that commends itself to the feeling of justice of all mankind, a -feeling which England will eventually be unable to resist. We are not -of those who inculcate an eternal policy of revenge. This is easy for -irresponsible demagogues to preach, but blows are not given without -being received. The reality, the dreadful experiences of war, soon teach -moderation where war is felt. Even were the two states independent, peace -with England would be the true policy of Ireland. - -As for the Irish in America, the future lies before them brilliant, -unclouded. It is bounded only by their own ability to make it honorable -and useful. Relying primarily, like every other man in the community, -upon his own industry, sobriety, and energy, the Irishman in the United -States or Canada may attain to any position he is fitted for. If in some -instances he has to encounter native prejudices, these will be best -overcome by an earnest effort on his own part to observe faithfully all -the duties of citizenship. No one who does so will ever fail to obtain -the respect and support of his Protestant neighbors. Those who make -foreign grudges their first consideration must expect to be looked upon -as strangers. Yet we must face what exists. So long as the stream of -immigration continues to pour into this country, so long will there be -a large body of our countrymen, receiving continual accessions, whose -dearest thoughts will be directed towards Ireland, their bitterest -towards England. This is inevitable. England reaps the fruit of her -past. She is now in the position of a jailer who would fain take off the -handcuffs from her prisoner, but dares not, for fear of retrospective -revenge. The misgovernment of ages cannot be blotted out from the -memory of the misgoverned in a day--nor in a hundred years. It is a -national Nemesis; and it will be well for England if it do not overtake -her in some dreadful form. This feeling naturally finds its strongest -expression in the United States. Sympathy with the mother country will -never fail. And God forbid that it should do so. But let that sympathy -take a proper direction, an efficient form. Give the strength of your -moral support--of your purses, if you will--to the men who are carrying -on under a different form the work of O’Connell in Ireland--who are now -bravely struggling for Home Rule. But turn a stern countenance on those -adventurers and desperadoes who have nothing wiser to advise than wild -and criminal incursions into a friendly province, where Irishmen possess -all the rights they do here, or conspiracies and secret societies in -Ireland--projects which make the honest patriotism and tried courage -of Irishmen a farce for the laughter of mankind. The Irish in America -have many traps laid for their nationality and their faith; but let them -avoid the snares of revolutionary, infidel leaders for themselves, and -of godless schools for their children, and the day will eventually dawn -when the weight of their support will turn the scale in favor of their -country’s rights against England. This is the true way to follow the -example and honor the memory of O’Connell. - -In spirit, the Great Liberator still beckons the way to his countrymen. -The echo of that voice, sonorous, but clear and sweet as a silver bell, -is heard no more on the hillsides of Erin. The clover springs up where -the feet of thousands pressed closer to listen to its magic spell. But -his memory is eternal as the hills themselves. - - “By constancy like his sustained, - Pollux, of yore, and Hercules, - The starry eminences gained.”[155] - -Unwearied by labors, animated by a single passion--the love of -country--men like him “becoming the heroes and benefactors of the human -race, attain to the glory of immortality.” The national historian, in a -future age, will date the rehabilitation of Ireland from the birth of -O’Connell. - - -ULTRAISM. - -To be ultra is to go beyond. It is to attack the sceptre in the name of -the throne, and the mitre in the name of the altar; it is to maltreat -the thing you support; it is to kick in the traces; it is to cavil at -the stake for undercooking heretics; it is to reproach the idol with a -lack of idolatry; it is to insult by an excess of respect; it is to find -in the Pope too little papistry, in the king too little royalty, and too -much light in the night; it is to be dissatisfied with the albatross, -with snow, with the swan, and the lily, in the name of whiteness; it is -to be the partisan of things to the point of becoming their enemy; it is -to be so very pro that you are con.--_Victor Hugo._ - - -MARIA IMMACOLATA OF BOURBON.[156] - -We still see her, a gentle and beautiful girl of fourteen, seated beside -her brother, the exiled King of Naples, in a low carriage which passes -through the Villa Borghese, in Rome. Her face is of the Bourbon mould. A -fair, open forehead, doubly suggestive of the water-lily, because of its -snowy whiteness and the innocent frankness with which it seems to turn -towards heaven. Bright hazel eyes, the limpid, loving depths of which -are expressive of the innocence and purity of the soul, which gives them -life and light; while the lines of her chaste mouth and finely-chiselled -chin are ever forming themselves into a subdued smile of love, of peace, -and of quiet resignation. There is a modesty, and withal an elegance in -her dress and carriage, which strike the beholder at once. Her eyes do -not wander about, but are fixed with trusting tenderness on the face of -her brother, or rest affectionately upon the beautiful greyhound which -crouches at her feet and looks up at her with an earnestness almost -human. It may have been a mere fancy of ours, founded on our knowledge of -the history of that lovely creature; but it always seemed to us that the -earnest look of the dog at its young mistress was one of pity as well as -of affection--pity because she was an exiled princess; affection, because -she was fair to behold and gentle in demeanor, and the life-giving -spirit of both qualities was a pure and noble soul, which we have since -learned to regard with a veneration not unlike that which we bear towards -a saint. We do not purpose to write her biography, nor even her memoirs. -We will merely sketch briefly, and in the simplicity with which they -were narrated to us, some recollections of that short life of nineteen -years which wrought a chastening and ennobling influence upon all whose -happiness it was to be near her. - -Maria Immacolata Aloysia of Bourbon was the youngest child but one -of Ferdinand II., King of Naples, and Maria Theresa of Austria, his -second wife, and was born in the castle of Caserta, on the 21st of -January, 1855. Her father the king died when she was quite young, and -was succeeded on the throne by Francis II., the first-born of his -marriage with the saintly Maria Christina of Savoy. After the death of -Ferdinand, the Queen-Mother, Maria Theresa, devoted all her energies to -the religious and secular education of her four children, the Princess -Maria Pia; Prince Don Pasquale, Count of Bari; the subject of this -sketch, Princess Maria Immacolata, and Prince Don Gennarino, Count of -Caltagirone. In doing this she was actuated by a strong sense of the -obligations of a Christian mother towards her children, while she felt -that in discharging these obligations with fidelity she paid a worthy -tribute to the memory of her deceased consort. Maria Immacolata, even -in childhood, showed herself worthy of the sweet name which was given -her in baptism, and the name of Aloysia was peculiarly becoming to her; -for as S. Aloysius was called “the Angel of the Court of Mantua,” so -did her sweet and angelic disposition win for her the appellation of -“Angel of the Court of Naples.” Naples, however, was not destined to -possess its “angel” long. The sad history of the treacherous expulsion of -Francis II. by his own first cousin, Victor Emanuel, is too well known -to need recital here. Enough to say, that in 1861 the Bourbons were -forced to fly from the fortress of Gaeta and seek refuge in Rome, which -was still the home of the exile, the weary, and the world-worn. As their -father Ferdinand had offered an asylum to Pius IX. when the revolution -of 1848 drove him from Rome, so now the noble heart of the Pontiff -sympathized with the exiles, and he forthwith ordered the Quirinal -Palace to be prepared for their reception. King Francis soon after took -up his residence in the Farnese Palace, and the Queen-Mother retired -with her four children to Palazzo Nipoti. It is into this sanctuary of -piety, order, and industry that we would introduce the reader, that he -may admire with us the domestic virtues of that Christian mother Maria -Theresa. All is order, tranquillity, and modesty. Each prince has his -own separate apartment and his own instructors. The hours for retiring -to bed at night, rising in the morning, for prayers, Mass, study, -meals, and recreation are regularly established. Besides the ordinary -exercises of piety, there is a religious instruction given once a week, -and a spiritual retreat once a year, at which the queen herself and -every member of her household assist. She is the ruling and guiding -spirit of all, and it was but natural, under the influence of such a -perfect model, that the children should soon give evidences of those -rare qualities of mind and soul which, in later years, became the theme -of general admiration. Such was the domestic life of the exiles. It was -here that the character of Maria Immacolata began to develop itself -with singular beauty. Naturally pious, she loved God tenderly. At the -religious instructions she observed a gravity of demeanor rarely met with -in a child of her years, and on retiring to her room, she used to note -down upon a slip of paper the principal points in the discourse which -she had just heard. Her temperament was a lively one, and no one enjoyed -the hours of recreation more heartily than she did. Yet it was apparent -to all as she grew up that she was struggling hard to obtain a perfect -mastery over herself, and the success which attended her efforts was -especially manifest in her affectionate obedience to the queen, to her -elder brothers and sister. The sweetest little nook in the Nipoti Palace -was the room of Maria Immacolata. It was so small, so neat, so orderly, -and the little altar in one corner, surmounted by a statuette of the -Immaculate Conception, and ornamented with sweet-smelling flowers, told -more plainly than words could who was the occupant. During the month -of May her room became a little Eden of flowers in honor of the Virgin -Mary. But other flowers were offered up to Our Lady which were far more -acceptable to her than the fairest flowers of earth. On the altar stood -a little vase of porphyry, containing a number of slips of paper, upon -which was written the name of some virtue, some act of charity to be -performed, or little mortification to be practised. Every morning, she -and her sister, Maria Pia, repaired together to this urn, and, with joy -depicted in their countenances, each drew out a slip of paper. Immacolata -was always wont to say, when she had read her slip of paper, “O mamma! -I need this virtue so much.” It has been said that love is ingenious; -and if this be true of that love which creatures, following a God-given -instinct, bear one towards another, it must find a proportionately more -beautiful application in the love which a pure creature of the earth -cherishes for the Immaculate Queen of Heaven. Maria Immacolata and her -sister were not content with practising daily the virtues named on each -slip of paper, but on the last day of the month they collected all the -slips of paper together, and, with the addition of some lilies, they -wove them into a chaplet, with which they crowned the statue of their -Queen. The idea had a doubly beautiful significance, being suggestive -at once of purity of heart and the traditional love of the Bourbons for -the lily. The young princess was scarcely eleven years of age when she -was told, to her unutterable delight, that she might prepare to receive -her First Communion. In this event of her life our admiration is divided -between the solicitous care of her noble mother in preparing her daughter -for a worthy reception of the Blessed Eucharist, and the holy readiness -and thorough spirit of appreciation with which the child performed all -that was enjoined upon her. In order to remove every possible occasion -of distraction during the spiritual retreat of eight days, which she -made in the palace under the direction of a Jesuit father, she sent all -her toys to a conservatory of little girls, and on the day previous -to her beginning the exercises, she was overheard to say to a parrot, -of which she was very fond, “Bird, you and I must part for awhile; a -great Visitor is coming, and I must prepare to receive him.” She went -so far as to deny herself the cup of chicken-broth which she was in the -habit of taking in the morning, because of her delicate constitution. -During the retreat she prayed most fervently to S. Aloysius, to whom -she was tenderly devoted, beseeching him to obtain for her the grace of -overcoming the enemies of her soul--the world, the passions, and the -demon. After her death, a slip of paper was found in her prayer-book, -upon which she had noted down all that she intended to ask our Lord for -at her First Communion. She seems to have been strongly attached to her -governess, for she writes: “and I will pray for Maria Laserre, that she -may never be separated from me; and I will also pray,” said the child, -“for Victor Emanuel, that God may enlighten him and pardon him all the -harm he has done to us.” The first prayer received a gracious hearing, -and we find Maria Laserre her constant and cheerful companion in all -the trials and vicissitudes to which that short and guileless life was -afterward subject. The other prayer reveals a sensitive soul, which was -penetrated to its depths with a full and saddening consciousness of -the monstrous wrongs which her family had suffered from their disloyal -cousin, and at the same time a generous, forgiving spirit, not unlike -that which prompted the touching prayer of Christ upon the cross, -“Father! forgive them.” Many a noble deed is recorded of the Bourbons -when they were in power, when the _fleur-de-lis_ was the emblem of a -glorious reality; but there is a sublimity of pathos in the forgiving -prayer of the delicate child of eleven, despoiled of every vestige of -royalty but her princely name, which is far beyond our appreciation, and -is only justly estimated by Him who taught us to forgive the trespasses -of others if we would hope for the forgiveness of our own. For all the -favors which she asked of S. Aloysius she promised to give him a clasp of -diamonds, which she had received from the king her father. Her anxiety, -however, was great lest her mother might not consent to her parting with -such a precious souvenir, as will appear in the letters which she wrote -to the saint during the retreat, and which were found after her death in -a small silver purse which she carried about with her. They are written -in elegant French. As they were never intended for mortal eyes, but were -addressed in all innocence and simplicity to a saint in heaven, we take -them up with all possible delicacy, and reverence for the chaste heart -of which they were the candid outpouring. While they bear testimony to -her purity of soul, they are also an evidence of what religion was to -her--not a hard, galling yoke, which must be borne from sheer necessity, -nor a heavy burden, to be carried only on a Sunday or a holyday. No, -there was an every-day warmth in her religion; it was something near at -hand, familiar, consoling, and refreshing, and nowhere more perfectly -embodied than in the short definition of the Redeemer: “My yoke is -sweet, and my burden light.” Here is one of her letters: - -“O great saint! who never lost your innocence, and who by your sanctity -brought so much glory and honor upon your mother; S. Aloysius Gonzaga, -patron of the young, you who were possessed of a great knowledge of the -world and of human frailty, I recommend myself to you, that, by your -intercession with Jesus Christ our Lord, you obtain for me the grace that -I too may make a good First Communion. S. Aloysius Gonzaga! you who knew -so well how to make a First Communion, oh! grant that the First Communion -may be for me the beginning of a new life, the rule and guide of all my -actions; and that I too may begin to battle courageously with the world, -the demon, and my own passions. Grant me this favor, O great Saint! -Meanwhile, I choose thee for my protector, and I will recommend myself -to thee every day, in every sorrowful trial, at every suggestion of the -enemy, and in every instance of impatience; and when temptation assails -me, I will say a Gloria Patri for thee. - - “MARIA IMMACOLATA OF BOURBON (great sinner). - -“_Postscript._--Pray for me, O great Saint! and obtain for me these -graces. Glory be to God the Father! O my S. Aloysius Gonzaga! pray that -mamma will permit me without hesitation to carry as a gift to your chapel -that little clasp of diamonds, and give me light to know how to ask her -well for the favor, and how to reply, if she makes any objection. - - “THE GREAT SINNER.” - -Another letter is couched in these terms: - -“O S. Aloysius Gonzaga! you see that I recommend myself to you every -day, as I promised you. Now, obtain this grace for me, that mamma may -look at me with a good face when I ask her for the cope for Father -N., of your own society; but especially when I ask her for the first -favor (permission to bestow the diamonds upon S. Aloysius), that she -may say yes without hesitating; and that she may also allow me to give -my photograph to Don Domenico (an old domestic in the family). But let -mamma say _yes_ without difficulty. I ask you earnestly. Glory be to the -Father.” - -Here is another precious document: - -“O S. Aloysius! my protector, I again recommend myself to thee. Give me -light and obtain for me the grace that I may make my First Communion -well. O happy day! O day that comes but once! O thrice happy day! Great -Saint! give me thy faith, give me the faith of all the saints. Pray that -I may not be ashamed to confess my sins. Meanwhile, I am thankful to thee -for the favor which thou hast granted me in the clasp of diamonds, and -for other favors, which I received from thee on other occasions. Pray for -the most humble servant of God. - - “M. I. OF B. (great sinner). - -“_Postscript._--I recommend myself to thee, my dear protector; do me this -favor: ask God to pardon me.” - -The “thrice happy day” came at last, and on the 24th of December, 1865, -she received Holy Communion from the hands of Cardinal Riario Sforza, in -the same chapel in which her “dear Protector,” S. Aloysius, pronounced -his vows. This chapel is in the Roman College, where S. Aloysius lived -and died. It was beautifully ornamented for the occasion, and, besides -the king, queen, and queen-mother, with their suites, a number of -distinguished persons were present, and a score of little girls, dressed -in white, assisted at the Mass, bearing lighted tapers in their hands. -Every eye rested on Maria Immacolata, whose recollection edified all -present. The smile which played around her mouth, and the blush which -mantled her cheeks, were but faint indications of the happiness in her -soul. What passed in that abode of purity and innocence is known only to -herself and Him whom she loved. We can only narrate what we saw. Having -obtained permission, she repaired with her governess, after thanksgiving, -to the room of S. Aloysius, and with a face all aglow with joy, she -placed a little casket on the altar. It was the clasp of diamonds. On -leaving the room of the saint, she remarked to her companion that she was -overwhelmed with gratitude towards God. “I must make him a present;” and -before the day was over she had bestowed every coin in her purse upon -his poor. Only one piece of gold was reserved, and that she sent on the -following day to a conservatory, to clothe a little orphan girl of her -own age, who was preparing for her First Communion. But of her boundless -charity we will have more to say anon. - -The summer of 1867 found the royal exiles at Albano, a charming country -resort on the Appian Way, about fifteen miles from Rome. They had not -been there long when the Asiatic cholera broke out with a violence -unprecedented in the history of that terrible plague. The victims daily -were numbered by hundreds. Not a family in the city was spared. - -The first victim in the Bourbon family was the young Prince Gennarino, -a bright little boy of eight years. At the first symptoms of the malady -he asked for his confessor, and confessed with such compunction of heart -that the good priest was moved to tears. He begged earnestly that he -might receive Holy Communion; “for,” said the little fellow, “I want to -die like a man.” Though he was so young, his request was granted. His -First Communion was his Viaticum, and “like a man” the young Bourbon -passed to another life. But death had singled out a more illustrious -victim in the person of Maria Theresa, the Queen-Mother. Her whole life -having been one of preparation, her death was that of the just. And here -we would willingly stop to admire the character of that noble Christian -mother, and worthy descendant of the great Maria Theresa of Austria; but -we are restrained from doing so by the reflection that we cannot pay a -more worthy or glowing tribute to her memory, than by sketching the life -and character of her saintly daughter Maria Immacolata. To a heart so -sensitive, so appreciative and affectionate, as was that of Immacolata, -the death of a mother was a great blow, and it was a long time before -she could be comforted. King Francis now became the natural protector of -the orphans, and took them to his own residence in the Farnese Palace, -in Rome. The habit of study had already been formed in the children by -their saintly mother, and so they applied themselves with renewed vigor -to the acquisition of knowledge. Maria Immacolata was gifted with talents -of the highest order. Besides speaking her own language with captivating -sweetness she spoke French and German fluently, and the facility with -which she could pass from one language to another was surprising. Drawing -was her passion, and her sketches in oil and water colors gave evidence -of no inconsiderable genius. Wherever she went, she brought her drawing -materials with her, and amused herself by sketching landscapes, palaces, -villas, and the like. She was equally skilled in portraits, and the last -production of her pencil, a beautiful picture of the Immaculate Heart, -has been very much admired. Literature was another source of pleasure to -her. Though she had a lofty appreciation of the beauties of the Italian -language, and was passionately fond of reading, she was never known to -indulge in light and promiscuous literature. While applying herself -to the cultivation of her mind, she did not forget the more modest -accomplishments which become her sex; and there are several beggars in -Rome this day who will show, with no small pride, the coarse stockings -which were knitted for them by the tiny hands of Maria Immacolata of -Bourbon. But these and many other accomplishments were but as the gold -which encircles a diamond of rare value and purity. Her richest treasure -was her humility and modesty. Her conversation, though entertaining and -lively, was modest; her deportment, though easy and graceful, equally -so. The sweetness of her disposition was especially noticeable in her -treatment of domestics. - -In the October of 1867 the Eternal City was thrown into a state of -excitement and trepidation by the news that Garibaldi, with his horde -of desperadoes, was on the march for Rome. The little army of the Pope -prepared to make a gallant defence, and a number of chivalrous Roman -youths of the best families offered themselves to swell the ranks of the -Papal legions. Francis II. and his two brothers were among the first to -rush to the defence of the country--the only country which was now left -them. Their two orphan sisters, Maria Pia and Maria Immacolata, were -consequently left alone in the Farnese Palace. They did not remain long -unprotected, for the Holy Father sent for the two princesses, and had -them brought into the Vatican, where the magnificent apartment of the -Countess Mathilde had been prepared for them. Here they remained until -after the battle of Mentana, and the Papal troops returned in triumph to -the city. While the children were in the Vatican, they assisted every -morning at the Pope’s Mass, and received Holy Communion daily from -his hands. Every day, when he went to take his usual walk through the -galleries and corridors of the palace, he sent for the orphans, and by -his sweet and consoling conversation made them forget the anxiety which -tortured them about their brothers. During those days--the happiest of -her life--Maria Pia conceived a veneration and love for the Holy Father -which she cherished ever afterwards, and which, we may here remark, -was characteristic of her mother, Maria Theresa. When the storm had -blown over, the orphans returned to the Farnese Palace, and resumed -their usually quiet and retired life. It did not last long. This time -it was not the Garibaldian hordes that marched upon the city, but the -well-disciplined troops of a king who called himself “the dutiful son of -Pius IX.” To be brief, the year 1870 was one of woe to the Romans, but -to none was it more sorrowful than to the poor persecuted Bourbons. Once -more they were forced to fly, and in their flight the noble family was -obliged to divide itself. Some of them fled into Bavaria, some to France, -while Maria Immacolata went with her sister, now Duchess of Parma, into -the Tyrol, and afterwards to Cannes, on the confines of France. She was -accompanied by her governess Maria Laserre, her faithful friend and -comforter in every trial. - -But the cold climate of the mountains was too severe for Immacolata. She -was a frail, delicate flower, and under the rough, inclement blasts of -a northern winter she began to wilt away. What with her weak health and -her strong affection for the Holy Father, she began to pine for Rome, her -country, as she called it. All this passed within her own bosom. For the -rest, she was patient, resigned, and more forgiving than ever towards -those who were the cause of her exile, first from the land of her birth, -and afterwards from Rome, to which her heart clung most lovingly. A soul -so closely united to God as was hers, soon found the wherewithal to -comfort her, and it was with a smile of heavenly joy in her countenance -that she brightened up and said to her maid, “Ah! well, there is one -consolation left me: the poor I have always with me.” From her infancy -she had been noted for her charities. What little she possessed in -childhood she gave to the poor joyfully. When she grew up and received a -monthly allowance from her mother for ordinary expenses, she gave with -such a liberal hand that her allowance used to be exhausted long before -the end of the month came. The Queen-Mother had become so accustomed to -the charitable prodigalities of her daughter that she used to say when -she would hear a modest knock at her door, about the 20th of each month, -“Here comes my little prodigal daughter; but, God bless her! she has not -wasted her substance.” When the Queen died, and Maria Immacolata came -into her inheritance, her charity was more a profusion than a giving; and -it was remarked that no one knew anything of her charities. The gospel -directed her to give in secret, and the Holy Spirit assured her that the -“Father who seeth in secret” would reward her. It was her chief delight, -when she went out to take a walk, to gather the young people around her, -and ask them the catechism, and teach them how to pray; and in order to -stimulate them to study the catechism thoroughly, she would give them -rosaries, medals, and pictures, which she had sent to her at regular -intervals from Rome. Whenever she met any one who was on the way to the -Eternal City, she could not restrain her tears, as she thought of the -happiness which was denied to herself; and, she would often remark, “It -is _so_ cold here, that not only the body, but the soul too shivers for -that warmth which can only be felt near the Vicar of Christ.” - -About this time she became acquainted with Henry Bourbon, Count of Bardi, -son of Charles III. of Parma, and nephew of the Count of Chambord. Her -sister, Maria Pia, had already been married to Robert, Duke of Parma, and -the nuptial blessing was pronounced by the Holy Father, in the year 1869. -As her sister’s marriage was one of Christian love, not of political -or worldly interest, contracted under the influence of religion, and -not to keep up the “equilibrium of relationship,” as the saying is in -Europe, so was the marriage of Immacolata with the Count of Bardi. Among -other motives in favor of accepting his hand in marriage she was wont to -adduce this one, that the fact of his having been educated in the college -of the Jesuits at Feldkirch was an assurance to her that her marriage -would be a happy one. As she had prepared herself for the reception of -her First Communion, so by recollection and spiritual exercises did -she dispose herself for the Sacrament of Matrimony, and on the 27th -of November, 1873, she became the Countess of Bardi. The marriage was -a modest celebration throughout. The domestics of the family and the -poor of the city were the only merrymakers. As for the young spouses, -they were destined only to drink the cup of tribulation. The lily of -Bourbon was fast drooping, the color was fading from her cheeks, and the -unnatural brilliancy of her eyes told, more clearly than words could, -that Immacolata was not destined to live much longer. No one knew this -better than herself. Still she was resolved to do her duty, as if she -had long years before her. She began by studying the character of her -husband. Prior to all, however, she had marked out for herself a simple -line of conduct, which she couched in the two words, “affectionate -submission.” In the heaven-given light of this resolution, she loved him, -and by its influence and the discharge of all those kind and endearing -offices which are the noble prerogatives of the gentler sex, she won his -confidence, and strengthened his affection, as with a wall of granite. -Having acquired a thorough knowledge of his character, she anticipated -every desire of his, and executed his every wish with such readiness that -he was afterwards known to say that he could not decide whose wish she -accomplished, his or her own. In this way she obtained great influence -over him, but she only exercised it in the things of God. Wherever she -knelt down to pray, there he knelt at her side. When she was gone to her -rest, he was heard to say of her, “She took me by the hand, and led me to -God.” - -On the day after their marriage the young spouses set out on a journey to -Egypt. The voyage was long and ill-suited to her delicate constitution; -but she went cheerfully, thinking not of herself, but only how she might -please her consort. During the forty days they were sailing up the Nile, -she lay prostrate with a malignant fever, which, together with the -ravages of consumption, reduced her almost to the last extremity. It -was hoped that she would rally during their voyage in Upper Egypt, but -in vain. When they arrived there, she became weaker and weaker, until, -finally, the most they hoped for was that she might live until their -return to France. Setting sail from Cairo, they arrived at Marseilles in -the March of 1874, where she rallied at the sight of her sister, Maria -Pia, and her beloved governess, Maria Laserre, who had come to meet her. -In a consultation of her physicians, it was resolved to bring her to -Cauterets, a little village in the Upper Pyrenees, and celebrated for -its sulphur baths. Maria Immacolata was delighted with the proposal, -not because she hoped for any relief from the waters of Cauterets, but -because in their journey thither they would pass Lourdes, to which she -had long yearned to make a pilgrimage. - -Accordingly, they set out for Cauterets, stopping at Lourdes on the -way. The weary invalid’s heart throbbed with joy as she knelt for -the first time in the holy grotto. For two whole hours she remained -absorbed in silent prayer, giving no other sign of life than the long -and affectionate gaze which she fixed upon the image of Our Lady. During -their stay at Lourdes, she visited the grotto twice every day, and at -each visit she prayed long and fervently. Twice she insisted on being -immersed in the water, notwithstanding it was exceedingly cold. On being -asked what she prayed for, she replied, “That God’s will be done.” The -waters of Cauterets gave her no relief. The disease had taken deep root -in her system, and was rapidly advancing to a fatal termination. An -eminent physician was called from the city of Pau, who gave it as his -opinion that it was useless to hope for her recovery. She might live for -fifteen days more, and possibly might linger on for a month. The young -count thought no longer of the great loss he was about to suffer, but -only how he might make the remaining days of her short life as quiet and -devoid of pain as possible. It was resolved to bring her to Pau, the -principal city of the Lower Pyrenees, where she would receive better -attendance, and, above all, have the consolations of her religion. As -they carried her on a species of litter from the hotel to the carriage, -she said to her husband, “Not long ago I could move about with ease; -afterwards they carried me in an arm-chair; now it is a litter; the next -will be a bier.” Her sufferings on the road between Lourdes and Pau -were very great, but she bore them cheerfully, and only prayed that they -would let her die in Pau. After their arrival in that city, she rallied a -little, and her husband tried to raise her hopes by saying that she would -recover. “Do not be deceived, dear Henry,” she said; “before another -month passes away I shall be gone. Bring me a confessor.” One of the -Jesuit fathers came immediately, and her first prayer was that they would -erect an altar in her room at which Mass might be said on the following -day. Meanwhile, she prepared to make a general confession of her whole -life, and begged every one in the house to pray for her. Her first care -was to fulfil a number of promises which she had made to the Madonna, and -calling her husband to her bedside, she begged of him to make them good. -Her jewels, wedding-dress, and crown had already been promised to Our -Lady of Issoudun. After her death, the Duke of Parma and the Duchess, her -sister, repaired to that sanctuary and made the offering. She had also -vowed a silver heart to Our Lady of Einsiedeln, and a set of vestments to -Our Lady of Lourdes. She had begun to embroider the chasuble herself, but -was obliged from sheer weakness to lay it aside. She begged her sister to -finish it, and carry it in her name to the holy grotto. In addition to -these, she had also vowed to have two hundred Masses celebrated for the -suffering souls in purgatory. Opening her purse to fulfil this promise, -she found it empty. Indeed, that was its normal condition, and it was -said of her that a heavy purse never wore a hole in her pocket. She asked -her husband, with child-like simplicity, to give her six hundred francs, -and having received them, ordered the sum to be distributed among the -churches in the city according to her intention. On the following day, -the 20th of August, she confessed and received Holy Communion with -edifying fervor. Her only desire now was to remain quiet, that she -might commune with God and prepare for her final departure. On the day -mentioned, she was visited by Margherita, the wife of Don Carlos. But the -dying princess turned her eyes lovingly on the visitor and said, “Pardon -me, Margherita, but I must be alone with God.” The Princess Maria Pia -and her governess remained by her bedside constantly, and prayed aloud -with her. When her confessor entered the room she would say to him, “Must -I live many days longer? Pray God not to tarry.” Then she would chide -herself for a want of resignation, and say, “As thou wilt!” - -It was no difficult task for one whose heart was detached from the things -of this world to make a will, and that of the Princess Immacolata of -Bourbon did not give her much anxiety. Still, she observed the legal -formalities, and showed such clearness and precision in her dictation -to the notary as surprised all present. With the exception of that -part of the will which affects her natural heirs, the rest is but one -long series of donations for religious purposes--foreign missions, -religious houses, orphanages, and the like. She was not content with -making a handsome provision for each of her domestics, but even made -appropriations for their relatives. The poor are called in the will -“my dearest heirs,” and to these, she left the sum of 20,000 francs in -gold, the distribution of which she entrusted to her governess, Maria -Laserre, begging her especially not to forget the poor families she -knew in Rome, and elsewhere, during her wanderings. In short, after -disposing of the enormous sum of 107,000 francs in gold, to be bestowed -in Christian charity, this generous soul concludes her will in these -terms: “I intend, moreover, that what remains, over and above, of my -capital be all expended in purchasing sacred vessels and vestments for -poor churches.” This last provision has already passed into effect, to -our personal knowledge. Among the many charitable institutions which -Rome possesses there is one whose members devote themselves especially -to making vestments and procuring sacred vessels for poor churches. We -know of one, composed of some eminent French ladies, who make it their -duty to provide for the poor churches of Italy; only a short time ago, -they exhibited a splendid assortment of vestments and church furniture, -mostly all purchased on the strength of the donation of Maria Immacolata -of Bourbon. - -And now, having removed every earthly care from her mind, Maria -Immacolata disposed herself to receive the Sacrament of Extreme Unction. -She begged her confessor to read aloud from some ascetic work, that her -soul might be drawn more closely to God. When he had read for awhile, she -said, “Now I am ready,” and in the presence of her brother the Count of -Bari, her sister the Duchess of Parma, the Princess Margherita, wife of -Don Carlos, and her beloved governess, she received the last sacrament. -It was then that her confessor informed her that the following day, -August 23d, was the Feast of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, whereat she -besought all present to pray that she might obtain the singular favor -from God of dying on that day and of receiving the Holy Eucharist once -more; and with the holy simplicity and fervor of her childhood, she -recited aloud the following prayer: “Most Holy Virgin, I resign myself -to suffer still more for your honor, and the glory of your divine Son. -O my Mother! you who have permitted your daughter to bear your own -sweet name of Immacolata, obtain for me the grace to receive once more -the most Sacred Body of your divine Son, and to die on the Feast of -your Immaculate Heart.” Both favors were granted. On the following day, -Mass was celebrated in her room, and she received her Lord for the last -time. Her husband also, her brother Count of Bari, the Duke and Duchess -of Parma, the Princess Margherita, and all her maids and domestics, -communicated. It was a touching scene that transpired after Mass, when -the whole household gathered around the bed of the dying princess, and -asked her blessing. A smile of angelic delight mantled her face, and, as -she said herself, her soul seemed to be inundated with consolation. She -no longer felt the oppression and pain which had tortured her an hour -previous. Her sister Maria Pia, desirous of having a precious remembrance -in after-life, held her own photograph to her lips, that she might -imprint a kiss upon it. When she had kissed it, she asked for a pen, and -wrote upon the card, in a trembling hand, “Living or dead, I shall always -be near thee. Thy own Maria Immacolata”; and on the photograph which her -governess presented to her, she wrote, “In heaven and on earth I shall -never have but one heart with you. Your little Mistress.” - -Calling every one of her domestics to the bedside, she gave each a -souvenir of herself, accompanied with a few words of wise counsel. -Turning then to the princes her brothers, her sister, and her -brother-in-law, she besought them to live together in harmony, and -to love one another for her sake. She then asked for her jewels, and -choosing a ring, she put it on the finger of Margherita of Spain; another -precious ring she put on the finger of her sister, and a third upon that -of her governess. While doing this, she asked them to pray that she might -be pardoned for the vanity of wearing those ornaments. She asked pardon -three successive times of her maid, Maria Grazia, for all the annoyance -she had ever given her, and taking another ring from her own finger, she -held it out saying, “This is for your sister Francesca in Naples, of whom -I ask pardon from afar.” But the Duchess of Parma had still one favor to -ask--a blessing for her four little children in the Castle of Wartegg, -in Switzerland. The dying sister answered, “Yes, I will pray for them -in heaven,” and pronouncing the name of each she kissed the Crucifix and -blessed them. The apostolic Benediction of His Holiness had already been -sent to her, and now a second arrived, and with it the plenary indulgence -_in the hour of death_. This was followed by a despatch from the Comte -de Chambord which said, “We are in great affliction, and are praying.” -While all this was passing, her eyes rested upon the form of her husband, -who knelt by her side. But recollecting herself, she said, “My Madonna -for Mademoiselle”--meaning her governess. “Now,” said she, “I have naught -to give away but my soul, and that I give to God.” Turning to her young -husband, she said, “Henry! O my Henry! I leave thee, to go where I am -called by that God who made us companions for a few short months on -earth; but I leave thee in good hands”; and holding in her right hand the -crucifix and her rosary, and inclining her head towards a statue of the -Blessed Virgin, as if saluting her, and recommending to her care him who -knelt there in sorrow, she died. - - -NOTRE DAME DE LOURDES. - - “THOU WEL OF MERCY, SINFUL SOULES CURE.”--CHAUCER. - -Lourdes, apart from any religious interest, is well worth a visit, for it -is an old historic place. “Bigerronum arx antiqua fuit Luparda, quæ nunc -Lourda est,” says Julius Scaliger. It is associated with the Romans, the -Moors, the paladins of Charlemagne, and the flower of French and English -chivalry, and is celebrated by Gregory of Tours, Froissart, Monstrelet, -and all the ancient chroniclers of the land. Situated at the entrance -of the seven valleys of the Lavedan on the one side, and the rich sunny -plains of Béarn on the other, under a sky as soft and bright as that of -Italy, it is as attractive to the eye of the tourist as to the soul of -the archæologist and the pilgrim. - -We arrived at Lourdes in less than an hour after leaving Tarbes. The -station is some distance from town, and at least a mile from the -world-famous grotto; but there are always hacks and omnibuses eager to -take the visitor to one of the numerous hotels. The depot is encumbered -with luggage and crowded with pilgrims going and coming, and on the side -tracks are long trains of empty cars that tell of the importance of the -station--an importance solely due to the immense number of pilgrims, who -sometimes amount to five hundred thousand a year. - -On leaving the station, one naturally looks around to discover the -renowned sanctuary of Notre Dame de Lourdes, but not a glimpse of it is -to be seen. Nothing meets the eye but a gray picturesque town shut in -by the outlying Pyrenees. Nothing could be lovelier than the fresh green -valley in which it stands, framed by hills whose sides are blackened with -_débris_ from the immense quarries of slate. It is only a pleasant walk -to the town in good weather, which gives one an opportunity of taking in -the features of the charming landscape. Flowers bloom in the hedge-rows, -elms and ash-trees dot the grassy meadows, the hillsides beneath the -quarries are luxuriant with vineyards and fields of waving grain. The way -is lively with hurrying pilgrims, all intent on their own business and -regardless of you; some saying their rosaries, others in a band singing -some pious hymn, and many solitary ones absorbed in their own reflections. - -We soon reach the town. The houses are of stone with slated roofs. -Nearly every one is a hotel, or a lodging-house, or a shop for the sale -of religious objects. The windows are full of rosaries, medallions -inscribed with the words of the Virgin to Bernadette, miniature grottos, -photographs--in short, everything that can recall the wonderful history -of the grotto of Massabielle. The very silk kerchiefs in the windows, -such as the peasants wear on their heads, are stamped with the Virgin -in her niche. The old part of the town has narrow streets, without -any sidewalks, paved with cobble-stones quite in harmony with the -penitential spirit of a true pilgrim. They are mere lanes, fearful in -muddy weather when crowded with people in danger at every step from the -carriages. - -The Hotel de la Grotte is the nearest to the church of Notre Dame de -Lourdes, and very pleasantly situated at a convenient walking distance -from it. At one of our visits to the place, we stopped at the Hotel des -Pyrénées in the heart of the town, where we were made very comfortable; -but the second time, it was in the height of the season, and there was -not a room to be had in any of the hotels, and had we not providentially -stumbled on a friend with a vacant room at his command, we might have -been forced to spend the night in the church--no great penance, to be -sure, in so heavenly a place, where Masses begin at midnight and do not -cease till afternoon. The only safe way is to secure rooms beforehand, -especially when the place is most frequented. - -Lourdes is a small town of about five thousand inhabitants, mostly -workers in marble, slate, etc., that is, those who do not keep a -hotel, or a _café_, or a shop of some kind; for the good people seem -quite ready to avail themselves of every opportunity of benefiting by -the piety that brings so many strangers among them. They are shrewd, -quick-witted, upright, and kind-hearted; attached to their ancient -traditions, and firm in their faith as their rock-built houses. They -have always been characterized by their devotion to the Blessed Virgin. -Five of the chapels in the parish church are dedicated to her honor. -The confraternities of the Scapular and the Rosary are flourishing, and -the congregation of the Enfants de Marie is one of the oldest in the -country. The dark-eyed women of Lourdes have a Spanish look, and are -quite picturesque in their scarlet capulets or black capuchins, but the -men have mostly laid aside the Bigorrais cloak, once so sought after -that they were exported from the country, and mentioned by learned men. -Pope Gregory I., in a letter to Eulogius, Bishop of Alexandria, thus -alludes to them: “Sex minora Aquitanica pallia.” S. Paulinus of Nola, in -a letter to Ausonius, says: “Dignaque pellitis habitas deserta Bigerris.” -“Bigerricam vestem, brevem atque hispidam,” says Sulpicius Severus. And -the poet Fortunatus, in his life of S. Martin, says: “Induitur sanctus -hirsuta Bigerrica palla.” - -These _Marlottes_, as Scaliger calls them, are now mostly confined to -the mountaineers who cling to the old ways. The people of the valley, -however, have not laid aside all their old prejudices with their cloaks. -The natives of Lourdes are said to hold in proud disdain those who have -had the disadvantage of being born elsewhere, in proof of which it is -related that a prisoner of state, named Soulié, once confined in the -castle for some offence, at last died from the effects of his captivity. -His fellow-prisoners, desirous of showing him suitable honor, as well -as giving proper expression to their own regret, paid the bell-ringer -to toll a bell of the second class. It appears there were four bells in -use for funerals; the first for the clergy; the second, for the grandees -of the place; the third, for the common citizen, and the fourth for the -poor. The inhabitants were so enraged that such an honor as a bell of -the second class should be rung for a stranger, that they condemned the -guilty sexton to prison. During his long confinement, he was frequently -heard exclaiming with a groan: “Ah! detestable _Soulié_! Had it only been -a _savate_,[157] I should not be here!” - -This is a mere reminiscence of their ancient glory. It is always -difficult to bring one’s self to the level of fallen fortunes. The title -of stranger is still said to be an original stain that nothing can ever -efface. Small and unpretending as Lourdes may now seem, it has its grand -old memories. Its origin is lost in the obscurity of remote ages, but -where history is at fault, fable generally comes to the rescue. - -The glory of founding Lourdes is attributed to an Ethiopian princess. -Tarbis, queen of Ethiopia, captivated by the valor and personal -attractions of Moses, offered him her throne and hand. Wounded and -mortified at his refusal, she abandoned her country to hide her -disappointment in the obscurity of the Pyrenean valleys. She founded the -city of Tarbes, and her sister Lorda that of Lourdes. - -In the Middle Ages the Counts of Bigorre were the Seigneurs of Lourdes, -and, like S. Louis under the oak of Vincennes, they seated themselves -with patriarchal simplicity on a stone bench under an elm before the -church to receive the homage of their vassals. Notre Dame de Bigorre! was -then the battle-cry of the people. Then, as now, Mary was the Sovereign -Lady of the valley. To her its lords acknowledged themselves vassals -and paid tribute, and the arms of the town commemorate her miraculous -intervention to deliver it from the hands of the Moors. But as this -legend is connected with the history of the castle, we will give a brief -sketch of that once strong hold. - -The tourist, on his way to Pau, Cauteréts, St. Sauveur, or Bagnères, as -he traverses the plateau which overlooks the fertile valley of the Gave, -sees an ancient fortress on the top of an inaccessible cliff, that rises -straight up from the banks of the river. This is the old citadel of -Lourdes, the key of the Seven Valleys, the stronghold of the Counts of -Bigorre in the Middle Ages. The eye of the traveller cannot fail to be -struck by the antiquity of its gray battlements, crenellated towers, and -picturesque situation, and he at once feels it has a marvellous history. - -The castle of Lourdes is more than two thousand years old. Here the -ancient inhabitants long held out against the attacks of the Romans; -and here, when they were forced to yield, their conquerors built the -fortifications whose indestructible foundation ages have passed over -without leaving any trace. Several centuries later, the castle of -Mirambel, as it was then called, was held by the Moors, and their leader, -Mirat, defended it for a time against the hosts of Charlemagne, and -at length, too haughty to yield to any earthly power, surrendered to -the Queen of Heaven, who wrought such a miracle of grace on the proud -painim’s heart that he and all his followers went with garlands of hay on -their lances to swear fealty to Notre Dame de Puy, and resign all right -to Mirambel. Mirat was baptized by the name of Lorus. He received the -honors of knighthood, and gave the name of Lordum to the castle he now -held in the name of the Virgin. - -We are indebted to an English monk, named Marfin, for this legend, -and though rejected by many, it was doubtless founded on the popular -traditions of the country, which alone account for the arms of the town -and the annual tribute the Counts of Bigorre paid to Notre Dame de Puy as -long as they held possession of the castle.[158] - -_Lo ric castel de Lorda_ having been taken possession of by the -Albigenses in the XIIth century, the celebrated Simon de Montfort -besieged it, but in vain. The castle remained in their hands till the end -of the war. - -No one of English origin can look at the hoary walls of this ancient -fortress without the greatest interest, for it is associated with the -memory of the Black Prince, and the time was when the banner of England -floated from its towers and defied the efforts of the bravest knights of -France to tear it from its hold. - -Lourdes, as well as the whole province of Bigorre (which lay between -Béarn and Foix), fell into the hands of the English by the treaty of -Bretagne, and constituted a part of the Duchy of Aquitaine, which Edward -III. conferred on his son, the Black Prince, who left England to take -possession of his domains in 1363. He made Bordeaux his capital, and -there, in the church of S. André, Jehan Caubot, consul of Lourdes, and -the representatives of Tarbes and other towns, presented themselves at -high noon before the most noble and puissant Lord Edward, Prince of Wales -and Duke of Aquitaine, and, in the presence of many lords, knights, and -citizens, swore fealty to the English prince, beseeching him to confirm -the rights and franchises which they had hitherto enjoyed, which he -solemnly promised. - -The Count of Armagnac (John I.) gave so captivating a description of -the beauty of Bigorre that the Black Prince was induced to visit his -mountain province. He remained for some time at Tarbes, and while there -explored the neighboring valleys, strengthened old fortresses and built -several new ones. He was particularly struck with the castle of Lourdes, -and the advantage of holding such a position. “It is the key of many -countries,” said he, “by which I can find my way into Aragon, Catalonia, -and Barcelona.” He strengthened its fortifications, and entrusted the -command to Pierre Arnaud of Béarn, a cousin of Gaston Phœbus of Foix, -saying: “Master Arnaud, I constitute and appoint you captain of Lourdes, -and warden of Bigorre. See that you hold them, and render a good account -of your trust to me and my father.” - -Arnaud swore fealty to the Prince, who soon after broke up his court -at Tarbes and returned to Bordeaux. He could not have left a better -commander at Lourdes. Arnaud was one of those men who would rather face -death a thousand times than be untrue to their word. He held the castle -long after all the rest of Bigorre had been wrested from the English, -and the exploits of the brave knights that took refuge here made it -the terror of the surrounding country. Froissart’s account of their -adventures is more like that of highwaymen than of chivalrous knights. -They were continually coming down from their eyry at the head of a band, -to scour the country and plunder all they could lay their hands upon. -Sometimes they extended their ravages to Toulouse, Alby, and Carcassone, -taking castles, robbing merchants and attacking knights, and then rushing -back to Lourdes with their booty--cattle, provisions, prisoners they -could ransom, etc. They only respected the rights of Gaston Phœbus, their -captain’s kinsman. - -It is related of Mongat that on one occasion he put on the habit of a -monk, and with three of his men similarly attired, he took his way with -devout air and mien to Montpellier, where he alighted at the Angel and -gave out he was a lord abbot from Upper Gascony on his way to Paris on -business. Here he made the acquaintance of the Sire Berenger, who was -likewise going to Paris on some affair of importance, and was delighted -to be thrown into such holy company. The pretended abbot led him by -devious ways to Lourdes, where he ransomed him for a large sum. - -In one of his adventures, Mongat came to his end. He had been to Toulouse -with two other knights and one hundred and twenty lances, and on their -way back with cattle, hogs, sheep, and prisoners, they were attacked by -two hundred knights, with the brave Ernauton Bissette at their head, in -a forest belonging to the Sire de Barbazan. The fury with which they -fought was only equalled by their knightly courtesy. When exhausted, -they took off their helmets, refreshed themselves at a stream, and then -resumed the contest. Mongat and Ernauton fought hand to hand the whole -day, and at length, utterly exhausted, they both fell dead on the field. -Hostilities then ceased. Each party bore away its dead, and a cross was -raised on the spot where they fell. - -Of course the whole country around was eager to dislodge the English -from their fortress. The Duke of Anjou, with the celebrated Du Guesclin, -attacked it at the head of fifteen thousand of the best soldiers of -France. All the other castles of Bigorre had been taken. Tarbes had been -readily given up by the captain who had sworn to defend it. Mauvezin had -gallantly held out for a time, and then honorably surrendered. Lourdes -alone bade defiance to the enemy. The town, built on a slope at the east -of the castle, resisted the duke’s army a fortnight. The inhabitants -finally took refuge in the castle, and the French took possession of the -empty houses, with great rejoicing. For six weeks they laid siege to the -castle, but in vain. The duke now sought to obtain it by bribing Arnaud -with vast sums of money, but the incorruptible captain replied: - -“The fortress is not mine. It is the property of the King of England, -and I cannot sell, alienate, or give it up, without proving myself a -traitor, which I will not. I will remain loyal to my liege lord on whose -hand I swore by my faith, when he appointed me governor of this castle, -to defend it against all men, and to yield it to no one whom he had not -authorized to demand it, and Pierre Arnaud will keep to his trust till he -dies.” - -Discouraged and mortified, the duke raised the siege and set fire to -the four quarters of the town, which was wholly consumed, with all the -titles of the ancient _fors_ and rights. He now determined to obtain the -castle by some other means, and despatched a messenger to Gaston Phœbus -to convince him it was for his interest to use his influence in driving -the English from Lourdes. The count promised to do so and invited Arnaud -to Orthez. Somewhat suspicious of his intentions, Arnaud, before leaving -Lourdes, appointed his brother John commander of the fortress, making -him swear by his faith and honor as a knight to guard it as faithfully -as he had done himself, and never to yield it to any one but him who had -entrusted it to their care. - -John solemnly swore as he was desired, and his brother proceeded to -Orthez, where he was graciously received by the Count of Foix. It was not -till the third day he was summoned to give up the castle. Arnaud at once -comprehended the danger of his situation, but undauntedly replied: “My -lord, I doubtless owe you duty and regard, for I am a poor knight of your -land and race, but the castle of Lourdes I cannot surrender. You have -sent for me and can do with me whatever you please, but what I hold from -the King of England, I will surrender to no one but him.” - -“Ha, traitor!” cried the count in a rage, drawing his dagger, “do you -tell me you will not do it? By my head, you shall pay for such a speech”; -and he stabbed him to the heart. - -Arnaud cried: “Ah! my lord, you act not as beseemeth gentle knight. You -invited me here and it is thus you put me to death.” - -This base act did no good. John was as faithful to his trust as -his brother Arnaud. His appointment was confirmed by the King of -England,[159] and the English flag was not taken down till the year 1425, -when the citadel of Lourdes surrendered to John of Foix, the companion -in arms of Dunois the brave, and the illustrious Barbazan, first to be -styled _Sans peur et sans reproche_. Then the war-cry, “S. George for -Lourdes!” was heard for the last time in the land, and the red flag of -England taken down for ever. - -Lourdes was attacked by the Huguenots in 1573. The town was taken by -assault, pillaged, and partly burned, but they made no impression on the -castle. A cry of alarm, however, resounded all through the Seven Valleys. -The mountaineers of Lavedan knew the importance of the castle, which, -once taken, would expose them to an invasion it would be impossible to -resist, and they seized their arms and gathered under the banners of the -lords of Vieuzac and Arras to defend the entrance to their valleys. The -Huguenots, astonished at their determined resistance, were obliged to -retreat to Béarn. - -The union of Bigorre with the crown of France by Henry IV. was favorable -to the prosperity and happiness of Lourdes, but fatal to the military -importance of the castle. After being for ages the chief defence of the -land, it now became the most unimportant fortress in the country. - -In the XVIIIth century it was made the Bastile of the Pyrenees--a prison -“created by despotism on the frontiers of liberty”--and was called the -Royal Prison of Lourdes. Here, as the Comte de Marcellus says: - - “Dans d’effroyables cachots, - Entouré d’épaisses ténèbres, - Plus d’un captif, couché sous des voûtes funèbres, - Attendrissait leurs lugubres échos - Par ses gémissements, ses pleurs et ses sanglots. - … - Sous ses sombres donjons, l’œil, d’abime en abime, - Voit le Gave rouler et bondir furieux; - Et les monts hérissés qui portent jusqu’ aux cieux - De leurs rocs décharnés l’inaccessible cime, - Redoublent la tristesse et l’horreur de ces lieux.” - -Père Lacombe, the spiritual director, or rather disciple, of the famous -Mme. Guyon, was confined in the castle of Lourdes in 1687. The see of -Tarbes was vacant at the time, but when a bishop was appointed, in 1695, -he obtained the deliverance of the poor prisoner, who did not, however, -enjoy his liberty long. His mind became so affected that he was again -confined at Charenton, where he died. - -In the time of Napoleon I., Lord Elgin, the famous spoliator of the -Parthenon, on his way back from Constantinople, came for the recovery -of his health to the springs of Barrèges, where he was arrested by the -government and brought to the castle of Lourdes. He characteristically -profited by his confinement here to strip the fortress of all the -antiquities he could secure, and carry them off to his residence in -Fifeshire. - -The castle ceased to be a prison at the restoration of the monarchy. -It is now a military post, and accessible to the tourist, who enters -a postern gate at the east, and ascends the cliff by a winding stone -staircase, at the top of which he comes out on a court with a clump of -trees and a few flowers, guarded by a sentinel ferocious-looking enough -to strike terror into the heart of the fearless Barbazan himself, but -whom we found to be the mildest of warriors, and the most accommodating -of guides around the old _château-fort_. Unless you looked at him, you -would never have supposed him brought up on the marrow of lions! - -From the battlements there is a magnificent view of the valley of the -Gave. Never was fairer picture framed among majestic mountains. The -river flows directly beneath, through a meadow of wonderful freshness. -On the right bank stands the spacious monasteries of Mt. Carmel and S. -Benedict, not yet completed, and the other side, directly in front of the -castle, rises the new fortress of Our Lady of Lourdes--stronghold of the -faith--where the whole world comes, like the ancient Barons of Bigorre, -to pay tribute to Mary. It is high time to turn our steps thither. - -Leaving the town of Lourdes by a narrow street to the west, we come out -into the open valley in full view of the Gave--a clear, broad stream, fed -by mountain torrents, which rushes impetuously over a rocky bed towards -the Adour and the ocean. It comes from the south, but here turns abruptly -away from the cliff--that rises straight up from its banks to the height -of three hundred feet, crowned with its old historic castle--and flows to -the west. In this sharp bend of the river is the cliff of Massabielle, -from the side of which rises before us into the clear blue heavens a tall -spire with a golden cross. It is the celebrated church of Notre Dame -de Lourdes, a pure white edifice worthy of the spotless Virgin whose -immaculate purity it commemorates--the object of so many vows, the spot -to which so many hearts are turned, and so many feet are wending, from -every part of the Christian world. - -The road between the town and church is bordered by small booths for the -sale of rosaries, medals, and every conceivable object of devotion, -including pilgrims’ staves and scallop shells, and stacks of tall candles -to burn before Our Lady of Lourdes. There are over two hundred of these -little shops, altogether too many for the place, though there is a pretty -brisk trade during the season of pilgrimages. At every step you are -called upon to buy, just as at Loretto, the owner advertising his wares -with the volubility and something of the style of the London apprentices -in the time of Lord Nigel. Crossing the bridge, we stop to look down -into the clear, green, turbulent waters of the Gave. The mountaineers -say reproachfully to their troublesome wives: “Maridat lou Gabé, que -staré”--Marry the Gave, and it will remain quiet. However refractory this -virgin stream may be, the valley is peaceful enough to bring the heart -and soul into harmony with the place we are approaching. All along the -wayside are the blind and the lame in every stage of horrible infirmity, -appealing to the charity of the passers-by in the name of the _Sainte -Vierge_ of Lourdes, which no one can resist in the very sight of her -altar, and we stop every now and then to buy, in this way, “a pennyworth -of paradise,” like the prudent M. Géborand, of _miser_able memory. We -pick our way along through the crowds of pilgrims, going and coming with -arms full of tapers and great wooden rosaries, and a bleeding heart upon -their breasts, like a decoration. We are thrust aside by a procession -hurrying off to the station, joyously singing some song of praise, -and we turn for a moment into a soft green meadow on the banks of the -river, with pleasant winding paths among umbrageous trees, leading to an -immense ring with rustic roof and open sides, provided with seats and -tables of beautiful Pyrenean marble--where pilgrims can rest and take -their lunch--the gift of M. Henri Lasserre, the author of “Our Lady of -Lourdes,” so admirably translated for THE CATHOLIC WORLD. At one end of -the meadow is a pretty _châlet_ given the Bishop of Tarbes by some pious -individual for his residence when he comes to Lourdes. Turning into the -road again, we come to a fork--one path leading up over the cliff to the -church, and the other along the shore of the river beneath. Taking the -latter, we find a chain stretched across the way, beyond which no vender -of holy wares can go, or carriage pass. We keep on beneath the cliff of -Massabielle, crowned with its fair white church far above our heads. The -few rods that separate it from the Gave is crowded with people. We hurry -on. A slight turn brings us suddenly before the Grotto of the Apparition, -towards, which every eye is turned.… - - “O Light Divine! - Thy Presence and thy power were here.” - -No words can express the emotions of the heart at the very sight of this -place of benediction. You at once feel it has some mysterious connection -with the unseen world. A thousand memories of its history, its eighteen -apparitions, its countless miracles, come over you. You forget the crowd -around you. Like the rest, you kneel on the pavement to adore and pray.… - -The grotto has wisely been left to nature. It stands open, facing the -Gave, tapestried with ivy, and rosebushes, and pretty ferns that grow in -the clefts of the rocks. The birds that build their nests among the vines -undisturbed are flying to and fro, their songs filling the air above the -hushed crowd. On one side of the grotto in a small niche--the very place -where Bernadette beheld the Marvellous Vision--is a statue of the Virgin -of pure white Carrara marble, standing with folded hands, palm to palm, -and uplifted eyes. A blue girdle is tied around the waist, a crystal -rosary hangs from her arm, and JE SUIS L’IMMACULÉE CONCEPTION, in silver -letters, form a glory around her head. - -The grotto is all aflame with an immense pyramidal stand of tapers. -Enormous wax candles, several inches in circumference, burn on the -pavement among pots of lilies. The sides of the cave are hung with -innumerable crutches, canes, shoes, models of hands and arms, etc., etc., -in pious commemoration of the wonderful cures wrought here. The pavement -is strewn with bouquets of beautiful flowers and more practical offerings -in the form of money, voluntarily thrown in to aid in the construction of -the church. Letters peep out of the clefts of the rocks, each with its -tale of suffering, its prayer for aid. - -Of course every pilgrim wishes to enter the grotto, examine it, touch it -with his hands, and kiss it with profound respect. He wishes to pluck a -branch from the vine around the niche of the Virgin, and even appropriate -a fragment of the walls. The necessity will at once be seen of placing -some bounds to the manifestations of a piety praiseworthy in its nature, -but serious in its results. To protect the grotto, therefore, a solid -iron grating bars the entrance, but allows a clear view of the interior. -It is unlocked from time to time to admit a knot of pilgrims, so all can -have an opportunity of praying in so sacred a place. Before the grating -kneel countless pilgrims in the open air, on the cold pavement which -extends to the very edge of the Gave, thrust back from its course to -give additional space. There are a few benches for the weary and infirm. -The different classes of people gathered here, the variety of costumes -worn by peasants from different provinces, and the clergy and sisters of -various orders, to say nothing of the fashionable dresses of the upper -classes, are a study for the artist who has set up an easel before the -stone bench along the banks of the river. Beyond is a long avenue of -trees furnished with seats where pilgrims are gathered in knots around -huge lunch-baskets. At the left of the grotto are several faucets over a -long stone basin, fed by water from the miraculous fountain. Over them -is the inscription: “_Allez boire à la fontaine et vous laver._” Around -are crowded people drinking the healing waters, or filling their cans -and bottles to carry away. Close by is a room furnished with cans of all -dimensions for the accommodation of the pilgrim. Beyond are the bathing -rooms, to so many a pool of Siloam where the angel is never weary of -troubling the waters. Around these doors of hope is always a sad array of -the blind, the deaf, the lame, and the paralytic. - -No wonder miracles are wrought here. There is such simple, unbounded -faith in the divine mercy and power, that mountains might be moved. -What would be marvellous elsewhere, only seems the natural order of -things here. Dr. Dozous, a physician of the place--who often accompanied -Bernadette in her visits to the grotto, and has watched with interest -the gradual development of the devotion to Notre Dame de Lourdes; and -witnessed a great number of miracles of all kinds, including the cure of -those who had been blind, or deaf and dumb, from their birth--says, in a -book he has recently published: - -“The cures of which I have so often been the ocular witness, and which I -am about to relate, have convinced me, beyond the possibility of doubt, -of the importance of Bernadette’s visits to the grotto of Massabielle, -and the reality of the visions she was there favored with.” - -M. Artus, an Alsace refugee at Bordeaux, whose niece had been -miraculously cured of a serious malady by recourse to Notre Dame de -Lourdes, has offered ten thousand francs to any one who will prove the -falseness of any of the statements in M. Lasserre’s book, but, though two -years have since passed, no one has been found quite ready to take up the -offer. - -Miracles are so constantly wrought here, that not half of them are -recorded. Five occurred the day before our arrival, one, a deaf-mute to -whom the faculty of speech was instantaneously given. We dared not hope -to witness anything of the kind, nor did we need it to increase our faith -in the power of Omnipotence, though human nature is always seeking some -sign. But the piety of the multitude around obtained the grace we should -not have ventured to ask for ourselves. We were praying one morning in -the grotto, when suddenly there was an unusual movement in the crowd -without, and an increasing wave-like murmur that broke at last into a -tumultuous shout. A gentleman beside us seemed to catch the meaning, -for he sprang up and exclaimed at the top of his voice, _Vive Marie!_ -which was answered by hundreds of voices. The effect was electrical, -and the feeling that came over us was something new in our experience. -Tears sprang to the eye. We hurried out of the grotto, and the movement -of the crowd brought us close to a young girl raised above the excited -multitude, pale, smiling with joy, and waving a hand covered with the -marks of ineffectual human remedies, and that had been utterly paralyzed -an hour before. Every one crowded around her to see, examine, test the -use of her arm, and assure themselves of the truth of the case. She had -been fourteen months in a hospital at Marseilles, and had come with a -large number of pilgrims from that place who were ready to testify to her -previous helplessness. The whole scene was thrilling. Bands of pilgrims -with blue badges of the Virgin sang hymns of joy. A wave of excitement -every now and then passed over the crowd and found vent in repeated -_vivas_. The girl was finally released from the examination and admitted -into the grotto, when the Magnificat was intoned. - -The cliff of Massabielle has been cut down and levelled off to serve as -the foundation of the church, which stands on the top at a distance of -seventy or eighty feet directly above the grotto. The title of minor -basilica was conferred on it by His Holiness Pius IX., in March, 1874. A -path leads up to it from the shore, its windings along the edge of the -cliff forming the monogram of Mary, among hedges of roses and arbor-vitæ, -glistening with dew, and overhung with acacias and evergreens--a charming -ascent, each step of which leads to a rarer atmosphere, a lovelier and -more extended view, and nearer the altar of Mary. - -There are two churches, one above the other; the lower one, dim and -solemn with penitential gloom; the upper, radiant with the light and -purity that ought to surround - - “Our tainted nature’s solitary boast.” - -Let us first enter the crypt. In the vestibule is a statue of S. Germaine -of Pibrac with her crook and legendary apron of roses, and a lamb at her -feet--the gift of a band of pilgrims from Toulouse. An arched passage -leads each side of the crypt with banners hung over the confessionals -in the recesses. Passing through one of these, we found ourselves in -a low, gloomy nave crowded with columns to support the upper church. -It is chiefly lighted by the numerous lamps hanging on every side, and -the large stands of candles that burn before the Virgin, who is over -the altar embowered among roses. The pavement is covered with kneeling -forms--ladies, soldiers, peasants. You hear the whispered prayer, you -catch glimpses of devout faces, quivering lips, and upturned eyes. -Everything here is solemn and mysterious, and inclines one to serious -reflection. On the pillars hang the different scenes of the great Passion -in which we all had so sad a part. They strike new terror into the soul -in this sepulchral church that seems hewn out of the living rock. - - “Low I sit, - In sorrow, penitence-stricken, and deep woe, - ’Mid shades of death, thine arrow drinks my blood; - For I thine innocent side have piercéd deep. - I dare not look upon thy bleeding brow, - For I have circled it with thorny crown, - Thou Holy One, and here I sit and weep, - Bowed with the o’erwhelming burden down to earth.” - -The carved confessionals at the end suggest comforting thoughts. There - - “The great Absolver with relief - Stands by the door, and bears the key - O’er Penitence on bended knee.” - -There are five chapels--a mystic number associated with five sorrowful -mysteries--each with two small windows pierced through the thick walls, -looking like the loop-holes of a fort. Their sides are covered with -votive pictures and small marble tablets with inscriptions, some of which -we copy: - - “Reconnaissance éternelle à la toute puissante Notre Dame de - Lourdes pour la grace qu’elle m’a obtenue. - - Paris, 30 Juillet, 1872. - - “M. M.” - - * * * * * - - “Amour et reconnaissance à Notre Dame de Lourdes. Deux cœurs - guéris et consolés.” - - * * * * * - - “A Notre Dame de Lourdes, Colonel L. S. - - “6 Aout, 1870.” - - * * * * * - - “Reconnaissance éternelle à Notre Dame de Lourdes qui a guèri - notre fille.” - -There is a countless number of similar inscriptions, which are so many -leaves torn from domestic histories, extremely touching and suggestive -to read. They are eternal expressions of gratitude, which are doubtless -pleasing to the Divine Benefactor, who is not regardless of one who -returns to give thanks. - -Our last visit to the crypt will never be forgotten. We had arrived at -Lourdes the evening before, in a pouring rain, which still continued -when we went at half-past four in the morning to attend the Mass of a -clerical friend. It was with difficulty we made our way into the nave, -crammed with pilgrims from Bretagne and La Vendée. The five chapels were -filled with priests waiting for their turn to say Mass. Our friend had -been there since two o’clock, and it was nearly seven before he found a -vacancy at the altar. Masses likewise had been continually succeeding -each other since midnight in the fifteen chapels of the church above. The -place, it will be seen, is one of perpetual prayer. - -Our devotions over at a late hour, we ascended a flight of twenty-six -steps, which brought us to a broad terrace before the upper church -commanding a lovely view of the valley, with the picturesque old castle -directly in front. The sun had come out after the rain, and nothing could -be more fresh and enchanting. On the terrace stood the four bells given -by the Prince of Viana, and not yet hung. They were baptized August -11, by Cardinal Donnet of Bordeaux, in presence of a numerous crowd, -including Don Sebastian de Bourbon, Infante of Spain, the Duc de Nemours, -and the Prince of Béarn and Viana. - -Before entering the church, we pause in front of the Gothic portal to -look up at the representation of our Saviour over the central arch. His -face is turned towards Lourdes, a cruciform nimbus surrounds his head, -the Alpha and Omega are at the side, and his right hand is raised to -bless the pilgrim beneath. At each side are the winged emblems of the -Evangelists. And lower down is the Virgin Mother, her hands crossed on -her breast, her face, - - “The most resembling Christ,” - -sweet and thoughtful. She seems to be awaiting all who seek through her -the Divine Redeemer, who by her has been given to mankind. _Felix cœli -porta_, we say as we pass beneath. - -Entering the church, we are at once struck with its immaculate purity. -It is in the style of the XIIIth century. The height is about double -the width, which makes the arches seem loftier than they really are. -The spotless white walls are relieved by the beautiful banners hanging -on every side. There are about four hundred of these banners, richly -embroidered with religious symbols and devices, and the arms of different -cities and provinces. Conspicuous among them are the banners of Alsace -and Lorraine bordered with crape. They were wrought in secret, and -brought over the frontier in the night to escape the vigilance of the -Prussian police. They were presented by faithful Christians, one of whom -was a valiant officer whose breast was covered with decorations, and -received by the Archbishop of Auch (to whose province Lourdes belongs), -who wept as he pressed them to his lips, affecting the vast crowd to -tears. - -Around the nave of the church is an unique frieze of votive golden -hearts, so arranged as to form inscriptions in immense letters, -taken from the words of the Virgin to Bernadette: “VOUS PRIEREZ POUR -LA CONVERSION DES PÉCHEURS. ALLEZ BOIRE À LA FONTAINE ET VOUS Y -LAVER.--ALLEZ DIRE AUX PRÊTRES QU’IL DOIT SE BÂTIR ICI UNE CHAPELLE, ET -QU’ON DOIT Y VENIR EN PROCESSION.” - -The main altar in the centre of the choir is dedicated to the mystery -of the Immaculate Conception. It is of pure white marble, and on the -front are five compartments on which are sculptured the Annunciation, -Visitation, Assumption, Coronation, and the Apparition of the Blessed -Virgin in the grotto. The altar is adorned with white lilies. Over -it in a golden niche is a statue of Mary Most Pure, “above all women -glorified,” the very embodiment of purity and love. Above her, like a -crown, is a constellation of beautiful lamps of filigree and enamel. -Rich votive offerings are fastened to the walls--crosses of the Legion -of Honor, epaulettes, swords crossed above flags, a miniature ship, the -mitre of Mgr. Lawrence, etc. On the keystone of the arch are sculptured -the arms of Pope Pius IX. - -The main altar with its Madonna is the central object in the church, -and the focus of its splendor. Around it, like so many rays around the -Immaculate Conception, are five apsidal chapels. Directly behind it is -the chapel of the Sacred Heart, where of course the Blessed Sacrament -is kept. At the left is Notre Dame du Mont Carmel, in honor of the last -apparition to Bernadette, which took place on the festival of that name. -Next is the chapel of Notre Dame des Victoires, in commemoration of -the celebrated archconfraternity at Paris, which has effected so many -conversions, wrought so many miracles, and prepared the way, as it were, -for the triumph of the Immaculate Conception. - -At the right of the chapel of the Sacred Heart is that of Notre Dame -du Rosaire, recalling the rosary the Virgin held on her arm in all her -apparitions to Bernadette. Then, Notre Dame de la Sallette, reminding us -that the tears the Mother of Sorrows once shed over the woes of France -in the mountains of Dauphine, have been succeeded by the smiles of Marie -Immaculée in the grotto of the Pyrenees. - -Each of these five chapels recall the Holy Trinity by the number of their -windows, as the rose window in the façade is typical of the Divine Unity. -These windows are of stained glass--the gift of the Prince of Viana. -The main altar and the statue of the Immaculate Conception are from -an anonymous benefactor, and many of the other altars are the gifts of -private individuals. - -Ten lateral chapels open out of the nave, and communicate with each -other for convenience. The four nearest the choir bring around Mary the -principal members of her family: S. Anne, S. Joachim, S. Joseph, and S. -John the Baptist. Then come the chapel of S. Peter, still living in our -“Pope of the Immaculate Conception,” who so glorified Mary on the 8th -of December, 1854; S. John, the beloved disciple, who was appointed her -son on Mt. Calvary; S. Francis of Assisi, the patriarch of the Seraphic -Order that has always been the advocate of the Immaculate Conception; S. -Francis Xavier, patron of the Society for the Propagation of the Faith, -one of the glories of this age of Mary; S. Bertrand, the illustrious -bishop of Commines and the patron saint of Mgr. Lawrence, whose name -will ever be associated with the church of Notre Dame de Lourdes; and S. -Germaine, the humble shepherdess of Pibrac, so like the little _bergère_ -of Lourdes. - -Thus four of the great religious orders of the church are represented -before the Virgin’s throne--the Carmelite, Dominican, Franciscan, and -Jesuit. Each chapel, sacred to some holy mystery, has its beautiful -altar, its carved oaken confessional, its circular golden chandelier, its -station of the cross, its banners, and its statues. - -The carved oak pulpit on the left side of the nave was given by the -Bishop of Marseilles. - -The windows of the side chapels, that await a donor, will depict the -history of Notre Dame de Lourdes, beginning with the first apparition -and ending with the consecration of the church. And the clerestory -windows will represent the history of the devotion to the Immaculate -Conception. The decoration of the church is by no means complete. It is -to be in harmony with the architecture, so pure in outline and light -in form. In the seventy-six arcatures of the triforium the saints most -devoted to the Immaculate Conception are to be represented on a gilt -ground. - -To see this beautiful church crowded with devout pilgrims, priests -at every altar of the fifteen chapels, a grand service going on in -the choir with all the solemn pomp displayed in great cathedrals, the -numerous clergy in the richest vestments, and to hear the grand music of -Palestrina executed with perfect harmony and exquisite taste--the whole -congregation heartily joining in the chants, and the peal of the trumpets -contrasting admirably with their earnest voices--is to the ravished soul -like a vision of the heavenly Jerusalem. The lofty arches seem to sway -with the undulations of the music, sometimes soft as the murmur of a -rivulet, and again as deep as a mountain torrent falling over rocks. The -eye is never weary of gazing at this fair temple with its pure outlines, -so harmonious in all its parts, the soft light coming in floods through -the lofty windows and mingling with the brilliancy of the lights and -flowers; the immense oriflammes hanging from the arches to give testimony -to the glory of the Immaculate Conception and the Pontiff who crowned -that glory; the mysterious words on the wall that fell from the smiling -lips of the Virgin in the grotto; and the Most Pure herself, unveiled to -all eyes, standing in the midst of all this splendor above the altar, -in a golden atmosphere, raising heavenward her look of inspiration, her -hands joined in prayer, her heart swelling with love--adoring love for -Him who dwells in the tabernacle; and maternal love for her children -gathered around the fountain opened for the salvation of the world. O -Immaculate One! we here feel thy sweet presence, and the creative power -of thy word: “Go, tell the priests I wish a chapel to be built on this -spot.” - -Never was greater miracle wrought by humbler instrumentality--never was -the Divine Hand more manifest than in the upspringing of this mountain -chapel--the lily of the Immaculate Conception, sweetest flower of this -age of Mary. Human intelligence is confounded at what has been effected -by the mouth of a poor peasant girl of this obscure valley. It grasps at -the assurance of faith in Mary who has wrought it. Before her the Gave -that beat against the cliff has fallen back--image of the torrent that -approached Mary at the moment of her creation, and, just as she was about -to receive the fatal stain, the wave of corruption, that bears all of us -poor children of Eve on its impure waters, fell back before the ark of -the new covenant, Fœderis Arca. - -The very cliffs have bowed down at her presence, and these stones, these -walls, these columns, these arches, and the fountain of indisputable -potency that has sprung out of the bowels of the earth, bear witness to -her wonderful apparitions and power. - -One of the most imposing spectacles at Lourdes is a procession of -pilgrims, especially when seen, as we saw one, from the mount above -coming from the town--a very forest of crosses, banners, and lanterns, -borne by thousands of people with that slow, measured, solemn, harmonious -step that is in itself a prayer. We thought of good Mother Hallahan and -her delight in nine miles of prayer. Here were whole leagues of praise. - - “On the ear - Swells softly forth some virgin hymn; - The white procession windeth near, - With glimmering lights in sunshine dim. - - Mother of Purity and Peace! - They sing the Saviour’s name and thine: - Clothe them forever with the fleece - Unspotted of thy Lamb Divine!” - -From one end of the immense procession to the other rose chants without -discord--here from a band of maidens and innocent children, yonder from -harmonious choirs of maturer years. From time to time a peal of trumpets -drowned the murmur of the Gave and awoke the echoes of the mountains. In -the procession were hundreds of men organized into pious confraternities -as in the Middle Ages. They follow the path taken by Bernadette, when she -was irresistibly led on to the place of the wondrous vision. They all -stop to make a genuflection where she knelt before the Beautiful Lady, -and begin the Litany of Loretto in the sweet plaintive air peculiar to -the country. It is delightful to hear Mary’s name swelling along the -valley and up the rocky heights! Thus chanting they ascend the winding -path on the cliff, forming a living monogram of the Virgin’s name, among -roses that give out their perfume, through cedars of Lebanon and other -rare trees that bend down their branches laden with dew. And above this -verdure, these perfumes, and these chanted supplications, the white -marble Church of the Immaculate Conception sends heavenward the silent -prayer of its gleaming walls, its pillars, its turrets and pinnacles. -They wind around the church like a wreath and disappear within its -sculptured portal chanting: _Lætatus sum in his quæ dicta sunt mihi_--I -was glad at the things that were said to me. We will go into the house -of the Lord.… Our feet were wont to stand in thy courts, O Jerusalem! -Jerusalem which is built as a city that is at unity with itself.… -Plenteousness be to them that love thee! - -At the particular request of the Prince of Viana, one of the greatest -benefactors to the church, his Holiness Pope Pius IX. has granted a -partial indulgence to all who visit the church, and a plenary indulgence -to those who here approach the sacraments and pray for concord among -Christian princes the extirpation of heresies, and the exaltation of our -holy Mother the Church. - -A winding road leads from the church by gentle ascent up the picturesque -mount behind, along which are to be built fifteen chapels in honor of -the Mysteries of the Rosary, where the words once spoken by the angel -will ascend the mountain side in one long and incessant Ave Maria! Along -this holy way will continually ascend and descend the pious votary in -“pilgrim’s cowl and lowly weed” - - “Dropping on each mystic bead - To Mary, Mother Mild, a contrite tear.” - -A certain party, desirous of bringing pilgrimages into disrepute, and -inclined to seek some human cause for everything supernatural, attributes -a political object to this great crusade of prayer which the impious -instinctively tremble before, and not without reason. M. Lasserre thus -closes an address to the visitor to Notre Dame de Lourdes: - -“Pilgrims of France! Your politics at the grotto of Lourdes is to pray, -to begin a new life, to sanctify yourselves, and to become in this -corrupt age the chosen righteous who are to save the wicked cities of the -land. It is thus you will labor efficaciously for the prosperity of your -country and bring back its past splendor and glory. A nation desirous of -salvation in heaven, is a nation saved on earth.” - -We close by echoing one of the acclamations sung alternately by clergy -and people at the solemn celebration in this place of benediction: - -V. Omnibus nobis peregrinantibus, et universo Christiano populo, Fidei, -Spei, et Charitatis augmentum et gaudium æternum. - -R. Amen. Amen. Salvos fac servos tuos, Domine, et benedic hæreditati tuæ, -et rege eos, et extolle illos usque in æternum. - -Fiat. Fiat. Amen. - - -THE HOUSE OF JOAN OF ARC. - -I am writing these lines in a small inn of Domrémy, on the evening of -my pilgrimage to the lowly dwelling of Jeanne d’Arc. My table is an old -coffer, shakily placed on the rugged and disjointed paving stones which -form the floor, and my only companion a kitten gambolling in the red rays -of the setting sun. I thus begin my account of that house which has been -well called the _santa casa_ of France. - -Arriving at Domrémy while yet its green valleys were enveloped in the -white vapors rising from the Meuse, my first sight of the place was -through the mist of early morning. - -It is a small village of Lorraine, near the confines of Champagne. God, -who so often wills to choose a mere nothing through which to exercise his -power, chose it as the starting-point of his work for the deliverance -of France. For Domrémy was a little village also in the year 1425, when -there the heavenly light appeared, there the angel descended, and the -voices not of earth were heard. - -The mutilation of this province by the German invasion has only rendered -Domrémy more _lorrain_ than ever: and the Vosges Mountains raise their -blue summits along the horizon and lengthen their shadows as if the -better to guard the home of her who was the good angel of her country. - -The village consists of scarcely more than a hundred houses, clustered -round the venerable church and the old walls of the cottage which -sheltered the infancy and youth of the daughter of Jaques d’Arc and his -wife Isabelle Romée. - -This church, to which her earliest steps were bent, the place of her -prayers and inspirations, where she armed her soul with virtue and -heroism before arming her breast like a brave warrior preparing for -battle--this church is more than lowly, it is poor; and it is matter for -wonder that, if no one else does so, at least that the maidens of France -do not organize themselves into an association which should make it their -chosen sanctuary, and by which they would engage themselves not only to -provide it with what is necessary and fitting, but with pious generosity -to enrich and beautify their privileged altar. - -At the threshold of the church stands a ridiculous statue of Jeanne -d’Arc. It seems a sort of sacrilege so to have misrepresented the -features of the Maid; and the best way to dispose of this image would be -to throw it into a furnace and melt it down in company with the still -more objectionable equestrian statue recently erected in the Place des -Pyramides at Paris, which insults the modest virgin by placing her -astride on her charger, in a complete suit of armor, instead of the steel -breastplate which alone she wore over her womanly apparel. Then, out of -the metal of these molten caricatures might be struck medals of worthier -design, to be distributed in the country. - -Among the trees at a few paces from the church is a little Greek monument -supported by four columns, beneath which is a bust of Jeanne in white -marble. Facing this little monument, about a stone’s throw off, stands -her dwelling. This house is separated from the road by two pavilions -connected by a railing of gilt arrows. Trees envelop its walls with their -overshadowing branches, and a third part of the roof is covered with ivy. -Above the door, which is low, are three shields of armorial bearings, the -Arms of France, charged with a sword, and those of the family of D’Arc; -or, to speak more exactly, the door is surmounted by three escutcheons, -namely, that of Louis XI., who caused the cottage to be embellished; -that which was granted to one of the brothers of Jeanne, together with -the name of Lys; and a third, which bears a star and three ploughshares, -to symbolize Jeanne’s heavenly mission and the lowly condition of her -parents. Two inscriptions in uncial Gothic are graven on the stone: -“_Vive Labeur!_”--the motto of Jeanne and the _resumé_ of her history; -and “_Vive le Roi Loys!_”--the _resumé_ of her great work. - -On the left of the door is a lattice window with diamond-shaped panes. -Two rooms constitute the whole of the house. Jeanne was born in the first -and larger of the two; the second and inner one is dimly lighted by a -small window opening towards the church. Here it was that Jeanne listened -to the heavenly voices, and here she heard the church bells summoning -to prayer, or sounding the tocsin, when the village was attacked by -marauding bands who came to sack the place and cut down the partisans of -the throne of France. - -On several occasions fugitives were concealed by her in this obscure -chamber. She gave up her bed to them, and went to rest in the hayloft. - -Facing the hearth in the entrance room is a statue in bronze, reduced -from the expressive figure by the Princess Mary of Orleans.[160] Garlands -of moss surround this statue, and rose-leaves are scattered at its -feet. The nuns who are in charge of the house assemble every evening in -this room with the young girls of the village, to sing hymns. On the -wall hangs a crucifix, and beneath it stands an image of the Blessed -Virgin; and here the nuns with their little flock keep the month of Mary, -celebrating the praises of the Royal Virgin of Judah, who was so dear to -the heart of the virgin of Domrémy. - -Here and there upon the walls are _ex votos_, slabs of marble and bronze -relating facts worthy of remembrance in honor of Jeanne, or recalling -historic dates. The beams and rafters of the ceiling are dinted by axe -and sabre strokes given by the Prussians in 1814, not by any means from -disrespect, or motives of jealousy, but merely from an outbreak of -destructive devotion. They entered the house, silent, and with their hats -off, but they did not wish to leave it without taking from it some relics -to carry into their own country. - -Numerous pilgrims have been guilty of the low and objectionable -proceeding of carving their names on the stones of the house, although a -register is kept at hand on purpose to receive the visitors’ names and -impressions. The piece of furniture on which the volumes are placed was -presented last year by a prince of France, and accompanied by the gift of -a piece of Gobelin tapestry representing the entry of King Charles VII. -and _Jehanne la bonne Lorraine_ into the city of Rheims. - -The latest volume of the register commences in 1871, after the disasters -and misfortunes of France. To every name inscribed in its pages, whether -of aristocrat or commoner, officers of the army or men of the rank and -file, thoughts are elaborated of more or less pretension to literary -merit, in prose or verse, but the dominant idea is prayer to God for the -salvation of France, and grateful love to Jeanne d’Arc; while here and -there are appeals to the Sovereign Pontiff for the beatification of the -young patriot martyr, or at any rate for a solemn affirmation of the -miraculous nature of her call and the sanctity of her life. - -A touching incident occurred not quite a year ago. One evening in the -month of May, two English ladies, nuns of the Order of Servites, visited -the house, accompanied by a priest of Vaucouleurs, and had no sooner -crossed the threshold than, falling on their knees, they burst into -tears, entreating God to pardon England, guilty of the death of Joan of -Arc, and making a fervent act of reparation for their country, their -ancestors, and themselves. Nor did they rise before they had kissed the -floor of that lowly cottage where she had so often knelt in prayer to God -and in converse with his glorified saints, and where she had lived in the -fulfilment of the daily duties of her lowly estate. - -On another occasion a band of volunteers, on their way to join the -army, came to ask _La Pucelle_ to help them to be good soldiers, and -begging her blessing on themselves and their arms as they would that of -a canonized saint. A cavalry officer made a visit to Domrémy expressly -to remind her that one of his comrades in arms died at Gravelotte -repeating her name. A great number of officers who made their escape from -Germany also came hither direct from the frontier, to return thanks for -their safety, before returning to the homes where their families were -anxiously awaiting them. - -A great pope has said, “France will not perish, for God has always a -miracle in reserve to save her.” - -The miracle came in the middle of the XVth century, in the person of -Jeanne d’Arc. It may come again through her instrumentality; not this -time leading on the victors at Orleans, Patay, Troyes, Rheims, Compeigne, -Paris, or dying at Rouen amid the flames, but crowned a saint upon the -Church’s altars, as a powerful intercessor for her native land. Mgr. -Dupanloup has given a great impetus to the desire for forwarding her -cause at the infallible tribunal of the Catholic Church. - -Gerson, the great and pious chancellor, and the contemporary of Joan of -Arc, ardently desired the same cause, which is now taken to heart, not -only by the illustrious bishop, but also by the clergy, the magistrature, -and the army in Orleans, who are at the head of various commissions -employed in obtaining the evidence necessary for aiding the judgment -of the Sovereign Pontiff. He will have a pleasant task who may be -entrusted to collect the popular traditions which linger like a fragrance -at Domrémy, of the innocent and holy life of Joan of Arc, and to him -the very walls of her cottage birthplace will be eloquent: _lapides -clamabunt_.[161] - - -SONNET. - - Mark yonder gentle doe! her one loved fawn - Close at her side, just where the leafy wood, - With all its summer charms of solitude, - Steps o’er the verdant edges of our lawn! - Mark their shy grace at this chaste hour of dawn! - While culling spicy birch-twigs, their cropped food - Dew-drops impearl, and morning shadows brood - O’er dells, towards which their timid feet are drawn. - Thus have I seen, within a cloister’s shade, - A widowed mother and one tender child - Close at her side; one habit on them laid; - Both, by a kindred exaltation mild, - Led to the service of the Mother Maid, - With her to seek Heaven’s peace through pathways undefiled. - - -DOMINIQUE DE GOURGUES, - -_THE AVENGER OF THE HUGUENOTS IN FLORIDA, A CATHOLIC_. - -The traveller between Bordeaux and Bayonne who takes an eastward train at -Morcenx, will arrive in less than an hour at Mont-de-Marsan, a small town -of four or five thousand inhabitants, on the borders of the Landes, at -the confluence of the Douze and Midou, which form the Midouze. Some say -it was founded on the site of an old temple of Mars, by Charlemagne, on -his return from Roncesvalles. If so, the place was afterwards destroyed -by the Saracen or Norman invaders, for the fifth Vicomte de Marsan, -desirous of purging the forest of Maremsin of the robbers who endangered -the lives and property of the merchants and pilgrims who passed that -way, built a castle at the junction of the two rivers, on a spot which -bore a name of ominous meaning: _Maü-pas_, or _Mauvais-pas_--doubtless -a bad place to fall into, on account of the frequent robberies. Around -this castle gathered the vassals of the neighboring abbey of S. Sever for -protection. They came from the parish of S. Pierre-du-Mont, and brought -their devotion to S. Peter with them. The arms of the town are still two -keys _en pal_, between the letters M. M. (Mons Martianus); and the parish -church that stood till the Revolution, was dedicated to S. Peter, where -the mayor, before entering on his functions, took the following curious -oath in three languages--the Gascon, Latin, and French: - - Per Diu et per aquet monsegné Saint Pé, - Jou juri que bon et lejau a la bille jou seré - Lous bens daquere jou proucureré, - Et lous maux esbiteré. - Las causes doubtouses dab conselt jou feré, - Justice tan au petit com au gros jou faré, - Com an heit lous autes maires et millou si jou sé, - Ansi me adjudé Diu et monsegné Saint Pé. - - Per Deum et sanctum Petrum juro - Quod urbi bonus et legalis ero, - Ejus bona procurabo, - Ejus mala vitabo: - Dubia faciam cum consilio, - Et justitiam tam parvo quam magno, - Sicut alii magistratus et melius si scio, - Sic non ero sine Dei ac sancti Petri adjutorio. - - Je jure par le Dieu vivant et par Saint Pierre, - Que jè seray bon et légal à la ville; - Que j’en procureray les biens et eviteray les maux, - Que je ne feray jamais les choses douteuses sans conseil, - Que je feray justice, au petit comme au grand, - De même que les autres maires, et mieux si je scay; - Ainsi me puisse toujours ayder mon Dieu et Saint Pierre.[162] - -In 1256, the town passed into the possession of the lords of Béarn, -and to keep it in due subjection Gaston Phœbus built the castle -of _Nou-li-bos_, _i.e._, _You-do-not-wish-it-there_, referring to -the opposition of the inhabitants--a name that recalls the famous -_Quiquengrogne_ erected by Anne of Bretagne to keep the town of S. Malo -in check, and the _Bridle_ built by Louis XII. at the entrance of the -harbor of Genoa. - -Calvinism, of course, took some root here in the time of Jeanne d’Albret. -Theodore Beza sent preachers to win over the people, but the Catholics -organized under the Seigneur de Ravignan and for a while kept the -Huguenots from any excesses. Montgomery, however, soon swept over the -country, sacking all the churches and monasteries, many of which he razed -to the ground. Among these was the convent of Bayries, a community of -Clarist nuns in the vicinity of Mont-de-Marsan, founded in 1270 by Gaston -Phœbus and his wife Amate, which numbered Catherine d’Albret, a cousin -of Francis I., among its abbesses. Marie d’Albret, another relative of -the king’s, was abbess when the marriage between him and Eleanore of -Austria took place here, July 6, 1530. This house of historic interest -was stripped of every valuable by the Huguenots, and then burned to the -ground, the nuns barely escaping with their lives. - -The redoubtable Monluc soon avenged all these sacrileges by taking -Mont-de-Marsan, and despatching all who opposed the passage of his -troops. The few Huguenot soldiers left, he threw from the windows of the -formidable _Nou-li-bos_, to avenge, as he said, the brother-in-arms, -whose officers were treacherously butchered by the Huguenots after the -capitulation of Orthez. - -This castle of terrible memory has a pleasanter association, for in it -passed the early childhood of the poet François Le Poulchre, the king’s -knight, and lord of La Motte-Messemé, who boasted of descending from the -ancient Roman consul, Appius Pulcher, who displayed such conspicuous -valor under the famous Lucullus, - - “Un Appius Pulcher, gentilhomme Romain, - Duquel s’est maintenu le nom de main en main - Jusques au temps présent, jusqu’à moi qui le porte.” - -He took for his device: _Suum cuique pulchrum_, in allusion to his name. - -As his father was superintendent of the household of Margaret, queen -of Navarre, sister of Francis I., François Le Poulchre had the honor -of having that king for his godfather, and Margaret for his godmother. -The latter conceived such an affection for him that she kept him at her -castle at Marsan, and made him eat at her table as soon as he was old -enough. He says himself: - - “J’eus l’honneur pour parrain d’avoir le roi François, - Pour marraine sa sœur, Royne des Navarrois, - Qui me favorisa jusque là elle mesme - Me tenir sur les fons le iour de mon baptesme, - Faict par un grand preslat l’evesque de Loron. (Oloron). - … - “Me faisant mesmement à sa table manger - En présence des siens, ou de quelque estranger - Qui peut y arriver, ne changeant onc de place.” - -With little taste for study Le Poulchre left college at an early age to -embrace the profession of arms. - - “Avecque ce grand duc, non moins vaillant que bon, - Race de Saint Louis, dit Louis de Bourbon,” - ---that is to say, under the great Condé. He has given us his own life -and adventures under the title of _Les honnestes Loisirs du Seigneur de -la Motte-Messemé_, which is divided into seven books bearing the title -of the seven planets, as the history of Herodotus bears the name of the -nine muses, and the poetical Zodiac of Marcellus Palingenesis bears the -names of the twelve signs of the zodiac. To compose it, he retired to the -Château de Bouzemont in Lorraine. We trust he was more skilful in the use -of the sword than of the pen. One of his sonnets, however, is pleasing. -It is like a single flower in a barren parterre. It is addressed to -the _dame de ses pensées_, to whom, after acknowledging she hears Mass -devoutly, fasts with due strictness, goes to confession regularly, and -is always charitable to the poor, he says: - - “Vous faictes tout cela, mais ce seroit resver - De croire que cela tout seul vous pust sauver. - Ne vous y arrestez pas, je vous prie, Madame; - D’aller en Paradis le plus certain moyen - C’est de rendre à chacun ce que l’on a du sien: - Rendez-moi donc mon cœur, vous sauverez vostre ame;” - ---You do all this, but it is a dream to suppose this alone can save you. -Do not stop here, madam, I pray you; the surest means of gaining paradise -is to restore to every one what belongs to him: Give me back my heart, -then, and you will save your soul! - -Among other historic memories evoked by Le Poulchre in his seven cantos, -he relates how, going to kiss the hand of the young King Charles IX., -Anne d’Este, - - “Veufve du grand Lorrain, - Qu’avait meschantement d’une traisteresse main - Blecé d’un coup de plomb Poltrot, son domestique,” - ---came not to seek vengeance on Poltrot, for he had already been drawn -and quartered before St. Jean de Grève, but on Coligny, whom, in the -presence of the king, the Cardinal de Guise, and others, in the nave -of the chapel of the château de Vincennes, she accused of being an -accomplice in the crime of February 18, 1563. - -It was not long after this the king, - - “Se hastant de traverser les Lanes - Pour aller voir sa sœur la Reyne des Espagnes,” - -stopped at Mont-de-Marsan, where he made Le Poulchre _escuyer d’escuyrie -ordinaire_, as the poet does not fail to record, and shortly after he -received the collar of knighthood from the same royal hand. - -The château of Gaston Phœbus, which had received so many princes and -princesses within its walls, and been the witness of so many tragedies, -was, after being taken anew from the Huguenots, totally demolished by -the order of Louis XIII A charming promenade, called the _Pépinière_, -surrounded by the Douze, is now the spot. - -Mont-de-Marsan was formerly a centre of considerable trade, and the -entrepôt of the country around. Wine, grain, turpentine, wool, etc., -were brought here to be sent down the Midouze. This was a source of -considerable revenue to the place, and explains the extensive warehouses, -now unused in consequence of the railway and the diversion of trade. -There is still a little wharf, where are moored several barks laden with -wood or turpentine, but there is not business enough to disturb the -quietness of the place. No one would suppose it had ever been the theatre -of terrible events. The most striking feature is a peculiar oblong -court, surrounded by houses of uniform style, with numerous balconies -for the spectators to witness the bull-fights occasionally held here--an -amusement that accords with the fiery nature and pastoral pursuits of -the people around, and is still clung to in several places in the Landes -and among the Pyrenees. This square is, by a singular anomaly, called -the _Place St. Roch_, from a saint regarded throughout the region as the -patron of animals; and they certainly have need of his protection in a -place where they are exposed to such cruelty. - -Such are some of the characteristics and memories of the small inland -town in which was born Dominique de Gourgues, the leader of the -celebrated expedition against the Spaniards in Florida. He was the third -son of Jean de Gourgues and Isabella de Lau, his wife. - -He was born in the year 1537, in an age of religious conflict, when -party spirit ran too high for any one to remain neutral, whatever their -grade of piety. It might therefore seem surprising there should ever have -been any doubt as to the religious convictions of De Gourgues. Because -he was the avenger of the massacre of the Huguenots in Florida, he has -often been identified with the Protestant party. Because he lived in an -age when provincial and sectarian spirit often prevailed over patriotism, -it has been taken for granted that sympathy with the religious sentiments -of the victims of the Spaniards could alone have induced him to sell -his property to provide for a distant and dangerous expedition that -would never repay him even if successful. In a work entitled, _La -France Protestante_, by MM. Haag, a kind of dictionary of Protestant -celebrities in France, issued in 1853 by a proselyting press, whose works -are everywhere to be found, De Gourgues is made a Huguenot. No proof is -given, no doubt expressed--the surest and shortest way of carrying one’s -point in these days. Assurance always produces a certain effect even -on the thoughtfully-minded. They take it for granted it has some real -foundation. - -The _Revue Protestante_[163] makes the same assertion, appealing to De -Thou and other historians. - -Francis Parkman, in his _Pioneers of France in the New World_, says: -“There was a gentleman of Mont-de-Marsan, Dominique de Gourgues, a -soldier of ancient birth and high renown. That he was a Huguenot is not -certain. The Spanish annalist Barcia calls him a terrible heretic; but -the French Jesuit, Charlevoix, anxious the faithful should share the -glory of his exploits, affirms, that, like his ancestors before him, he -was a good Catholic. If so, his faith sat lightly upon him, and Catholic -or heretic, he hated the Spaniards with a mortal hate.” - -The English made the Catholic Church responsible for the massacre of -the Huguenots. The account of Le Moyne, published in England under the -patronage of Raleigh, inflamed anew the public mind against Catholicity, -and the terrible words of the Spanish leader, _El que fuere herege -morira_, were regarded as the echo of the church. Consequently the -avengers of the deed were supposed to be necessarily Protestants--not -only De Gourgues, but all his followers. Nor is this all. The whole -family of the latter is said to have been converted to Calvinism in the -XVIth century. - -M. le Vicomte de Gourgues, the present representative of the family, -desirous of vindicating the orthodoxy of his ancestors, and, in -particular, of so illustrious a relative as Dominique de Gourgues, has -given to the public incontrovertible proofs that the whole family was -eminently Catholic, that Dominique lived and died in the faith, and that -his expedition to Florida was a patriotic deed in which religious zeal -had no part. He felt the anger of a man of honor against the cruelty of -the Spaniards. A great national injury was to be avenged, and he was too -good a soldier not to wish to be foremost in the conflict. And perhaps -some private motives excited him to vengeance, for he had been taken -himself by the Spaniards, and narrowly escaped death at their hands, -and could therefore feel for these new victims of their barbarity. -Moreover, his expedition was the expression of public sentiment in -France concerning the massacre--the mere outburst of the electric current -that ran over the country at such an insult to the honor of France. -The assertion that De Gourgues was a Protestant is a modern invention -without a shadow of foundation. None of the old French historians express -any doubt as to his orthodoxy. Even the romances in which he figures -represent him as a Catholic, as if his religion were a prominent feature -in his character. Some years ago, a novel was published in the _Siècle_ -called “La Peine du Talion,” of which the Chevalier de Gourgues is the -hero, and on his Catholicity turns the interest of the story. He is -represented as a brilliant cavalier who has served in the wars of Italy, -and is now an officer in the service of the Duke of Guise, whose favor -he enjoys. An attachment is formed between him and Estiennette de Nérac, -whose hand he requests in marriage. The Seigneur de Nérac expresses great -surprise that Messire Dominique should forget the insuperable abyss there -is between an ardent Catholic in the service of the house of Lorraine and -his Protestant daughter. - -But for more serious proofs. And first let us examine the orthodoxy of -Dominique de Gourgues’ family. - -That his parents were Catholics is proved by the list of those who -appeared in the ban and arrière-ban at Mont-de-Marsan, March 4, 1537. -“Noble Jean de Gourgues, Seigneur de Gaube and Monlezun, present at the -convocation held in this town by order of the king.” And Isabella de -Lau, his wife, requests in her will “to be buried in the church of the -convent of the Cordeliers at Mont-de-Marsan,[164] before the chapel of -the Conception where the ancestors of the said De Gourgues are buried.” -It is sure, therefore, that Dominique was baptized in the Catholic Church -at Mont-de-Marsan. - -Dominique and his brother Ogier left their native place in early life -and established themselves at Bordeaux. The former was never married, -and seems to have made his home with his brother, to whom he was greatly -attached. At the château de Vayries there were, a few years ago, four -old evergreen trees of some foreign species, at the corners of the lawn -before the terrace, said by tradition to have been planted by the hero of -Florida. - -Ogier became king’s counsellor in the council of state, and president -of the treasury in Guienne, and, after serving his country faithfully -under five kings, died full of years and honors at his house in Bordeaux, -“without leaving the like of his quality in Guyenne.” He took part in -all the affairs of the province, in the accounts of which we find many -things significant of his religious convictions. Monluc mentions him in -his _Commentaries_, as offering to procure wheat and cattle from the -Landes, on his own credit, when it was proposed to fortify the coast to -defeat the projects of the Huguenots. He placed his property as much as -possible at the disposal of the king. He manifested great interest in the -reduction of La Rochelle, and lent twenty-three hundred livres to enable -the Baron de la Gardie to despatch his galleys to the siege, as is shown -by the following letter from the king: - -“For the payment of my galleys which I have ordered Baron de la Gardie, -the general, to despatch promptly to the coast of Bretagne on a service -of great importance, … I write praying you to advance to Sieur Felix -the sums I have assigned for this purpose, … trusting that, as in the -past you have never spared your means and substance in my service, -you will spare them still less in this urgent necessity. I have been -advised, however, by the said Sieur de la Gardie that you have not yet -lent your aid, which I am persuaded proceeds from want of means; but -well knowing the credit you have in my city of Bordeaux, and trusting to -your good-will, I send this line to beg you, in continuation of the good -and acceptable services I have heretofore received from you in public -affairs, and on other occasions which have presented themselves, to do -me likewise this other in so extreme a need, to advance and place in the -hands of the said Felix the sums I have assigned in aid, not only of -the said Sieur de la Gardie, but the other captains of my said galleys, -which I will pay and reimburse you, or those who by your favor and credit -shall have advanced them.… (Hoping) that you have lessened in no way the -extreme affection you have had till the present, in all that relates to -my service, which I will not forget in due time or fail to recognize, -… to gratify you in every way possible, … I finish praying God, Sr. de -Gourgues, to have you in his holy keeping.--Given at Gaillon the 24th of -May, 1571. - - “CHARLES.” - -The appeal was not in vain, as we have said. - -Máréchal de Matignon, in a letter to the king in 1585, renders the -following fine testimony concerning Ogier de Gourgues: - -“Sire, the pestilence in this city continues to such a degree that there -is not a person, with the means of living elsewhere, who has not left it, -and there are now only the Srs. Premier President and De Gourgues, who -remain out of the special affection they have for your service.” - -Ogier de Gourgues had two sons, Antoine and Marc Antoine. Antoine, the -elder, presumed by MM. Haag and others to be a Protestant, is thus spoken -of in the _Chronique Bourdeloyse_, published in 1672: - -“The château de Castillon, in Médoc, having been surprised by some -troops, has been restored to the obedience of the king and the Seigneur -de Matignon in eight days by Capt. de Gourgues, _mestre de camp_ of a -French regiment, and cousin of him who attacked the Spaniards in Florida.” - -And in another place: “And after some sorties from the garrison of Blaye, -in which Capt. de Gourgues, while fighting valiantly, was wounded, and -after some days died, the said Seigneur de Matignon raised the siege.” - -Of course, Marshal de Matignon’s lieutenant could not be a Huguenot. -Besides, the account of the expenses at the grand funeral services of -Capt. Antoine de Gourgues, attended by all the religious communities in -Bordeaux, is still extant. By this we find seven livres are paid the -Carmelite monks for their services three days, and the use of several -objects for the funeral; three crowns to the canons of St. André for -High Mass and the burial service; twenty sols to the Brothers of the -Observance for three days’ assistance and the use of robes; four crowns -to the religious of the Chapelet for aiding in the three days’ service; -five sols to the Brothers of Mary for the same; two crowns to twenty-four -priests who recited prayers around the bier; fifty-one sols each to four -women who dressed the body and remained with it day and night; one sol -apiece given to three thousand poor on the day of burial, and six deniers -the following day, etc., etc. There is a _chapelle ardente_, hung with -mourning, emblazoned with the family arms, the bells are tolled two days, -and all the clergy and poor follow him to the grave, with the most solemn -rites of the Catholic Church. - -Marc Antoine, the second son of Ogier de Gourgues, was a zealous -defender of the Catholic faith. He travelled all through Europe in his -youth, studied theology at the Roman college, and, gifted with uncommon -eloquence, though he did not take Orders, held public controversies -against Calvinism and a discussion with Scaliger, as is shown by the -eulogy at his funeral, which took place at Bordeaux. Some years after -those public vindications of the Catholic faith, he went to England, -where he was received with great distinction by Queen Elizabeth, a fact -worthy of notice, as the favor she manifested to Dominique has been -considered as an argument in proof of his Protestant proclivities. She -liked to gather around her men of certain celebrity, and those who -were in her good graces were not always in sympathy with her religious -notions, as is shown in the case of Marc Antoine. - -Marc Antoine became Premier President of the Parliament of Bordeaux, and -was charged with all the preparations relative to the fulfilment of the -marriage between Louis XIII. and the Infanta of Austria--a difficult -mission, because the Huguenots, opposed to the alliance, were resolved -to frustrate it. M. O’Reilly, in his _Histoire de Bordeaux_, says: “They -endeavored to seize the person of the king in the environs of Guitre, -but he arrived at Bordeaux without any disaster, thanks to the excellent -arrangements made by President de Gourgues.” - -Marc Antoine not only made foundations in favor of the Jesuits and -Carmelites, but his second wife, Olive de Lestonnac, left thirty thousand -livres to the Recollects of Sainte Foy, to build a residence where they -could labor for the conversion of the Huguenots. It would seem as if -every member of the family were animated with a particular zeal for the -Catholic religion. - -In 1690 we find Jacques Joseph de Gourgues Bishop of Bazas. - -After the foregoing proofs, no possible doubt can be felt concerning -the stanch Catholicity of the De Gourgues family. As for Dominique, -but little is known of his life previous to his expedition to Florida. -Though he afterwards belonged to the royal navy, it appears that he first -served on land and took part in the Italian campaign under Maréchal de -Strozzi. His last feat of arms in Italy, says one of his biographers, -was to sustain a siege, in 1557, with thirty men against a corps of -Spanish troops. The fort held was taken by assault, and the garrison all -slaughtered, except De Gourgues, who was spared, to be sent ignominiously -to row on the galleys. His boat being captured by the Turks on the coast -of Sicily, he was taken to Rhodes and thence to Constantinople. But -his fate was not changed; he continued to serve in the galleys. Again -putting to sea, he was taken and set at liberty by Mathurin Romegas, -commander of the galleys of Malta and Knight of S. John of Jerusalem. -The deliverer of the future hero of Florida was likewise a Gascon. His -tombstone may still be seen in the nave of the nuns’ church of Trinità -de’ Monti at Rome, the inscription half effaced by the feet of the -worshippers. - -Dominique now returned to France, and after a voyage to Brazil and the -Indies, he entered the service of the house of Lorraine, who employed him -on several private occasions against the Huguenots. His expedition to -Florida did not take place till the year 1567. We have seen him fighting -against the Spaniards in Italy, and subjected by them to the utmost -degradation. It is not surprising he burned to avenge the murder of his -companions-in-arms and the severe treatment he had endured, as well -as to wipe out the stain on the national honor caused by the massacre -of his fellow-countrymen in Florida. He had too narrowly escaped the -Spanish sword himself not to feel the deepest sympathy in their fate. He -afterwards drew up himself an account of his expedition, which is full -of thrilling interest. It has been published, but the original is in the -Bibliothèque Impériale at St. Germain. - -The establishment of a French colony in Florida grew out of the civil -and religious contests of the XVIth century. Admiral de Coligni, with -the view of providing his co-religionists a safe asylum beyond the -seas, induced Charles IX. to allow five or six hundred Huguenots under -Jean Ribault to embark at Dieppe, Feb. 18, 1561, in order to establish -themselves in Florida. They landed at the mouth of the Rio San Mateo on -the 1st of May, and built a fort on an island, which they called Fort -Charles, in honor of their sovereign. The return of Ribault to France led -to a relaxation of discipline, and the consequent ruin of the colony. -Other companies, also favored by Coligni, were sent in 1564 and 1565, -under Laudonnière and the same Ribault, to place the colony on a better -footing. Laudonnière secured the friendship of the Indians, whose chief, -Satirova, hastened to offer his support. But the destitution to which the -colony was reduced weakened the attachment of the natives, and some acts -of piracy exasperated the Spaniards, who regarded them as intruders, and -resolved on their destruction. - -Pedro Melendez appeared with six vessels before Fort Caroline and -summoned Laudonnière and Ribault to surrender, promising to spare those -who were Catholics, but declaring all heretics should be put to death. -They defended themselves valiantly, and even took the offensive, and -had it not been for a tempest, perhaps bravery would have won the day -over the number of the enemy. But we need not give details which are -familiar to all. The fort fell into the hands of Melendez, and all, -except Laudonnière and one of his companions who evaded the search, were -put to death, “not as French, but as heretics,” if we are to believe an -inscription left on the spot. Nothing could be more horrible than this -atrocious murder of four hundred inoffensive colonists. The Spaniards -even tore out the eyes of their victims, stuck them on the point of their -daggers, and hurled them against the French on the water. The skin of -Ribault was sent to the King of Spain. And to crown so barbarous a deed, -they heaped together the bodies of the men, women, and children, and -kindling a great fire, reduced them to ashes, with savage howlings. - -Whatever the zeal of the Spanish for the Catholic religion, we may -naturally suppose it was not the only motive that animated them on this -occasion. Their eagerness to take possession of the country and fortify -it, instead of requesting Charles IX. to send a Catholic colony to -replace the Huguenots, shows that other motives influenced them. Religion -was only a cloak. Moreri, in his _Dictionnaire Historique_, 1712, says: -“They hung the French under the pretext they were Lutherans.” - -Laudonnière, who escaped, brought the fearful details of this butchery -to France. The rage was universal. Notwithstanding the antipathy of the -court to the religion of the majority of the victims, it has been too -strongly asserted that all sense of national honor was lost in view of -the religious aspect of the case. The government of Charles IX. was too -weak to insist on complete reparation, but his letters to the French -Ambassador at Madrid prove he demanded Philip II. should chastise those -who were guilty of the massacre.[165] No reparation, however, was made, -and the cruelties of Melendez not only remained unpunished, but he was -loaded with honors. - -Père Daniel, in his _History_, says: “This inhumanity (of Melendez), -instead of being punished by the government of Spain when complaint was -made, was praised, and those who had a share in it rewarded. The unhappy -state of affairs in the kingdom (France), in consequence of the civil -wars, prevented the king from taking vengeance, and three years passed -away without the court’s thinking of exacting justice. Capt. Gourgues, -a man who sought to distinguish himself, and loved glory more than -anything else, resolved to avenge the insult to the French nation, and -without looking for any other reward but success and renown, undertook -the expedition at his own expense in spite of the danger and every -expectation of being disavowed at court.… This deed, that may be numbered -among the most memorable ever done of the kind, wiped out the affront -inflicted on the French nation.” - -And the account from the Imperial library says: “The traitors and -murderers, instead of being blamed and punished in Spain, were honored -with great estates and dignities. All the French nation expected such -an injury to the king and the whole nation would soon be avenged by the -public authorities, but this expectation being disappointed for the space -of three years, it was hoped some private individual would be found to -undertake a deed so essential to the honor and reputation of France. -There were many who would have been glad of the renown to be won by such -an enterprise, but it could not be undertaken without great expense; the -result, for many reasons, was uncertain, hazardous, and full of peril; -and even if successfully executed, it might not be exempt from calumny. -And it was difficult to find any one willing to incur this calumny by the -loss of his property, and an infinite number of difficulties and dangers.” - -It was not Laudonnière who went to take vengeance on the Spaniards. It -was no agent of Coligni’s. It was not even one of the Huguenots, though -their brothers’ blood cried from the ground, who lent his ear to the -terrible appeal. No; the brave heart who atoned for the weakness of the -sovereign belonged to a devoted Catholic family of the Landes. It was a -soldier who had served under the Strozzi in Italy, and afterwards under -the Guises in France, who lost sight of religious distinctions in view of -his country’s disgrace, and nobly resolved to become the avenger of the -Huguenots. - -Dominique de Gourgues began his preparations early in the year 1567. He -sold some of his property, or, as stated by others, his brother Ogier -advanced the money necessary for fitting out the expedition. He armed two -vessels small enough to enter the large rivers, and a patache which, when -there was lack of wind, could be propelled by oars. He manned them with -eighty sailors and one hundred and fifty soldiers, among whom we find -some of the noble, as well as plebeian, names of Gascony. Monluc, the -governor of Bordeaux, allowed him to depart on a pretended expedition to -the coast of Africa. It was the 22d of August. De Gourgues even concealed -the object of the voyage from his followers, which shows how unreasonable -it is to regard them as Protestants going to avenge a Protestant cause, -as many suppose. The names of only a few of them are known, and nothing -in particular of these. Capt. Cazenove, of a noble family near Agen that -still exists, commanded one of the vessels. Another is called Bierre -by MM. Haag, and De Berre by M. de Barbot, and one of the captains of -the Baron de la Gardie’s galleys was named Loys de Berre, of course a -stanch Catholic. But we see no reason for religious distinctions in -the case. The important thing was to have brave, resolute men. And it -is certain they knew nothing of the object of the expedition till they -arrived at Cape St. Antoine. It is said when they learned it, “they were -at first surprised and dissatisfied,” which does not look much like -sympathy for slaughtered co-religionists. Parkman says: “There (in Cuba) -he gathered his followers about him and addressed them with his fiery -Gascon eloquence.… He painted with angry rhetoric the butcheries of Fort -Caroline and St. Augustine. ‘What disgrace,’ he cried, ‘if such an insult -should pass unpunished! What glory to us if we avenge it! To this I have -devoted my fortune. I relied on you. I thought you jealous enough of your -country’s glory to sacrifice life itself in a cause like this. Was I -deceived? I will show you the way; I will be always at your head; I will -bear the brunt of the danger. Will you refuse to follow me?’ The sparks -fell among gunpowder. The combustible French nature bursts into flame.” - -There is not a word in this address of their being Huguenots, though free -to express his sentiments at such a distance from their native land. The -only appeal is--glory and France. - -It is unnecessary to relate the wonderful _coup-de-main_ by which the -three forts of the Spanish were taken. Every one knows how he hung up -the thirty Spaniards who were left, on the same trees on which his -fellow-countrymen had been hung, and in place of the inscription left by -Melendez, he graved with a red-hot iron on a pine slab: “This is not done -to Spaniards, but to treacherous robbers and assassins.” One of these -victims confessed the justice of the act, as he had hung five of the -Huguenots with his own hand. - -The _Revue des Deux Mondes_ calls the retaliation of the bold Landais -“savage,” and certainly grave moral reasons can be brought against such -a proceeding. But everything was exceptional in this historic episode, -and we must not regard it according to the ideas of the present age. The -disinterested and heroic daring of De Gourgues cannot be denied, nor can -any one help applauding his patriotic wish to repair the injured honor of -the nation. That he looked upon his deed as one of righteous vengeance -is sure. How solemn and religious is his language in addressing his -followers after his victory: - -“My friends, let us give thanks to God for the success he has accorded -to our enterprise. It was he who saved us from danger in the tempest off -Cape Finibus Terræ, at Hispaniola, Cuba, and the river of Halimacany! -It was he who inclined the hearts of the savages to aid us! It was he -who blinded the understanding of the Spaniards, so they were unable to -discover our forces, or avail themselves of their own! They were four -to our one, strongly intrenched, and well provided with artillery, and -supplies of food and ammunition. We only had justice on our side, and -yet we have conquered them with but little trouble. It is not to our -strength, but to God alone we owe the victory. Let us thank him, my -friends, and never forget the benefits we have received from him. Let us -pray him to continue his favor towards us, to guide us on our way back -and preserve us from all danger; pray him also to vouchsafe to dispose -the hearts of men so that the many dangers we have incurred and the -fatigues we have endured may find grace and favor before our king and -before all France, as we had no other motive but the service of the king -and the honor of our country!” - -They set sail May 3, and arrived at La Rochelle the 6th of June. De -Gourgues went immediately to Bordeaux to render an account of his -voyage to Monluc, who, as Père Daniel says, loaded him with praises and -caresses, which, with his antipathy to Huguenotism, he would hardly -have done had De Gourgues been a Huguenot in the service of Huguenots. -If the latter did not inform him before his departure of the object of -his expedition, it was because he knew Monluc was anxious to avoid all -occasion of rupture with Spain. MM. Haag say Monluc had received orders -to forbid all expeditions of the kind. And though De Gourgues did not -doubt the approbation of the governor, he did not wish to compromise him -in the eyes of the king. - -De Gourgues received not only a flattering welcome from Monluc but the -acclamations of the entire nation. The wish for vengeance had been -universal, and he was applauded for realizing it. Perhaps it was this -outburst of patriotism that forgot all religious animosities which led -that sagacious diplomatist, François de Noailles, at this very time -Bishop of Dax, a place not far from Mont-de-Marsan, to assure the king -the best means of putting an end to the civil dissensions of the country -was to declare war against Spain. - -Had De Gourgues been a Huguenot he would probably have disposed of his -war prizes at La Rochelle, where he first touched, thereby rendering his -party a service by supplying them with arms. Instead of that, he took -them to Bordeaux, and Monluc bought them to arm the city against the -Huguenots, as is shown by existing documents estimating their value, -dated Aug. 27, 1568. - -“This day appeared before me Capt. Dominique de Gourgues requesting the -appraisement of nine pieces of artillery, one cannon, a culverin, and -three _moyennes_, which he has brought to this said city from the voyage -he has lately made, and taken in the fort the French had built, but which -was afterwards seized by one Pierre Malendes, a Spaniard.… Presented -themselves before us to make the said appraisement and valuation: Antoine -de Cassagnet, lord of Cassagnet and Tilhadet, Knight of the Order of the -King, and governor of the city and country of Bordeaux in the absence -of Sr. de Monluc; Jehan de Monluc, Knight of the Order of St. John of -Jerusalem, gentleman in ordinary of the king’s chamber, and colonel of -the infantry of Guienne; Jacques Descar, Knight of the Order of the King, -captain of fifty men-at-arms of his ordinance, captain and governor of -the Château du Ha in the said city and province of Guienne; Charles de -Monferrand, also Knight of the Order of the King; Pierre de Savignac, -also Knight of the same order; and Loys de Lur, Seigneur d’Uza, whom, -etc.” - -All these persons to whom De Gourgues thus confided his interests were -Catholic lords of Guienne, whose religious convictions could not be -doubted, and with whom he must have been on intimate terms to induce them -to take the trouble to estimate the value of his war-prizes. - -But it is said Charles IX. and his court condemned De Gourgues’ act. M. -de Lacaze, in his biography, says: “He received from his compatriots -the liveliest testimonies of admiration and gratitude; but it was not -the same at court, where his courage and achievements were rewarded -by ingratitude and persecution. The Spanish ambassador demanded his -head, and the heroic Frenchman was obliged to conceal himself at Rouen -to escape death. He was living in a state bordering on want when Queen -Elizabeth offered him command of a fleet she was going to send to the -assistance of King Antonio of Portugal; but enfeebled by age, chagrin, -and fatigue, Gourgues was unable to profit by so brilliant an offer. He -died on his way to London.” - -Many of these statements need to be greatly modified, as we shall show. - -De Thou says: “At his return he is badly received by the court, which is -_wholly Spanish_. The king treats him as a disturber of the public peace.” - -There is no doubt the king feared a rupture with Spain, in consequence -of the civil dissensions in his kingdom. M. de Monluc, in his -_Commentaries_, alluding to his son’s expedition to Africa, expressed a -fear of its leading to disturbance with Spain. Personally, he desired -war, but did not wish him to draw upon himself the censure of the -government. What he says explains the reception of De Gourgues at a court -where Spanish influence predominated, and leaves no doubt the latter was -only received as the son of Monluc himself would have been, had he given -cause for war with Spain. He was, however, soon honorably received into -service, for we find him, in August, 1568, attached to the royal navy; so -he could not, as he states, go to Dax, being “prevented by the affairs of -the king and the service of the galleys.” - -We find De Gourgues’ vessel, the _Charles_, named in an act of October -22, 1568, in which it is said that Loys de Lur, Vicomte d’Uza, was -“general-in-chief of the army, and of the vessels _Charles_, _Catherine_, -etc., which will at once set sail by order of M. de Monluc.” These -vessels were to guard the mouth of the Gironde. - -There are still several documents in the archives of the department of -the Gironde which refer to De Gourgues’ official duties at this time. -From them we give the following extracts: - -“Know all men that on this 14th of March, 1572, appeared before me, -Jehan Castaigne, etc., for the purpose of selling by these presents to -Dominique de Gourgues, squire and gentleman in ordinary of the king’s -chamber, … four hundred quintals of biscuit, good and salable, for the -sum of six livres and fifteen sols for each of said quintals.[166]…” - -Arcère speaks of an armament fitted out at Brouage by Philip de Strozzi, -as if to ravage the Spanish coasts of America--a cloak to his real -design. He provided this fleet with provisions, munitions of war, etc., -with no appearance of haste, though so late in the season. Coligni, -therefore, was warned. - -We find a letter from Charles IX. to Dominique de Gourgues on the -subject, written fifteen days after St. Bartholomew’s Day, when there was -no need of concealing his real designs: - - “CAPTAIN GOURGUES: As I have written my cousin, the Sire de - Strozzy, to approve his appointing you to go on a voyage of - discovery, with the general consent of the company, I trust - this letter will find you ready to set sail. I beg to warn you, - before setting out, not to touch at any place belonging to my - brother-in-law, or any prince friendly to me, and with whom I - am at peace. Above all, fear to disobey me if you desire my - approbation, and the more, because I have more need than I once - had of preserving the friendship of all my neighbors. Conduct - yourself, therefore, wisely, and according to my intentions, - and I will remember the service you do me. Praying God, Captain - Gourgues, to have you in his keeping. - - CHARLES. - - “PARIS, September 14, 1572.” - -This letter proves the king’s serious intention of sending the fleet -abroad, and contains a somewhat severe warning not to repeat his bold -deeds in Florida. - -D’Aubigné declares that these vessels were really intended to attack the -Spanish settlements in America, but their destination was changed, and -they served at the siege of La Rochelle, “to the great displeasure of -those who were hoping for a voyage at sea.” - -Arcère, in his _Histoire de la Rochelle_, thus speaks of the _Charles_ -at the siege of that city: “The king’s fleet was composed of six galleys -and nine vessels. The largest of these vessels was called the _Charles_. -The admiral’s, named the _Grand Biscayen_, was under the Vicomte d’Uza, -commander of the fleet in the absence of the Baron de la Gardie. -Montgomery advanced as if to engage in combat, but he encountered full -fire from the enemy’s fleet; the vessel he commanded, pierced by a ball, -would have sunk without speedy assistance, and he decided to retreat.” - -That Dominique de Gourgues was in command of the _Charles_ on this -occasion is proved by a document in possession of the present Vicomte -de Gourgues, which states that Dominique, by an act signed by the king -in council, August 10, 1578, was paid the sum of seven thousand crowns -“for services rendered at and before the siege of La Rochelle with his -vessel, the _Charles_, and a patache called the _Desperada_.” - -This is the latest known document referring to the public services of -Dominique de Gourgues. There is, however, another letter from the king -referring to another service a few years previous, and confirming the -fact that the _Charles_ was under his command: “Capt. Gourgues: After -deliberating about using some of the largest and best vessels of my -navy before the city of La Rochelle--in the number of which is the -_Charles_, which belongs to you--for the embarkation of four thousand -soldiers intended for Poland, I have concluded to send you this present -to notify you at once of my intention, praying you above all, as you love -the welfare of my service, to give orders that your vessel be equipped -as soon as it can be done, and ordered to Havre de Grace, where it is -necessary to arrive by the 12th or 13th of August next; and, that you -arrive with greater security, it will be expedient for your vessel to -join the others ordered on the same voyage, that you may go in company -to said Havre. I beg you, therefore, to proceed for this purpose to -Bordeaux, where the Sire de Berre is to despatch twelve cannons and -other arms, that are also to go to said Havre with all speed. Endeavor -to render the service I expect of you in that place. Praying God that he -have you, Captain Gourgues, in his holy and safe keeping, - - “CHARLES. - -“GAILLON, July 2, 1573.” - -Such are some of the records of the public services of Dominique de -Gourgues after the Florida expedition. Of course his achievements -were not rewarded as they should have been. Pedro Melendez was created -marquis for his barbarous deed and enriched with estates. The brave -Landais, who took vengeance, merited far more. But, as we have shown, -he still remained in the king’s service, and retained, or regained, his -confidence. And his exploit has always been regarded as one of the most -brilliant episodes of French history. Châteaubriand, blaming the author -of the _Henriade_ for having recourse to threadbare examples from ancient -times, says “the Chevalier de Gourgues offered him one of the most -thrilling of episodes.” - -We find a private paper dated January 14, 1580, in which Dominique de -Gourgues gives Romarine de Mesmes, _damoyselle_, his aunt, power and -authority to receive the fruits, profits, and emoluments of all his -cattle and real estate in the Vicomté de Marsan, which shows that he did -not sell all his property to provide for the expedition to Florida, or -die in want, as has been stated. - -Queen Elizabeth of England offered him command of a fleet to aid Don -Antonio of Portugal in the war against Spain; but this honor is no -proof of his being regarded by her as a Protestant, but rather of his -well-known hatred of the Spanish, for it was to aid one Catholic nation -against another. It was on his way to take command of this fleet that he -fell ill at Tours, in which he died in the year 1583. He was buried with -honor in the abbatial church of S. Martin of Tours--the crowning proof -that Dominique de Gourgues was a genuine Catholic. - - -THE LADDER OF LIFE. - -There are a great many rounds in the ladder of life, though simple -youths have always fancied that a few gallant steps would take them to -the summit of riches and power. Now the top-round of this ladder is not -the presidency of any railroad or country, nor even the possession of -renowned genius; for it oddly happens that when one sits down upon it, -then, be he ever so high up in life, he has really begun to descend. -Those who put velvet cushions to their particular rounds, and squat at -ease with a view of blocking up the rise of other good folks, do not know -they are going down the other side of the ladder; but such is the fact. -Many thrifty men have, in their own minds, gone far up its life-steps, -when, verily, they were descending them fast; and poor people without -number have in all men’s eyes been travelling downward, though in truth -they have journeyed higher by descent than others could by rising. So -many slippery and delusive ways has this magical ladder that we may say -it is as various as men’s minds. One may slip through its rounds out of -the common way of ascent, and find himself going down when he ought to be -going up; and vain toilers have ever fancied that they were mounting to -the clouds when everybody else must have seen they were still at the same -old rounds. Ambitious heroes have made the same mistake, if indeed the -particular ladder which they have imagined for themselves has not itself -been sliding down all the while they have been seeking vainglory by its -steps. - -The ladder of life is an infinite ladder. It is full of indirections to -suit the abilities, and of attractions to suit the tastes of climbers. -You may work at a forge, or sail the sea, or trade in money and goods, -or hear operas, or write romances, or wander over mountains, or go to -church, while living thereon; but you must go up or go down, and, anyway, -you will have some toiling to do. Everywhere on the ladder is trouble -save in careful steps, and since human progress is so illusory, many -honest persons rather feared to fall than aspire. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - THE SPIRIT OF FAITH; or, What must I Do to Believe? Five - Lectures delivered at S. Peter’s, Cardiff, by the Right - Reverend Bishop Hedley, O.S.B. New York: The Catholic - Publication Society. 1875. - -When we noticed these lectures last month, we had not found time to do -more than glance at them. But having since discovered their very uncommon -merit, we feel bound to let our readers know it. - -Never--we do not say seldom, but never--have we seen such a happy -combination of simplicity with force. The bishop’s English, by itself, -is a treat. His style has all the ease of conversation; here and -there rising into eloquence, or delighting us with master-strokes of -description and illustration. Then, as to the argument of his book, it is -so amiable and courteous that no one can take offence; yet the points are -put with stern fidelity and driven home with ruthless cogency. - -The title speaks for itself. The “_spirit_ of faith” is precisely what -is least understood by non-Catholics; and again, “What they must _do_ to -believe” is the thing they most need to be shown. - -When accused of being “mental slaves,” etc., we justly reply that, on the -contrary, we are the freest of the free, that “truth” alone “makes free”; -but perhaps we are apt to forget--or rather, we fail to insist--that -the “spirit of faith” is, nevertheless, “a spirit of lowliness” (as the -bishop says)--“of childlike obedience, and of ‘captivity’”; that there -must be “a taking up of a yoke, a bowing of the head, a humbling of the -heart.” It will therefore do Catholics good, as well as Protestants, to -read the second of these lectures on “What faith is.” So, again, when -allowing for the strength of prejudice in alienating the Protestant mind, -we are in danger of false charity--by forgetting that prejudice may -easily be _a sin_; and that _wilfulness_ plays a large part in popular -“ignorance” nowadays. The third and fourth lectures, on “Prejudice” and -“Wilfulness” as “Obstacles to Faith,” are the best of their kind we -remember to have seen, and we are sure that many Catholics need to read -them--nor only for the sake of their Protestant friends. - -But, of course, it is chiefly for the sake of Protestant friends that -we wish to see these lectures in the hands of our readers. The book is -something for an earnest man to go wild about. Its cost is little; and we -hope it will soon be scattered broadcast over the land. - - RELIGION AND SCIENCE IN THEIR RELATION TO PHILOSOPHY. An - Essay on the Present State of the Sciences. Read before the - Philosophical Society of Washington. By Charles W. Shields, - D.D., Professor of the Harmony of Science and Revealed Religion - in Princeton College, N. J. New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co. - 1875. - -The trustees of Princeton College have deserved commendation and given a -good example to other colleges by establishing the chair filled by Dr. -Shields. The learned doctor is evidently applying himself with zeal and -industry to the studies which will fit him to teach with ability in his -important branch of science--one which demands an almost encyclopædic -knowledge of many sciences specifically different from each other. -He informs us that he is preparing an extensive work on the topics -presented in the essay before us, which is certainly a most laudable -undertaking, and one in which we hope he may achieve a successful and -useful result. In the present essay the author shows a very considerable -amount of reading and thought, some skill in generalization, and a good -deal of that felicity of diction which is requisite in making such -abstruse themes as those which relate to natural and theological science -attractive and intelligible even to the mass of cultivated persons. - -The distinctive and principal thesis defended by Dr. Shields is, that -philosophy is the only umpire to determine controversies in which the -opposing parties advocate what are professedly revealed and professedly -scientific facts or truths, respectively, in a mutually destructive or -hostile sense to each other. To a certain extent, and in a correctly -defined sense, we cordially agree with him, and in this sense the high -office of philosophy, as the queen of all rational science, is affirmed -and defended by all Catholic philosophers and theologians worthy of -the name. The five primary natural sciences--physics, mathematics, -metaphysics, logic, and ethics--are certainly none of them subaltern one -to another, yet the other four are subordinate to metaphysics, because -its object has a precedence in the order of the knowable, and its -principles furnish the other sciences with their rational foundation. -Nevertheless, it is evident, and must be admitted by every one who -believes in a certain, clear, and surely ascertainable revelation of -facts and truths by God, which is supernatural, that there is a science -above metaphysics in excellence--viz., theology, which dominates over -it in so far that the latter science cannot reject any of its dogmas. -The sciences cannot therefore properly be said to be separate from each -other, although they are really distinct. All rational sciences are -subalternated to one or more of the five primaries, and thus subordinated -to metaphysics, which is subordinated to theology. We consider that -the author is mistaken in asserting that a “healthful separation and -progress” marked the first stage of the history of the sciences since -the Reformation. If by separation he means distinction only, and the -free development in each science of its own proper principles by its -proper methods, this distinction was recognized and acted on before -the Reformation, as may be seen by consulting the great master of the -schools, S. Thomas. Some of the sciences have made great progress since -that event, not by means of, but partly notwithstanding, their violent -and unnatural separation from metaphysics and theology. In respect to -metaphysics and ethics, the Reformation has produced one only direct -result, which is a miserable decadence and retrogression, which seems to -have nearly reached its lowest term. The sciences can only progress with -full liberty towards the perfection of human knowledge when they exist -in the due harmony and subordination which their nature demands and God -has established. The exposition of the order and relation of scientific -facts, principles, and deductions in the universal realm of truth, as -a universal or encyclopædic science, must, therefore, always place -each one in its due subordination, and cannot admit of the umpirage of -an inferior over a superior science, much less of a revolt on the part -of the inferior. It is absurd to suppose that the inferior tribunal of -human reason can judge a case in which the judgment of God, who is the -supreme reason, or of an authority which God has made supreme, comes up -by appeal. Dr. Shields objects that the great problems in question cannot -be settled by the determination of Scripture, councils, the Holy See, -or any kind of ecclesiastical decisions, because there is no agreement -respecting the true sense of Scripture, or universal recognition of a -competent and unerring tribunal. To this we reply that the construction -of certain and complete science is one thing, and the communication of -this science to the ignorant or erring is another. Questions may be -really and definitively settled, though great numbers of men may remain -in culpable or inculpable ignorance or error. The _Syllabus_ has settled -all that it was intended to settle, so far as the right of the matter is -concerned, and for the whole body of men who submit to the infallible -authority of the Vicar of Christ. Our knowledge is not in any way -impaired by the ignorance of those who are deprived of the benefit of -that instruction which Catholics enjoy. But, when we come to controversy, -we cannot, of course, attempt to convince or confute the ignorant or -erring by simply appealing to an authority which the antagonist or -objector, or uninstructed inquirer, does not know or recognize to be an -authority. We cannot assume the authority of God with an atheist, of -the Christian revelation with an infidel, of the Catholic Church with a -Protestant. One of the fathers says, _Qui fidem exigit, fidem astruat_, -and Catholic theologians have always acted on that maxim. Dr. Shields, as -a Protestant, has no rational idea of a positive, theological science. -It is all mere controversy, and we apprehend that his philosophy will be -found to be something equally unsettled and incapable of settling itself. -It is a very dangerous thing for any kind of dogmatic Protestantism to -concede the rights of reason, and especially so for Calvinism. Princeton -appears to be losing the old, Presbyterian, Calvinistic spirit, and going -the way of the rest of the world towards rationalism. We are not sorry -for it, because we hope that the cultivation and exercise of reason will -prepare the way for a great number of intelligent and educated young men -to submit their minds to the rightful and ennobling dominion of divine -faith. Notwithstanding the defects of Dr. Shields’ essay, we are glad to -see him advocate the study of philosophy and exalt its dignity; for the -search after the true philosophy may lead many to find it, and the true -philosophy is the handmaid of the true theology, and leads her votaries -to the feet of her mistress. - - AN ELEMENTARY TREATISE ON PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. By D. M. Warren. - Revised by A. von Steinwehr. Philadelphia: Cowperthwait & Co. - -This book is one which Catholic teachers should never think of using, and -against which Catholic children should, as far as possible, be specially -warned, should it be introduced in any school which they are obliged by -circumstances to attend. - -It is probable that the chapter on ethnography, which is specially -objectionable, is the composition of the reviser. At least we should so -infer from the stupid arrogance which crops out in its last sentence, -and which is characteristic of the Prussia of to-day, intoxicated with -a temporary success which was, as any careful student of history will -conclude, intended for the purification of France rather than for the -exaltation of her opponent. “The present historical period,” he says, “is -directed by the Germanic Aryans, who are the leaders of modern Christian -civilization.” Comment is unnecessary. We venture to say that few of our -or anybody else’s readers have ever come across anything more impudent or -absurd. It is an insult to the American people, Catholic or non-Catholic, -to palm off on them such stuff as this. - -He also implies in another place that the German nation “worked out its -own civilization.” We have not heard of any nation that has done that, -but that the Germans did not is too manifest to admit of argument. - -The principal objection to the chapter, however, is the publication, -without note or comment of course, of two heresies with regard to the -origin of the human race, as being equally entitled to acceptance with -the Mosaic account. One of these is its origin from different original -pairs, the other what is commonly known as Darwinism. - -It is not worth while to give a more extended notice to a book of this -sort. This species of book can be turned off by any person with a -smattering of science who has the leisure for authorship, and who can -find a publisher. The market is flooded with such. We should not have -said anything about it had not our attention been called to it by a -friend on account of its dangerous character. - -It is high time that we had a complete series of really Catholic -text-books which would need no correction, either in their matter or in -the spirit in which they are written. We could put up even with inferior -ones for the sake of religion and the faith of our young people; but we -should not have to try very hard to come up to the standard of such books -as the one just noticed. - - NEW PRACTICAL MEDITATIONS for Every Day in the Year, on the - Life of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Chiefly intended for the use of - Religious Communities. By the Rev. Father Bruno Vercruysse, - S.J. The only complete English translation. New York and - Cincinnati: Benziger Brothers. 1875. - -We have seen several books of meditations, but none so _business-like_ -as this. The practice of mental prayer is by no means easy to everybody, -and needs much explanation and suggestive aid. Now, many of the manuals -which are offered as guides prove unsatisfactory to the user by either -suggesting too little or making the meditation for him. In the work -before us we see nothing of this kind to regret. The plan is in many -respects new. Indeed, the author calls special attention to the preface -in which he explains his method. - -Though “chiefly intended for religious communities,” these meditations -are well adapted for private individuals, both ecclesiastic and lay. -Moreover, a single “point” of each meditation will be found sufficient by -itself for those who have not time for more. The work is also “enriched -by several Novenas and Octaves; Meditations for the First Friday of every -month, and for the days of Communion; … a new method of hearing Mass, -and practical remarks on the different parts of meditations; a plan of -Jerusalem with a map of Palestine, showing the different localities -mentioned throughout the work, and an alphabetical table of contents, -and of meditations on the Gospels of the Sundays.” Also, for religious, -“Exercises preparatory to the renewal of vows, and for a retreat of eight -days.” - -Lastly, the approbation of his eminence Cardinal Deschamps, Archbishop -of Mechlin, speaks in unequivocal terms of the work’s merit. “These -Meditations,” he says, … “are remarkable for the solidity of doctrine, -the happy choice of subjects, and unctuous piety. The use of them cannot -fail to be very profitable to religious communities, to ecclesiastics, -and to those pious persons in the world who aspire to perfection.” - -Annexed also is the approbation of Father Charaux, S.J., Superior-General -of the Mission of New York and Canada; together with extracts from three -letters of Father Beckx, the General of the Jesuits, to the author. - - MADAME DE LAVALLE’S BEQUEST: Counsels to Young Ladies who - have Completed their Education. Translated from the fourth - French edition by a Sister of St. Joseph. Philadelphia: P. F. - Cunningham. 1875. - -There is no doubt that this book, written in a tone of genuine affection -and interest, and addressed to young ladies who have completed their -education, is one that might profitably be put into the hands of those -for whom it was written and translated. The only question seems to be -how best to commend it to their attention; for in these days of varied -and indiscriminate reading, the advice or recommendation of older people -is seldom asked, and a hurried glance at the contents of a book is often -sufficient to cause its rejection, as prosy or unattractive. - -To young ladies, also, who enjoying in a happy home the merited -confidence of their parents, and accustomed to few restrictions from -them, the minute and careful instructions and directions found in some -of the chapters might perhaps seem superfluous and a little amusing. -Yet, when they read the dedication, and recognize the fact that the book -was written under the eyes, as it were, of the Blessed Virgin, with the -approbation of her who was the truest lady as well as the purest woman -in the world, they will be disposed to accept with more humility and -gratitude suggestions which they must feel, if followed, would render -them more truly her imitators, more worthy of the name of her children. - -To those who have had the privilege and happiness of a convent education, -this book is of course appropriate. It will bring to their minds the -gentle teaching of those peaceful days, and act as a kind of charm in -recalling holy aspirations and resolutions. Especially will they welcome -it as proving the tender interest of their former teachers, which, though -no longer folded around them like a mantle, now attracts their attention, -as a signal waved from a secure haven, to encourage their frail barks, as -they push out on the uncertain waves of life. - -Thoughtful minds are glad to find in a book a companion and friend; to -such, and as such, we recommend this valuable Bequest. - - HERBERT’S WIFE: A STORY FOR YOU. By Minnie Mary Lee. Baltimore: - Kelly, Piet & Co. 1875. - -We again welcome the author of _The Heart of Myrrha Lake_ to the field -of Catholic literature. The writer possesses many of the qualifications -most essential to a writer of fiction--skill in the construction of -plots, ability to read character at sight, and a certain raciness and -vivacity of style, which holds the reader’s attention from first to -last, and gives her the preference over some writers of greater artistic -finish. In this is indicated our chief criticism and regret--that -one so well qualified should neglect that attention to detail which -characterizes the perfect artist. Not that we would advocate anything -stiff or “artificial,” for true art is always in harmony with nature. It -is precisely these exuberances and inaccuracies which cause the writer -subsequent annoyance, and for which the critical eye is needed, to prune -and correct. The plot of _Herbert’s Wife_, though simple, abounds in -vivid pictures of real life, and its incidents serve the moral purpose -of the story admirably. We do not doubt that each succeeding effort will -exhibit less and less of the defect alluded to. - - BREAKFAST, LUNCHEON, AND TEA. By Marian Harland. Author of - _Common Sense in the Household_. New York: Scribner, Armstrong - & Co. 1875. - -This is decidedly the most sensible, and, we may add, entertaining book -on domestic economy we remember to have met. “Marian Harland” has -evidently availed herself of her skill as a novelist in sugar-coating -a subject supposed to be unpalatable to those for whom the book is -intended, the instructions being conveyed in the form of “Familiar -Talks with the Reader.” If the writer succeeds in inducing her fair -countrywomen to become proficients in the art she teaches, much will -have been added to the substantial comfort of households, and a truer -appreciation reached of the services of good domestics. - - LINGARD’S HISTORY OF ENGLAND, ABRIDGED: With a Continuation - from 1688 to 1854. By James Burke, A.B. And an Appendix to - 1873. The whole preceded by a Memoir of Dr. Lingard, and - Marginal Notes. By M. J. Kerney, A. M. Baltimore: J. Murphy & - Co. 1875. - -This is a library edition of the abridgment heretofore issued by the same -house, printed on better paper, and making a handsome octavo of 688 pages. - -Lingard’s is still considered the standard English History by Catholic, -and by an increasing number of impartial non-Catholic, students, and as -it is probable that comparatively few readers will consider they have -time enough for the entire work, this edition is likely to be a favorite -one with book-buyers. - - THE CATHOLIC PREMIUM-BOOK LIBRARY. First Series, 8vo. New York - and Cincinnati: Benziger Brothers. 1875. - -The six volumes we have seen of this series seem to be creditable -specimens, both in matter and illustrations, and the publishers are to -be commended for their contributions towards a class of literature which -needed attention. We cannot well have too many books which are attractive -in style and healthful in tone at the same time. The works having been -taken from the French, the translations have been made by competent -hands, and the pictures have much greater pretensions to being termed -illustrations than many which are made to do duty in that capacity. We -think, however, that the publishers’ American printers and binders could -have produced better work than the letter-press and “imitation cloth” -binding of these volumes. - -The same publishers also issue a duodecimo and an 18mo series of the -same library. - - WANN SPRICHT DIE KIRCHE UNFEHLBAR? ODER: NATUR UND ZWECK DES - KIRCHLICHEN LEHRAMTS. Von Thomas Franz Knox, Priester des - Oratoriums in London. Regensburg: Georg Joseph Manz. 1874. - -We are glad to see that Father Knox’s work has met the appreciation -in Germany of which this translation is the evidence. The publication -may also, we presume, be taken as an indication of the feeling which a -community of interests and dangers engenders, and which is drawing the -members of the one fold in different lands into closer relations and -sympathies. - - -BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS RECEIVED. - - From D. & J. SADLIER & CO., New York: Rose Leblanc. By Lady - Georgiana Fullerton. 16mo, pp. 220.--The Two Victories. By Rev. - T. J. Potter. Third edition. 16mo, pp. 170.--Olive’s Rescue, - etc. 18mo, pp. 149.--True to the End. 18mo, pp. 150.--The - Little Crown of St. Joseph. Compiled and translated by a Sister - of St. Joseph. 24mo, pp. 347. - - --The Double Triumph: A Drama. By Rev. A. J. O’Reilly. Paper, - 16mo, pp. 66.--The Foundling of Sebastopol: A Drama. By W. - Tandy, D.D. Paper, 16mo, pp. 70. - - --A Politico-Historical Essay on the Popes as the Protectors of - Popular Liberty. By Henry A. Brann, D.D. 8vo, pp. 30, paper. - - From G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, New York: Philosophy of Trinitarian - Doctrine. By Rev. A. J. Pease. 12mo, pp. 183. - - From LEE & SHEPARD, Boston: Socialistic, Communistic, - Mutualistic, and Financial Fragments. By W. B. Greene. 16mo, - pp. 271. - - From KELLY, PIET & CO., Baltimore: Emmore, etc. 18mo, - pp. 99.--Trouvaille, etc. By Lady Georgiana Fullerton. - 18mo.--Reparation, etc. Same author. - - From the AUTHOR: Mansions in the Skies: An Acrostic Poem on the - Lord’s Prayer. By W. P. Chilton, Jr. 12mo, pp. 27. - - From ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston: Through the year: Thoughts - Relating to the Seasons of Nature and the Church. By Rev. H. N. - Powers. 16mo, pp. 288. - - From BAKER, GODWIN & CO., New York: Reports of the Board of - Directors and the Committees of the Xavier Union, New York, - etc. 1875. - - From J. W. SCHERMERHORN & CO., New York: The Mosaic Account of - the Creation, the Miracle of To-day; or, New Witnesses of the - Oneness of Genesis and Science. By Chas. B. Warring. 1875. - - From HENRI OUDIN, Paris: Les Droits de Dieu et les Idées - Modernes. Par l’Abbé François Chesnel. 8vo, pp. xxxix., 394. - - From the AUTHOR: The Proposed Railway across Newfoundland: a - Lecture. By Rev. Father Morris. 8vo, pp. vi., 46, paper. - - - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XXI., No. 126.--SEPTEMBER, 1875. - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by Rev. I. T. -HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. - - -THE RIGHTS OF THE CHURCH OVER EDUCATION. - -FROM LES ETUDES RELIGIEUSES, ETC. - -Of all the questions which preoccupy--and justly--public opinion, and on -which war is declared against the Catholic Church, one of the most vital -is that of education. - -“It is certain that instruction is, in fact, the great battle-field -chosen in our days by the intelligent enemies of the faith. It is there -they hope to take captive the youth of France, and to train up future -generations for impiety and scepticism. And it must be admitted that -they conduct this war with a skill which is only equalled by their -perseverance.”[167] - -We endeavored to point out, in a former article, the intentions of -the enemies of the church, the depth of the abyss they are digging -for Christian society, and the infernal art which they have shown in -combining their plan of attack.[168] Since then, a first success has -befallen them to justify their hopes and inflame their ardor. We may -expect to see them increase their efforts to carry the fortress. Why -should they not succeed when they have opposed to them only divided -forces? - -Happen what may, however, we must remain true to ourselves. It is -our duty to hold fast the standard of our faith, in spite of the -contradictions of human reason; and to oppose to the pagan error, that -the state is master of education, the Christian truth, that the church -alone is endowed with the power to educate the young.… The opponents -of the church on this point are of two classes. One consists of those -who never belonged to her, or who do so no longer; the other, of those -who still call themselves her children. The former are principally -Protestants, and those philosophical adversaries of revelation who deny, -with more or less good faith, Catholic doctrine, and pretend to find -nothing in it but illusion and blind credulity. These are, it must be -owned, consistent with themselves when they refuse to the church the -rights she claims over education. Their logic is correct; but it is the -logic of error, and to contend with such adversaries we should have to -begin with a proof of Christianity. That is not our object. Whatever may -be their error, however, on the subjects of Christian revelation and the -church, we hope to be able to convince them that a spirit of encroachment -and ambition of rule has no part in the pretensions of the church, in the -matter of the education of the young. Rather, they ought to acknowledge, -with us, that therein we only fulfil a duty the most sacred, the most -inviolable--that of conducting Christian souls to their supreme and -eternal destiny. - -But what is far less excusable is the inconsistency of certain Catholics. -They are persuaded, they say, of the truth of the Catholic religion; -they profess to believe her doctrine, to submit to her authority; and -yet one sees them make common cause with the enemies of their faith in -repudiating all control of the church in questions of instruction and of -education. It is for these especially we write, in the hope of convincing -them that, in challenging for herself not only complete liberty to teach -her children divine and human science, but also the moral and religious -direction of all Christian schools, the Catholic Church claims nothing -but what is her right, and pretends to nothing more than the legitimate -exercise of a necessary and divine power. Would that they could -understand, in short, that no Catholic can, without inconsistency and -without a kind of apostasy, assent to the exclusion of the Church from -the supervision of instruction, and to the whole of it being directed by -the sole authority of the civil power! - - -I.--THE PRINCIPLES OF SOLUTION IN THE PRESENT QUESTION. - -The whole Christian theory of education rests on the following twofold -truth taught by the Catholic Church: that man is created by God for a -supernatural end, and that the church is the necessary intermediary -between man and his supreme destiny. These two points cannot be admitted -without admitting, also, that the church is right in all the rest. -Unfortunately, nothing is less common than the clear understanding of -these truths, essential as they are to Christianity. It will, therefore, -not be unprofitable to take a brief survey of them. - -The Christian religion does not resemble those philosophical theories -which an insignificant minority of the human race have been discussing -for three thousand years without arriving at any conclusion, and which -have no practical issue for the rest of mankind. Its aim, on the -contrary, is essentially practical. From the first it addresses itself, -not to a few persons of the highest culture, but to all indifferently, -rich and poor, learned and ignorant. It is designed for every one, -because every one has a soul, created in the image of God, and because -this soul religion alone can save--that is to say, conduct to its -ultimate end, by rendering it at last conformable to its divine type, -to the infinite perfections of God. But especially is Christianity -practical, because, without any long discussions, it says to every one -of us, “I am the voice of God revealing to men truths which it is their -duty to believe, virtues which it is their duty to practise in this life -in order to deserve, after death, everlasting happiness in the very bosom -of God. Here are my credentials; they affirm the mission I have received -from on high. Believe, then, the Word of God; practise his precepts, and -you will be saved.” Her credentials having been verified, it comes to -pass that multitudes of men yield faith to the teachings of Christianity -as coming from God; they place themselves under her obedience, and the -Christian society is founded, with its hierarchy, its object clearly -defined, and its special means determined by Jesus Christ, its divine -founder. - -But is it all, and will it be sufficient to call one’s self Christian, -to be enrolled in the number of believers, to have received baptism, and -to practise with more or less fidelity the precepts of the divine and -ecclesiastical law? To suppose that it is, is the fatal error of a number -of modern Christians, as unacquainted with their religion as they are -lukewarm in fulfilling its duties. Thus understood, would Christianity -have done anything but add to the religions of the philosophers -incomprehensible mysteries, exceedingly troublesome practices, and -ceremonies as meaningless to the mind as useless to the soul? Far from -this, Christianity is itself, also, radical after its fashion. It -deprives man of nothing which constitutes his nobility; it enriches it -rather. It does not oppose his legitimate aspirations for what is great, -for what is beautiful; it hallows them rather. It does not deny him the -gratification of any of his loftier and more generous instincts; it only -supplies them with an object infinitely capable of contenting them. In -a word, it does not destroy nature; it transforms and deifies it, by -communicating to it a supernatural and divine life. - -What is life in mortal man but the movement of all his powers in quest of -an object which gives them happiness? Well, then, Christianity lays hold -of these human powers, and, in order to transform them, it infuses into -them a new principle, which is grace--that is, the virtue of God uniting -itself to the soul; it places a higher end before them--the possession -of God in his own essence, an infinite object of knowledge and of love; -it enables them, indeed, to bring forth works not possible to our frail -nature without a divine illumination which enlightens the intelligence, -and without a holy inspiration which strengthens and assists the will. -It is a completely new man grafted on the root of the natural man. It -is a new way of living, wherein, under the influence of a supernatural -and divine principle, our feelings become purified by finding their -source in God, our knowledge enlarges, because it penetrates even into -the mysteries of the divine essence, and our love becomes limitless as -God himself, the only true good, whom we love in himself, and in his -creatures, the reflex of himself. - -We know well that rationalistic philosophy, when it hears us speak of a -divine life, of union with God by a higher principle than nature, shrugs -its shoulders, and with superb self-complacency rings the changes on the -words illusion, mysticism, extravagance. But what matter? Has it ever, -like us, had any experience of this second life of the soul, so as to -understand its reality and its grandeur? Its God, silent and solitary, -exists only for reason. He will never issue from his eternal repose. He -will not meddle with his creatures to constitute their happiness. This is -not the God to satisfy our nature, thirsting for the infinite. He is not -the God of Christianity whom we have learned to know and to love. - -But to return to the church. Manhood is not the work of a day. Thirty -years at the least pass away before the human being arrives at maturity, -passing successively through the stages of infancy, boyhood, and youth. -What care, what pains, and what active solicitude are needed for his -education! A mother, a father, a master, devote themselves to it by -turns. Fortunate if, after all, these efforts are crowned with success! -Is it to be said that it costs less time and labor to bring a soul to -spiritual maturity, to raise it to the perfection of this divine life? A -day, a year--will they suffice to enlighten the intelligence with truths -it must believe, to instruct it in obligations it must fulfil, but, above -all, to form in it a habit of all those virtues it is bound to practise? -Or is its education so different from the natural education that it can -dispense with an instructor? Will the child, unaided, raise itself to -God--we mean to the highest degree of moral perfection, of Christian -sanctity? It would be folly to suppose it. It needs, therefore, a master; -some one charged with the duty of teaching it truth, of forming it in -virtue. Who is this instructor? Is it any other than that one to whom -Jesus Christ, the divine but invisible Master, once said, “As my Father -has sent me, I send you. Go then, teach all nations; teaching them to -observe my whole law.” This instructor is the church, represented by her -pastors, the lawful successors of the apostles. - -This principle must be borne in mind, this indisputable truth of revealed -doctrine. We shall see the consequences of it presently. We assert that -the church, and the church alone, has received from Jesus Christ the -power of forming the supernatural man--the Christian in the full force of -that term. No one else can pretend to it. Not the state, with its power; -not private individuals, with their knowledge, however great; not even -the father or mother of the family, great as is the authority over their -children’s souls with which God has invested them. And wherefore? Because -the church alone possesses the means indispensable for a Christian -education. - -These means are of three kinds. In the name of God, the church gives -truth to the understanding; she imposes a law on the will; and she -dispenses grace, without which the Christian would lack power to believe -the truth and to fulfil the law. Withdraw these things, and Christian -education ceases to exist. You deliver up the understanding to human -opinions; therein it loses faith. The will becomes a law to itself; that -is to say, it has no other law to guide it than its own caprices and -passions; and then, the moral force disappearing, man in the face of duty -is oftener than not powerless to fulfil it. Now, who is it whom God has -charged with the duty of preserving amongst men, and of communicating -to every generation the treasure of revealed truths? Who is it who -represents on earth the divine power, and has the right of enlightening -consciences on the subjects of justice and injustice, of right and wrong? -Whom, in short, has Jesus Christ appointed minister of his sacraments to -distribute to souls the supernatural succors of grace? The church, and -the church alone. To her have all generations of mankind been entrusted -throughout the progress of the ages, in order that she may bring them -forth to spiritual life, and form in them Jesus Christ, the divine model -whom Christian education ought to reproduce in every one of us. It is, -then, true that the formation of the supernatural man, of the Christian, -is the proper ministry of the church; that this ministry constitutes -a part of her essential functions; that it is, in a sense, her whole -mission on earth; so much so, that she could not abdicate it without -betraying her trust, without abandoning the object of her mission, and -overthrowing the whole work of Christianity. - -This is a fundamental principle which no sincere Catholic could think of -rejecting, so solidly is it based on revelation, and so conformable is it -to the principles of faith. There remains, consequently, only to deduce -from it its consequences, and to point out how the whole claim of power -over the instruction and education of Christian youth which the church -asserts flows from it as a necessary and logical deduction. Now the -church herself having been careful to determine the rights which belong -to her, it is her word we shall take for our guide, it is her doctrine we -propose to defend. It is clearly annunciated in the Encyclical _Quanta -Cura_, and in the _Syllabus_, the most authentic exposition of the mind -of the church on all the disputed questions of the day, as it is the most -assailed. - - -II.--POSITION OF THE QUESTION. - -For nearly three centuries the government of France has labored with -indefatigable persistency and energy to concentrate in its hands all -the social powers, and to constitute itself, as it were, the universal -motive-cause in the state. Autonomy of provinces, communal franchises, -individual or collective precedence in certain great public services, all -have successively disappeared before the continual encroachments of the -central power. Thus the state is no longer a living organism of its own -life, at once manifold and ordered. It has become a huge mechanism, whose -thousands of wheels, inert and powerless of themselves, move only at the -impulse of the centre of the motive forces. To make of society a kind of -human machine may be the ideal of a certain materialist and socialist -school. It has never been the idea of Christianity. We Christians have -too much regard for our personal dignity, we know too well the limits of -the functions of the civil power, thus to abdicate all spontaneity, all -precedence of our own, and to consent to become nothing but mere parts of -a machine, when we can be, and ought to be, activities full of life and -movement. - -In the matter of education especially, what errors have not been -committed, of what usurpations has not the civil power incurred the -guilt? By the creation of an official, pattern university, monopolizing -instruction, and subject exclusively to the direction of the government, -all the authorities to whom belonged formerly the instruction and -education of youth have been suppressed at one blow. There is no longer -any right recognized, any action suffered, but that of the state, master -both of school and pay. Everything by the state, everything for the -state, this through long weary years has been the undiscussable maxim -against which Catholic consciences, little disposed to sacrifice their -right to the usurped power of the government, struggled in vain. - -At last, thanks to the persistent protest of those consciences, so long -despised; the principle has lost its pretended obviousness, and the fact -itself has received its first check--sure prelude of its approaching -disappearance. The moment seems to have arrived when those who have the -right ought to claim their legitimate share in the exercise of a function -eminently social. Now all have a right here. The government has its -rights; as responsible for the good and evil which befall society; for -the evil, to check and prevent it; for the good, to help in effecting -it. The church has her rights, because she is the great moral power in -society, and there is question here, pre-eminently, of a moral function. -The family has its rights, for it is its fruit which has to be reared and -instructed. Individuals, even, have their rights--the right of devotion -and sacrifice in behalf of a holy work, and of a ministry which, more -than any other, stands in need of those graces. - -Here are, assuredly, enough of rights, despised for three-quarters of -a century, and swallowed up in the insatiable power of the state. It -would be a deed worthy of our generation to re-establish all in their -original and proper order. It is being attempted, we know, and already -the National Assembly[169] has begun to concede an instalment of justice -to the family and to individuals. But the church! Why is silence kept -concerning her? Why is it sought to exclude her from the debate, and -to treat her claims as null and void? We Catholics cannot accept this -disavowal of our rights. It concerns us to ascertain what place they -propose to assign to our church in the modern state. We should like to -know whether we still belong to a Christian society, or must prepare to -defend the rights of our conscience in a state decidedly pagan. - -What are these rights? What do we demand for the church? What position, -in short, do we wish to see her assume in all that concerns the education -of youth? Such are the questions we propose to solve. We will state -them with yet more precision. When there is question of the rights of -the church in communities, three hypotheses are possible according -to the different conditions of those communities. We may suppose a -state religiously constituted--that is to say, wherein the gospel -and Christianity are not only the rule of life and the religion of -individuals, but, besides, the foundation of legislation, the worship -adopted in the manifestations of public piety; whatever may be, in other -respects, the general aspect of the relations established, by common -consent, between the church and the state. - -In opposition to this first hypothesis there exists another--that of -a civil society, wherein the religious authority and the political -authority have the appearance of ignoring one another; wherein the state -affects indifference with regard to all religions, fosters no one of -them, and, limiting its action exclusively to the material interests of -the community, leaves individuals to embrace and practise whichever -of the worships suits them best. To borrow the popular formula, such a -constitution would realize “a free church in a free state”; or, more -exactly, “a state separated from the church.”[170] - -Lastly, modern times have given birth to a third kind of political -constitution, a mean between the two preceding ones, in which Catholicity -is no longer the base of the social edifice in preference to every -other religion, and is only one of the public worships recognized by -the state; at times that of the majority of the citizens, and observed -as such in the religious solemnities in which the government takes a -part. In this hypothesis, the state remains religious, but it is neither -Catholic nor Protestant. A Christianism vague and general enough to lend -itself to all communions, a kind of rational deism, rather, inspires its -legislation; honor is done to ministers of recognized worships, and when -government feels a need of betaking itself to God, in order to implore -his mercy, or to give him thanks for his blessings, it orders prayer -in all the places of worship without distinction. Manifold, as may be -supposed, are the shades of difference in the manner of constituting a -state of such indefinite religious forms. It is nevertheless true that -the greater number of our modern constitutions reproduce, more or less, -the type we have just sketched. Are we to see in this merely a kind -of transition between ancient communities, which almost all realized -the first hypothesis, and the communities of the future? Or will the -state, separated from the church, organize itself and govern itself -in a complete independence of all religion? This is the dream of our -free-thinkers. For the happiness of humanity, we hope it will not be -realized. - -In addition to these three hypotheses there remains the state persecutor -of the church. But although this is by no means uncommon in these -days, it does not enter into our present subject; which is limited to -determining the rights and action of the church in a tranquil and, up to -a certain point, regular state of things. - -Further, Christianity being to us truth, and the Catholic Church the -only true Christianity, it evidently follows that the first hypothesis -constitutes the normal state of society, that in which it attains -its end with the greatest perfection by the most abundant and most -appropriate means. Religion, in short, is as necessary to communities as -to individuals; and of all religions, only the true one can be a real -element of the prosperity of states. - -The problem to solve, then, is as follows: First to examine and determine -the rights which belong to the church in a well-organized society--that -is to say, in a Christian or Catholic society. Then, when we know the -better, the more perfect, to lay down the necessary and the possible, in -communities where human passions have made for the church an inferior -position, but little favorable to the full exercise of her rights. - - -III.--CHRISTIAN EDUCATION IN A CHRISTIAN STATE. - -The Jews in this resembled, to a certain extent, a Christian--that is -a Catholic--people; namely, that amongst them one of the tribes had -been chosen by God to be wholly consecrated to his service, and to be -devoted exclusively to the ministry of the altars. So also, but with -the difference demanded by the new conditions of the priesthood, God -chooses amongst the faithful his clerics, divinely called to exercise the -sacerdotal functions; for under the New Law, as under the Old, no one can -pretend to this honor unless he be called of God. Here, then, are two -categories of individuals in the nation; those who, by divine vocation, -are destined for the service of the church, and those who continue in -the ordinary condition of Christians--the ecclesiastics and the laics. -The distinction is necessary, because the church does not claim the same -rights in regard to both. - -_The Rights of the Church over the Education of Clerics._--The education -of clerics--of young men, that is, who devote themselves to the -ecclesiastical ministry--has always been the object of the liveliest -solicitude of the church. Solely anxious to see the knowledge of the -faith and true piety flourish among the faithful entrusted to her care, -could she forget that people conform themselves to the model of those -who govern them, and that the essential condition for enlightening -understandings in the truths of religion, as well as for inclining -their hearts to the practice of Christian virtues, is first to fashion -a clergy solidly instructed and sincerely pious? In Thomassin[171] may -be found innumerable examples testifying to the solicitude of the church -on the subject of schools wherein young clerics are instructed. But the -most solemn act, and the most prolific in happy results, that has been -accomplished for this object, is, without contradiction, the decree of -the holy Council of Trent, directing all the bishops, metropolitans, and -other pastors charged with the government of the church to erect, each -in their respective dioceses, a house or seminary for the purpose of -lodging there, of instructing in ecclesiastical science, and bringing up -in ecclesiastical virtue, the children of the town, diocese, or province, -who shall show signs of a true divine vocation.[172] - -At the same time that it directs the institution of seminaries, the -council is at the pains to explain their great usefulness, the necessity, -even, of them for the church, as the only efficacious means of always -providing zealous as well as solidly instructed ministers. It lays down -also the way of life which should be observed within them, the studies to -which especially the young men should devote themselves, the means to be -employed by the masters for the complete education of their pupils, and -even the resources of which the bishops will be able to avail themselves -to help to defray the expenses of these precious schools. - -It may have been already remarked how the council regulates everything -of its own authority and without asking aught of secular powers. It -proves the church’s right to herself alone institute and organize her -ecclesiastical seminaries. But that which decisively manifests her mind -on this point is the care which the Council of Trent takes to place the -entire administration of these schools in the hands of the bishops, -assisted by two of the oldest and most prudent of the cathedral chapter, -chosen by them under the inspiration of the Holy Ghost.[173] Such is the -authority to which belongs exclusively the right of regulating all that -concerns the education of clerics. Neither can the lay faithful, nor -Christian families, nor, still less, governments, meddle at all with this -work, which is exclusively the affair of the church. Accordingly, in the -forty-sixth proposition of the _Syllabus_, the Sovereign Pontiff, Pius -IX., has reproved, proscribed, and condemned the doctrine of those who -pretend “to subject to civil authority the method to be followed in the -theological seminaries.” - -The church claims, then, complete liberty to choose her ministers -herself, and to form them in the manner which seems to her most -desirable. This is no privilege which she asks of the state, it is a -right which she holds from Jesus Christ, and by his divine appointment: -the right of existing, the right of perpetuating herself upon earth by -keeping up her hierarchy of teaching pastors and faithful taught, and -in recruiting from among the latter those whom God himself calls to the -honors of the priesthood. - -And, in truth, to what rights over the education of clerics can a civil -government pretend? Is it to judge of the knowledge which is necessary -for the ministers of the altar? But is not the church appointed by -Jesus Christ the sole guardian of revealed truth, and has not she alone -received the mission of teaching the peoples? Can it be, indeed, to -discern in the subjects who present themselves a divine vocation, and -the degree of virtue requisite for a priest? But for such discernment, -has, then, the civil power the special illumination of the Holy Ghost? -Does it know the mysterious action of grace in the soul, and does God -reveal to it his secrets? Or can it be, as some governments have not been -afraid to do, to determine the number of young men who ought every year -to respond to the call of God and enrol themselves in the sacred army? -Impious and sacrilegious pretension! which says to the Spirit of God, -“Thus far shall your inspirations go, and no farther.” As if the state, -and not God, were the judge of the church’s needs! As if the civil power -had received from Jesus Christ the commission to fix annually in the -budget the effective of men employed in his divine service, after the -same fashion as it regulates the annual contingent of soldiers called to -the service of the state! - -But no, not one of these pretensions is tenable. The state has no power -whatever over the education of clerics; and the church, by its divine -institution, is alone competent for this work, necessary above all to its -existence and the perpetuity of its action in the world. - -Such are the rights of the church in this first department of education. -They are absolute, exclusive, and inalienable. What have we next to say -of those she possesses in the education of the laity? - -_The Rights of the Church over Public Education._--That which certain -Catholics refuse to the church, even in a community Christianly -constituted, is not the right of giving instruction in the public -schools, and making her influence felt there to the advantage of the -morality and good education of the youth. No one but a rationalist or -free-thinker can deny the necessity of making religion the foundation of -all education, if we would bring up Christians, and not unbelievers. More -than this, these same Catholics acknowledge, besides, that the church -by her priests, and her religious devoted to the education of youth, -enjoys the right possessed by all citizens of opening public schools -and teaching, not only the verities of the Catholic faith, but letters -and human science in all its branches. They are generally advocates of -freedom of instruction to its utmost extent; and the power they accord to -the humblest citizen they do not commit the folly of refusing to those -whose character, knowledge, and disinterestedness best qualify them for -those delicate functions. - -Here, then, are two acknowledged rights of the church, on which we need -not insist further. First, the right of providing religious instruction -for the youth at school, and their education according to the principles -of Christian morality. Secondly, the right of giving, herself, to -children and to young people, whose families entrust them to her, a -complete education, embracing instruction in letters and in the secular -sciences; the right, consequently, of founding religious congregations -entirely consecrated to the ministry of instruction and Christian -education; the right of establishing these institutions, providing for -their recruitment, and for their material means of existence. All this, -it is acknowledged, constitutes the normal condition of the church in -communities which concede a just share of influence to the Catholic -religion, to its ministers, and to all those who are inspired with its -spirit of devotion to the general welfare. But observe the points of -divergence between the Catholics of whom we are speaking and those who -are more jealous to preserve intact the rights conferred by Jesus Christ -upon his church. According to the former, a distinction must be made -between religious education and literary or scientific education. The -former, by its object and by its end, escapes from the competence of the -state to re-enter what is exclusively the province of the church. It is -different with literary and scientific instruction. That, they say, is -a social service which belongs, like other services of a similar kind, -to the jurisdiction of the city or nation. The exercise of the teaching -ministry is undoubtedly free. Private individuals are entitled to devote -themselves to it without let or hindrance. But the direction of this -ministry should be ascribed to the state, the only judge of whatever -affects the present and the future of society. Guardian of order, of -justice, and of morals in the community, it is the duty of government -itself to regulate the discipline of public schools, the instruction -which is given there, the academic titles which open the way to certain -civil or administrative careers, and the choice of masters; who, at any -rate, should not have incurred any of the disqualifications determined -by the law. Moreover, since its functions impose on it the duty of -encouraging, as much as possible, useful institutions, and such as are -essential to public prosperity, the government is bound to support -schools founded by private individuals; and even, if there be not enough -of them for the needs of the people, to institute others by its own -authority, and out of the public funds. This, according to them, belongs -to the domain of the state. Here it reigns supreme, without having -to share its power with any other power, civil or religious. Public -instruction is a branch of administration on the same grounds as war or -finance. - -Thus think and speak Catholics of the modern political school. Unluckily -for them, such is not the doctrine of the church. Pius IX., in the -forty-fifth proposition of the _Syllabus_, explicitly condemns the -opinion we have just described, and which he formulates in the following -terms: “The whole direction of public schools, in which the youth of a -Christian state is brought up, with the exception, to a certain extent, -of episcopal seminaries, can be and ought to be vested in the civil -authority, and that in such a manner that the right of no other authority -should be recognized to interfere with the discipline of those schools, -with the curriculum of studies, with the conferring of degrees, or with -the choice or approval of masters.” This, however specious, is thus -erroneous, and no Catholic can maintain it. It is, in fact, false in a -two-fold point of view--false in a merely natural point of view, because -it ascribes to the state a function which, in default of the church, -belongs exclusively to the family; false also, and especially, in a -supernatural point of view, because it separates what ought to be united, -the temporal consequences of education, and its supernatural end. We will -expose this twofold error. - -Under the empire of a nondescript philosophical paganism, our modern -politicians have a striking tendency to enlarge more and more in -society the circle of governmental privileges. One would suppose, to -listen to them, that it was the function of power to completely absorb -all the organic elements which go to make a nation, and to leave no -longer existing side by side of it, or beneath it, aught but inert -individualities, social material capable of receiving impulse and -movement only from it. Healthy reason protests against a theory so -destructive of the most indispensable elements of social prosperity. -Families collecting into cities forfeited none of their natural rights; -cities, in associating themselves in nations did not pretend to abdicate -all their powers. What both sought, on the contrary, in association, -was a stronger guarantee of those very rights; it was the maintenance -of the most inviolable justice in human relations; it was, in short, an -efficient protection against violence and oppression, whether from within -or without. - -What! Are we to admit that the right and the duty of educating children -sprung from society, and was originated by it? The bare thought is folly. -From the first creation of the family, God willed that the infant should -come into the world in feebleness and impotence; that, physically, -intellectually, and morally, it should have need of a long and toilsome -education before becoming a complete man. On whom was it, then, that -he imposed a natural obligation of undertaking and accomplishing its -education? Certainly not on society, which did not then exist. It was on -the family itself, on the father especially, who is its responsible head. -The power of engendering human beings includes of necessity the duty of -not leaving such a work incomplete--the duty, consequently, of guiding -the infant up to full manhood. - -The family thus, by virtue of a law of nature, possesses the power of -instructing and educating the understanding and will of the child born -of it; and this power the family does not lose by being associated with -others in social life. For, we repeat, the state is not instituted to -absorb into its collective life all pre-existing rights. The act of union -merely consecrates those rights by placing them under the protection of -public authority. But when this authority, instead of protecting the -rights of the family, proceeds to take possession of them, it commits an -usurpation, it breaks the social pact, by making itself guilty of the -very crime which it ought to prevent. - -Nothing less than the utter and ruinous confusion of ideas introduced -by the philosophy of the last century, and by its absurd theories -about the Social Contract, could have caused principles so clear and -so indisputable to be lost sight of, and all the usurpations of the -liberty and rights of families and individuals by the civil power to be -legitimized. But, be the errors of the time what they may, it is not -fitting that we Catholics should be either their accomplices or their -dupes. Enlightened by faith, our reason must hold fast those principles -on which human society is based, and were we to be their only defenders, -it would be to our honor to have maintained them against all the -negations of the spirit of system. To judge, then, only by reason, the -state has not those rights over the education of youth which a certain -school ascribes to it. - -We asserted, moreover, that the opinion of this school is also false in -a supernatural point of view, because it separates what ought to be -united, because it makes the inference the principle, and despises the -one in order to attach itself exclusively to the other. And here we touch -the pith of the question. - -It is alleged, a public education good or bad, has very serious -consequences for society. Its security or its ruin may depend on it, and, -anyhow, nothing more vitally affects its peace, strength, and prosperity. -The power, therefore, with which the government of a community is -invested cannot be a matter of indifference in education. It ought, then, -to superintend and direct it, and to place itself at its head, as it -naturally does of every social function. We shall presently see how much -this reasoning is worth. It includes three things--a principle, a fact, -and an inference. The principle is as follows: Whatever is for society an -element of strength and progress, and can cause its prosperity and decay, -is within the competence of the civil authority and ought to be subject -to it. The fact is affirmed in the premises of the argument, to wit, -that public education, according as it is good or bad, is naturally of -serious consequence to the state. Whence the inference, that it ought to -be subject to the civil authority--that is, to the government. - -The principle we dispute; the fact is explained and vindicated in another -way, and the inference is inconsequential. - -First, it is not true that whatever affects the prosperity of the state -ought of necessity to belong to the jurisdiction of the civil power, -and to be subject to its direction and control. Are not commerce and -manufacture elements of national prosperity? Is it necessary, on that -account, that the government should assume the direction of them, -and that nothing should be done in those two departments of social -activity except by it. No. In these the office of power is limited to -causing right and justice to be respected in industrial and commercial -transactions, to intervene in contentions to decide what is just, to -secure the observance of positive laws enacted by it for the purpose -of applying to every particular case the general principles of the -natural and of the divine law. The rest is an affair of individual -enterprise among citizens. Thus, in the question which engages us, that -the education of youth ought to contribute much towards the prosperity -of a state is not sufficient reason to induce us to resign the whole of -it into the hands of the civil power. We must further inquire if there -is not some one in the community authorized, by the law of nature or by -divine right, to assume its direction and control. If this be so, it will -not do to invest the state with a right which belongs to another. - -In the second place, the happiness and prosperity of a state are -certainly the result of a good education of its youth; of a complete -education, that is, well conducted; such, in a word, as gives to the -young man all the qualities of perfect manhood. Now, this education is, -of necessity, Christian education, in which the state can do nothing--the -church, and the church alone, as we have endeavored to show, everything. - -What, once more, is education? We have already defined it: the work of -fitting a man to fulfil his destiny; to place the faculties of man in a -condition of sufficing for themselves, and of pursuing, with the help of -God, the end which is allotted to them. Such, clearly, is the work of -education; such the end it must of necessity propose to itself. Suppose -that in educating a child this consideration of his final destiny should -be neglected, that he was brought up with an eye solely to a proximate -and terrestrial end, beyond which he could do nothing. Could such an -education be called complete? Could it be called sufficient? Would it -deserve even the name of education? Undoubtedly not. That child would not -have been educated. He would never become a man, _vir_, in the full sense -of that term, because the vision of his intelligence would never reach -beyond the narrow horizon of this world; because his powers of well-doing -would necessarily be extremely limited; because, at last, he would miss -the end which every man is bound to attain, and would be compelled to -remain for ever nothing but an immortal abortion. - -Such is the necessity of recognizing man’s final end in education. That -must be its aim, that only, under pain of compromising all the rest. Is -there any need of mentioning the guarantees afforded by generations thus -educated, for the peace and happiness of communities? Has not true and -sincere piety, in the words of the apostle,[174] promise of this life as -well as of that of eternity? Is it in any other way than in practising -the virtues which make man a social being that we can hope to achieve -immortality? Thus to labor to render ourselves worthy of the destiny -which awaits us is, also, to prepare ourselves to become good citizens -of the earthly city, is to give to society the best possible security of -being useful as well as loyal to it. The greatest men of whom humanity -is proud, were they not at the same time the most virtuous? - -Now, we must repeat to Catholics who forget it, that there are not two -last ends for man, but only one; and that is the supernatural end of -which we treated at the commencement. Created by God to enjoy his glory -and his happiness through eternity, in vain would man seek elsewhere the -end of his efforts and of his existence. Everything in him tends towards -this end. It is his perfection, and in order to exalt himself to it, he -ought to give to his faculties the whole power of development of which -they are capable. Woe to him, but much more woe to those who have had -the responsibility of his education, if, through their fault, he does -not find himself on the level of his destiny; if, instead of gravitating -towards heaven in his rapid passage across life, he drags himself -miserably along the ground, wallowing in selfish interests and sensual -passions! - -But if this be so, what can the state do to guide souls to heights which -surpass itself? There is nothing to be done but to apply the principle -formulated by S. Thomas: “It is his to order means to an end, in whose -possession that end is”--_Illius est ordinare ad finem, cujus est -proprius ille finis_.[175] The supernatural transformation of the soul -into God, and eternal beatitude, which education ought invariably to -propose to itself, are not the objects of human society any more than of -the civil power which regulates it. That power is consequently incapable, -of itself, of ordaining the means which contribute to this supernatural -end. It cannot afford the very smallest assistance to education in this -respect, nothing to form the man, and to adapt him to the grand designs -of God in his behalf. In a word, education is not within the jurisdiction -of earthly governments. It is above their competence. - -What, then, is the power in the Christian communities commissioned with -the sublime ministry of the education of souls? Who has received from -God the divine mission of begetting them to the supernatural and divine -life, rough-drawn on earth, perfected in heaven? There is, there can -be, but one reply. The church! When he founded that august spiritual -society, Jesus Christ assigned to it as its end, to guide men to eternal -happiness; and on that account he endowed it with all the powers -necessary to ordain and to put in operation the proper means for this -end. Education conducted in a spirit fundamentally Christian--such is the -universal, indispensable mean, over which, consequently, the church has -exclusive rights. - -See then, established by Jesus Christ, the great instructress of the -human race--the only one which can rightfully pretend to direct public -education in Christian communities! That superintendence, that direction, -are an integral part of the pastoral ministry. The church cannot renounce -it without prevarication. - -Her reason, therefore, is obvious for insisting, with such obstinate -persistency, in claiming, everywhere and always, the exercise of a right -which she holds from God himself. Obvious is the reason for which the -Sovereign Pontiffs have so severely condemned a doctrine which is the -denial of this inalienable right for which, in the concordats concluded -with Catholic powers, a special clause invariably reserves for the church -the faculty of “seeing that youth receive a Christian education.”[176] - -Nothing is more clear than that, when the Catholic Church, in a Christian -state, claims for itself the ministry of public instruction, it is no -monopoly which it seeks to grasp for the profit of its clerics. It has -but one object, to wit, that instruction should have as wide a scope as -possible; and for this object she appeals to all devotedness. Laymen and -ecclesiastics, seculars and religious, all--all are besought to take a -part in this work of instructing the peoples. Whoever offers himself -with the necessary qualifications, a pure faith, Christian manners, and -competent knowledge, is welcome. To such an one the church opens a free -scope for his energies, to cultivate the rising generations under her -shelter and in co-operation with her, in order to enable them to bring -forth the fruits of knowledge and of virtue. What she does not assent -to, what she cannot assent to, is that, under the pretext of liberty of -instruction, the ravening wolf should introduce himself into the fold, -in the person of those teachers of errors and falsehood who lay waste -the flock by bringing into it discord and war; that, under the guise of -science and intellectual progress, they should sap the religious belief -of a people, assault Christian truth, and infect the young understanding -with the deadly poison of doubt and unbelief. No, indeed! Such havoc the -church can neither sanction nor allow them an opportunity to accomplish. -She remembers that she has received from Christ the care of souls, that -the salvation of his children has been entrusted to her keeping, and that -God will demand of her an account of their blood shed--that is to say, of -their eternal perdition. _Sanguinem ejus de manu tua requiram_ (Ezech. -iii. 18). As a watchful sentinel she keeps guard over the flock, and so -long as the criminal violence of human powers does not rob her of her -rights, neither the thieves nor the assassins of souls can succeed in -exercising their ravages. - -By way of recapitulation we will enunciate, in five or six propositions, -the whole of this doctrine of the rights of the church over education, -and thus place the reader in a better position for judging of its full -force and extent. - -1st. The education of clerics destined to ecclesiastical functions -is the exclusive right of the church. She alone regulates everything -connected with it, whether the erection of seminaries, or their interior -discipline, or the appointment of masters, or the instruction in letters -and science, or the good education of the pupils, or their admission -into the ecclesiastical body. - -2d. The church implicitly respects the right of families to provide a -private education for their children by whomsoever and in whatever manner -they prefer. Only she imposes on the consciences of Christian parents -the obligation of seeing to it that that education be religious and in -conformity with the faith they profess. - -3d. The superintendence and direction of the public schools, as well of -those wherein the mass of the people are instructed in the rudiments of -human knowledge, as of those where secondary and higher instruction are -given, belong of right to the Catholic Church. She alone has the right -of watching over the moral character of those schools, of approving the -masters who instruct the youth therein, of controlling their teaching, -and dismissing, without appeal to any other authority, those whose -doctrine or manners should be contrary to the purity of Christian -doctrine. - -4th. Subject to the condition of being able to guarantee pure faith, -irreproachable manners, and competent knowledge, entire liberty is left -to private individuals, ecclesiastics and laity, seculars and religious, -to devote themselves to the ministry of teaching and education of youth, -to form associations for this object, to found academies and universities -wherein the sciences are taught, and which govern themselves by their -internal discipline, the choice of masters, and the regulation of the -studies, programmes, examens, etc. The church only reserves to herself, -in their case, her right of superintendence in the matters of morality -and the integrity of the faith. - -5th. The church not only does not refuse the co-operation of the state -in education, but, on the contrary, she solicits it, whenever private -enterprise and her own resources do not suffice to enable her to extend -instruction as much as she would wish and as the welfare of peoples -demands. She then appeals to the communes, to the provinces, to the -nation, in order that everywhere the co-operation of the two powers may -effect the foundation of schools, the increase of the number of masters, -and may come to the aid of the indigent parents. But even in these -schools established with the concurrence of the civil power, if the state -may superintend the administration of material interests, the right of -direction and superintendence of teaching remains with the church. - -6th. Lastly, the power, nevertheless, which the church exercises -over public instruction does not hinder governments, if they deem it -expedient, from establishing schools where professors chosen by them -may give a special training to young people who devote themselves to -administrative and military careers. The administration and the army -belong, in fact, exclusively to the jurisdiction of governments. It is -but just, therefore, that they should be able to give to those who are -to belong to them the especial knowledge required for their employment. -Only, here, the civil or military authority contracts the same -obligations as those which bind the consciences of individuals, to wit, -to watch that there be nothing in those schools contrary to religion and -to good morals. - -Such is the whole doctrine of the Catholic Church with regard to -the education of youth in Christian states. Is there not in this -organization an ideal which one may justly long to see realized, since -it would be the solution of a certain number of problems which strangely -perplex our insecurely founded and badly balanced modern communities? -Two authorities, each having a distinct object, but united and being -mutually the complement one of the other, have the guardianship of human -interests--interests of time and interests of eternity. One, the civil -authority, has for its direct domain, temporal affairs. The other, the -religious authority, commands and directs in all that concerns the -supernatural life. The latter, having the responsibility of guiding -man from his birth up to his entrance into eternity, educates him, -instructs him, and transforms him into a perfect man, into a Christian -worthy by his virtues of the destiny which awaits him. The former -benefits generations thus formed, and out of these elements, so well -prepared to fulfil all the duties of the present life, it constitutes -social communities as so many provisional countries, where justice and -charity, loyally practised, present an image of the true and final -country--Heaven. Thus, the two powers lend to one another a mutual -support; the civil power, by securing to the spiritual power a complete -liberty of action; and the spiritual power, in its turn, by forming for -the state honest and perfect citizens. Thus peace and concord reign -throughout the entire society, interests harmonize, justice is loved, -order exists everywhere from the highest to the lowest step of the social -ladder, and every one, content with his position here on earth, because -his hopes are on high, is more intent on making himself better than on -overthrowing existing institutions that he may raise himself on their -ruins. - -Where is to be found, once more we demand, an ideal more grand and -more true than this conception of Christian society? The middle ages -were not far from realizing it. Unhappily, a work so well begun at the -inspiration of the church, first legists, courtiers of the civil power, -afterwards Protestantism and its direct off-shoot, rationalism, were fain -to interrupt it, and gradually to throw us back into a state of things -which threatens to become worse than paganism or barbarism. There is -yet time to return to truth, to right and order, which are impossible -to be found except in a society based on Christian principles. But will -peoples and legislators have a sufficiently clear perception of their -duty and their interest to stay themselves at once on the incline down -which they are gliding, and dragging us with them, towards a dark and -tempest-threatening future? - - -IV.--CONDUCT OF THE CHURCH IN NON-CHRISTIAN COMMUNITIES. - -In the eyes of the Catholic Church, Christianity is the divine afflatus, -breathing upon human society to give it a soul and infuse life. Without -her there can be in it no true nor prolific life, and every social -organization which is not inspired by Christianity is, of necessity, -defective and abnormal. The church cannot regard such an organization as -a benefit, much less as a progress beyond Christian communities.[177] -She deplores it, on the contrary, and she endeavors to persuade people -that it would be better for them to submit absolutely to religion, and -to take it as the guide and regulator of their social interests. Never -has the church concealed her desire, not to lord it over, but to direct -communities, to penetrate them with her spirit, to recover the salutary -influence over them which is their due, and which they cannot reject -without serious injury. The church has never made any mystery of this -ambition. Her enemies themselves are witnesses to it, even when they -permit themselves, as they too often do, to travesty and calumniate her -motives in order to render them odious. - -Lamentable, however, as may appear to her to be the inferior position -which is allotted to her in modern communities, she does not abandon -herself to useless regrets. Without renouncing her inalienable rights, -she sets out from a fact which it is not in her power to change, and -exhausts her ingenuity in making the best she can of it for the good -of souls. The little liberty and influence left to her, she employs -to fulfil her ministry; her zeal is inventive to supply by redoubled -vigilance the want of her ordinary means in the spiritual government. -Must not the work of God be accomplished on earth, in spite of the -difficulties, in spite of the impediments of all kinds devised by hell? - -Such, then, is the principle which regulates the conduct of the church -in states where her authority is disowned. To take into consideration -circumstances, established facts; to do nothing brusquely, but -using whatever power still remains to her, to exert every effort to -ameliorate the situation, to make herself more useful to the faithful -and to society. Let us see how she applies this rule to education in -non-Christian communities. - -We find first the communities wherein the constitution proclaims the -liberty of all worships, and their equality before the law. Here, the -Catholic Church has ceased to be the religion of the state, which no -longer lives in her spirit, no longer accepts her direction in matters of -religion and morality, but prefers independence to all the advantages of -a union with which it thinks it can dispense. How will the church act in -this novel position? In the name of liberty, and of the equal protection -accorded to every worship, she demands, first of all, the right of -recruiting her ministers, and that of training them according to her own -laws; the establishment of large and small seminaries, as well as their -administration by the bishops exclusively. This is the first need to -satisfy. It is her right, included in her claim to existence. - -She demands, moreover, that in the public schools created or authorized -by the government, religion be invariably the foundation of education; -that the pupils be instructed in the verities of the faith, and that -neither atheism nor religious indifferentism be taught there. She demands -that at least the primary schools remain denominational--that is to say, -specially appropriated to the children of every religion, and that the -Catholic clergy have free admission to the schools for Catholics. The -preservation of the faith in those young hearts is at stake here; for the -church knows by experience the doleful effects of an early education in -which religion has not had the principal part. Thus she may, with good -right, claim of a government, Christian in name, that it leave to the -religions protected by the law this legitimate amount of influence in the -education of the people. From the same motives, the church positively -rejects the system of non-denominational schools, in which eventuates a -jumble of religions fatal to the faith and piety of children. Assuredly -Catholics know how to recognize and respect the rights of dissenters, -nor do they dream of doing violence to the conscience of any one. Is it -not, then, simply common justice that no advantage should be taken of the -liberty and equality of the several religions before the law, to hand -over Catholic children to a manifest danger of religious perversion and -moral ruin? - -But this is not all. The principles on which the communities of which we -speak rest, permit Catholics to require more. True liberty for a religion -consists in its being able to be not only practised by its adherents, but -also transmitted in its integrity to succeeding generations, with its -beliefs, its precepts, its exterior forms, and, above all, its interior -spirit. Now, that is only possible by means of education. It is, then, -permitted to the church to demand that liberty be left to families to -choose themselves masters worthy of their confidence, and whom they can -trust to instruct and educate their children in the principles of the -Catholic religion. When the national constitution has already embodied -the liberty of instruction in every stage, Catholics make as extensive -use of it as they can, and as their peculiar property, imitating in -that the shipwrecked man who collects together the waifs saved from the -wreck, and out of them tries to rebuild his shattered fortune. If, on -the contrary, the monopoly in favor of the state should be embodied -in the law, they arm themselves with maxims of natural right, at times -even with the commonly accepted ideas of liberty, wherewith to beat -down this scandalous monopoly. They know how to set in motion all legal -means; and without having recourse, like many of their adversaries, to -insurrection or corruption, they succeed, sooner or later, in bringing -over public opinion to the side of justice and truth, and in recovering, -thus, a portion of the rights which belong to their church, the right of -making instructed and conscientious Christians. After that, the church -can await from the divine benediction and her own efforts the return of -a happier era, for which she exerts all the means at her disposal, by -a solid Christian education given to youth, by preaching, and by good -example. She will, at least, have neglected nothing to acquit herself of -her mission, and to make herself useful even to the communities which -repudiate her. - -There remains, lastly, the third hypothesis, that of a state separated -from the church--that is to say, organized wholly out of the religious -idea, a “lay state,” in the full force of that phrase. - -We observe, first, that there is more than one degree in this -secularization of the state. The first realizes the rationalist idea, -according to which governments, respectful towards religion, and allowing -absolute liberty, leave the church to organize herself after her fashion, -to preach in her temples, to teach in her schools, and to govern the -consciences subject to her authority, whilst themselves govern according -to the right of rationalism, and without asking counsel of any religious -power. It is the dream of more than one liberal, simple enough to believe -a perfect equilibrium of human passions to be possible in society, by -the sole force of nature and reason. But experience soon dissipates -the illusion of so fair a dream. All the degrees of separation between -religion and society are soon traversed up to the last, wherein the -state, no longer acknowledging creed, church, or religion, announces -itself atheist, and forces consciences to the inflexible level of an -impious legislation. From thence there is but a step to the proscription -of Catholics, and to open persecution. - -However, in the conditions of an existence so unpromising what is the -conduct of Catholics? What can they do save invoke the common right, -and turn against their adversaries the weapons by which the latter -dispossessed them? The lay state proclaims liberty for all to speak, -write, and teach, as seems good to them. It is in the name of this -pretended principle that the church saw herself robbed of almost all -her rights and driven from society. Do not imagine that she approves -or that she will ever adopt so monstrous an error. But this liberty of -speaking, writing, and teaching which you do not refuse to error, is it -forbidden to claim it for truth? Truth! It is herself; and her right to -speak to the world she holds, not from false maxims inscribed in modern -constitutions, but from Jesus Christ, her divine founder. Strong in this -right, superior to human constitutions, the church never hesitates to -assume in communities the whole space they leave her to occupy, and to -extend her action to the uttermost. If they claim to exclude her, she -fashions a weapon out of common right. She summons the governments to -admit her to the benefit of the universal liberty inscribed in the law, -and too profusely lavished on teachers of error. What exception can be -taken to this conduct, at once so loyal and so right? - -But they charge it against us as an unworthy manœuvre, that we claim for -ourselves, in modern communities, and in the name of their principles, a -liberty we shall refuse to our adversaries the moment we regain power. -In presence of this accusation, the more exalted liberals demand that -preventive reprisals be employed in our regard, and that liberty be -denied us. The more moderate, affecting a sort of confidence in the -stability of their work--or rather, in the impossibility of modern -communities ever again returning to the yoke of religion--prefer to show -themselves generous, and to vote for liberty even although it be that -of Catholics. Touching self-sacrifice, and which it must be owned is no -longer in unison with the temperament of contemporary liberalism! - -Be that as it may, the accusation is sheer calumny, as facts prove. -Neither in the small Swiss cantons, nor in Belgium, where Catholics -govern, are dissenters oppressed. If persecution rages anywhere in the -two hemispheres, it is where liberalism has planted its banner, and -against Catholics. It is something more than ignorance which can accuse -us of persecuting tendencies at this time of day. The truth is that -social peace has no firmer supporters than Catholics. - -We have before asserted, but it is well to repeat it, that the Catholic -Church professes and practises the most absolute respect for acquired -rights, for conventions concluded and accepted. Thus, for the sake of -peace, certain governments have felt themselves obliged to recognize -the right of dissenters to live in the state, retaining their beliefs -and their religious forms. Liberty of conscience has been proclaimed, -the public exercise of all the worships authorized. It is, doubtless, a -misfortune that religious unity in society should be broken. The church -regrets this misfortune, and her most earnest desire is to see, some day, -unity re-established. But is that to say that she wishes violently to -change a situation imposed on her by circumstances? that she meditates -seizing again, at a blow, and in contempt of acquired rights, the power -she enjoyed in better times? By no means. The liberty which the various -sects enjoy, for the sake of peace, the Catholic Church respects and -knows how to maintain. Dissenters may continue to practise publicly their -religion, provided that they trouble neither order nor the tranquillity -of the state. Equality of civil and political rights is guaranteed to -all citizens, Catholic or not. The same liberty is conceded to them to -open schools, and to educate their children according to their beliefs. -Nothing, in short, which is just and equitable among fellow-citizens is -refused by Catholics to those who do not share their faith. What more -do they want? And what is lacking in this conduct to constitute true -toleration in mixed communities? - -Of Catholics who have become the depositaries of power in these -communities the church demands complete liberty to fulfil the duties -with which she has been charged by Jesus Christ--the right of organizing -herself according to her own laws; of recruiting the sacerdotal ministry -and exercising all its functions; of watching over the good education -of Catholic youth; of founding and directing schools, colleges, and -universities; of having her religious congregations consecrated to -prayer, preaching, or education; of being able, in short, to exercise her -salutary influence in society, and of being free to devote herself to -rendering the people better, better instructed in their duties, and more -resolute to fulfil them. As regards non-Catholics, she demands of the -government not to substitute license for liberty, but to use its utmost -efforts to banish from society two things which are the most hostile to -its prosperity and to its happiness: we mean immorality and irreligion. -If, later on, differences disappear, if all hearts should unite in the -profession of one same faith, it will then be a source of regret to no -one that the church resumes her rank, and that society is once more -Christian and Catholic. - - -ARE YOU MY WIFE? - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” “PIUS VI.,” -ETC. - -CHAPTER VIII. - -A STARTLING DISCLOSURE. - -And how had things fared at The Lilies all this time? Sir Simon had -behaved in the strangest way. Immediately after Clide’s departure, he -came, according to his promise, and explained it after a plausible -fashion to M. de la Bourbonais, who, unsuspecting as an infant, accepted -the story without surprise or question. - -At the end of a week Sir Simon knew that the worst fears were confirmed; -the identity of the supposed Isabel had been disproved, and the existence -of the real one ascertained beyond the possibility of doubt. Clide was on -her track, but when or how he should find her was yet the secret of the -future. - -The one thing clear in it was, that it was a miserable business and -could end in nothing but shame and sorrow for every one connected with -it. Sir Simon was helpless and bewildered. He was always slow at taking -in bad news, and when he succeeded in doing it, his first idea was, not -to take the bull by the horns and face the facts manfully, but to stave -off the evil day, to gain time, to trust to something turning up that -would avert the inevitable. He had never in the whole course of his life -felt so helpless in the face of evil tidings as on the present occasion. -He foresaw, all too plainly, what the effect was likely to be on the -innocent young creature on whom he had brought so terrible a share in -the catastrophe. It was no comfort to him that it was not his fault. He -would willingly have taken the fault on his own shoulders, if thereby -he could have lifted the pain from hers. He was too generously absorbed -in the thought of Franceline’s trouble to split hairs on the difference -between remorse and regret; he cursed his own meddling as bitterly as -if he had acted like a deliberate villain towards her; he felt there -was nothing for him to do but blow his brains out. He passed the day he -received the admiral’s letter in this suicidal and despairing state of -mind. The next day his indignation against himself found some solace in -vituperating Clide’s ill-luck, and the villainy of the woman who had led -him such a devil’s-dance. This diversion soothed him; he slept better -that night, and next morning he awoke refreshed; cheered up according to -his happy matutinal habit, and took a brighter view of everything. It -remained no doubt a most unfortunate affair, look at it as one might, but -Franceline would get over it by and by. Why not? All the nicest girls he -knew when he was a young fellow had been crossed in love, and they had -all got over it, and married somebody else and lived happily ever after. -Why should not Franceline do the same? De Winton was a very nice fellow, -but there were other nice fellows in the world. There was Roxham, for -instance. If he, Sir Simon, was a pretty girl, he was not sure but he -should like Roxham best of the two; he was deuced good-looking, and the -eldest son of a peer to boot; that counts with every girl, why shouldn’t -it with Franceline? “But is she like every girl? Is she a butterfly to -be caught by any candle?” whispered somebody at Sir Simon’s ear; but -he pooh-poohed the unwelcome busybody, as he would have brushed away a -buzzing fly. She must get over it; Roxham should come in and cut out -this unlucky Clide. The worst of it was that conversation Sir Simon had -had with Raymond before Franceline’s visit to London. If he had but had -the wit to hold his tongue a little longer! Well, biting it off now -would not mend matters. Roxham must come to the rescue. He had evidently -been smitten the night of the ball. Sir Simon had intentionally brought -him into the field to rouse Clide’s jealousy, and bring him to the -point; he had invoked every species of anathema on himself for it ever -since, but it was going to turn out the luckiest inspiration after all. -While the baronet was performing his toilet, he arranged matters thus -satisfactorily to his own mind, and by the time he came down to breakfast -he was fully convinced that everything was going to be for the best. He -read his letters, wished a few unpleasant little eventualities to the -writers of most of them, and crammed them into a drawer where they were -not likely to be disturbed for some time to come. The others he answered; -then he read the newspapers, and that done, ordered his horse round, and -rode to Rydal, Lady Anwyll’s place. - -The conversation naturally fell on the recent ball at the Court, -and from that to the acknowledged belle of the evening, Mlle. de la -Bourbonais. In answer to the plump little dowager’s enthusiastic praises -of his young friend’s beauty the baronet remarked that it was a pity she -did not live nearer The Lilies. “It is dull for the little thing, you -see,” he said; “Bourbonais is up to his eyes in books and study, and she -has no society to speak of within reach; she and the Langrove girls don’t -seem to take to each other much; she is a peculiar child, Franceline; you -see she has never mixed with children, she has been like a companion to -her father, and the result is that she has fallen into a dreamy kind of -world of her own, and that’s not good for a girl; she is apt to prey upon -herself. I wish you were a nearer neighbor of ours.” - -“I am near enough for all intents and purposes,” said Lady Anwyll, -promptly; “what is it but an hour’s drive? There’s nothing I should like -better than to take her about, pretty creature, with her great gazelle -eyes; but I dare say she would bore herself with me; they don’t care for -old women’s society, those young things--why should they? I hated an old -woman like a sour apple when I was her age.” - -“Oh! but Franceline is not a bit like most girls of her age; she would -enjoy you very much, I assure you she would,” protested Sir Simon warmly. -“There is nothing she likes better than talking to me now, and I might be -your father,” he added, with more gallantry than truth; but Lady Anwyll -laughed a contemptuous, little, good-humored laugh without contradicting -him. “She has seen very little and read a great deal--too much in fact; -you would be surprised to see how much she has read about all sorts of -things that most girls only know by name; her father was for teaching her -Greek and Latin, but I bullied him out of that nonsense; it would have -been a downright crime to spoil such a creature by making her blue. I’ve -saved her from that, at any rate.” - -“I dare say that is not the only good service she owes you,” observed the -dowager, “nor is it likely to be the last. When is your young relation -coming back?” - -“De Winton, you mean? He’s hardly a relation--a connection at most. I -don’t know when he is likely to turn up; I believe he’s on his way to the -North Pole at present.” - -“Really! I thought there was a magnet drawing him nearer home.” - -“What! Franceline, eh? Well, I thought myself he was a trifle spooney -in that quarter,” said the baronet, bending down to examine his boots, -“but it would seem not, or he would not have decamped; he’s an odd fish, -Clide--a capital fellow, but odd.” - -“I thought him original, and liked him very much, what little I saw of -him,” replied Lady Anwyll. “However, I am glad to hear it is not a case -between him and your pretty friend; if there is a thing I _hate_”--with -ten drops of vitriol in the monosyllable--“it’s chaperoning a girl in -love. You have no satisfaction in her; nothing interests or amuses her; -she is ready to bite the nose off any man that looks civil at her; she -is a social nuisance in fact, and I make a point of having nothing to do -with her.” - -Sir Simon threw back his head and laughed. - -“How about young Charlton?” resumed the dowager; “he is the match of the -county. Has he gone in for the prize?” - -“He’s too great an ass,” was the rejoinder. - -“Humph! Asses are proof, then, against the power of a beautiful face? -It’s the first time I’ve heard it.” - -“The fact is, I don’t think he has had a chance yet,” said Sir Simon; -“Bourbonais is peculiar, and does not encourage people to go and see him; -he only admits a select circle of old fogies, and I think he fancies -Charlton is a bit of a puppy.” - -“Perhaps he’s not much out in that,” assented the lady. - -“Roxham struck me as being rather smitten the other night; did you notice -anything in that direction,” inquired Sir Simon carelessly, as he rose -to go. “I was too busy to see much of what was going on in the way of -flirtation, but I fancied he was rather assiduous!” - -“Now, that would be a very nice thing!” And the mother who had made many -matches brightened up with lively interest. “I should like to help on -that; it would be quite an exciting amusement, and I have nothing to do -just now.” - -“Take care!” and Sir Simon raised his finger with a warning gesture; “you -may have a social nuisance on your hands before you know where you are.” - -“Oh! I don’t mind when it’s of my own making,” said the dowager; “that -quite alters the case.” - -“Then you will drive over to-morrow or next day and call at The Lilies?” - -Sir Simon mounted Nero in high good humor; whistled a hunting air as he -dashed through the stiff Wellingtonias that flanked the long avenue at -Rydal, and never drew rein until he alighted at his own door. - -M. de la Bourbonais greeted Lady Anwyll with the innate courtesy of a -grand seignior, and never let her see by so much as a look that her -visit was not an agreeable surprise. Yet it was not so. Since that -conversation with Sir Simon about Franceline’s fortune, an uneasy -feeling had possessed him, and he had shrunk back more sensitively than -ever into his shell of reserve and isolation. He had been content, or -rather compelled, to leave matters entirely in Sir Simon’s hands, or -in the hands of fate, but he did not feel at rest, and he had no mind -to launch out into new acquaintances just at a moment when his mind -was disturbed by strange probabilities, and his habitual abstraction -broken up by vague anxieties, that could not take any definite shape as -yet. But Lady Anwyll saw nothing of this in the old gentleman’s courtly -greeting; she saw that Franceline had welcomed her with a warmth that -was unmistakable--childlike and gleeful, and fettered by no ice bands of -conventional politeness. - -The dowager’s visit was indeed welcome; the utter silence that had -succeeded to the stir and agitation of the past few weeks had fallen -upon Franceline like a snow-drift in the midst of summer; the return to -the old stagnant life was dreadful--she felt chilled to death by it. -The reaction was natural enough to one of her age and circumstances; -but we know that there was a deeper reason for her sense of loneliness -and weariness than the mere relapse into routine and dulness after a -season of excitement. Where was Mr. de Winton, and why had he gone off -in that strange way, without a sign or a word, leaving her trembling and -expectant on the threshold of her awakened womanhood? - -It was more than a week now since he went, and she had not heard his name -once mentioned, and there was no prospect of her hearing any one speak -of him; since neither her father nor Sir Simon did so. Lady Anwyll came -like a messenger and a link; Lady Anwyll was in Clide’s world, the wide, -wide world beyond her own small sphere where no one knew him. This was -unconsciously the reason of Franceline’s joyous greeting. Sir Simon had -come with the dowager; they had walked down through the park together, -and it was the first time in her life that Franceline was not thoroughly -glad to see him. He was not quite like his usual self either, to her, she -fancied. He rattled on in his own way, telling stories and making jokes, -and then catching up some chance words of Raymond’s and quarrelling with -them, until their author waxed warm, and was drawn out into an elaborate -refutation of some meaning that he never dreamed of giving them, but into -which Sir Simon had purposely twisted them; and finally accomplishing his -aim of keeping the conversation on abstract subjects and not letting it -slip into the dangerous path of personal or local events. - -“So you will let me come and take you out for a drive sometimes,” Lady -Anwyll said, as she rose to take leave, “and by-and-by, when you get used -to the old woman, perhaps you will come and spend a day or two with her -in her big, lonely house? You will not be always afraid of her?” - -“I am not afraid of her now,” protested Franceline, looking with her -radiant dark eyes straight into the old lady’s face, “you don’t look -wicked at all.” - -“Don’t I? Then more shame for me; that shows I’m a hypocrite, a whitened -sepulchre, my dear,” and she nodded emphatically at Franceline, and gave -a little groan. - -“For goodness’ sake don’t come Miss Bulpit over us!” cried Sir Simon, -holding up his hands. “I’ll bolt at once if you take to that.” And with -this pretence of alarm he hurried out of the room. - -“Then, since you are not frightened at me, you will promise to come very -soon. Let us settle it at once--for Thursday next?” and she held the -young girl’s hand in both her own, and looked to M. de la Bourbonais for -assent. - -But Raymond began to settle his spectacles, and was for explaining how -difficult it would be for him to part with his daughter even for a day, -and how unaccustomed she was to going anywhere alone, when Sir Simon -called out from the garden: - -“Tut, tut, Bourbonais, that’s precisely why she must go; you must not -mope the child in this way; she must gad about a bit, like other girls. -It will do her good; it will do her good.” - -The three came out and joined him, walking round to the back entrance -through which the visitors were going to re-enter the park. - -“I shall get a few young people together, so it will not be so very dull -for you, my dear,” continued Lady Anwyll, as they walked four abreast on -the grass; “and I can mount you; I know you ride.” - -“Oh! I don’t think she would care--” began Raymond; but Sir Simon cut him -short again. - -“Is your son coming down for a shot at the partridges?” - -“Not he; at least not that I know of; he is off fishing near Norway, or -was the last time I heard of him; but for all I know he may have joined -your friend young De Winton at the North Pole by this. Well, good-by, my -dear. I should dearly like a kiss. Would you mind kissing the old woman?” - -Franceline put her soft, vermilion lips to the wrinkled cheek. Neither -Lady Anwyll nor Raymond saw how instantaneously the blood had forsaken -them, leaving them white as her brow; but Sir Simon did, and it smote -him to the heart. He walked on before the good-bys were over, ostensibly -to give some order about the carriage that was drawn up at a turn in the -avenue, but in reality to avoid meeting Raymond’s glance. - -Late that evening a note came to The Lilies to say that he was obliged -to start at a moment’s notice for the south of France, where his -step-mother, Lady Rebecca, was dangerously ill. He was sorry to have to -rush off without saying good-by, but he had not a moment to lose to catch -the express. - -Sir Simon did start by the express, and after a day or two in London, -where he saw Admiral de Winton, and ascertained that nothing new had -turned up in Clide’s affairs, he thought he might just as well go to -the south of France, where he would be within reach of his interesting -relative in case she should need him, or die, which the older she grew -the less she seemed inclined to do, in spite of Mr. Simpson’s periodical -tolling of her death-knell. Fate, that abstract divinity invoked by -pagans and novelists, interfered with the fulfilment of Franceline’s -engagement to Lady Anwyll. A letter--a real letter--awaited her at -home from her son-in-law, saying that his wife was taken suddenly ill, -and entreated her mother to come to her without delay. Franceline was -rather glad than sorry when the note came to postpone her visit. The -desire to go to Rydal was gone. She wanted to be left alone. She was -not equal to the effort of seeming amused. And yet, again, in another -way she regretted it. A day or two’s absence from her father would -have been a relief; the strain of keeping up false appearances before -him was worse than it need have been amongst strangers; it would have -sufficed them to be calm; at home she must be gay. After the sudden shock -which those words so carelessly uttered by Lady Anwyll had caused her, -Franceline’s first thought was to screen her feelings from her father. -She was helped in her effort to do this by her certainty that he had no -key to them, that he had not for a moment connected her and Clide de -Winton in his thoughts. If she had known how much had been disclosed to -him, how closely he had watched her ever since that fatal conversation -with Sir Simon, concealment would have been impossible. As it was, she -found it hard enough; but there was an unsuspected strength of will, -a vitality of power in her, that enabled her to act the part she had -resolved upon. She called up all her love for her father and all her -native woman’s pride and maiden delicacy to the effort, and she achieved -it. Her father watched her with the jealous eye of anxious affection, -but he could see nothing forced in her spirits; he heard no hollow note -in her laugh; he saw no trace of sadness in her smile. She was merrier, -brighter, more talkative for several days after Lady Anwyll’s visit than -he remembered to have seen her. Raymond sighed with relief many times -a day as he heard her singing to herself, or caressing her doves with -new names of endearment and fresh delight. She succeeded perfectly in -blinding him, but not in silencing the wild tumult of her own heart. It -was all mystery yet; pain and wonder were predominant, but hope was not -absent from the chaos of conflicting emotions, and there was nothing of -wounded self-respect, no definite feeling of reproach towards Clide. It -seemed as if everything were a mistake; no one had done anything wrong, -and yet everything had gone wrong. Was it all a dream the life she had -been living for those few blissful weeks? Was his devotion to her, his -exclusive assiduity during all that time, nothing but the customary -demeanor of a gentleman to a young girl in whose society chance had -thrown him? Franceline asked herself this over and over again, and could -only find one answer to it--the echo of her own heart. But what did she -really know about such things--what standard had she to go by? What had -she ever seen to guide her in forming a reasonable conclusion?--for -she wanted to be reasonable: to judge calmly without listening to the -longings and tyrannical affirmations of this heart. “He may have been -so assiduous in attending me in my rides simply to please Sir Simon,” -whispered reason; but the response came quickly: “Need he have looked and -spoken as he did to please Sir Simon? And that night of the ball, was it -to please Sir Simon that he was stung and angry when I deserted him for -Lord Roxham? Was it for that that he spoke those words that had set my -every fibre thrilling? ‘What does anything matter to us, Franceline, as -long as we are not angry with each other?’ To what melting tenderness -was his voice toned as he uttered them! How his glance sought mine and -rested in it, completing all that the words had left unsaid! And I am -to believe that he had meant no more than the customary gallantries of -a man of the world to his partner in the dance?” She laughed to herself -as the outrageous question rose in her thoughts. Then, apart from this -unanswerable testimony, there was evidence of Clide’s feelings and -motives towards herself in his conduct towards her father. How anxious he -had shown himself to please M. de la Bourbonais, to secure his advice and -follow it, and make her aware that he did so! No; she had not assuredly -been won unsought. This certainty supported and cheered her. If she had -been sought, she would be sought again. Clide would return and claim -what he had won. It was impossible to doubt but that he would. Whenever -Franceline arrived at this point in her cogitations her spirits rose to -singing pitch, and she would break out into carol and song, like a bird, -and run down to Angélique and tease her to exasperation, pulling out her -knitting-needles and playing tricks like a kitten, till she drove her -nearly frantic, and sent her complaining to M. le Comte that _la petite_ -was grown as full of mischief as a squirrel; there was no being safe a -minute from her tricks once your back was turned. And Raymond would look -up with a beaming face, and beg pardon for the culprit. “She keeps life -in our old veins, ma bonne,” he would say; “what should we do without our -singing bird?” - -But there were days when the singing bird was silent, when there -was no music in her, and when she could have broken into passionate -tears if they had not been restrained by a strong effort of will. -These alternations, however, passed unobserved by the two who might -have noticed them. Raymond had made up his mind that Sir Simon’s -brilliant scheme had failed, and that as the failure had dealt no blow -at Franceline’s happiness, it was not to be regretted. It had been -altogether too brilliant to be practicable; he felt that from the first, -and his instinct served him better than Sir Simon’s experience, shrewd -man of the world though he was. “Kind, foolish friend, his affection -blinded him and made him see everything as he desired it for Franceline, -and now he is vexed with himself, and ashamed very likely, and so he -keeps away from me. Perhaps he imagines I would reproach him. This poor, -dear Simon has more heart than head.” - -And with these indulgent reflections, Raymond sank back into his dreamy -historical world, and left off watching the changeful aspects of his -child. She was safe; things were just as they used to be. - -A month went by; during that time one letter had come from the baronet, -affectionate as ever, but evidently written under some feeling of -restraint. He talked of the annoyances he had had on the road, and -the loss of some of his luggage, and about French politics. M. de le -Bourbonais fancied he saw through the awkwardness; he answered the letter -in a more than usually affectionate strain; was very communicative about -himself and Franceline, who was growing quite beyond Angélique’s and his -control, he assured his friend, and required Sir Simon’s hand to keep -her within bounds, so he had better hasten home as quickly as possible -if he had any pity for the two victims of her tyranny and numberless -caprices. This letter had the effect intended; it brought another without -many days’ delay, and written with all the _abandon_ and spirit of the -writer’s most cheerful mood. - -Lady Anwyll returned at the end of the month, and bore down on The Lilies -the very next day. Franceline would have fought off if she could have -done so with any chance of success; but the dowager was peremptory in -claiming what had been distinctly promised, and she agreed to be ready -the next day to accompany the old lady to Rydal. - -Angélique put her biggest irons in the fire, and smoothed out her young -mistress’s prettiest white muslin dress, and set her sashes and ribbons -in order, and was as full of bustle as if the quiet visit a few miles off -had been a wedding. - -“I am glad the _petite_ is going; it will do her good,” she observed, -complacently, as she brought in the lamp and set it down on the count’s -table that evening. - -“Why do you think it will do her good? Is she suffering in any way?” said -the father, a sudden sting of the old fear giving sharpness to his voice. - -“Bonté divine! How monsieur takes the word out of one’s mouth!” -ejaculated Angélique, throwing up her hands like an aggrieved woman; -“why, a little distraction always does good at mamselle’s age; look at -me: it would put new blood into my old veins if I could go somewhere and -distract myself.” - -“You find it very dull, my good Angélique?” And the master turned a -kindly, almost penitent glance on the nut-brown face. - -“Hé! listen to him again! One does not want to be dying of _ennui_ to -enjoy a little distraction; one does not think of it, but when it comes -one may like it!” She gave the shade a jerk that made it spin round the -lamp, and walked off in high dudgeon. - -Franceline was conscious of a pleasurable flutter next day, when she -heard the carriage crunching the gravel, and presently Lady Anwyll came -round on foot, followed by the footman, who carried off her box and -secured it in some mysterious part of the vehicle. She was flushed when -she kissed her father and said good-by; he thought it was the pleasure of -the “little distraction” that heightened her color, and that took away -the pang of the short parting. - -“Yes, decidedly, a change does her good,” he mentally remarked; “I must -let her take advantage of any pleasant one that offers.” - -It was an event in Franceline’s life, going to stay at a strange house. -The Court was too much like her own home, and she had known it too long -and too early to feel like a visitor there, or to be overpowered by its -splendors. Rydal was not to be compared to it either for architectural -beauty or magnitude, or for the extent and beauty of the grounds and -surrounding scenery. The Court was a grand baronial hall; Rydal was -an old-fashioned manor house; low-roofed, straggling, and picturesque -outside; spacious and comfortable inside; with enough of the marks of -time on the furniture and decorations to stamp it as the abode of many -generations of gentlemen. A low-ceiled square hall, with sitting-rooms -opening into it on either side, and quaint pictures and arms ornamenting -its walls, received you with a hospitable hearth, where a huge log -was blazing cheerily under a high, carved oak mantel-piece. It was not -flagged with marble, nor supported by majestic columns like the Gothic -hall of the Court, but it had a charm of its own that Franceline felt, -and expressed by a bright exclamation as she alighted in it. - -“Come in and sit down for a moment in the drawing-room,” said Lady -Anwyll. “I always rest before toiling up-stairs, my dear; and you must -fancy yourself an old woman and do so too.” - -Franceline followed her into the handsome square room. Two projecting -windows thrust themselves out to the west to catch the last rays of the -setting sun at one end, and another bulged out southward to sun itself -in the noon-tide warmth; an old-fashioned sofa was drawn close to the -fire. Franceline fancied she saw the soles of two boots resting on the -arm facing the door; and was beginning to wonder where the body was that -they might belong to, when the dowager suddenly cried out in tones of -amazement rather than delight: - -“Good gracious, Ponce! what brought you back, and when did you come? I -verily believe you have got some talisman like Riquet with the Tuft for -flying about the world like a bird! Where have you come from now?” - -She stooped down to kiss the invisible head that lay at the other end of -the figure, and a voice from the cushions answered: “I pledged my word I -would be back in a day and a month; did you ever know me break my word, -lady mother?” - -“You so seldom commit yourself by pledging it to me that I hardly -remember; however, now that you are here, I am glad to see you, and to -be able to offer you a reward for your punctuality. Come here, my dear, -and let me introduce my son Ponsonby to you.” - -The recumbent giant was on his feet in an instant, with an involuntary -“Hollo!” as Franceline advanced at his mother’s bidding. - -“This is Mlle. de la Bourbonais, Ponce; my son, Captain Anwyll.” - -“It is not often punishment overtakes the guilty so fast,” said the -gentleman, with a very low bow, and an awkward laugh; “I so seldom -indulge in the laziness of stretching my long legs on a sofa, that it’s -rather hard on me that I should be caught in the act by a lady. Mother, -you ought to have given me notice in time.” - -“Served you right! I’m glad you were caught; and, my dear, don’t you mind -his _seldom_; when he is not flying through the air or over the water, -this big son of mine is stretching himself somewhere. Come, now, and get -your things off.” As they were leaving the room, she looked back to ask -her son if he “had brought the regiment down with him,” and on hearing -that he had left that appendage in Yorkshire, his mother observed that it -was like him to leave it behind just when it might have been useful. - -There are some people who, though inert and quiet themselves, have a -faculty for putting everybody about them in a commotion. Ponsonby Anwyll -was one of these. When he came down to Rydal it was as if an earthquake -shook the place. He wanted next to no waiting on, yet somehow every -servant in the house was busied about him. He was like a baby in a house, -exacting nothing, but occupying everybody. - -He was constantly either overturning something, or on the point of doing -it. Like so many men of the giant type, he was as gentle as a woman and -as easily cowed; and like a woman, he always wanted somebody at his elbow -to look after him. If he attempted to light a lamp, ten to one he upset -it and spoiled a table-cover or a carpet, or he let the chimney fall, and -cut his fingers picking up the bits to prevent some one else’s being cut. -He took next to no interest practically in the estate; yet his tenantry -were very fond of him; he never bothered them about improvements or -abuses, and they were more obliged to him for letting them alone than for -benefiting them against their will. Whenever he interfered it was to take -their part against the agent, who could not see why the tenants were to -be let off paying full rents because the harvest happened to be a failure -one year, when it had been good so many preceding ones. Lady Anwyll would -bully and storm and protest that he was ruining the property, and that -they would all end in the Union; but Ponsonby soon petted her into good -humor. In her heart of hearts she was proud of her big, easy-going son, -who cared so little for money, and she was as pleased to be patronized by -him as a little kitten is when the powerful Newfoundland condescends to a -game of romps with it. - -When Franceline, in her white muslin dress, floated into the -drawing-room, like a summer cloud, the Newfoundland was standing on the -hearth-rug, with its eyes fixed expectantly on the door. Lady Anwyll was -generally down long before her son. Ponce took an age to get out of one -set of clothes and into another; but he had the start of her to-day. - -“You have had a nice drive from Dullerton,” he began; how else could he -begin? “But I fear the weather is on the turn; those clouds over the -common look mischievous.” - -“Are you weatherwise?” inquired Franceline, following his eyes to the -window. - -“Not he, my dear! He’s not wise in anything!” answered a voice from -behind her. - -“Mother, this is positively too bad of you! I protest against your taking -away my character in this fashion, before I have a chance of making one -with Miss Franceline. You begin by making me out the laziest dog in -Christendom, and now you would rob me of my one intellectual quality! You -know I am weatherwise! They call me Girouette in the 10th, because I can -tell to a feather how the wind is blowing; ’pon my honor they do, Miss -Franceline!” - -Franceline was going to assure him of her entire faith in this assertion -when dinner was announced, and they crossed the hall into the dining-room. - -“Now, tell us something about where you’ve been and what you’ve seen and -done,” said the dowager; “and try and be as entertaining as you can, for -you see there is no one else to amuse my young friend.” - -“I’m sure I should be very proud; I wish I could remember something -amusing to tell; but that’s the deuce of it, the more a fellow wants to -be pleasant the less he can. Do you care to hear about fishing?” This was -addressed to Franceline. There was something so boyish in his manner, -such an entire absence of conceit or affectation, that, in spite of other -deficiencies, she liked the shy hussar, and felt at ease with him. - -“I dare say I should if I understood it at all; but I do not. But I am -always curious to know about foreign places and people,” she said. - -“Oh! I’m glad of that; I can tell you plenty about no end of places,” -answered the traveller promptly; “but I dare say you’ve seen them all -yourself; everybody goes everywhere nowadays.” - -“I have never been out of Dullerton since I came here as a child, but -once for a few days to London,” said Franceline; “so you can hardly go -wrong in telling me about any foreign place.” - -“How odd! Well, its rather refreshing too. I suppose you are nervous, -afraid of the water, or the railway?” - -“Not the least. I am too poor to travel.” She said it as simply as if she -had stated that the rain had prevented her going for a walk. - -“Oh, indeed! That is a hindrance to be sure,” blundered out Ponsonby; -“but people are better off that stay at home. One is always within an -inch of getting one’s neck broken, or one’s eye put out; and people very -often do come to grief travelling. I dare say you wouldn’t like it at -all.” - -“Getting her eyes put out? I should think not!” chimed in his mother, -with a mocking chuckle. - -“I meant the whole thing,” pursued Ponce. “The only chance one has is to -go straight through like a letter in the post, from one place to another, -and stick there, and not go posting about from place to place, as we did -in Rome, now. That is a pleasant place to go to. I bet anything you’d -enjoy Rome awfully; everybody does; and now they’ve got good hotels, and -you can get as good a dinner as any fellow need care to eat. Only you -would not like the popish ways of the place. That’s the deuce of it, you -can’t get out of the way of that sort of thing; it’s in the air, you see; -but one grows used to it after a while, as one does to the bad smells.” - -“I should not suffer from that. I am a Catholic,” said Franceline, her -color rising slightly. - -“Oh, indeed! I beg your pardon; I had no idea; of course that makes all -the difference,” stammered the hussar, mentally comparing himself to -Patrick, who could never open his mouth without putting his foot in it. - -Lady Anwyll had now despatched her dinner, or as much of the long meal as -she ever partook of. Feeling that the conversation was not progressing -very favorably between her son and her guest, she took the reins in her -own hand, and by dint of direct questions and an occasional touch of the -spur she managed to make time trot on in a straggling but on the whole -amusing style of talk, half narrative, half anecdote, until dinner was -ended, and she and Franceline migrated to the drawing-room, leaving the -captain to discuss the claret in solitary state. - - * * * * * - -The next morning at breakfast Lady Anwyll proposed that the two young -people should go for a ride after lunch. Franceline demurred, on the -plea that she had never ridden but one horse and was afraid to trust -herself on any other. The captain, however, settled this difficulty, -by volunteering to send a man over to Dullerton for Rosebud. She would -come at an easy pace, and after an hour’s rest be ready for the road. -On seeing the point so satisfactorily arranged, Franceline immediately -dismissed her terrors, and thought it would be rather desirable to try -how she could manage on a strange horse. She could not plead that she -had forgotten her riding habit, for Angélique had remembered it, as well -as the hat and gloves and whip, all of which had been packed up with her -other clothes. - -The weather was fine, a bright sun beamed from a stainless sky; the furze -on the common was yellow enough still to illuminate the flat expanse of -the country round Rydal, and as Franceline dashed through the golden -bushes on her spirited steed, her youth vindicated itself, the young -blood coursed joyously through her veins, her spirits rose, and soon -the exercise that she begun reluctantly became one of keen enjoyment. -Capt. Anwyll was not a very interesting companion, but he was natural -and good-natured, and anxious to please; he knew now what ground he was -treading, too, and made no more blunders, but chatted on without shyness -or effort, and was pleasant enough. - -“Roxham is coming to dinner. You know Roxham? A capital fellow; a dead -shot; a clever fellow too; goes in strong for politics and philanthropy -and so forth. He’ll be in the ministry one of these days I dare say, and -setting the country by the ears with his reform crochets, and that sort -of thing: his head is full of them.” - -“Not a bad sort of furniture either. Why don’t you follow his example?” -demanded Franceline. - -“Me! How satirical you are! That’s not my line at all. I don’t go in for -politics--only for soldiering, if there were any to do. They set me up as -liberal candidate for the last elections, but when I found it was not to -be a walk-over, and that I was to contest it, I backed out. My mother was -dreadfully savage. But bless her! she does not understand it a bit. I’m -no hand at making speeches and addressing constituents. Now, Roxham can -hold forth by the hour to a mob, or to any set of fellows; it’s wonderful -to see how he spins out the palaver--and first-rate palaver it is, I can -tell you. You should hear him on the hustings! We’ll make him describe a -great row he and the liberal candidate had at the last elections, when -Roxham beat him out of the field in grand style; he was no match for -Roxham anyhow, and besides he had a stutter, and when he was in a passion -he couldn’t get a word out without stamping like a vicious horse. It’s -great fun to hear Roxham tell it; we’ll make him do so this evening. It -will amuse you.” - -Franceline laughed. The name of Lord Roxham and the mention of his -electioneering feats recalled a scene that was seldom absent from her -memory now. Every trifling detail of that scene rose vividly before her -as she listened to Captain Anwyll. Would he never allude to one figure -in it that overshadowed every other? If she could but lead him to speak -of Clide! Perhaps he could tell her something of his present movements; -throw some light on her perplexity. - -“Lord Roxham has a very handsome cousin, Lady Emily Fitznorman; do you -know her?” she asked, carelessly. - -“Yes. A very nice girl as well as handsome.” - -“I wonder she’s not married already.” - -“You think she’s on the wane! Wait a while; you won’t think -three-and-twenty so antique by and by.” - -“I did not mean that; I thought she was about my own age,” protested -Franceline with vivacity; “but when one is so much admired as Lady Emily -seemed to be that night at Dullerton, one wonders she is not carried off -by some devoted admirer.” - -“Then you noticed that she had a great many? Would it be unfair to ask a -few names?” - -“Mr. de Winton for one seemed very devoted.” - -“De Winton! Humph! Who else?” - -“Why do you say ‘humph’? Is there reason why he should not be amongst the -number?” - -“Rather--that is to say perhaps--in fact, thereby hangs a tale.” His face -wore a quizzical expression as he spoke. - -“What tale?” She looked round with a quick, curious glance. - -“Oh! it’s not fair to tell tales out of school, is it?” - -“Certainly not; I had no idea there was a secret in the way,” said -Franceline, bridling. - -Ponsonby was not gifted with the knack of calm irrelevance; instead of -dropping the subject and turning to something else, he resumed presently: - -“De Winton is a capital shot too--better than Roxham; I went boar-hunting -with him in Germany three years ago, and then black-cock shooting in -Prussia, and I never knew him to miss his aim once.” - -“He will come home laden with bears this time no doubt,” she remarked -with affected coolness. - -“Bears! not he. He has other game to follow now. Are you up to taking -that fence, or shall we go round by the bridle-path? It makes it a good -bit longer?” - -“I don’t care to take the fence. Let us go round.” - -She put her horse at a canter, and they scarcely spoke again until they -reached Rydal. - -Lady Anwyll’s voice sounded from the drawing-room, summoning her to -come in before going upstairs, but Franceline did not heed it. She went -straight to her room; she must have a few moments alone; she could not -talk or listen just now. While she was flying through the air, it seemed -as if motion suspended thought, and kept her poised above the mental -whirlwind that Capt. Anwyll’s words had evoked; but once standing with -the ground firm under her feet, thought resumed its power, and shook -off the temporary torpor. She closed her door, and proceeded quietly to -take off her habit. As she did so a voice kept repeating distinctly in -her ears, “He has other game to follow now!” What did it, could it mean? -Why, since he had said so much, could he not in mercy have said something -more? But what did Capt. Anwyll know about mercy in the matter? What -was Mr. de Winton to her in his eyes? Nothing, thank heaven! Nor in any -one else’s. It was from mystery to mystery; she could make nothing out -of it. One fact alone grew clearer and clearer to her amidst the dim -chaos--Clide de Winton was the loadstar that was drawing her thoughts, -her longings, her life after him wherever he was. Everything else was -vague and undefined. She could not blame any one; she could not grieve or -lament; she could only lose herself in torturing conjecture. It wanted -more than an hour to dinner-time. Franceline had not the courage to spend -it in the drawing-room, where she would be the object of Lady Anwyll’s -motherly petting, and Ponsonby’s flat gossip; she must have the interval -to school herself for the effort that was before her for the rest of the -evening. There were steps on the landing; she opened her door; one of the -maids was passing. - -“Please tell her ladyship that I am a little tired, and shall lie down -for half an hour before I dress.” The servant took the message. - -Franceline did not lie down, however; she seated herself before the -window, and thought. The exercise was not soothing, but it was a respite; -and when she made her appearance in the drawing-room, there was so little -trace of fatigue about her that Lady Anwyll rallied her good-naturedly on -the cruelty of having stayed away under false pretences. - -Lord Roxham met her with the frankness of an old acquaintance, and -had many pretty speeches to make about their last meeting. Franceline -responded with sprightly grace, and hoped he had come prepared to -complete her education in parliamentary matters. The evening passed off -gaily. Lord Roxham was a fluent if not a brilliant talker, and under the -animating influence of his lively rattle, Franceline’s spirits rose, -and her hosts, who had hitherto seen her rather willing to be amused -than amusing, were surprised to see with what graceful spirit she kept -the ball going, bandying light repartee with Lord Roxham, and pricking -Ponsonby into joining in the game with a liveliness that astonished him -and enchanted his mother. The dowager chuckled inwardly, and applauded -herself on the success of her little matrimonial scheme; she already saw -Franceline a peeress, and happily settled as a near neighbor of her own. -None of the party were musical, but they did not miss this delightful -element of sociability, so unflagging was the flow of talk and anecdote; -and when Lord Roxham started up at eleven o’clock to ring for his horse, -every one protested he must have heard the clock strike one too many. - -“Come and lunch to-morrow, and join these two in their ride,” said Lady -Anwyll, as she shook hands with him. - -“Am I going to ride home?” inquired Franceline, surprised. - -“Certainly not! Nor drive either. You don’t suppose I’m going to let you -off with one day’s penance?” - -“O dear Lady Anwyll! papa will expect me to-morrow, and he will be uneasy -if he does not see me; I assure you he will,” pleaded Franceline. - -“I can remove that obstacle,” said Lord Roxham promptly. “I must ride -over to Dullerton early to-morrow morning, and I can have the honor of -calling at M. de la Bourbonais’, and setting his mind at rest about you.” - -“The very thing!” cried Lady Anwyll, shutting up Franceline, who had an -excuse ready; “you can call at The Lilies on your way back, and tell the -count he is to expect this young lady when he sees her.” - -Luckily Franceline was ignorant of the juxtaposition of the various seats -round Dullerton, or it might have struck her as odd that Lady Anwyll -should propose the messenger’s going a round of fifteen miles to call at -The Lilies “on his way back.” But she suspected nothing, and when Lord -Roxham alighted at Rydal next day punctually as the clock struck two P.M. -she greeted him with unabashed cordiality, and was all eagerness to know -if he had seen her father, and what the latter had said. - -She had slept restlessly, but she had slept; her anxiety had not as yet -the sting in it that destroys sleep. She did not fail to notice with -renewed wonder that Lord Roxham had studiously avoided mentioning Mr. -de Winton’s name. Studiously it must have been; for what more natural -than to have mentioned him when discussing the fairy _festa_ where they -had first met? She felt certain there must be a motive for so palpable a -reticence, and the thought did not tend to reassure her. She had dressed -herself before luncheon, so when the horses came round, they mounted at -once. Franceline, on starting, had mentally resolved to make Lord Roxham -speak on the subject that was uppermost in her mind--to put a direct -question in fact, if everything else failed--but, strive as she might, he -would not be lured into the trap, and her courage sank so much on seeing -this that she dared not venture on a direct interrogation. - -They stayed out until near sundown; the day was breezy and bright, and -Franceline looked radiant with the excitement and exercise. - -“Let us ride up to the knoll and see the sun go down behind the common,” -proposed Capt. Anwyll, as they were about to pass the park gate; “the -sunset is the only thing we have worth showing at Rydal, and I’d like -Mlle. de la Bourbonais to see it.” - -His companions gladly assented, and the party turned off the road into -a bridle-path across the fields which led to the elevation commanding -an unbroken view of the spectacle. It seemed as if everything had been -purposely cleared away from the landscape that could divert attention -for an instant from the glorious pageant of the western skies. Not a -house was visible, and scarcely a habitation; the cottages were hid in -the flanks of the valley, and only reminded you of their existence by a -thin vapor that curled up from a solitary chimney and quickly lost itself -in the trees. Nothing gave any sign of life but the sheep browsing on the -gilded emerald of the shorn meadows. The red and gold waves flooded the -vast expanse of the horizon, flowing further and higher as the spectators -gazed, until half heaven was on fire with a conflagration of rainbows. -Swiftly the colors changed, crimson and orange first, then deep and -tender shades of purple and green, until all melted into uniform violet, -the herald of the gathering darkness. They stood watching it in silence, -Franceline with bated breath. The sunset always had a solemn charm for -her, and she had never seen so vast and gorgeous a one as this. It was -like watching the dying throes of a divinity. - -“The play is over, the audience may retire!” said Ponsonby, breaking the -pause; even he had been subdued by the sublimity of the scene. - -“If I were a pagan I should be a fire-worshipper,” said Franceline, as -they moved away. “I think the worship of the sun is the most natural as -well as the most poetic of all forms of idolatry.” - -“That’s just what De Winton said the first time he saw the sun set from -here!” exclaimed Capt. Anwyll triumphantly; “how comical that you should -have hit on the very same idea! He said, by the way, that it was the -finest sunset he had ever seen in England; it’s so wide and low, you -see; he showed me a sketch he made of a sunset somewhere in the Vosges -that he said it reminded him of. I forget the name of the valley; but it -was uncommonly like; do you know the Vosges?” - -“No; I have never been to that part of France.” - -Lord Roxham glanced at her as she said this in a clear, low voice. He -saw nothing in her countenance that afforded a clew to whatever he was -looking for. - -It had grown chilly now that the sun had set, and they had been standing -several minutes on the knoll. Of one accord the three riders broke into -a gallop as they entered the park, and dashed along between the pollard -Wellingtonias, standing stiff and stark as tumuli on either side of the -long avenue. - -Lady Anwyll had gone to visit some poor sick woman in the neighborhood, -and had not yet returned. The gentlemen went round to the stables, and -Franceline to her room. She dressed herself quickly, wrote a short letter -to her father according to her promise of writing to him every day during -her absence, and then threw the window wide open and sat down beside it. -It was fresh enough, and she wore only her muslin dress, but she did not -feel the freshness of the air--she was too excited to be conscious of any -external influence of the kind. She sat as motionless as a statue, gazing -abstractedly over the empurpled sky where the moon appeared like a shred -of white cloud. She had not sat there long when the fragrant fumes of a -cigar came floating in through her window, followed soon by a sound of -footsteps and voices. Ponsonby and his guest were coming in. Franceline -did not close the window or move away, though the voices were now -audible; the speakers had not entered the house; they were walking under -the veranda that ran round the front. What matter? They were not likely -to be talking secrets; she was welcome to listen, no doubt, to whatever -they might have to say. - -“There is the carriage coming,” said Ponsonby; “my mother is out too late -with her rheumatism; I’ll pitch into her for it.” - -“Yes; it doesn’t do to stay out after sunset when one has any chronic -ailment of that sort. By the way, you mentioned De Winton just now; have -you heard of him lately?” - -“No; not since he left Berlin. It seems he was very near kicking the -bucket there; he was awfully bad, and nobody with him but his man -Stanton.” - -“How did you hear about it?” - -“Through Parker, a fellow in our regiment whose brother is _attaché_ at -Berlin; the story made a sensation there, but no one knew of it until De -Winton had left.” - -The speakers passed on to the end of the veranda, and Franceline could -catch nothing more until they drew near again. Lord Roxham was speaking. - -“Poor fellow! It’s tremendously hard on him, and I believe there is no -redress; nothing to make out a case for divorce.” - -“I fancy not; but even if there were it would not be available, since -he’s a Romanist.” - -“Ah! to be sure; I forgot that; but what a mystification the whole -business is! I’ve known De Winton since we were both boys--we were Eton -chums, you know--but he never breathed a word of it to me. Yet he’s not a -close fellow; quite the contrary. And who the deuce is the woman? Where -did he come across her?” - -They passed out of hearing again, and when they returned the tramping of -horses and the crunching of wheels overtopped their voices. The sounds -all died away; Lady Anwyll had come in, and gone to her room--every -one was waiting in the drawing-room, but Franceline did not appear. -Her hostess, thinking she had not heard the dinner-bell, sent for her. -Presently the maid came rushing down the stairs and into the forbidden -precincts of the drawing-room with a scared face. - -“Please, my lady, she’s in a dead faint! I found her all in a heap on the -floor, ready dressed. I lifted her on to the bed, but she don’t move!” - -An exclamation burst simultaneously from the three listeners. In a moment -they were all in Franceline’s room; there she lay stretched on the bed, -as the woman had said, white and still as death, one hand hanging, and -her hair, that had been loosened in the fall, dropping on her shoulder. -The usual restoratives were applied, and in about a quarter of an hour -she gave signs of awakening--the veined lids quivered, the mouth twitched -convulsively, and a short sigh escaped her. Lady Anwyll signed to her -son and Lord Roxham to withdraw; they had scarcely left the room when -Franceline opened her eyes and stared about her with the blank gaze -of returning consciousness. She swallowed some wine at Lady Anwyll’s -request, but soon put the glass away with a gesture of disgust. In answer -to her hostess’ anxious entreaties to say where she suffered, and why she -had swooned, the young girl could only say she had felt tired and weary, -and that she longed to be left alone and go to sleep. Lady Anwyll agreed -that sleep would be the best restorative, and insisted on staying till -she saw her settled in bed; then she kissed her, and promising to come -soon and see if she was asleep, she left the room with a noiseless step. - -“What is it? Is there anything much amiss, mother?” was the captain’s -exclamation. Lord Roxham was equally concerned. - -“Nothing, except you have nearly killed her, both of you. You have ridden -the child to death; she is not accustomed to it, and she has overdone -herself; but she will be all right I hope in the morning. There’s nothing -the matter but fatigue, she assures me.” - -Ponsonby rated himself soundly for being such a brute as to have let -her tire herself; he ought to have remembered that she was done up the -day before after a much shorter ride. He was awfully sorry. His remorse -was no doubt quite genuine, but when they sat down to dinner he proved -to demonstration that that feeling is compatible with an unimpaired -appetite. Lady Anwyll left them before they had finished to see how -Franceline was going on; she found her awake, but quite well, and going -to sleep very soon, she assured the kind old lady. - -“Then, my dear child, I will not have you disturbed again; if you wake -and want anything, strike this gong, and Trinner will come at once. I -will make her sleep in the room next yours to-night.” - -Franceline protested, but the dowager silenced her with a kiss; put out -the light, and left her. - -She lay very still, but there was no chance of sleep for her. Sleep had -fled from her eyes as peace had fled from her heart. She longed to get -up, and find relief from the intolerable strain of immobility, but she -dared not; her room was over a part of the drawing-room, and she might -be heard. The evening seemed to drag on with preternatural slowness. She -could hear the low hum of voices through the ceiling. Once there was a -clatter of porcelain--probably Ponce overturning the tea-tray. At last -the stable-clock struck eleven; there was opening and shutting of doors -for a while, and then silence. Franceline sat up and listened until not a -sound was anywhere to be heard. Every soul in the house had gone to bed. -Trinner had come last of all to her room. The star made by her candle -gleamed through the key-hole for a long time; at last it disappeared, -and soon the loud, regular breathing told that she was fast asleep. -Franceline rose, threw her dressing-wrapper round her, and drew back the -curtain from the window. It was a relief to let the night-lights in upon -her solitude; the glorious gaze of the moon seemed to chase away phantoms -with the darkness. She felt awake now. All this time, lying there in the -utter darkness, it seemed as if she were still in a swoon, or held in the -grip of a nightmare; she shook herself free from the benumbing clutch, -and sat down close by the window, and tried to collect her thoughts. -There was one phantom which the moonlight could not dispel; it stood out -now distinctly as she looked at it with revived consciousness. Clide -de Winton was a married man. It was to the husband of another that she -had given her heart with its first pure vintage of impassioned love. -He who had looked at her with those ardent eyes, penetrating her soul -like flame, had all along been another woman’s husband. There was no -more room for hope, even for doubt; suspense was at an end; the period -of dark conjecture was gone. It was clear enough, all that had been so -inexplicable,--clear as when the lightning flashes out of a lurid sky, -and illuminates the scene of an earthquake; a sea lashed to fury by winds -that have lost their current, ships sinking in billows that break before -they heave, the land gaping and groaning, trees uprooted, habitations -falling with a crash of thunder, all live things clinging and flying in -wild disorder. Franceline considered it all as she sat, still and white -as a stone, without missing a single detail in the scene. - -Violent demonstration was not in her nature. In pain or in joy it was -her habit to be self-contained. She had as yet been called upon but -for very slight trials of strength and self-control; but such as the -experience was it had left behind it an innate though unconscious sense -of power that rose instinctively to her aid now. She had fainted away -under the first shock of the discovery; but that tribute of weakness paid -to nature, she would yield no more. Tears might come later; but now she -would not indulge in them. She must face the worst without flinching. -What was the worst? Clide was a married man. That was bad enough in all -conscience; yet there might be worse behind. Circumstances might cast a -blacker dye even on this. Lord Roxham had spoken in a tone of sympathy: -“Poor fellow! It’s tremendously hard on him.…” He would have spoken -differently if there were any villany in question. But if Lord Roxham -had not thus indirectly acquitted him, Franceline would have done so -spontaneously. Yes, even in the first moment of despair, while the flood -was sweeping over her, she acquitted him. He had dragged her down into -unsounded depths of agony and shame, but he had not done it deliberately; -he was neither a liar nor a traitor. Had he not been brought to the jaws -of death himself only a month ago? There was an indescribable comfort -in the pang those words had inflicted. He too, then, was suffering; -they were both victims. Clide had never meant to deceive her; she would -have sworn it on the altar of her unshaken faith in him; she wanted -no stronger evidence than the promptings of her own heart. She was -confident there would be some adequate explanation of whatever now seemed -ambiguous, when she should have learned all. No; she need not separate -the attribute of truth and honor from his image; she could no more do -it than she could separate the idea of light from the pure maiden moon -that was looking down on her from heaven; she would see darkness in light -before she would believe Clide de Winton false. - -This irrepressible need of her heart once satisfied--Clide judged and -acquitted--what then? Granted that he was innocent as yonder stars, how -did it affect her? What did it signify to her henceforth whether he was -innocent or guilty, true or false? He was the husband of another woman; -as good as dead to Franceline de la Bourbonais; parted from her by a more -impassable barrier than death. If he were only dead she might love him -still, hold him enshrined in her heart’s core with a clasp that death -could not sever--only strengthen. But he was worse than dead; he was -married. She must banish him even from her thoughts; his memory must -henceforth be as far from her as the thought of murder, or any other -crime that her crystal conscience shuddered even to name. She might -acquit him, crown him with the noblest attributes of manhood; but that -done, she must dismiss him from her remembrance, and forget him as if he -had never lived. - -Franceline had remained seated, her hands locked passively in her lap, -while these thoughts shaped themselves in her mind. When they reached the -climax, expressed in these words: “I must forget him as if he had never -lived!” she rose to her feet, clasped her forehead in both hands, and an -inarticulate cry broke from her: “It would be easier to die!… If I had -anything to forgive, that would help me! But I have nothing to forgive!” -It would not have helped her, though she fancied so; it would have turned -the bitterness of the cup into poison. But she could not realize this -now. It seemed harder to renounce what was good and beautiful than to -cast away what was unworthy. If the idol had uttered one false oracle, -demanded anything base, betrayed itself before betraying her, it would -have been easier, she thought, to overturn it. Indignation would have -nerved her to the deed, and she would have dealt the blow without -compunction. But it had done nothing to forfeit her love and trust, and -nevertheless she must dash it down and cast the fragments into the fire, -and not preserve even the dust as a precious thing. What a merciful doom -his death would have been compared to this! - -How was she to do it? Who would help her to so ruthless a demolition? -Did any one speak in the silence, or was it only the unspoken cry of -her own soul that answered? She had fancied herself alone; she had -forgotten that a Presence was close to her, waiting to be invoked, -patient, faithful, and protecting even while forgotten. The voice -sounded sweet in its warning solemnity, and filled the lonely chamber -with a more benign ray than ever shone from midnight sky or blazing -noon. Franceline stretched out her arms to meet it, and with a loud -sob fell upon her knees. “O my God! forgive me! Forgive me, and help -me! I have sinned, but my punishment is greater than I can bear!” The -floodgates were thrown back; the tears fell in hot showers, the sobs -shook her as the storm shakes the sapling. She knelt there crouching in -the darkness, her head leaning on her folded arms, and gave herself up -to the passionate outburst, like a child weeping itself to sleep on its -mother’s breast. But this could not last. It was only a truce. The real -battle, the decisive one, had only now begun; what had gone before were -but the preliminaries. Hitherto she had thought only of her grief and -humiliation; she was now brought face to face with her sin--the sin of -idolatry. She had made unto herself an idol of clay, and placed it on the -altar of her heart, and burned incense before it with every breath she -drew; the smoke had made a mist before her eyes, but it was dissolving. -She looked into the desecrated sanctuary, and struck her breast with -humility and self-abasement. Her tears were flowing copiously, but they -were not all brine; she was drawing strength from their bitterness. -Victory was not for “the days of peace,” but for such an hour as this. -She had been trained from childhood in the hope of heaven, in the firm -belief that this life was but the transitory passage to the true home; -that its sorrows and joys were too evanescent, too unreal to be counted -of more importance than the rain and wind that scatter the sunshine of a -summer’s day; she had been taught, too, that the bliss of that immortal -home is purchased by suffering--a thing to be taken by violence, a crown -to be grasped through thorns. Hitherto her adherence to this creed had -been entirely theoretical; she accepted it, but in some vague way felt -that she, personally, was beyond its action. Her father had suffered; her -mother, too, cut off in her happy bloom, had won the crown by a lingering -illness and an early death; but she, Franceline, enjoyed, it would seem, -some privileged immunity from the stern law. Such had unawares been her -reasoning. But now she was undeceived; her hour had come, and she must -meet it as a Christian. Now was the time to prove the sincerity of her -faith, the strength of her principles; if they failed her, they were no -better than stubble and brass that dissolve at the first breath of the -furnace. - -A duel to the death is always brief: the foes close in mortal conflict; -the thrusts come fast and sharp; one or other falls. When Franceline -lifted her head from her arms, the expression of the tear-stained face -showed which way the battle had gone: the victor stood erect with his -foot upon the victim’s neck, unscathed, serene, and pitiless. Love lay -bleeding and maimed, but Conscience smiled in triumph. “I will not let -thee go until thou hast blessed me,” the wrestler had said, and the -angel had blessed her before he fled. - -The night was nearly spent when Franceline rose up from her knees, numbed -and shivering, although the weather was not cold. She walked rapidly up -and down for a few moments to warm herself; there was a spring in her -step, a light in her eyes, that told of recovered energy and unshaken -purpose; her nerves might tingle, her heart might grieve, but they would -neither faint nor quail. She dropped on her knees again for one moment -and uttered a prayer, more of thanksgiving this time than supplication, -and then lay down and soon fell asleep. - - * * * * * - -When Franceline came down next morning, after breakfasting in her room -as if she had been ailing, there was scarcely any trace in her aspect -of the conflict of the night. Eyes do not retain the stains of tears -very long at eighteen, and if she was a trifle paler than usual, it was -accounted for by the over-exertion which had brought the fainting fit. -She expressed a wish to go home as early as was convenient to her hosts, -and they consented with reluctance, but without offering any resistance. -Lady Anwyll said the child was weary and dull, and that the next time she -came to Rydal they should make it livelier for her. - -With what a feeling of regaining a haven of rest did Franceline enter -the little garden at The Lilies, where her father, warned by the sound -of the wheels, hastened out and stood waiting to clasp her!--Angélique -graciously letting him have the first kiss, before she claimed her turn. - -“We have been like fishes out of water without thee!--have we not, ma -bonne?” was Raymond’s joyful exclamation, as he gathered his child to -his heart, and then held her from him to look wistfully into the sweet, -smiling face. - -“Yes, we were dull enough without our singing bird, though I dare say she -didn’t miss us much!” was Angélique’s rejoinder. Franceline declared she -would go away very soon again to teach them to value her more. - -But the singing bird was not the same after this. The spirit that had -found utterance in its joyous voice was dead. A lark rises from the -clover-field, and pours out its sweet, “harmonious madness” over the -earth; swiftly it soars away--away--into fathomless space, and while, -spell-bound, we strain after the fading notes, lo! the sportsman’s arrow -hisses by, a cry rends the welkin, the songster is struck--he will never -sing again. - -Perhaps you despise Franceline for allowing the loss of an imaginary -possession to put the light out of her life in this way. As if our -lives were not made desolate half the time by the loss of what we never -had! You will say that self-respect and pride ought to have come to her -aid, and enabled her to quench in blood, if needs be, the fire that her -conscience pronounced guilty. But is the process so quickly accomplished, -think you? Franceline was doing her best; she was concentrating all the -energies of her mind and soul in the struggle, but it was not to be done -in a day; the very purity of her love constituted its strength. If there -had been the smallest element of corruption in it, it would have died -quicker; but its fibres were enduring because they were pure. - -Yet she was not forgetful of her father and of all that he had hitherto -been to her, and she to him; far from it. The effort to conceal her -sufferings from him was a great help to her in controlling them, though -it often taxed her strength severely. Sometimes, when the feeling of -isolation pressed on her almost beyond endurance, when she felt that she -must have the solace of his sympathy, cost what it might, she would steal -into his study, determined to speak and let the murder out; but the sight -of the venerable head bowed over his books, absorbed, and happy in his -unconsciousness, would arrest her words and choke them back into silence. -The strain was hard, but was it not a mercy that she had as yet only -her own burden to bear? What a price would she not have to pay for the -momentary relief of leaning it on him! What might not be dreaded from the -effect of the revelation on his sensitive pride, and still more sensitive -love? And then the inevitable breach between him and his oldest, almost -his only friend, Sir Simon! They would leave The Lilies and go forth she -knew not where. No; silence indubitably was best. To speak might be to -kill her father. - -This state of things lasted for a week, and then there was granted an -alleviation. Father Henwick had been called to a distance to see his -mother, who was dying; he arrived in time to assist her with his filial -ministry in the last passage; remained to settle all that followed, and -then came back to resume the even tenor of his life at Dullerton. - -Father Henwick was one of those men whom you may know for a lifetime, -and never find out until some special circumstance reveals them. There -was no sign in his outward man of anything remarkable in the inner man. -He had not acquired, or at any rate retained, any French polish or grace -from his early sojourn at the French seminary. His manners were very -homely, and abrupt almost to brusqueness; he was neither tall nor small, -but of that height which steers between the two, and so escapes notice; -his voice had the unmistakable ring of refinement and early education, -yet he seldom associated with his equals, his intercourse being confined -chiefly to the poor. These and their children were his familiars at -Dullerton. The latter looked on him as their especial property, and took -all manner of liberties with him unrebuked--hanging on to his coat-tails, -and plunging their audacious little paws into the sacred precincts of -his pockets, whence experience had taught them something might turn up -to their advantage: penny whistles, Dutch dolls, buns, lollypops, and -crackers were continually issuing from those mysterious depths which the -small fry sounded behind Father Henwick’s back, and apparently unbeknown -to him, while he administered comfort of another description to their -elders. - -The fact of his having been educated in France, and speaking French like -a Frenchman, accounted to the general mind of Dullerton for the eccentric -habits and unconventional manners of the Catholic priest, especially for -his shyness with his own class, and undue familiarity with those in the -humbler ranks. It ought to have established him on the footing of close -intimacy at The Lilies; and yet it had not done so. M. de le Bourbonais -professed and felt the greatest esteem for him, and made him welcome in -his gracious way; but Father Henwick was too shrewd an observer of human -nature not to see exactly how far this was meant to go. Franceline’s -early instruction had been confided to him, and the remembrance of the -pains he had taken with the little catechumen, the fondness with which -he had planted and fostered the good seed in her heart, made a claim -on Raymond’s gratitude; but it did not remove an intangible barrier -between the father in the flesh and the father in the spirit. M. de la -Bourbonais was a Catholic; if anybody had dared to impugn by one word the -stanchness of his Catholicity, he would have felt it his painful duty to -run that person through the body; but, as with so many of his countrymen, -his faith ended here; it was altogether theoretical; he was ready at a -moment’s notice to fight or die for it; but it did not enter into his -views to live for it. For Franceline, however, it was a different thing. -Religion was made for women, and women for religion. With that tender -reverence for his child’s faith, which in France is so often the last -bulwark of the father’s, Raymond had been at considerable pains to hide -from Franceline the inconsistency that existed between his own practice -and teaching. When the great event was approaching which, in the life of -a French child especially, is surrounded by such touching solemnity, he -made it his delight to assist Father Henwick in preparing her for it, -making her rehearse his instructions between times, or teaching her the -catechism himself. Then, to anticipate awkward questions and impossible -explanations, he made a point of rising early on Sundays and festivals -and going to first Mass before Franceline was out of bed. The habit once -contracted, he continued it; so it came about naturally that she took -for granted her father did at a different hour what he attached so much -importance to her doing. In conversation with Father Henwick she had more -than once incidentally let this belief transpire; but he was not the one -to undeceive her, or tear away the veil that parental sensitiveness had -drawn between itself and those childlike eyes. Neither was he one to -broach the subject indiscreetly to M. de la Bourbonais. A day might come -for speaking; meanwhile he was content to be silent and to wait. - -The day Father Henwick returned to Dullerton after his mother’s funeral, -his confessional was surrounded by a greater crowd than usual; his -parishioners had a whole week’s arrears of troubles and questions, -spiritual and temporal, to settle with him, and it was late when he -was able to speak to Franceline. The conference was a long one; by the -time it was over the church was nearly empty; only a few figures were -still kneeling in the shadows as the young girl, coming out through -a side-door, walked through the graves with a quick, light step and -proceeded homewards. Tears were falling under her veil, and a sob every -now and then showed that the source was still full to overflowing; but -her heart was lighter than it had been for many days, her will was -strengthened and her purpose fixed. She was bent on being courageous, on -walking forward bravely and never looking back. She blessed God for the -comfort she had received and the strength that had been imparted to her. -Oh! she was glad now that she had resisted the first impulse to speak to -her father, and had been silent. - -That evening M. de la Bourbonais and Angélique remarked how cheerful she -was. She stayed up later than usual reading to Raymond, and commenting -spiritedly on what she read; then bade him good-night with almost a -rejoicing heart, and slept soundly until long past daybreak. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -A VISIT TO IRELAND IN 1874. - -“Yes,” said Mr. Bernard at the close of a long discussion, “it _is_ quite -marvellous how little Englishmen know about Ireland! And their prejudices -are the necessary consequence of such ignorance! I wish they could be -_made_ to travel there more!” - -No one, perhaps, more heartily agreed with him than I did, taught by my -experiences of last autumn, which occurred in the following manner. - -I had been sometime absent from that country, a resident in London, -when I unexpectedly received a pressing invitation last September, -from a friend living in the County Westmeath, to cross St. George’s -Channel and pay her my long-promised visit. “Westmeath!” exclaimed my -London circle--“Westmeath! You must not dream of it! You’ll be shot, my -dear!” said one old lady. “Taken up by the police!” said another. “It’s -ridiculous, absurd!” cried a third. “Remember the Peace-Preservation -Act and all that implies--murders, Fenians, Ribbonmen, police! Don’t -risk your precious life amongst them, or we shall never lay eyes upon -you again!” And they all looked as solemn as if they had received an -invitation to attend my Requiem, and were meditating what flowers to -choose for the wreaths each meant to lay upon my coffin. - -Nothing, however, made me hesitate. Go I would, in defiance of all their -remonstrances; for, I argued, if my friend, who herself owned land in -Westmeath, could live there and see no impropriety in asking me, as a -matter of course I should run no risk in accepting her invitation. At -length, finding me obstinate, my cousin, Harry West, came forward, and, -volunteering to escort me, promised my relatives that he would judge for -himself, and if he saw danger would insist on my returning with him. He -was a middle-aged man, land agent of an estate in Buckinghamshire--one -of the most peaceful counties in the United Kingdom--had never set -foot in Ireland, but, having been studying the Irish question--as he -thought--and poring over the debates on this same Peace-Preservation Act -last session, held even gloomier views concerning Ireland than any of my -other numerous acquaintances. In consequence, I looked upon this as the -most self-sacrificing act of friendship he could possibly offer. At the -same time, I accepted it. - -Accordingly, we started by the night mail which leaves Euston Square at -twenty-five minutes past eight P.M. - -For the first two hours I was haunted, I confess, by the dread of the -Scotch limited mail running into us, as I knew it was to leave the same -spot only five minutes later; and both trains being express, if any hitch -should occur to us between the stations, we might “telescope” each other -without any means of preventing it. At least, so it seemed to my ignorant -mind. Harry fortunately knew nothing of this; but his thoughts were -none the less running upon danger, remembering some terrible accidents -to this same Irish mail--notably the one some four years ago, when Lord -and Lady Farnham, Judge Berwick and his sister, and others we knew, were -reduced to a heap of ashes in a few minutes by an explosion of petroleum -which caught fire in a collision. Luckily, Harry fell asleep on quitting -Chester, and never noticed the fatal spot, nor awoke until we drew up at -five minutes past three A.M. alongside the mail packet _Leinster_ some -way out on the pier at Holyhead. - -The night was fine, the sea calm, the passengers tired; so every one -slept tranquilly until the stewardess, rushing into the ladies’ cabin, -announced that we had passed the Kish light some time, and should be “in” -in half an hour. - -Without conveying any meaning to an English lady close by, the word -quickly roused me; for it was full of memories--sad, yet happy. Many -and many an evening, when living once on the Wicklow shore, had I -sat watching on the far horizon the sparkling light which marked the -well-known light-ship nine miles off the Irish coast. Of a summer’s night -it shone like a twinkling star, suggestive of cool, refreshing breezes -far away upon the calm waters, when perchance a hot breeze hung heavily -over the land; but in winter the simple knowledge of its existence, with -two men living there on board in a solitude that was broken only once a -month, while the winds and waves raged fiercely around the ship, often -haunted my dreams and made the stormy nights doubly dreary all along the -Wicklow sea-board. - -“The Kish light! Has not that a delightful, pleasant home sound?” said a -middle-aged woman near, looking at me as if she had divined my thoughts. -“And these boats--there are no others to be compared to them! The English -have no excuse for not coming to Ireland,” she continued, “with vessels -of this kind, that are like true floating bridges, so steady, swift, and -large. Who could be ill in them? No one!” - -I was puzzled to think who she could be; for though the face was not -unfamiliar, I could give it no name. It was that of a lady, certainly, -with a bright, intelligent, happy expression; but I saw that her garb was -coarse as she bent and rummaged for something in her bag. In a moment, -however, the mystery was solved by her lightly throwing a snow-white -piece of linen over her head, which, as if by magic, took the form of the -cornet of a Sister of S. Vincent de Paul. - -“Sister Mary!” I exclaimed, “whom I knew at Constantinople!” - -“The same,” she answered. “I thought I knew you!” And shaking hands -cordially, we sat down to talk over the past. - -She was a native of Ireland--her accent alone betrayed her, though she -had not seen her native land for years--and I had known her in the East, -after which she had been to Algiers and various other parts. Now, to her -great joy, she had been ordered for a while to one of the convents of -the order in Dublin--a joy which, though she tried, nun-like, to subdue -it, burst forth uncontrollably the nearer we approached the land. Coming -with me on deck to watch our entrance into Kingstown Harbor, the first -person we met was Harry West, who eyed my companion with amazement; for -he had never seen a Sister of Charity in living form before, though he -entertained that sort of romantic admiration for them which the most -rigid Protestants often accord to this order, though they deny it to -every other. Turning round again, my surprise was great at encountering -the Bishop--the _Catholic_ Bishop--of ----shire, on his way to the -consecration of a church in the far west of Ireland. “Quelle heureuse -rencontre!” said his lordship playfully; for we were very old friends. -“You see I am attracted also to the _dear_ old country! You smile,” he -continued, noticing my amused expression as I introduced Harry to him. -“Oh! yes, I know I am a Saxon, _pur sang_. But we English bishops and -priests always feel as if we were at home the instant we put our foot -on shore in the Green Isle. There’s Kingstown and its church, where I -shall go to say Mass the moment we land. Watch, now!” he added, as we -drew up alongside the jetty; “you’ll see how civil the men will be the -instant they perceive I am a bishop.” As he spoke a porter rushed by, and -an impulse seized me to give him a hint to this effect. At once the man -knelt down, in all his hurry, “for his lordship’s blessing;” nor did he -limit his attentions to this, but insisted on carrying his luggage, not -only on shore, but up to the hotel, refusing, as the bishop later told -us, to accept a penny for his time and trouble--“the honor of serving his -lordship and of getting his blessing was quite reward enough!” - -Harry, standing by, could not believe his eyes. It was a phase of life -quite unknown to him. But there was no time for meditation; the train was -on the pier, the whistle sounded, and we were soon on the road to Dublin. - -It was Sunday--the one day of all others which, had I wished to show -Harry the difference between the two countries, I should have purposely -chosen; the one morning in the week when Dublin is astir from early dawn, -and London, on the other hand, sleeps. Residents in the latter, Catholic -residents especially, are painfully aware of the difficulty of finding -cab or conveyance of any kind to take them to early Mass, and know how, -in the finest summer weather, they may wander through the parks without -meeting a human being until the afternoon. In England church-going -commences, properly speaking, at eleven o’clock only, and then chiefly -for the upper classes; the evening services, on the contrary, are largely -attended by the servants and trades-people, to meet which custom a -vast majority of families dine on cold viands, or even relinquish the -meal altogether, substituting tea, with cold meat--or “heavy tea,” as -it is generally called--for the ordinary social gathering. In Ireland, -as in every Catholic country, the whole system is reversed, as the -natural consequence of the church discipline, which enjoins the hearing -of Mass on the whole community, high and low; and--contrary to the -Protestant system--once this obligation fulfilled, the attendance at -evening service is necessarily much smaller. Harry never having even -been out of England, except for a “run up the Rhine” some years before, -and knowing no Catholic but myself, it never occurred to him to think -of these distinctions, nor to suppose that he would find anything in -Ireland different from English ways, except that unlimited lawlessness -the existence of which he believed made life so impossible there. - -He was in the process of recovering from his astonishment at the -unfamiliar phraseology of the Westland Row railway porters when our -passage to the cab was impeded by a crowd suddenly rushing along the -footway, met by an advancing one from the opposite direction, composed -of the very poorest class, men, women, and children. Harry’s lively -imagination and preconceived ideas led him at once to conclude that it -must be a Fenian Hyde Park mob _renforcé_; and the bewildered horror of -his countenance at thus finding his worst fears realized the instant he -arrived at the Dublin terminus was beyond all description comic. - -“Ah! sure, your honor, it’s the seven o’clock Mass that’s just over, -and the half-past seven that is going to begin,” explained the cabman, -pointing to the large church which stands at Westland Row adjoining -the railway station. “Sure, this goes on every half-hour until one -o’clock. An’t we all obliged to hear Mass, whatever else we do?” And -as we proceeded, I cross-questioned him for the benefit of my cousin. -We discovered that this same man had been to church at six o’clock -that morning, belonged to a confraternity, approached the sacraments -regularly, and performed various acts of charity in sickness and distress -amongst his fellow-members, in accordance with the rules of the said -society; yet he was but poorly clad, and showed no outward signs of the -remarkable intelligence with which he answered me on every point. - -As usual on these occasions, the choice of a hotel had been puzzling, -the Shelbourne, Morrison’s, Maple’s, each having their distinctive -advantages; but at last we decided in favor of the Imperial, a quiet but -comfortable establishment facing the General Post-Office in Sackville -Street. The streets were alive with people as we crossed Carlisle Bridge, -past Smith O’Brien’s white marble statue; and Harry could not help -noticing the contrast to England at that early Sunday hour. - -Refreshed by our ablutions and clean toilets, we were comfortably seated -at breakfast, when sounds of music approaching caused us to rush to the -window, and showed us a wagonette full of musicians in green uniform, -playing “Garry Owen” and “Patrick’s Day,” followed by half a dozen -outside cars full of men and women. - -“Fenians!” cried Harry. “I told you I could not be mistaken.” - -“Only some trade guild going out for an innocent day’s pleasure in the -country; after having been to Mass too, I have no doubt,” observed a -gentleman close by, whose accent was unmistakably English. “This is not -the only custom that will seem new to you, if you are strangers,” he -continued, addressing Harry, and smiling meanwhile. “No two countries -ever were more different than England and Ireland. I shall never -forget my astonishment on arriving here two years ago. I could not -get accustomed to it at all at first. I remember one circumstance -particularly which greatly struck me. I arrived on a Sunday morning, -as you have done, and taking up the _Freeman’s Journal_--one of the -best Dublin papers--on Monday, perceived a short paragraph in a corner, -headed, ‘A Bishop Killed,’ so small that it might easily have escaped -notice. Nor was there any allusion to it in any other part of the paper; -but, reading on, you may conceive my surprise at finding that ‘a bishop’ -was no one less than the Bishop of Winchester, _the_ leading bishop -in England, whose death by a fall from his horse, you will remember, -convulsed that country through its length and breadth. Not one of my -acquaintances even--and I had many in Dublin--took the smallest interest -in it. They had not followed his career; he had not the slightest -influence in Ireland; and few knew his name, or that he was any relation -to the great Wilberforce. On the other hand, they were at the time -living upon news from the North, where a police officer was on his trial -for the murder of a bank manager--a fact which no one in England gave -the smallest heed to. I had never heard of it. But that same afternoon -the head waiter of the hotel, unable to conceal his excitement, came -up and whispered to me, ‘He is condemned, sir! I have got a telegram -from Omagh myself this instant.’ I had only been thirty-six hours in -Ireland at the time, and, having merely glanced at the newspaper, knew -nothing of the trial; so I was electrified and mystified beyond measure, -and had no remedy but to sit down and study it. I then discovered it -was deeply interesting from its bearing upon all classes, and I could -not resist writing to some of the English papers and endeavoring to -excite them on the subject. But it would not do! No paper inserted my -letter. The similarity of interest is not kept up continuously between -the two countries, owing very much, I think, to the little interchange -of newspapers between them. I hope you have ordered your _Times_ to be -forwarded, sir,” he continued; “for you can’t expect to find one to buy -in Dublin. They’ll always give you the _Irish Times_, if you merely ask -for the _Times_; they never think about the latter--far less than on the -Continent.” - -This was a dreadful blow to Harry; for, like all Englishmen, he could -not exist without his _Times_ at breakfast, and, though I proposed that -he should write for it by that night’s mail, his reviving spirits were -sadly checked by the feeling of being in a land which apparently did -not believe in _his_ guide and vade-mecum. I felt it would be heartless -under such circumstances to leave him alone; yet, I should go to Mass. At -length, not liking to let me wander by myself in “such a dangerous city,” -he offered to accompany me and give up his own service for the day. A -little curiosity, I thought, lurked beneath the kindness; but if so, it -was amply rewarded. - -Following the porter’s direction of “first to the right and then to -the left,” we soon reached the handsome church in Marlborough Street, -opposite the National Schools. As at Westland Row, so here an immense -crowd was pouring out, but a far larger one pushing in; so that, although -long before twelve o’clock, we considered ourselves fortunate in getting -any places whatever. Unaware that this was the cathedral, and without -any expectations regarding it in consequence, our surprise was great -when a long procession moved up the centre, closed by His Eminence -Cardinal Cullen, in full pontificals, blessing us as he passed. “Those -are the canons who attend on all great occasions, and the young men are -the students at Clonliffe Seminary,” whispered a young woman next me in -answer to my inquiries, while his eminence was taking his seat on the -throne, to Harry’s infinite edification. “And we shall have a sermon from -Father Burke after Mass,” she continued--“‘our Prince of Preachers,’ as -the cardinal calls him. I came here more than an hour ago, in order to -get a place. I promise you it’ll be worth hearing. Oh! there’s no one -like him. God bless him!” - -And as she said, so it happened. The instant Mass was over, not before, -the famous Dominican was seen ascending the pulpit. The centre of the -church was filled with benches, and a standing mass in the passage -between, while the aisles were so packed by the poorest classes that -a pin could not be dropped amongst them. Of that vast multitude not -one individual had stirred, and in a few seconds they hung with rapt -attention upon every word spoken by the gifted preacher. By their -countenances it was easy to see how they followed all his arguments, -drank in every sentiment, and--who could wonder at it?--were entranced by -his lofty accents. Harry himself was mesmerized. The subject was charity, -and the cause an appeal for schools under Sisters of Charity. In all his -experience of English preachers--and it was varied--Harry confessed that -he had never heard anything like this. Whether for sublime language, -beautiful, delicate action, pathetic tone, quotations from Scripture Old -and New, or eloquence of appeal, he considered it unrivalled. It lasted -an hour, but seemed not five minutes. As we passed out of the door, the -plates were filled with piles of those one-pound notes which in Ireland -represent the gold. I saw Harry’s hand glide almost unconsciously into -his pockets, and beheld a sovereign fall noiselessly amongst the paper. - -“One certainly is the better of a fine sermon,” he remarked, as we -sauntered back to the hotel; “and I never heard a finer. Altogether, it -was a remarkable sight, and the people looked mild enough. But we must -not trust to appearances nor be deceived too easily, you know,” he added -after a few moments. - -I knew nothing of the kind, but thought the best reply would be a -proposal to follow the multitude who were now crowding the tram-carriages -that start from Nelson’s Pillar to all the suburbs. “In half an hour the -streets will be deserted until evening,” said our English acquaintance, -whom we again met accidentally, and who recommended a walk on the pier -at Kingstown as the least fatiguing trip, volunteering, moreover, to -accompany us part of the way, as he was going to visit friends on that -line at the “Rock,” as Blackrock is usually called. It was contrary to -Harry’s customs on the “Sabbath”; yet, after all the church-going he had -seen that morning, he could not deny that air and exercise were most -legitimate. Accordingly, entering a crowded train to Westland Row, we -soon found ourselves retracing the route we came a few hours before. - -Most truly has it been said that no city has more varied or beautiful -suburbs than Dublin, and no population which so much enjoy them. Hitherto -we had seen few but the lower and middle classes; for the wealthier -side of Dublin is south of the Liffey. Moreover, being autumn, the -“fashionables” were not in town. They were either travelling on the -Continent or scattered in the vicinity. The train, however, was full of -smart dresses and bright faces, “wreathed in smiles” and brimming over -with merriment. Every one, too, seemed more or less to know every one -else, and even our English friend was acquainted with many. “That is -Judge Keogh,” he said, as he bowed to a short, square-built man waiting -on the platform near us--“Keogh, of the celebrated Galway judgment--a man -of first-rate talent, as you may guess from his broad forehead and long -head; but he has ruined himself by his violence on that occasion. He is -quite ‘broken’ since then, and his spirits gone; for he knows what his -fellow-countrymen think of him, and he rarely appears in public except -upon the bench. He is probably going to Bray now, where he is spending -the summer quietly and unnoticed. And that is Judge Monahan getting into -the next carriage with those ladies--he who presided at the Yelverton -trial; also of great legal capacity and a most kindly, tender-hearted -man, always surrounded by his children and grandchildren. Sir Dominic -Corrigan, the eminent physician, is in that corner yonder; his fame has -doubtless reached you too,” he continued, addressing Harry, who had been -contemplating the two legal celebrities, well known to him through his -oracle, the _Times_, which, from their connection with the above-named -events, had noticed them on both occasions. “I could point out many -others, if I could escort you to Kingstown”; but as we halted at the -Blackrock Station a smart carriage was awaiting and carried him off -inland, whilst we dashed onwards, the blue waters of Dublin Bay, bounded -by the hill of Howth, on our left, and rows of terraces and pretty villas -along the shore on our right. - -It was a bright afternoon, with a cool, refreshing breeze, and the pier -was one gay mass of pedestrians. The whole of Dublin might have been -there, so great was the gathering; but we afterwards found that every -other side of the capital was equally frequented. Fully an English mile -in length, it is of substantial masonry, which on the outer side slopes -by large blocks of granite into the sea, while a broad road skirts the -inner line next to the harbor, terminated by a lighthouse at the extreme -point. Old and young were here congregated; children playing amongst the -granite rocks; clerks and shop-girls, mixed with whole families of the -professional classes of the capital, perambulating in groups, dressed in -their prettiest and brightest, looking the very pictures of enjoyment and -friendly intercourse. A man-of-war was anchored in the harbor, which was -also full of graceful yachts and alive with boating parties rowing about -in all directions. A more healthful, innocent afternoon it were difficult -to conceive, and even Harry admitted the general _brio_ which seemed to -pervade the air. Nor could he any longer deny the proverbial beauty of -the Dublin maidens; and I found him quite ready to linger on a seat and -watch the clear complexions and faultless features that passed in such -constant succession before us. - -After some time that tinge of melancholy common to strangers in a crowd -began imperceptibly to steal over us, as we awoke to the recollection -that we alone seemed without acquaintances in that throng, and we moved -to the station on our way Dublin-ward. Suddenly the one defect to us -was repaired; for on the platform we found the Bishop of ----shire -going to Dalkey to dine with some old friends. Harry had made rapid -strides since the morning; for his face brightened as he recognized our -fellow-passenger, and the next moment, undisguisedly admitting that he -had spent a charming day, he dwelt with earnestness on the splendid -sermon of the morning. - -“Oh! yes,” observed a priest who accompanied his lordship, “even a -Protestant clergyman told me lately that he considered the only orators -in the true sense of the word now in the United Kingdom to be Gladstone, -Bright, and Father Burke. But Father Burke has something more than mere -oratory,” said he, smiling. “You ought to hear him at his own church -in Dominic Street, where he is to preach again to-night. He is more at -home there than anywhere else. If you want a real treat in the matter of -preaching, I recommend you to go there.” - -The remark was dropped at random; but, to my excessive surprise, Harry -caught fire, and, finding me willing, he hurried through his dinner in -a manner that was perfectly astounding. Then, in feverish haste, we -made our way to S. Saviour’s. It was not yet eight o’clock, but still -the church was so full that entrance was quite impossible. There was no -standing room even, said those at the door, and we were turning away, to -Harry’s deep disappointment, when a beggar-woman accosted us with “Won’t -your honor give me something for a cup of tea? Sure, I dreamt last night -that your honor would give me a pound of tea and her ladyship a pound of -sugar. Ye were the very faces I saw in my drame. And may God reward ye!” - -“Dreams go by contraries,” replied Harry testily, so vexed at missing the -sermon that he was in no humor to be teased. - -“Indeed! then, that’s just it,” answered the woman, an arch wink lighting -up her wizened features. “It’s just your honor, then, that’s to give me -the sugar and her ladyship the tea; so it’ll be good luck for me anyhow! -And may God bless you and his holy Mother watch over you!” she continued, -as Harry, unable to resist a hearty laugh at the woman’s readiness, drew -out his purse and handed her a shilling. “And now, sure, I’ll show ye how -to get in to hear his riverence! There’s no one all the world over like -Father Burke!--the darlin’. It would be a sin for you to go away without -hearing him; so I’ll bring ye round to the sacristy door, and you’ll get -in quite comfortable!” - -“You must be very much at home here, if you can manage that,” observed -Harry, amused at the whole performance, as we meekly followed our -tattered guide. - -“Oh! then, don’t I spend half my time in the church, your honor! A poor -body like me can’t work; but sure an’ can’t I pray? I hear three Masses -every Sunday and one every week-day. Sure, it’d be a sin if I didn’t. Oh! -I don’t mane it’d be a sin on week-days, but it’d be a mortal sin if I -didn’t hear one on Sundays. Sure, every one knows that!” … - -This was, however, precisely the kind of knowledge in which Harry was -utterly deficient. Mortal sin and venial sin were to him, as to most -Englishmen, unknown terms, and he gaped with bewilderment as this ragged -woman proceeded to develop to him the difference in the clearest possible -language. There is no saying to what length the catechetical instruction -might have extended, if we had not reached the sacristy door, where, true -enough, the clerk, noticing we were strangers, led us into reserved seats -beside the sanctuary, though even there but scant room then remained. - -S. Saviour’s, built by the Dominicans within the last fifteen years, -is an excellent specimen of Gothic, and, filled to overflowing with a -devout, earnest congregation, upon whom brilliant gaseliers now shed a -flood of light, no sight could be more impressive. The devotions, so -fitting in a Dominican church, commenced with the Rosary, which being -over, the black mantle, white robe, and striking head of the favorite -preacher rose above the pulpit ledge. His text was again on charity; and -if anything were needed to show his powers, the versatility with which -he treated the same theme would have been all-sufficient. Harry was lost -in admiration, especially as it was extempore, in contradistinction to -the Protestant habit of _reading_ sermons; nor could he believe, on -looking at his watch, that we had once more been listening for an entire -hour. He could have remained there for many more quarters; and, to judge -from their countenances, so could the whole congregation, even to the -very poorest. Benediction followed, and, as deeply impressed as in the -morning, we pursued our way back with the crowd through Dominic Street -into Sackville street and to our “home” at the Imperial Hotel. - -Next morning Harry West was a different man. I sought, however, for an -explanation in vain. No _Times_, it is true, was forthcoming; but then -it was Monday, and in his Buckinghamshire retreat this likewise happened -on the first day of the week. The Irish papers doubtless irritated him -by their paucity of English news--not even “a bishop killed!”--and their -volubility on topics quite unfamiliar to him was very vexatious. Still -this was not sufficient to account for the change which had come over -the spirit of his dream. At length, by a slight hint, I discovered that -he thought he had allowed himself to be carried away giddily by the -excitement of the previous day, and that he must look at matters more -soberly if he really were to be an impartial judge. This was the day of -our departure for Westmeath, and he would not be influenced by any one. -Our train did not leave until three P.M., and I urged a ramble through -the town; but in his present mood he viewed everything askance, and would -not even smile at the many witticisms and pleasant answers which I found -it possible to draw forth from the guides, porters, and cabmen, almost -unconsciously to themselves. - -At last we started from the Broadstone station. The afternoon was cloudy, -and, as we advanced, the country became dull and uninteresting. The line -ran beside a canal--on which there seemed but poor traffic--bordered by -broad fields of pasture, so thinly stocked with cattle, however, and -so deserted-looking, though in the vicinity of Dublin, that the effect -was even depressing upon me. Two ladies in our compartment, certainly, -noticed it as something unusual, saying some mysterious words about -Ballinasloe fair and how different it would be when that event took -place; but they left the carriage immediately, so we had no opportunity -of cross-questioning them. In the course of two and a half hours we -reached our terminus at Athboy, and the porter, asking if we were the -friends expected by Mrs. Connor, handed me a note just brought from -her. It explained that one of her horses being laid up and she likewise -ailing, she could neither come herself nor send her carriage; she hoped, -therefore, that we might be content with the “outside car,” a cart going -at the same time for our luggage. Content I certainly was, for I loved -the national vehicle; but Harry had never tried one, and in his present -temper nothing pleased him. The civility of the coachman even provoked -him, and made him whisper something about “blarney” in my ear. However, -putting our cloaks and bundles in the “well,” we got up back to back, one -on each side and the coachman on the seat in the middle. - -Athboy, too, known to Harry from the debates as a focus of Ribbonism, was -an unlucky starting-point, and the number of barefooted though well-made, -handsome children running about its streets, greatly shocked him. - -Whether the coachman really urged on the horse faster than on subsequent -occasions, or the turnings were sharper, or that Harry was startled by -the difficulty every novice experiences in holding on, I have never -since been able to ascertain; but, looking around at him in less than -five minutes after we left, his piteous expression convulsed me with -laughter. From him, however, it met with no response, and he either -could not or would not admire the brilliant sunset sky, which in autumn -is often so exquisite in this part of Ireland. With every step the -road grew prettier, thickly overshadowed by the large, spreading trees -of the beautiful gentlemen’s seats in this district; though here and -there a wretched roadside cabin startled Harry from his revery, and -the recurrence of a black cross now and again on a wall attracted his -attention. - -“O sir! that’s only where some one was killed,” answered Dan, the -coachman, most innocently, making Harry shudder meanwhile; though in -the same breath he added: “This is where Mr. W---- was killed by a fall -from his horse, and the last one was put up where poor Biddy Whelan was -thrown out of the cart when returning from market at Delvin two years -last Michaelmas, by the old horse shying. She died on the spot in a few -minutes, and these crosses are painted that way on the wall to remind us -to say a prayer for the poor souls. God be merciful to them!” - -Harry’s sidelong glances towards me, however, plainly proved that he -mistrusted the man’s words and gave them a very different meaning. By -degrees--as always does happen on these cars, which amongst their many -advantages cannot boast their adaptation for conversation--we grew -silent, and no one had spoken for the next ten minutes, when we turned -down a long, straight road, rendered still darker by the magnificent elms -which stretched across it as in a high arch. Suddenly a feeble shot was -heard not far off, and at the same moment Harry jumped off the car, put -his hand to his heart, and cried out: “I’m killed! I’m killed!” What -words can express my horror? To this day I know not how I too jumped -off; I only know that I found myself standing beside him in an agony -of mind. Had all my vain boasting, all my obstinacy, resulted in this? -Was poor Harry West thus to be sacrificed to my foolhardiness? But the -agony though sharp was--must I betray my cousin’s weakness, and confess -it?--short. I looked for blood, for fainting, for anything resembling -my preconceived notions of a “roadside murder”; when, as quickly as he -had jumped off the car, so quickly he now seemed to recover. Ashamed of -himself he certainly was, when, taking away his hand, he was obliged to -admit “it was all a mistake!” After all, he had never been touched! But -the shot had been so unexpected, and he had at the time been brooding -so deeply over all the stories he had read of “agrarian outrages,” that -he had positively thought he had been hit; and very natural it seemed -to him, as no doubt he had been already recognized as a _land agent_ -by the Irish population![178] Quite impossible is it to describe my -mingled feelings of vexation at the needless fright and of uncontrollable -amusement at my English friend’s unexampled folly. Dan, the coachman, -underwent the same process, only in an aggravated form; for, while he -felt indignant at the implied insult to his countrymen, every feature in -his face betrayed the most uncontrollable amusement, mixed with supreme -contempt; for he declared that the shot was fired by his own son running -in search of hedge-sparrows, as was his wont at that hour, and he pointed -him out to us in the next field, which belonged to Mrs. Connor. The gate -of her avenue was only a few yards further on. - -If I had wished to break the ice on our arrival at Mauverstown, this -incident would effectually have accomplished it. But the party consisted -of Mrs. Connor; her son, a youth of twenty; Katie, a daughter of -twenty-nine, and a handsome, black-eyed, fair-complexioned young lady, -Miss Florence O’Grady, come on a visit “all the way from Kerry.” Poor -Harry! At a glance I saw that he was in my power, and he gave me such -an imploring look that my lips were sealed, in the hope of saving him -from the tender mercies of the merry young ones. Not a word did I say of -the adventure. It was not to be expected, however, that Dan would show -him equal mercy; and young Connor’s roguish expression next morning, -when he came in late to breakfast after a visit to the stables, told me -that he had heard the story, and, moreover, that it had lost nothing in -the telling. Fortunately Harry, who was by nature the kindest and most -amiable of men, had thoroughly recovered his ordinary good temper, and -joined in the laugh against himself so cordially that the hearts of all -were at once gained. Had he by chance done otherwise, his life would -have been made miserable; but now one and all declared that they would -only punish him by making him acquainted with every hedge and bush in -the country, and that he should not leave until he “made restitution” -by singing the praises of “ould Ireland.” Charlie Connor would help him -in the shooting, the young ladies could take him across country--for -“cub-hunting” had begun, though it was too early yet for the regular -hunt--while Mrs. Connor mentioned a list of gentlemen’s places far and -near which she would show him, that he might tell his English friends it -was not quite so barbarous a land as they evidently imagined. - -Good-natured though he was, Harry’s face lengthened at a prospect which -would involve a longer stay than he had intended; but there was no time -for reflection, for Charlie led him off to inspect the farm, the young -ladies took him through the pleasure-grounds on his return, and in the -afternoon we all drove to a croquet party more than eight miles off. - -Henceforward most faithfully did they carry out their resolutions, -leaving no morning or afternoon unappropriated to some pleasure. Of all -counties in Ireland, Westmeath is remarkable for its many handsome seats, -well-timbered parks, and the pleasant social intercourse maintained -amongst their owners. At this season, too, every one was at home, and -croquet parties, _matinées musicales_, or dinner parties were countless. -The shooting filled a certain place in the programme for the gentlemen, -no doubt; still, Harry, announcing that he saw more of the country by -following the ladies, always managed to accompany us. The gardens and -conservatories interested him, he said; and the luxuriance of the shrubs -and evergreens always attracted his admiration, and was an invariable -excuse for a saunter with the young ladies, though oftener with only one -of the party. When we had inspected those in our immediate vicinity, -a flower-show at Kells, in the bordering county of Meath (also under -the Peace-Preservation Act!), displayed to us in addition the “beauty, -gallantry, and fashion” of both neighborhoods. Nothing, perhaps, on -these occasions is more striking to a stranger than the sort of family -life which seems to exist in Irish counties, every one knowing the other -from boyhood intimately--nay, from generation to generation. Above all is -it remarkable how every one can tell at once by the family name what part -of Ireland a new-comer springs from, or whether Celtic, of “the Pale,” or -Cromwellian, with most unerring accuracy. The majority of land-owners in -Meath and Westmeath belong to the latter--Cromwellian--class; but this in -no way hinders their living on the best terms--unlike what occurs in the -“Black North”--with their Catholic neighbors, few and far between though -these undoubtedly are. - -One of the prettiest and most interesting places in this -neighborhood--Ballinlough Castle--belongs to the descendants of the -very ancient sept of O’Reilly, although within the present century -they have taken the name of Nugent, in consequence of a large property -having been left to them by one of that family. As the word implies, -it is situated on a lough, or small lake, and the house consists of an -old building to which several large rooms have been added within the -present century. The northwest front is now completely covered with -ivy, thickly intermingled with Virginia creepers, the deep-red leaves -of which amidst the dark green of the ivy made a beautiful picture at -this autumnal season. Embedded in the foliage, a tablet over the door -records the date, 1614--thirty-five years before the invasion of Ireland -by Cromwell. In the dining-room are two deep recesses, still called by -the family Cromwell’s stables; for tradition relates that in one his -horse, in the other his _cow_, rested during the one night he slept in -the castle. Early on the following day he left the place to continue his -march; but before he had proceeded far, having repented that he had not -seized so fine a property, he sent back one of his officers with an order -to the O’Reilly, the owner, to surrender at once, giving the officer -permission--as was his wont on such occasions--to take and keep the -castle for himself. Not so easy was this, however, as they had imagined -from their previous day’s experience; for “forewarned is forearmed,” -and the instant Cromwell departed the house had been barricaded. His -messenger, therefore, seen returning along the avenue, was communicated -with now only from behind closed doors. Yet the owner did not refuse in -so many words. He merely presented the house-key hanging on the end of a -pistol, through an opening over the door, desiring the man to seize it -if he dared! Not of a daring character, however, was the officer, and he -took a few moments to consider; then, throwing a _would-be_ contemptuous -look at the coveted house and land, he turned away, was soon out of -sight, and no Cromwell or Cromwellian ever troubled Ballinlough again. - -The castle contains, besides some most beautiful carvings from Spain, -Aubusson tapestries from France, marble chimney-pieces and paintings -from Italy, collected in his travels by Sir James Nugent some fifty -years since; also many relics of past times--for example, one very fine -Vandyke; a full-length portrait of Lady Thurles, widow of the Duke of -Ormond’s son, and afterwards allied to the O’Reillys; another, of the -famous Peggy O’Neil, only daughter of Sir Daniel O’Neil, the hero at -the battle of the Boyne, who is said to be the one who exclaimed when -the day was over: “Change kings, and we will fight the battle over -again.” He then accompanied King James to France, but, being subsequently -pardoned by William and recalled to take possession of his estates, he -died at Calais on his road home. King William, strange to relate, is -stated notwithstanding, in a fit of generosity, to have given a large -dower to this his only daughter Peggy when she soon afterwards married -Hugh O’Reilly, of Ballinlough Castle, and thus became the ancestress of -the present family. A satin quilt embroidered by her hands still exists -amongst the castle treasures; but most interesting of all the relics is -an old chalice dating from that period. - -On our road thither we had passed by the ruins of a small chapel -carefully preserved, standing in a field still called Cromwell’s field, -because there the priest was saying Mass when a scout returned and gave -the alarm that the invader and his troops were speedily advancing. In -consternation, the congregation fled; but the priest neither could nor -would interrupt the Holy Sacrifice, and he had just time to finish it -when the enemy’s soldiers appeared in sight. Then, and then only, he -took flight across the fields; but his foot slipped as he was crossing -the nearest hedge, and the chalice which he held in his hand was bent by -his fall. And this same chalice, notched and bent, we now saw carefully -preserved by the gracious _Dame-Châtelaine_ of Ballinlough. And here it -may be noticed that similar relics and traditions are found all over -Ireland. Another family of our acquaintance possesses the diminutive, -plain chalice used by a priest of their blood--his name being engraven on -the base--for saying Mass behind a hedge when even this was penal both -for priest and people. In that particular case, too, this steadfastness -to his duty did end fatally; for this same priest was one of those killed -at Drogheda. In the grounds of another friend a small, thickly-wooded -eminence is shown, with a grotto which served to shelter the priest when -officiating, whilst the congregation knelt in groups around, with scouts -outside ready to give warning of any unfriendly approach. Elsewhere the -“priest’s hill,” enclosed within the demesne walls, bears its name from -the sad fate of another of the sacred ministry killed there whilst caught -in the act of saying Mass. Two hundred years and more have elapsed since -Cromwell’s day, but it is no wonder that the memory of these events is -still fresh in the minds of a faithful posterity, or that they should -delight to speak of deeds which would honor any people. - -Deeply impressed as Harry West was by traditions which until then had -been unknown to him, he was further edified by the manner in which the -Irish poor flock from far and near on Sunday mornings to the parish -church, often walking thither many a long mile in hail, rain, and snow. -Sometimes it stands at a central point, on a hill or in the middle of -a field, no village even near; but many handsome new churches are in -course of erection from contributions gathered chiefly amongst the poor. -Some of these collections are wonderful, considering the localities, -seven and eight hundred pounds--nay, a thousand--being often the result -of the “laying the foundation-stone,” or “opening day,” in a district -solely inhabited by farmers and peasants--especially, be it added, if the -favorite Father Burke be the preacher. Many and many a time, however, -large sums are sent on such occasions back from America from some old -parishioner whose fortune has increased since he left the “dear ould -country,” but whose heart still clings to it faithfully and tenderly. -Most remarkable, too, is the correspondence kept up by emigrants with -their families, and the large presents in money “sent home” from sons to -fathers, brothers to sisters. It was our friend’s custom--as it is at -Ballinlough Castle and many other houses--to let the poorer cottagers -come up to the hall-door for doles of bread, or presents of clothes at -certain seasons, and at all times for medicine, of which the ladies have -knowledge just sufficient for all minor wants. One morning I was watching -Mrs. Connor’s distribution, when old Biddy Nolan produced a letter which -she begged her honor to read for her. The postmark was Chicago, and it -came from her son _Mike_, who had not written since he left home; but now -he gave a full account of his adventures, winding up by enclosing his -mother, who was bathed in tears of joy, a draft for twenty pounds--his -savings during the last few months! - -Another characteristic of the County Westmeath consists in its many -pretty lakes; and as picnics, fishing and boating excursions, were -not forgotten in the Connor hospitalities, these--Lough Derrevarra in -particular--could not be omitted. The road to the lakes lay across -a bog, moor, and wild, deserted-looking tract, the exact reverse of -the neighborhood we were living in. Dismal enough it was returning -sometimes in the dark without meeting a human being perhaps for miles, -and difficult to me now and then to resist a shudder. Strange, however, -is the world, and in nothing did it appear to me stranger than in Harry -West’s air of tranquillity and perfect security. - -He never dreamt of jumping off of the car (he would have left a pretty -neighbor if he had!), nor seemed to remember the existence of the police, -Ribbonmen, or Peace-Preservation Act! He heard no one mention them, and -he had given up thinking about them. - -Truly, a second change had come over the spirit of his dream. And in -proportion to his aversion to my Irish visit, so now he was the one that -experienced difficulty in ending it. Not days but weeks passed by; yet -there he lingered, to the inconceivable surprise of his friends at home. -Not to mine, however. The cause was patent to every one on the spot; nor -could I wonder when, one morning, throwing off his customary reserve, -he asked me to welcome as a cousin his Irish _fiancée_, the beautiful -Florence O’Grady. Short had been the wooing, he said, but none the less -thorough his conversion. A curious mixture of love and religion those -outside-car excursions must certainly have been (these two never would -avail themselves of carriage or other vehicle); for not only had she -conquered his Saxon, but even his religious prejudices so fully that he -voluntarily offered to place himself at once under some able teacher. - -Christmas was not long in coming round under these circumstances, nor -Harry West in returning as a Catholic to claim his Kerry bride, blessing -me for having accepted his escort, whilst I regarded the event as a -reward for that act of self-denial on his part. Nor could he, at the -joyous wedding breakfast, resist describing the scene of his leap from -the car on the evening of his arrival, giving a cheer at the same time -for the Peace-Preservation Act, which, to him at least--although only -from the terror it had inspired--had been the primary cause of so much -happiness. - - -THE LEGEND OF FRIAR’S ROCK. - -The thing long hoped for had come to pass (though, alas! by what a -way of grief) and I was visiting my school friend, Anne d’Estaing, -in Bretagne. It was six years since we had met, but we had kept up a -constant correspondence; and by letter when absent, as well as by word -when together, I had become so familiar with her home and her family that -I did not go there as a stranger. - -They lived in an old castle partly fallen into picturesque decay. In -the eastern tower was a small chapel, which they had put into complete -repair, and there daily they had service, and Anne found her great -delight in decking the altar with flowers, and keeping everything in -exquisite order and neatness with her own hands. They had had great -sorrows in the six years of our separation. Only Anne and her parents -were left of the loving family that once numbered eleven. Two of the -sons fell in battle, a contagious disease swept off the three youngest -children in one week; Anne’s favorite brother Bertrand became a -missionary priest, and went to China under a vow never to return; and her -twin sister faded away in consumption. - -It had seemed to me, in my Irish home, as if such sorrows could scarcely -be borne; but I had never been able to come to my friend with visible, -face-to-face, heart-to-heart consolation, for my daily duty was beside a -couch where my precious mother lay, suffering from an incurable disease. -When her long trouble was at last over my strength and spirits were much -shattered, and I longed to accept Anne’s pressing invitation. My father -was very unwilling that I should go--he thought it would be so sad and -dreary there; but Anne’s letters had revealed to me such a life of peace -and prayer and happy service that it seemed to me that Château d’Estaing -must be a very haven of rest. - -And so I found it. From the moment that I looked on Anne’s pale but -placid face; from the time that her mother’s arms held me as those other -arms, which I had missed so sorely, used to do; from the first words -of fatherly welcome that the old count gave me, I was at home and at -peace. And when at sunset I went to Vespers, and the dying light shone in -through the lancet windows, along the aisle, and on the richly-decorated -altar, and Anne’s voice and fingers led the soothing _Nunc Dimittis_, it -was as if the dews of healing fell on my bruised heart. - -They made no stranger of me; they knew too well what sorrow was, and how -its sting for them had been withdrawn. So together, in the early dawn, -we knelt for the holiest service, beginning the day in close intercourse -with Him whose “compassions fail not,” and finding that they are indeed -“new every morning.” Together we kept the Hours, and did plain household -duties, and visited in the village, dispensing medicines, reading to old -women, caring for the sick. Two afternoons in the week classes came to -the castle for instruction; every Wednesday evening the children came -to practise the church music--and, oh! how sweet that music was; and on -one afternoon we used to mount our shaggy ponies and ride to a distant -hamlet, to teach the children there. Together we took care of the garden, -where grew the flowers for the altar and for weddings and funerals; and -of the trellis of rare grapes, from which came the sacramental wine. -Every pleasant day we went out upon the bay in Anne’s boat, rowed by two -strong-armed Breton girls, visiting the rocky coves and inlets, startling -the sea-fowl from their nests, and enjoying the sea-breeze and crisp -waves. - -Where the bay and the sea join is a headland, which commands the finest -view for miles around; yet, much as we loved that view, we were oftenest -to be found at the base, where we sat idly, while the boat rocked on the -water, which lapped with lulling sound against the rock. It was a pretty -sight, the face of that cliff, where wild vines crept and delicate wild -flowers bloomed, and an aromatic odor rose from the herbs that grew -there, and some small, weather-beaten firs found footing in the crevices. -On the summit were a few ruins. But the chief natural point of interest, -and that from which the Head derived its name, was a curious rock which -stood at its base. It was called the Friar. At first I saw little about -it which could lay claim to such a name; but the more I watched it, the -more the likeness grew upon me, till it became at times quite startling. -It was a massive stone, some thirty feet above the water at low tide, -like a human figure wrapped in a monk’s robe, always facing the east, -and always like one absorbed in prayer and meditation, yet ever keeping -guard. One day I asked Anne if there was not some legend about it, and -she replied that the country people had one which was very interesting, -and partly founded on fact. Of course I begged for it, and she was ready -to tell me. - -As I write, I seem to see and hear it all again--the rocking boat; the -two girls resting on their oars and talking in their broad _patois_; -the twittering, darting birds; the butterfly that fluttered round us; -the solemn rock casting its long shadow on the water, that glittered in -the light of a summer afternoon; Anne’s pale, thin, sparkling face, and -earnest voice. I see even the children at play upon the shore, acting out -the old Breton superstition of the washerwomen of the night, who wash the -shrouds of the dead; and their quaint song mingles with Anne’s story: - - “Si chrétien ne vient nous sauver, - Jusqu’au jugement faut laver; - Au clair de la lune, au bruit du vent, - Sous la neige, le linceul blanc;” - -and the little bare feet are dancing through the water, and the little -brown hands wash and wring the sea-kale for the shrouds, and it all seems -as yesterday to me. But it was years and years ago. - -“You know that this is a very dangerous coast,” Anne said. “The tide runs -fast here, and the rocks are jagged and dangerous. Row out a few strokes, -Tiphaine and Alix, and let Mlle. Darcy see what happens.” - -A dozen strokes of the oars, and we were in an eddy where it took all the -strength of our rowers to keep back the boat; and beyond Friar’s Rock the -tide-race was like a whirlpool, one eddy fighting with another. - -“We would not dare go further,” Anne said. “No row-boats venture there, -and large sailing-vessels need a cautious helmsman. In a storm it is -frightful, and the men and the boats are not few that have gone down -there. But never a board or a corpse has been found afterwards. There is -a swift under-current that sweeps them out to sea. Now, Tiphaine, row -back again.” - -A white, modern lighthouse stands on a rock on the outer shore; its -lantern was visible above the Head. Anne pointed to it. - -“That has been there only a century,” she said. “Before it we had another -and a better light, we Bretons. Where those ruins are, Joanne dear, there -was a small chapel once, and on the plain below the Head was a monastery. -It was founded hundreds of years ago, by S. Sampson some say, and others -by the Saxon S. Dunstan himself, or, as they call him here, S. Gonstan, -the patron of mariners. I do not know how long it had been in existence -at the time of the legend, but long enough to have become famous, quite -large in numbers, and a blessing to the country round about. The monks -were the physicians of the place; they knew every herb, and distilled -potions from them, which they administered to the sick, so that they came -to the beds of poverty and pain with healing for soul and body both. They -taught the children; they settled quarrels and disputes; on Rogation days -they led the devout procession from field to field, marking boundary -lines, and praying or chanting praises at every wayside cross. - -“But that which was their special work was the guarding of this coast. -Instead of that staring white lighthouse, there was on the top of the -chapel’s square tower a large lantern surmounted by a cross, and all -through the night the monks kept it burning, and many a ship was saved -and many a life preserved by this means. At Vespers the lamp was lighted, -and one monk tended it from then till Nocturns, giving his unoccupied -time to prayer for all at sea, both as to their bodily and spiritual -wants, and to every one in any need or temptation that night. At Nocturns -he was relieved by another monk, who kept watch till Prime. Such for -three centuries had been the custom, and never had the light been known -to fail. - -“It must have been a strange sight--that band of men in gown and cowl -engaged in the never-omitted devotions before the altar, then departing -silently, leaving one alone to wrestle in prayer for the tried souls that -knew little of the hours thus spent for them. O Joanne! what would I not -give to have it here again; to know that this was once more the Holy -Cape, as it used to be called; and that here no hour went by, however it -might be elsewhere, that prayers and praises were not being offered to -our dear Lord, who ever intercedes for us!” - -Anne was silent for a while, and I felt sure that she was praying. When -she roused herself, it was to bid the rowers pull home fast, as it was -almost time for Vespers. - -“You shall hear the rest, dear,” she said, “when we go up-stairs -to-night.” So after Compline, and after Anne and I had played and sung -to her parents, as we were wont to do, she came into my room and lighted -the fire and the tall candles, and we settled ourselves for a real -school-girl talk. Anne showed me a sketch which her brother Bertrand had -made, partly from fancy, and partly from the ruins, of the monastery and -chapel. - -“It looks like a place of peace and holiness, where one might be safe -from sin for ever,” I said; but Anne shook her head. - -“The old delusion,” she sighed. “As if Satan would not spread sore -temptations just in such abodes as these. Don’t you remember how often -we have spoken of it--the terrible strength and subtlety of spiritual -temptations, simply because they are less obvious than others? The legend -of the Friar witnesses to that, whether you take the story as true or -false. I am going to give myself a treat to-night, and I am sure it will -be one to you. Bertrand wrote out the legend after he made the sketch. -Will you care to hear it?” - -“Indeed I would,” I answered; and Anne unfolded her precious paper. - -“It is only a fragment,” she said, “beginning abruptly where I left off -this afternoon; but perhaps it will show you more of what Bertrand is.” - -“Anne,” I asked suddenly, “don’t you miss him--more than any of the -others?” - -“No--yes,” she answered, then paused thoughtfully. “Yes,” she said at -last, “I suppose I do. Because, so long as I know he is living somewhere -on this earth, it seems possible for my feet to go to him and my eyes to -see his face. But, after all, none of them seem far away. We are brought -so near in the great Communion, in prayers--_in everything_. In fact, -Joanne--does it seem very cold-hearted?--oftenest I do not miss them at -all; God so makes up for every loss.” - -I was crying by this time, for my heartache was constant; and Anne came -and kissed me, and looked distressed. “I ought not to trouble you,” she -said. “Did I? I did not mean to hurt you.” - -“Oh! no,” I answered. “Only why should I not be as resigned as you?” - -“Joanne darling!” she exclaimed, “you are _that_ much more than I am. -Can’t you see? You feel--God causes you to feel it--keenly. That is -your great cross; and so, when you do not murmur, but say, ‘God’s will -be done,’ you are resigned. But that is not the cross he gives to me. -Instead, he makes bereavement light to me by choosing to reveal his -mercies; and I must take great care to correspond to his grace. Bertrand -warned me solemnly of that. And yet this is not all I mean. Perhaps you -will understand better when you have heard the legend.” - -She sat on the floor close beside me, and held my hand. I thanked God for -her, she comforted me so. I was always hungry then for visible love; but -by degrees, and partly through her, he taught me to be content with a -love that is invisible. - -“There was once a monk,” she read, “the youngest of the brotherhood, who -was left to keep the watch from midnight until dawn. Through the windows -the moonbeams fell, mingling with the light that burned before the -tabernacle, and with the gleam of the monk’s small taper. Outside, the -sea was smooth like glass, and the stars shone brightly, and a long line -of glory stretched from shore to shore. Lost in supplication, the monk -lay prostrate before the altar. His thoughts and prayers were wandering -far away--to the sick upon their beds of pain, to travellers on land and -sea, to mourners sunk in loneliness or in despair, to the poor who had no -helper, to little children, to the dying; most of all, to the tempted, -wherever they might be. - -“He was intensely earnest, and he had a loving temperament and a strong -imagination which had found fitting curb and training in the devout -practice of meditation. The prayers he used were no mere form to him; -he seemed actually to behold those for whom he interceded, actually to -feel their needs and sore distress. This was nothing new, but to-night -the power of realization came upon him as never before. He saw the dying -in their final anguish; he suffered with the suffering, and felt keen -temptations to many a deed of evil, and marked Satan’s messengers going -up and down upon the earth, seeking to capture souls. Sharper than all -else was the conflict he underwent with doubts quite new to him--doubts -of the use or power of his prayers. Still he prayed on, in spite of the -keen sense of unworthiness to pray. He would not give place for a moment -to the suggestion that his prayers were powerless. Again and again he -fortified himself with the Name of all-prevailing might. And then it -seemed to him, in the dim candle-light and among the pale moonbeams, that -the Form upon the crucifix opened its eyes and smiled at him, and that -from the lips came a voice saying, ‘Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, -that will I do.’ - -“The hour came to tend the light; he knew it. But he knew, too, that the -sea without was calm, even like the crystal sea before the Throne, save -where the wild currents that never rested were surging white with foam -and uttering hoarse murmurs. He knew that the night was marvellously -still; that there was no wind, not even enough to stir the lightest leaf. -What mariner could err, even though for once the light of the monks grew -dim--nay, even if it failed? Could he leave that glorious vision, in -order to trim a lantern of which there was no need; or cease his prayers -for perishing souls, in order to give needless help to bodies able to -protect themselves? These thoughts swept through his mind, and his choice -was hastily made to remain before the altar; and even as he made it the -vision faded, yet with it, or with his decision, all temptation to doubt -vanished too. If devils had been working upon him to cause him to cease -from intercession, they left him quite free now to pray--with words, too, -of such seeming power as he had never used before. - -“Suddenly a sound smote upon his ear--such a sound as might well ring -on in one’s brain for a lifetime, and which he was to hear above all -earthly clamor until all earthly clamor should cease. It was the cry of -strong men who meet death on a sudden, utterly unprepared; the crash of -timbers against a rock; the groan of a ship splitting from side to side. -He sprang to his feet and rushed to the door. Already the great bell of -the monastery was tolling, and dark, cowled figures were hastening to -the shore. He looked up. In the cross-topped tower, for the first time -in man’s knowledge, the lamp of the monks was out. Just then the prior -hurried by him and up the stairs, and soon, but all too late, the beacon -blazed again. - -“With an awful dread upon his heart he made his way to the coast. The -water foamed unbroken by aught save rocks; but pallid lips told the -story of the vessel that had sailed thither, manned by a merry crew made -merrier by drink, careless of their course, depending on the steadfast -light, and sure, because they did not see it, that they had not neared -the dangerous whirlpool and hidden rocks. Only one man escaped, and, -trembling, told the story. He had been the only sober man on board; and -when he warned the captain of their danger, he was laughed and mocked at -for his pains, and told that all true mariners would stake the monks’ -light against the eyes of any man on earth. It was not the Holy Cape that -they were nearing, but Cape Brie, they said, and every one knew it was -safe sailing there. With jests and oaths instead of prayers upon their -lips, with sin-stained souls, they had gone down into that whirling tide, -which had swept them off in its strong under-tow to sea. There were homes -that would be desolate and hearts broken; there were bodies drowned, and -souls launched into eternity--perhaps for ever lost--for lack of one -little light, for the fault of a single half-hour. And still the stars -shone brightly, and the long line of glory stretched from shore to shore, -and the night was marvellously still; but upon one soul there had fallen -a darkness that might be felt--almost the darkness of despair. - -“Monk Felix they had called him, and had been wont to say that he did not -belie his name, with his sweet young face and happy smile, and his clear -voice in the choir. He was Monk Infelix now and while time lasted. - -“In the monastery none saw an empty place; for the man whose life had -been the only one preserved in that swift death-struggle had begged, -awed and repentant, to be received into the number of these brethren -vowed to God’s peculiar service. But in village and in choir they missed -him who had gone in and out among them since his boyhood, and under their -breath the people asked, ‘Where is he?’ No definite answer was given, -but a rumor crept about, and at length prevailed, that Monk Felix had -despaired of pardon; that day and night the awful death-cry rang in his -ears; and day and night he besought God to punish here and spare there, -imploring that he might also bear some of the punishment of those souls -that had passed away through his neglect. And a year from that night, -and in the very hour, the last rites having been given to him as to the -dying, the rock now called the Friar’s had opened mysteriously. Around it -stood the brotherhood, chanting the funeral psalms very solemnly; and as -the words, “De profundis clamavi ad Te, Domine,” were intoned, one left -their number, and, with steady step and a face full of awe and yet of -thankfulness, entered the cleft, and the rock closed. - -“Years came and went, other hands tended the lantern, till in the -Revolution the light of the monks and the Order itself were swept away, -and the monastery was laid in ruins. But the legend is even now held for -truth by simple folk, that in Friar’s Rock the monk lives still, hearing -always the eddying flood about him, that beats in upon his memory the -story of his sin; and they say that with it mingles ever the cry of men -in their last agony, and the cry is his name, thus kept continually -before the Judge. There, in perpetual fast and vigil, he watches and -prays for the coming of the Lord and the salvation of souls, and the -rock that forms his prison has been made to take his shape by the action -of those revengeful waves. What he knows of passing events--what added -misery and mystery it is that now no longer the holy bell and chant echo -above him--none can tell. But there, they say, whatever chance or change -shall come to Bretagne, he must live and pray and wait till the Lord -comes. Then, when the mountains fall and the rocks are rent, his long -penance shall be over, and he shall enter into peace.” - -Anne looked at me. “Was it very hard--too hard?” she asked. - -“O Anne!” I cried, “it is not true?” - -She smiled. “I have more to read,” she said; “more of fact, perhaps.” So -she went on. - -“There is, in the archives of this domain, an account of a settlement -some twenty miles from here, where a horde of outlaws dwell in huts and -caves, their hand against every man, and every man’s hand against them. -It was as much as one’s life was worth to go among them, unless one was -ready to live as they lived, and sin as they sinned. But it is recorded -that in the same year in which is also recorded the loss of a Dutch -vessel by reason of the failure of the light of the monks--an event never -known before, and never again till the Revolution in its great guilt -quenched it and shattered the sacred walls--there came to these men a -missionary priest, seeking to save their souls. They say he was a man -who never smiled, yet his very presence brought comfort. Little children -loved him; and poor, down-trodden women learned hope and patience from -him; and men consented to have him there, and not to slay him. - -“Yet what he underwent was fearful. He lived in a hovel so mean that the -storms drove through it, and the floor was soaked with rain or white with -frost or snow. No being in that place poorer, more hungry, more destitute -of earthly comfort. Yet his crusts he shared with the beggar, his pallet -of straw far oftener held the child turned out from shelter, the sick, -the dying, than him. There the leper found a home, and tendance, not only -of pity but of love--hands that washed, lips that kissed, prayers that -upbore him in the final struggle. - -“We read of temptations from devils which the saints have undergone; -there are those who presume to doubt them. This man wrestled with -temptations from his brother men, who seemed like very fiends, and often, -often, the anguish of despair came upon him, and he thought he was -already lost, and a wild desire almost overwhelmed him to join them in -their evil ways. For, by some horrible instinct, they seemed to divine -that pain to the body would be slight to him compared to the tortures -which they could invent for his soul. They came to his ministrations, and -mimicked him when he spoke, and set their ribald songs to sacred tunes. -Before his door they parodied the holiest rites. They taught the children -to do the same things at their sports. - -“And he--it is said that in the pauses of midnight or noontide rout and -wild temptation they heard him praying for them, and praying for himself, -like one who had bound up his own life in the bundle of their lives, and -believed that he would be lost or saved with them. It is said that at -times he rushed out among them like S. Michael, and his voice was as a -trumpet, and he spoke of the wrath of God; and, again, he would open his -door, and his face would be like death, and he would tremble sorely, as -he begged them, like some tortured creature, to cease from sin. What they -did was to him as if he did it. He was so of them that their temptations -were his also, till he often seemed to himself as sunk in sin as any of -them. - -“Yet, one by one, souls went to God from that fiend-beleaguered place; -babes with the cross hardly dry upon their foreheads; children taught to -love the God whom once they had only known to curse; some of those sick -made for ever well, some of those lepers made for ever clean. The priest -set up crosses on their graves, and sacrilegious hands broke them down; -but no hands could stop his prayers and praises for the souls that by -God’s blessing he had won. He tried to build a little chapel, and they -rent it stone from stone; but none could destroy the temple of living -stones built up to God out of that mournful spot. - -“A Lent came when as never before he strove with and for these people. -It was as if an angel spoke to them. An angel? Nay, a very man like -themselves, as tempted as any of them, a sinner suffering from his sin; -yet a man and a sinner who loved God, believed in God, knew that he would -come to judge, yet knew he was mighty to save. That Lent, Satan himself -held sway there; new and more vile and awful blasphemies surged through -the place; it was his last carnival, and it was a mad one. Men held women -back from church if they wished to worship, but followed them there and -elsewhere to darker deeds of sacrilege and revelry than even they had -known before. Yet in the gray dawn, when sleep overpowered the revellers, -a few people crept to that holy hut round which the sinners had danced -their dance of defiance and death and sin, and there sought for pardon -and blessing, and knelt before the Lord, who shunned not the poor -earth-altar where a priest pleaded daily for souls, as for so long he had -done, except on the rare occasions when he would be gone for a night and -a day, they knew not where, and return with fresh vigor and courage. - -“Thursday in Holy Week he kept his watch with the Master in his agony. -Round him the storm of evil deeds and words rose high. In the midst of -it the rioters thought they saw a vision. It was a moonlight night, and -marvellously still; no wind moved the trees, and the water was like -glass. But all the silence of earth was broken by hideous shout and -song, and all its brightness turned to darkness by such deeds of evil as -Christians may not name. Before those creatures steeped in sin, wallowing -in it, one stood suddenly, haggard, spent as beneath some great burden, -wan as with awful suffering. The moonbeams wrapped him in unearthly -light, he seemed of heaven, and yet a sufferer. He did not speak; how -could he speak, who had pleaded with them again and again by day, and -spent his nights in prayer, for such return as this? He lifted up his -eyes, and spread his arms. He looked to them like one upon a cross. ‘The -Christ! The Christ!’ they murmured, awestruck. And then, ‘Slay him!’ some -one shouted frantically. There came a crash of stones, of wood, of jagged -iron, and in the midst a distinct, intense voice, ‘O Lord Jesus, forgive -us.’ They had heard the last of the prayers that vexed them. - -“On Good Friday morning, as the brotherhood came from Prime, a strange -being, more like a beast than a man,, approached them. ‘Come to us,’ he -said in a scarcely intelligible dialect--‘come to the _Dol des Fées_: The -abbot asked no questions, and made no delay. He bade one of the older -monks accompany him, and together they sought the place. Before they -reached it, sounds of loud, hoarse wailing were borne to them upon the -breeze; and their guide, on hearing them, broke forth into groans like -the groans of a beast, and beat his breast, and cried, ‘My father, my -father! My sin, my sin!’ - -“They saw hovels and caves, deserted; among the poorest, one still -poorer; about it, men, women, and children wrung their hands or sobbed -and tore their hair, or lay despairing on the ground. Entering, four bare -walls met their view; then a pallet, where an idiot grinned and pointed. -Following his pointing finger, they saw an earth-altar where the light -still burned. Before it one lay at rest. Wrapped in his tattered robe; -his hands clasped, as though he prayed yet, above the crucifix upon his -heart; hands, neck, and face bruised and battered and red with blood; his -face was of one at peace. The contest was ended. He who lay there dead -lay there a victor, by the grace of God. Around him his people, for whom -he gave his life, begged for the very help they had so long refused. And -soon, where so long he labored, sowing good seed in tears, the reapers -went with shouting, bringing their sheaves with them. That which had been -the abode of sinners has become years since the abode of saints. - -“Thanks be to God!” - -“But it was such a little sin,” I said, as Anne put the paper by. - -“How great a sin lost Eden?” she asked gravely. “Besides, we cannot tell -what spiritual pride or carelessness, unknown or hidden, may have led to -such a fall. But, dear, it was not anything of that sort I wanted to talk -about, but the mercy, and how it explains what we were speaking of.” - -“The mercy?” I repeated. - -“Yes,” she said fervently. “To be punished, and yet the very punishment -to contain the power to pray on still--to speak to God--to plead with -him for souls, the souls he died for on the cross. What though one were -shut for all time in Friar’s Rock, if one trusted that at the end the -Vision of God would be his for ever, and till then could and must ask him -continually to have mercy on immortal souls? Or who would not live that -living death in _Dol des Fées_ to live it in prayer at the altar, and to -die a martyr’s death? - -“Joanne, my darling, what, after all, are sorrow and death and separation -and loneliness to us who can speak to God? In him we are all brought -near. His blood makes each of his children dear to those who love him. -Day by day to forget self in them, in him; day by day to let grief or -pleasure grow less and less in one absorbing prayer that his kingdom -come; day by day to lose one’s self in him--_that_ is living, and _that_ -is loving. I cannot mourn much for my precious ones that are only absent -from my sight, but safe and present with him; my tears are for souls that -are _not_ safe, the wide world over; and I cannot miss much what I have -never really lost. A thousand times Friar’s Rock speaks to me, and this -is what it says: - -“‘If thou, Lord, wilt mark iniquities, Lord, who shall stand it? - -“‘For with thee there is merciful forgiveness; and by reason of thy law I -have waited--_for thee_, O Lord. - -“‘From the morning watch even until night, let Israel hope in the Lord. - -“‘Because with the Lord there is mercy, and with him plentiful redemption. - -“‘And he shall redeem Israel from all his iniquities.’” - -It was years ago, as I have said, that Anne d’Estaing told me this -legend. Since then, her parents have died, the château has passed into -other hands, she is head of a convent in Bretagne, and I--I lie here, -the last of my name, a hopeless invalid, with not a penny to call my -own. Rich once, and young, and fair, and proud; sad once, and doubting -how to bear a lonely future, I know the meaning of Anne’s story now. “I -have waited _for thee_, O Lord! And he shall redeem Israel from all his -iniquities.” - -While I wait for him, I pray. It does not grieve me that I do not hear -from Anne. La Mère Angélique is more to me, and nearer to me, than when, -in days long past, we spoke face to face. For I _know_ we meet in the -sure refuge of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and that, with saints on earth -and saints in glory, and the souls beneath the altar, we pray together -the same prayer--“Thy kingdom come.” - - -DUNLUCE CASTLE. - -(COUNTY ANTRIM.) - - Oh! of the fallen most fallen, yet of the proud - Proudest; sole-seated on thy tower-girt rock; - Breasting for ever circling ocean’s shock; - With blind sea-caves for ever dinned and loud; - Now sunset-gilt; now wrapt in vapor-shroud; - Till distant ships--so well thy bastions mock - Primeval nature’s work in joint and block-- - Misdeem _her_ ramparts, round thee bent and bowed, - For thine, and on _her_ walls, men say, have hurled - The red artillery store designed for thee:-- - Thy wars are done! Henceforth perpetually - Thou restest, like some judged, impassive world - Whose sons, their probatory period past, - Have left that planet, void amid the vast. - - AUBREY DE VERE. - - -SPACE. - -III. - -Bodies have bulk or volume, whereby they are said to occupy a certain -place, and to fill it with their dimensions. Hence, to complete our task, -we have now to consider space in relation with the volumes and places of -bodies. To proceed orderly, we must first determine the proper definition -of “place,” and its division; then we shall examine a few questions -concerning the relation of each body to its place, and particularly the -difficult and interesting one whether bodies can be really bilocated and -multilocated. - -_Place._--Aristotle, in the fourth book of his _Physics_, defines -the place of a body as “the surface by which the body is immediately -surrounded and enveloped”--“_Locus est extrema superficies corporis -continentis immobilis._” This definition was accepted by nearly all -the ancients. The best of their representatives, S. Thomas, says: -“_Locus est terminus corporis continentis_”--viz., The place of a body -is the surface of the body which contains it; and the Schoolmen very -generally define place to be “the concave surface of the surrounding -body: _Superficies concava corporis ambientis._” Thus, according to the -followers of Aristotle, no body can have place unless it is surrounded by -some other body. Immobility was also believed to be necessarily included -in the notion of place: _Superficies immobilis._ Cardinal de Lugo says: -“the word _place_ seems to be understood as meaning the real surface of -a surrounding body, not, however, as simply having its extension all -around, but as immovable--that is, as attached to a determinate imaginary -space.”[179] We do not see what can be the meaning of this last phrase. -For De Lugo holds that “real space” is the equivalent of “place,” and -that space, as distinguished from place, is nothing real: _Non est -aliquid reale._[180] His imaginary space is, therefore, a mere nothing. -How are we, then, to understand that a real surface can be “attached -to a determinate imaginary space”? Can a real being be attached to a -determinate nothing? Are there many nothings? or nothings possessing -distinct determinations? We think that these questions must all be -answered in the negative, and that neither Cardinal de Lugo, nor any one -else who considers imaginary space as a mere nothing, can account for the -immobility thus attributed to place. - -The reason why Aristotle’s definition of place came to be generally -adopted by the old Schoolmen is very plain. For, in the place occupied -by any given body, two things can be considered, viz., the limiting -surface, and the dimensive quantity which extends within the limiting -surface. Now, as the ancients believed the matter of which bodies are -composed to be endowed with continuity, it was natural that they should -look upon the dimensive quantity included within the limiting surface as -an appurtenance of the matter itself, and that they should consider it, -not as an intrinsic constituent of the place occupied, but as a distinct -reality through which the body could occupy a certain place. According to -this notion of dimensive quantity, the limiting surface was retained as -the sole constituent of the place occupied; and the dimensions within the -surface being thus excluded from the notion of place, were attached to -the matter of the body itself, as a special accident inhering in it. - -This manner of conceiving things is still looked upon as unobjectionable -by those philosophers who think that the old metaphysics has been carried -to such a degree of perfection by the peripatetics as to have nothing or -little to learn from the modern positive sciences. But whoever has once -realized the fact that the dimensions of bodies are not continuous lines -of matter, but intervals, or relations, in space, will agree that such -dimensions do not _inhere_ in the matter, but are extrinsic relations -between material terms distinctly ubicated. What is called the volume of -a body is nothing but the resultant of a system of relations in space. -The matter of the body supplies nothing to its constitution except the -extrinsic terms of the relations. The foundation of those relations is -not to be found in the body, but in space alone, as we have proved in our -last article; and the relations themselves do not _inhere_ in the terms, -but only _intervene_ between them. Hence the dimensive quantity of the -volume is intrinsically connected with the place it occupies, and must -enter into the definition of place as its material constituent, as we are -going to show. - -As to the Aristotelic definition of place, we have the following -objections: First, a good definition always consists of two notions, -the one generic and determinable, as its material element, the other -differential and determinant, as its formal element. Now, Aristotle’s -definition of place exhibits at best only the formal or determinant, and -omits entirely the material or determinable. It is evident, in fact, that -the surface of any given body determines the limits and the figure of -something involved in the notion of place. But what is this something? -It cannot be a mere nothing; for nothing does not receive limits and -figure, as real limits and real figure must be settled upon something -real. This something must therefore be either the quantity of the matter, -or the quantity of the volume enclosed within the limiting surface. And -as we cannot admit that the quantity of the place occupied by a body is -the quantity of matter contained in the body (because bodies which have -different quantities of matter can occupy equal places), we are bound -to conclude that the quantity of the place occupied by a body is the -quantity of the volume comprised within the limiting surface. This is the -determinable or material constituent of place; for this, and this alone, -is determined by the concave surface of the surrounding body. In the same -manner as a cubic body contains dimensions within its cubic form, so also -a cubic place contains dimensions under its cubic surface; hence the -place of a body has volume, the same volume as the body; and therefore -it cannot be defined as a mere limiting surface. - -Secondly, the definition of a thing should express what every one -understands the thing to be. But no one understands the word “place” as -meaning the exterior limit of the body which occupies it, therefore the -exterior limit of the body is not the true definition of place. The minor -of this syllogism is manifest. For we predicate of place many things -which cannot be predicated of the exterior limit of the body. We say, for -instance, that a place is full, half-full, or empty; that it is capable -of so many objects, persons, etc.; and it is plain that these predicates -cannot appertain to the exterior limit of the body, but they exclusively -belong to the capacity within the limiting boundary. Hence a definition -of place which overlooks such a capacity is defective. - -Thirdly, to equal quantities of limiting surfaces do not necessarily -correspond equal quantities of place. Therefore, the limiting surface is -not synonymous with place, and cannot be its definition. The antecedent -is well known. Take two cylinders having equal surfaces, but whose bases -and altitudes are to one another in different ratios. It is evident by -geometry that such cylinders will have different capacities--that is, -there will be more occupable or occupied room in the one than in the -other. The consequence, too, is plain; for, if the room, or place, can -be greater or less while the limiting surface does not become greater or -less, it is clear that the place is not the limiting surface. - -Fourthly, what Aristotle and his school called “the surface of the -surrounding body,” is now admitted to be formed by an assemblage of -unextended material points, perfectly isolated; and therefore such -a surface does not constitute a continuous material envelope, as it -was believed in earlier times. Now, since those isolated points have -no dimensions, but are simply terms of the dimensions in space, the -so-called “surface” owes its own dimensions to the free intervals between -those points, just as the dimensions also of the volume enclosed owe -their existence to similar intervals between the same points. Therefore -the same terms which mark in space the limit of place, mark also its -volume; and thus the volume under the surface belongs to the place itself -no less than does the limiting surface. - -Fifthly, a body in vacuum would have its absolute place; and yet in -vacuum there is no surface of surrounding bodies. Therefore an exterior -surrounding body is not needed to constitute place. In fact, the body -itself determines its own place by the extreme terms of its own bodily -dimensions. This the philosophers of the peripatetic school could not -admit, because they thought that the place of the body could not move -with the body, but ought to remain “attached to a determinate imaginary -space.” But, in so reasoning, they confounded the absolute place with -the relative, as will be shown hereafter. Yet they conceded that a body -in vacuum would have its place; and, when asked to point out there -the surface of a surrounding body, they could not answer, except by -abandoning the Aristotelic definition and by resorting to the centre and -the poles of the world, thus exchanging the absolute place (_locus_) -for the relative (_situs_), without reflecting that they had no right -to admit a relative place where, according to their definition, the -absolute was wanting. - -Sixthly, the true definition of place must be so general as to be -applicable to all possible places. But the Aristotelic definition does -not apply to all places. Therefore such a definition is not true. The -major of our argument needs no proof. The minor is proved thus: There -are places not only within surfaces, but also within lines, and on the -lines themselves; for, if on the surface of a body we describe a circle -or a triangle, it is evident that a place will be marked and determined -on that surface. Its limiting boundary, however, will be, not the surface -of a surrounding body, but simply the circumference of the circle, or the -perimeter of the triangle. - -For these reasons we maintain that place cannot properly be defined as -“the surface of the surrounding body.” As to the additional limitation, -that such a surface should be considered as “immovable”--that is, -affixed to a determinate space (imaginary, of course, according to the -peripatetic theory, and therefore wholly fictitious)--we need only say -that even if it were possible to attach the surface of a body to a -determinate space, which is not the case, yet this condition could not be -admitted in the definition of place, because the _absolute_ place of a -body is invariably the same, wherever it be, in absolute space, and does -not change except as compared with other places. Absolute place, just as -absolute ubication, has but one manner of existing in absolute space; for -all places, considered in themselves, are extrinsic terminations of the -_same_ infinite virtuality, and are all _equally_ in the centre, so to -say, of its infinite expanse, whatever be their mutual relations. - -_True Notion of Place._--What is, then, the true definition of place? -Webster describes it in his _Dictionary_ as “a particular portion of -space of indefinite extent, occupied, or intended to be occupied, by any -person or thing, and considered as the space where a person or thing does -or may rest, or has rested, as distinct from space in general.” This is -in fact the meaning of the word “place” in the popular language. The -philosophical definition of place, as gathered from this description, -would be: “Place is a particular portion of space.” This is the very -definition which all philosophers, before Aristotle, admitted, and which -Aristotle endeavored to refute, on the ground that, when a body moves -through space, its place remains intrinsically the same. - -We have shown in our last article that space considered in itself has no -parts; but those who admit portion of space, consider space as a reality -dependent on the dimensions of the bodies by which it is occupied--that -is, they call “space” those resultant relative intervals which have their -foundation in space itself. If we were to take the word “space” in this -popular sense, we might well say that “place is a portion of space,” -because any given place is but one out of the many places determined -by the presence of bodies in the whole world. On the other hand, since -space, properly so called, is itself _virtually_ extended--that is, -equivalent in its absolute simplicity to infinite extension, and since -_virtual_ extension suggests the thought of _virtual_ parts, we might -admit that there are _virtual_ portions of space in this sense, that -space as the foundation of all local relations corresponds by its -virtuality to all the dimensions and intervals mensurable between all -terms ubicated, and receives from them distinct extrinsic denominations. -Thus, space as occupied by the sun is virtually distinguished from itself -as occupied by the moon, not because it has a distinct entity in the -sun and another in the moon, but because it has two distinct extrinsic -terminations. We might therefore admit that place is “a virtual portion -of space determined by material limits”; and we might even omit the -epithet “virtual” if it were understood that the word “space” was taken -as synonymous with the dimensions of bodies, as is taken by those who -deny the reality of vacuum. But, though this manner of speaking is and -will always remain popular, owing to its agreement with our imagination -and to its conciseness, which makes it preferable for our ordinary -intercourse, we think that the place of a body, in proper philosophical -language, should be defined as “a system of correlations between the -terms which mark out the limits of the body in space”; and therefore -place in general, whether really occupied or not, should be defined as -“a system of correlations between ubications marking out the limits of -dimensive quantity.” - -This definition expresses all that we imply and that Webster includes -in the description of place; but it changes the somewhat objectionable -phrase “portion of space” into what people mean by it, viz., “a system -of correlations between distinct ubications,” thereby showing that it -is not the absolute entity of fundamental space, but only the resultant -relations in space, that enter into the intrinsic constitution of place. - -By “a system of correlations” we mean the adequate result of the -combination of all the intervals from every single term to every other -within the limits assumed, in every direction. Such a result will -therefore represent either a volume, or a surface, or a line, according -as the terms considered within the given limits are differently disposed -in space. Thus a spherical place results from the mutual relations -intervening between all the terms of its geometric surface; and therefore -it implies all the intervals which can be measured, and all the lines -that can be traced, in all directions, from any of those terms to any -other within the given limits. In like manner, a triangular place results -from the mutual relations intervening between all the terms forming -its perimeter; and therefore it implies all the intervals and lines of -movement which can be traced, in all directions, from any of those terms -to any other within the given limits. - -In the definition we have given, the material or determinable element -is the system of correlations or intervals which are mensurable within -the limiting terms; the formal or determinant is the disposition of -the limiting terms themselves--that is, the definite boundary which -determines the extent of those intervals, and gives to the place a -definite shape. - -Thus it appears that, although there is no place without space, -nevertheless the entity of space does not enter into the constitution of -place as an intrinsic constituent, but only as the extrinsic foundation. -This is what we have endeavored to express as clearly as we could in our -definition of place. As, however, in our ordinary intercourse we cannot -well speak of place with such nice circumlocutions as are needed in -philosophical treatises, we do not much object to the common notion that -place is “space intercepted by a limiting boundary,” and we ourselves -have no difficulty in using this expression, out of philosophy, owing -to the loose meaning attached to the word “space” in common language; -for all distances and intervals in space are called “spaces,” even -in mechanics; and thus, when we hear of “space intercepted,” we know -that the speakers do not refer to the absolute entity of space (which -they have been taught to identify with nothingness), but merely to the -intervals resulting from the extrinsic terminations of that entity. - -Most of the Schoolmen (viz., all those who considered void space as -imaginary and unreal) agreed, as we have intimated, with Aristotle, that -the notion of place involves nothing but the surface of a surrounding -body, and contended that within the limits of that surface there was -no such chimerical thing as mere space, but only the quantity of the -body itself. Suarez, in his _Metaphysics_ (Disp. 51, sect. 1, n. 9), -mentions the opinion of those who maintained that place is the space -occupied by a body, and argues against it on the ground that no one can -say what kind of being such a space is. Some have affirmed, says he, -that such a space is a body indivisible and immaterial--which leads to -an open contradiction--though they perhaps considered this body to be -“indivisible,” not because it had no parts, but because its parts could -not be separated. They also called it “immaterial,” on account of its -permeability to all bodies. But this opinion, he justly adds, is against -reason and even against faith; for, on the one hand this space should -be eternal, uncreated, and infinite, whilst on the other no body can be -admitted to have these attributes. - -Others, Suarez continues, thought that the space which can be occupied by -bodies is mere quantity extending all around without end. This opinion -was refuted by Aristotle, and is inadmissible, because there cannot be -quantitative dimensions without a substance, and because the bodies -which would occupy such a space have already their own dimensions, which -cannot be compenetrated with the dimensions of space. And moreover, -such a quantity would be either eternal and uncreated--which is against -faith--or created with all other things, and therefore created in space; -which shows that space itself is not such a quantity. - -Others finally opine, with greater probability, says he, that space, as -distinct from the bodies that fill it, is nothing real and positive, but -a mere emptiness, implying both the absence of bodies and the aptitude to -be filled by bodies. Of this opinion Toletus says (4 _Phys._ q. 3) that -it is probable, and that it cannot be demonstratively refuted. Yet, adds -Suarez, it can be shown that such a space, as distinct from bodies, is in -fact nothing; for it is neither a substance nor an accident, nor anything -created or temporal, but eternal. - -Such is the substance of the reasons adduced by Suarez to prove that -the space occupied by bodies is nothing real. Had he, like Lessius, -turned his thought to the extrinsic terminability of God’s immensity, he -would have easily discovered that, to establish the reality of space, -none of those old hypotheses which he refuted were needed. As we have -already settled this point in a preceding article, we will not return -to it. It may, however, be remarked that what Suarez says regarding the -incompenetrability of the quantity of space with the quantity of the body -is based entirely on the assumption that bodies have their own volume -independently of space--an assumption which, though plausibly maintained -by the ancients, can by no means be reconciled with the true notion of -the volume of bodies as now established by physical science and accepted -by all philosophers. As all dimensive quantity arises from relations -in space, so it is owing to space itself that bodies have volume; -and therefore there are not, as the ancients imagined, two volumes -compenetrated, the one of space, and the other of matter; but there is -one volume alone determined by the material terms related through space. -And thus there is no ground left for the compenetration of two quantities. - -S. Thomas also, in his Commentary to the _Physics_ of Aristotle (4 -_Phys._ lect. 6), and in the opuscule, _De Natura Loci_, argues that -there is no space within the limiting surface of the body, for two -reasons. The first is, that such a quantity of space would be an accident -without a subject: _Sequitur quod esset aliquod accidens absque subjecto; -quod est impossibile_. The second is, that if there is space within the -surface of the body, as all the parts of the body are in the volume of -the same, so will the places of all the parts be in the place of the -whole; and consequently, there will be as many places compenetrated with -one another as there can be divisions in the dimensions of the body. But -these dimensions admit of an infinite division. Therefore, infinite -places will be compenetrated together: _Sequitur quod sint infinita loca -simul; quod est impossibile_. - -These two reasons could not but have considerable weight in a time when -material continuity formed the base of the physical theory of quantity, -and when space without matter was considered a chimera; but in our time -the case is quite different. To the first reason we answer, that the -space within the surface of the body will not be “an accident without -a subject.” In fact, such a space can be understood in two manners, -viz., either as the foundation of the intervals, or as the intervals -themselves; and in neither case will there be an accident without a -subject. For, the space which is the foundation of the intervals is no -accident; it is the virtuality of God’s immensity, as we have proved; -and, therefore, there can be no question about its subject. Moreover, -such a space is indeed within the limits of the body, but it is also -without, as it is not limited by them. These limits, as compared with -space, are extrinsic terms; and therefore they do not belong to space, -but to the body alone. Lastly, although without space there can be no -place, yet space is neither the material nor the formal constituent of -place, but only the extrinsic ground of local relations, just as eternity -is not an intrinsic constituent of time, but only the extrinsic ground -of successive duration. Whence it is manifest that the entity of space -is not the dimensive quantity of the body, but the eminent reason of its -dimensions. - -If, on the other hand, space is understood in the popular sense as -meaning the accidental intervals between the limits of the body, then it -is evident that such intervals will not be without their proportionate -subject. Relations have a subject of predication, not of inhesion; for -relation is a thing whose entity, according to the scholastic definition, -consists entirely of a mere connotation; _cuius totum esse est ad aliud -se habere_. Hence all relation is merely _ad aliud_, and cannot be _in -alio_. Accordingly, the intervals between the terms of the body are -_between_ them, but do not inhere in them; and they have a sufficient -subject--the only subject, indeed, which they require, for the very -reason that they exist _between_ real terms, with a real foundation. Thus -the first reason objected is radically solved. - -To the second reason we answer, that it is impossible to conceive an -infinite multitude of places in one total place, unless we admit the -existence of an infinite multitude of limiting terms--that is, unless -we assume that matter is mathematically continuous. But, since material -continuity is now justly considered as a baseless and irrational -hypothesis, as our readers know, the compenetration of _infinite_ places -with one another becomes an impossibility. - -Yet, as all bodies contain a very great number of material terms, it -may be asked: Would the existence of space within the limits of place -prove the compenetration of a _finite_ number of places? Would it prove, -for instance, that the places of different bodies existing in a given -room compenetrate the place of the room? The answer depends wholly on -the meaning attached to the word “space.” If we take “space” as the -foundation of the relations between the terms of a place, then different -places will certainly be compenetrated, inasmuch as the entity of space -is the same, though differently terminated, in every one of them. But, -if we take “space” as meaning the system of relative intervals between -the terms of a body, then the place of a room will not be compenetrated -with the places of the bodies it contains; because neither the intervals -nor the terms of one place are the intervals or the terms of another, nor -have they anything common except the absolute entity of their extrinsic -foundation. Now, since place is not space properly, but only a system of -correlations between ubications marking out the limits of the body in -space, it follows that no compenetration of one place with another is -possible so long as the terms of the one do not coincide with the terms -of the other. - -S. Thomas remarks also, in the same place, that if a recipient full of -water contains space, then, besides the dimensions of the water, there -would be in the same recipient the dimensions of space, and these latter -would therefore be compenetrated with the former. _Quum aqua est in vase, -præter dimensiones aquæ sunt ibi aliæ dimensiones spatii penetrantes -dimensiones aquæ._ This would certainly be the case were it true that -the dimensions of the body are materially continuous, as S. Thomas with -all his contemporaries believed. But the truth is that the dimensions of -bodies do not consist in the extension of continuous matter, but in the -extension of the intervals between the limits of the bodies, which is -greater or less according as it requires a greater or less extension of -movement to be measured. The volume of a body--that is, the quantity of -the place it occupies--is exactly the same whether it be full or empty, -provided the limiting terms remain the same and in the same relation -to one another. It is not the matter, therefore, that constitutes its -dimensions. And then there are, and can be, no distinct dimensions of -matter compenetrating the dimensions of place. But enough about the -nature of place. Let us proceed to its division. - -_Division of Place._--Place in general may be divided into _real_ and -_imaginary_, according as its limiting terms exist in nature or are only -imagined by us. This division is so clear that it needs no explanation. -It might be asked whether there are not also _ideal_ places. We answer, -that strictly ideal places there are none; for the ideal is the object of -our intellect, whilst place is the object of our senses and imagination. -Hence the so-called “ideal” places are nothing but “imaginary” places. - -Place, whether real or imaginary, is again divided by geometers into -_linear_, _superficial_, and _cubic_ or solid, according to the nature of -their limiting boundaries. A place limited by surfaces is the place of -a volume or geometric solid. A place limited by lines is the place of a -surface. A place limited by mere points is the place of a line. - -The ancients, when defining place as “the surface of the surrounding -body,” connected the notion of place with the quantity of volume, without -taking notice of the other two kinds just mentioned. This, too, was a -necessary consequence of their assumption of continuous matter. For, -if matter is intrinsically extended in length, breadth, and depth, all -places must be extended in a similar manner. But it is a known fact that -the word “place” (_locus_) is used now, and was used in all times, in -connection not only with geometric volumes, but also with geometric -surfaces and with geometric lines; and as the geometric quantities -have their counterpart in the physical order, it is manifest that such -geometric places cannot be excluded from the division of place. Can we -not on any surface draw a line circumscribing a circle or any other -close figure? And can we not point out the “place” where the circle or -figure is marked out? There are therefore places of which the boundaries -are lines, not surfaces. And again, can we not fix two points on a -given line, and consider the interval between them as one of the many -places which can be designated along the line? The word “place” in its -generality applies to any kind of dimensive quantity in space. Those -who pretend to limit it to “the surface of a volume” should tell us -what other term is to be used when we have to mention the place of a -plane figure on a wall, or of a linear length on the intersection of -two surfaces. It will be said that the ancients in this case used the -word _Ubi_. But we reply that _Ubi_ and _Locus_ were taken by them as -synonymous. The quantities bounded by lines, or terminated by points, -were therefore equivalently admitted to have their own “places”; which -proves that the definition of place which philosophers left us in their -books, did not express all that they themselves meant when using the -word, and therefore it was not practically insisted upon. With us the -case is different. The _Ubi_, as defined by us, designates a single -point in space, and is distinct from _locus_; hence we do not admit -that our _ubi_ is a place; for there is no place within a point. But -the philosophers of the old school could not limit the real ubication -of matter to a mere point, owing to their opinion that matter was -continuous. - -Thus we have three supreme kinds of place--the linear, with one -dimension, length; the superficial, with two dimensions, length and -breadth; the cubic or solid, with three dimensions, length, breadth, and -depth. The true characteristic difference between these kinds of place is -drawn from their _formal_ constituents, viz., from their boundaries. The -cubic place is a place terminated by surfaces. The superficial place is a -place terminated by lines. The linear place is a place terminated by two -points. - -These supreme species admit of further subdivision, owing to the -different geometrical figures affected by their respective boundaries. -Thus the place of a body may be tetrahedric, hexahedric, spherical, etc., -and the place of a surface may be triangular, polygonal, circular, etc. - -Place is also divided into _absolute_ and _relative_. It is called -absolute when it is considered _secundum se_--that is, as to its entity, -or as consisting of a system of correlation within a definite limit. It -is called relative when it is considered in connection with some other -place or places, as more or less distant from them, or as having with -respect to them this or that position or situation. - -The absolute place of a body, whatever our imagination may suggest to the -contrary, is always the same as long as the body remains under the same -dimensions, be it at rest or in movement. In fact, whenever we speak of a -change of place, we mean that the place of a body acquires a new relation -to the place of some other body--that is, we mean the mere change of its -relativity. When the world was believed to be a sphere of continuous -matter with no real space outside of it, the absolute place of a body -could be considered as corresponding to one or another definite portion -of that sphere, and therefore as changeable; but since the reality of -infinite space independent of matter has been established, it is manifest -that absolute place has no relation to the limits of the material world, -but only to the infinity of space, with respect to which bodies cannot -change their place any more than a point can change its ubication. Hence, -when a body moves, its relative place, or, better, the relativity of -its place to the places of other bodies, is changed; but its absolute -place remains the same. Thus the earth, in describing its orbit, takes -different positions round the sun, and, while preserving its absolute -place unchanged, it undergoes a continuous change of its relativity. - -Lastly, place is also divided into _intrinsic_ and _extrinsic_. Omitting -the old explanations of this division, we may briefly state that the -intrinsic place is that which is determined by the dimensions and -boundary of the body, and therefore is coextensive with it. The extrinsic -place of a body is a place greater than the body which is placed in it. -Thus Rome is the extrinsic place of the Vatican Palace, and the Vatican -Palace is the extrinsic place of the Pope; because the Vatican Palace is -in Rome, and the Pope in the Vatican Palace. - -_Occupation of Place._--We have now to answer a few questions about the -occupation of place. The first is, whether bodies fill the space they -occupy. The second is, whether the same place can be simultaneously -occupied by two bodies. The third is, whether the place limits and -conserves the body it contains. The fourth is, whether the same body can -be miraculously in two places or more at the same time. - -That bodies fill place is a very common notion, because people do not -make any marked distinction between filling and occupying. But to fill -and to occupy are not synonymous. To fill a place is to leave no vacuum -within it; and this is evidently impossible without continuous matter. -As we have proved that continuous matter does not exist, we cannot -admit that any part of place, however small, can be _filled_. Place, -however, is _occupied_. In fact, the material elements of which bodies -are ultimately composed, by their presence in space occupy distinct -points in space--that is, take possession of them, maintain themselves -in them, and from them direct their action all around, by which they -manifest to us their existence, ubication, and other properties. This is -the meaning of _occupation_. Hence the formal reason of occupation is -the presence of material elements in space. Therefore, the place of a -body is occupied by the presence in it of discrete material points, none -of which fill space--that is to say, the place is occupied, not filled. -The common expression, “a place filled with matter,” may, however, be -admitted in this sense, that when the place is occupied by a body, it -does not naturally allow the intrusion of another body. This amounts to -saying, not that the place is really filled, but that the resistance -offered by the body to the intrusion of another body prevents its passage -as effectually as if there were left no occupable room. So much for the -first question. - -The second question may be answered thus: Since space is not filled by -the occupying bodies, the reason why bodies exclude one another from -their respective places must be traced not to a want of room in them, but -only to their mutual opposite actions. These actions God can neutralize -and overcome by an action of His own; and if this be done, nothing will -remain that can prevent the compenetration of two bodies and of their -respective places. It is therefore possible, at least supernaturally, for -two bodies to occupy the same place. Nevertheless, we must bear in mind -that, as the elements of the one body are not the elements of the other, -so the ubications of the first set of elements are not the ubications of -the second, and consequently the correlations of the first set are not -identically the correlations of the second. Hence, if one body penetrates -into the place of another body, their places will be intertwined, but -distinct from each other. - -The third question must be answered in the negative, notwithstanding the -contrary opinion of all the Peripatetics. The place does not limit and -conserve the body by which it is occupied; it is the body itself that -limits and conserves its own place. For what is it that gives to a place -its formal determination, and its specific and numeric distinction from -all other places, but its extreme boundary? Now, this boundary is marked -out by the very elements which constitute the limits of the body. It is, -therefore, the body itself that by its own limits defines the limits of -its own place, and constitutes the place formally such or such. There -is the same connection between a body and its place as between movement -and its duration. There is no movement without time, nor time without -movement; but movement does not result from time, for it is time itself -that results from movement. Hence, the duration of the movement is -limited by the movement itself. In like manner, there is no body without -place, and no place without a body; but the body does not result from the -place, for it is the place itself that results from the presence of the -body in space. Hence, the place of the body is formally determined by -the body itself. Therefore, it is the body that limits and conserves its -place, not the place that limits and conserves the body. - -This conclusion is confirmed by the manner in which our knowledge of -place is acquired. Our perception of the place of a body is caused, not -by the place, but by the body, which acts upon our senses from different -points of its surface, and depicts in our organs the figure of its -limits. This figure, therefore, is the figure of the place only inasmuch -as it is the figure of the body; or, in other terms, it is the body -itself that by its limits determines the limits of its place. - -From this it follows that, when a body is said to be in a place -_circumscriptively_, we ought to interpret the phrase, not in the sense -that the body is circumscribed by its place, as Aristotle and his -followers believed, but in this sense, that the body circumscribes its -place by its own limits. And for the same reason, those beings which do -not exist _circumscriptively_ in place (and which are said to be in place -only _definitively_, as is the case with created spirits) are substances -which do not circumscribe any place, because they have no material terms -by which to mark dimensions in space. - -The fourth and last question is a very difficult one. A great number -of eminent authors maintain with S. Thomas that real bilocation is -intrinsically impossible; others, on the contrary, hold, with Suarez -and Bellarmine, that it is possible. Without pretending to decide the -question, we will simply offer to our reader a few remarks on the -arguments adduced against the possibility of real bilocation. - -The strongest of those arguments is, in our opinion, the following. The -real bilocation of a body requires the real bilocation of all its parts, -and therefore is impossible unless each primitive element of the body can -have two distinct, real ubications at the same time the one natural and -the other supernatural. But it is impossible for a simple and primitive -element to have two distinct, real ubications at the same time, for two -distinct, real ubications presuppose two distinct, real terminations of -the virtuality of God’s immensity, and two distinct, real terminations -are intrinsically impossible without two distinct, real terms. It is -therefore evident that one point of matter cannot mark out two points in -space, and that real bilocation is impossible. - -To evade this argument, it might be said that it is not evident, after -all, that the same real term cannot correspond to two terminations. -For to duplicate the ubication of an element of matter means to cause -the same element, which is _here_ present to God, to be _there_ also -present to God. Now this requires only the correspondence of the material -point to two distinct virtualities of divine immensity. Is this a -contradiction? The correspondence to one virtuality is certainly not the -negation of the correspondence to another; hence it is not necessary to -concede that there is a contradiction between the two. It may be added -that the supernatural possibility of bilocation seems to be established -by many facts we read in ecclesiastical history and the lives of saints, -as also by the dogma of the Real Presence of Our Lord’s Body in so many -different places in the Sacrament of the Eucharist. Lastly, although real -bilocation is open to many objections on account of its supernatural -character, yet these objections can be sufficiently answered, as may be -seen in Suarez, in part. 3, disp. 48, sec. 4. - -These reasons may have a certain degree of probability; nevertheless, -before admitting that a point of matter can mark two points in space -at the same time, it is necessary to ascertain whether a single real -term can terminate two virtualities of God’s immensity. This is a thing -which can scarcely be conceived; for two distinct ubications result from -two distinct terminations; and it is quite evident, as we have already -intimated, that there cannot be two distinct terminations if there be -not two distinct terms. For the virtualities of divine immensity are -not distinct from one another in their entity, but only by extrinsic -denomination, inasmuch as they are distinctly terminated by distinct -extrinsic terms. Therefore, a single extrinsic term cannot correspond to -two distinct virtualities of divine immensity; whence it follows that a -single material point cannot have two distinct ubications. - -As to the facts of ecclesiastical history above alluded to, it might be -answered that their nature is not sufficiently known to base an argument -upon them. Did any saints ever _really_ exist in two places? For aught we -know, they may have existed really in one place, and only phenomenically -in another. Angels occupy no place, and have no bodies; and yet they -appeared in place, and showed themselves in bodily forms, which need not -have been more than phenomenal. Disembodied souls have sometimes appeared -with phenomenal bodies. Why should we be bound to admit that when saints -showed themselves in two places, their body was not phenomenal in one and -real only in the other? - -The fact of the Real Presence of Christ’s body in the Blessed Sacrament, -though much insisted upon by some authors, seems to have no bearing -on the present question. For, our Lord’s body in the Eucharist has no -immediate connection with place, but is simply denominated by the place -of the sacramental species, as S. Thomas proves; for it is there _ad -modum substantiæ_, as the holy doctor incessantly repeats, and not _ad -modum corporis locati_.[181] Hence, S. Thomas himself, notwithstanding -the real presence of Christ’s body on our altars, denies without fear the -possibility of real bilocation properly so called. - -Though not all the arguments brought against real bilocation are equally -conclusive, some of them are very strong, and seem unanswerable. Suarez, -who tried to answer them, did not directly solve them, but only showed -that they would prove too much if they were applied to the mystery of the -Real Presence. The inference is true; but S. Thomas and his followers -would answer that their arguments do not apply to the Eucharistic mystery. - -One of those arguments is the following: If a man were simultaneously in -two places, say, in Rome and in London, his quantity would be separated -from itself; for it would be really distant from itself, and relatively -opposed to itself. But this is impossible. For how can there be real -opposition without two real terms? - -Some might answer, that a man bilocated is one term _substantially_, -but equivalent to two _locally_, and that it is not his substance nor -his quantity that is distant from itself, but only one of his locations -as compared with the other. But we do not think that this answer is -satisfactory. For, although distance requires only two _local_ terms, we -do not see how there can be _local_ terms without two distinct beings. -One and the same being cannot be actually in two places without having -two contrary modes: and this is impossible; for two contraries cannot -coexist in the same subject, as S. Thomas observes.[182] - -Another of those arguments is based on the nature of quantity. One and -the same quantity cannot occupy two distinct places. For quantity is the -formal cause of the occupation of place, and no formal cause can have two -adequate formal effects. Hence, as one body has but one quantity, so it -can occupy but one place. - -This argument cannot be evaded by saying that the quantity which is the -formal cause of occupation is not the quantity of the mass, but the -quantity of the volume. In fact, the duplication of the volume would -duplicate the place; but the volume cannot be duplicated unless each -material term at the surface of the body can acquire two ubications. -Now, this is impossible, as a single term cannot correspond to two -extrinsic terminations of divine immensity, as already remarked. Hence, -the quantity of volume cannot be duplicated in distinct places without -duplicating also the mass of the body--that is, there cannot be two -places without two bodies. - -A third argument is as follows: If a body were bilocated, it would be -circumscribed and not circumscribed. Circumscribed, as is admitted, -because its dimensions would coextend with its place; not circumscribed, -because it would also exist entirely outside of its place. - -This argument, in our opinion, is not valid; because it is not the place -that circumscribes the body, but the body that circumscribes its own -place. Hence, if a body were bilocated, it would circumscribe two places, -and would be within both alike. It will be said that this, too, is -impossible. We incline very strongly to the same opinion, but not on the -strength of the present argument. - -A fourth argument is, that if a thing can be bilocated, there is no -reason why it could not be trilocated and multilocated. But, if so, then -one man could be so replicated as to form by himself alone two battalions -fighting together; and consequently such a man might in one battalion be -victorious, and in the other cut to pieces; in one place suffer intense -cold, and in another excessive heat; in one pray, and in another swear. -The absurdity of these conclusions shows the absurdity of the assumption -from which they follow. - -This argument is by no means formidable. Bilocation and multilocation -are a duplication and multiplication of the place, not of the substance. -Now, the principle of operation in man is his substance, whilst his place -is only a condition of the existence and of the movements of his body. -Accordingly, those passions of heat and cold, and such like, which depend -on local movement, can be multiplied and varied with the multiplication -of the places, but the actions which proceed from the intrinsic -faculties of man can not be thus varied and multiplied. Hence, from the -multilocation of a man, it would not follow that he, as existing in one -place, could slay himself as existing in another place, nor that he could -pray in one and swear in another. After all, bilocation and multilocation -would, by the hypothesis, be the effect of supernatural intervention, -and, as such, they would be governed by divine wisdom. Hence it is -unreasonable to assume the possibility of such ludicrous contingencies -as are mentioned in the argument; for God does not lend his supernatural -assistance to foster what is incongruous or absurd. - -To conclude. It seems to us that those among the preceding arguments -which have a decided weight against the possibility of real bilocation, -are all radically contained in this, that one and the same element of -matter cannot have at the same time two modes of being, of which the -one entails the exclusion of the other. Now, the mode of being by which -an element is constituted in a point, _A_, excludes the mode of being -by which it would be constituted in another point, _B_. For, since the -ubication in _A_ is distant from the ubication in _B_, the two ubications -are not only distinct, but relatively opposed, as S. Thomas has remarked: -_Distinguuntur ad invicem secundum aliquam loci contrarietatem_; and -therefore they cannot belong both together to the same subject. On the -other hand, we have also proved that a single element cannot terminate -two distinct virtualities of God’s immensity, because no distinct -virtualities can be conceived except with reference to distinct extrinsic -terms. Hence, while the element in question has its ubication in _A_, it -is utterly incapable of any other ubication. To admit that one and the -same material point can terminate two virtualities of divine immensity, -seems to us as absurd as to admit that one and the same created being is -the term of two distinct creations. For this reason we think, with S. -Thomas, that bilocation, properly so called, is an impossibility. - - -AN EPISODE. - -The caption “episode” is advisedly adopted, inasmuch as we are going to -transcribe only one short chapter from a large manuscript of several -hundred pages containing “The Life of Sixtus V.” - -However, it is to be regretted that such a life is not published. For it -would reveal unto us the _man_, whereas Ranke and Hübner describe only -the _prince_. - -Sixtus V. fell into that mistake, which has proved disastrous to many -popes, and has afforded a weapon, however silly and easily broken, yet -a real weapon to the enemies of the Papacy--nepotism. The charge is -exaggerated of course: in fact, what our enemies assert to have been the -universal failing of all the popes, the true historian avers to have been -the mistake of a few, whereas the examples of heroic detachment from -kindred given by the vast majority of the Pontiffs are wonderful. S. -Gregory the Great says, “better there should be a scandal than the truth -were suppressed”; and surely the church needs no better defence than the -truth. For the present purpose, suffice it to quote the Protestant Ranke, -who, after a thorough investigation of the subject, gave it as his honest -opinion that only _three_ or _four_ popes are really liable to the charge -of nepotism. It is pleasant to be able to quote such an opinion of an -eminent non-Catholic writer against scores of wilful men, who sharpen -their weapons and discharge their shafts, not after honest study and -investigation, but merely on the promptings of blind hatred. - -Pope Sixtus V. was the second son of Piergentile Peretti of Montalto. - -His eldest brother was Prospero, who married Girolama of Tullio Mignucci, -and died A.D. 1560, without issue. - -Camilla was his only sister. She was led to the altar by Gianbattista -Mignucci, brother to Girolama. To an exquisite correctness of judgment, -and great generosity of heart, she joined a quick apprehension of the -importance of circumstances by which she might find herself suddenly -encompassed. The _Anonimo_ of the _Capitoline Memoirs_ says that when -Camilla was unexpectedly raised from the obscure life of a _contadino’s_ -wife to the rank of a Roman lady, she was not stunned, but felt perfectly -at ease, whilst her society was coveted by the choicest circles of the -nobility. Cardinal d’Ossat, in his _Letters_, informs us that she was -greatly esteemed and dearly beloved by Louise de Lorraine, queen-dowager -of the gifted but perverse Henry III. of France. The works of her -munificence and public charity in her native Grottamare are many, and -enduring to our day. - -Father Felix Peretti had already mounted all the rounds but one of -ecclesiastical preferment--the cardinal’s hat was almost within his -reach. He was a bishop, and occupied some of the highest offices in the -_Curia Romana_. He thought the time had come to satisfy a long-felt -desire--the ennoblement of his family. Hence, in 1562, he called his -sister to Rome, having obtained a sovereign’s rescript by which his -brother was allowed to change his name, Mignucci, into that of Peretti. -On the 17th day of May, 1570, Pius V. raised Mgr. Felix Peretti to the -dignity of cardinal. Thenceforward he is more generally known in history -as Cardinal Montalto, from the place of his nativity. - -Thus, even previous to his brother-in-law’s elevation, Gianbattista -Mignucci enters Rome transformed into Peretti, to join his wife and their -two children Francis and Mary. - -_O fallaces cogitationes nostras!_ The friar hopes his name, made -illustrious by himself, will not become extinct; but he is mistaken; -if recorded on the tablets of time it will not surely be by a worldly -alliance, which is doomed to a dishonored extinction. The church will -inscribe the Peretti name and fame on the adamantine records of her -immortality. - -Verily, if we understand aright the professions of recluses, the -Franciscan friar should have done away with his relations for ever; at -least, so far as not to allow himself to be blinded by human affection. -He should have remembered that he was under no obligation to them, that -from his earliest boyhood he had been taken in hand by churchmen, and -that only through scientific and moral resources acquired in a friary -he had received strength to climb up so high in the ecclesiastical -hierarchy. The world is keen in its observations, and Peretti did not -escape its strictures, seldom erring when established on principles and -facts universally admitted, and moreover sanctioned by divine teaching. -And has not _the_ example been set for those who profess the perfection -of evangelical counsels of how they should behave towards their kindred? - -Be that as it may, Fra Felice paid dearly for his ambition. - -His niece, Donna Maria Peretti, was soon married, and a dowry granted -her from the revenues of her uncle of three thousand crowns a year. -Mary’s children, two boys and two girls, became allied to some of the -most distinguished families of Italy, and the plebeian blood of Peretti -mingled with that of the simon-pure aristocracy. Out of this issue arose -eminent men who did honor to cross and sword. But enough of this branch -of the friar’s adoption. - -About the time of Mgr. Felix Peretti’s elevation to the cardinalate, his -nephew Francesco was wedded to Donna Vittoria Accoramboni of Gubbio, in -Umbria, praised by the _Gentiluomo_, Aquitano (vol. ii., b. vi.), as “a -woman of high mind, of great beauty of soul and body.” Her family still -exists in Italy, and a lineal descendant occupies important posts in the -household of Pius IX.. Her suitors had been many and of princely caste; -among the rest Paolo Giordano Orsini, Duke of Bracciano, formerly married -to the sister of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, Francesco Medici. Paolo, -_homo ruptus disruptusque_, stands charged in history with the murder of -this his former wife, the accomplished Isabella, daughter of Cosmo, whom -he strangled on the 16th of July, 1576. But Vittoria’s father cut short -all suits, and gave her in holy wedlock to Francesco Peretti, nephew of -the mysterious cardinal, whose future elevation to the papal throne was -held _in petto_ by every discerning Roman. - -However, Vittoria’s mother gave her consent reluctantly; for wearing the -ducal coronet seemed preferable to being the prospective niece of the -sovereign--_uccello in tasca è meglio che due in frasca_[183] the shrewd -Italian lady thought. But whereas Lady Accoramboni forgot that the Orsini -family owed their power to Nicholas III. (A.D. 1277-80), an Orsini by -birth, who, by the lever of nepotism, had raised an already celebrated -family to the highest standing of European nobility, her husband, on the -other hand, said to her: “Can’t you see? Vittoria will be the head of a -new, powerful family!” Still Lady Accoramboni did not see it, and the -loss of the coronet rankled for ever in her breast. - -Indeed, in these days when tales of fiction are the almost exclusive -reading of the youth of both sexes, an accomplished writer might -weave out of the following events a story of stirring interest; not -sensational, indeed, but freighted with most salutary lessons. - -Vittoria Accoramboni Peretti had three brothers: - -Ottavio was, through the recommendation of Cardinal Peretti, nominated by -the Duke of Urbino for, and by Gregory XIII. appointed to, the bishopric -of Fossombrone. He adorned his see with all the virtues becoming a -scholar, a gentleman, a patriot, and a true apostolic prelate. - -Giulio became one of the private household of Cardinal Alessandro -Sforza, by whom he was held in great favor, and employed as confidential -secretary. - -Marcello was outlawed for his misdeeds, and a price set on his head. But -Cardinal Peretti obtained his pardon; yet leave to return to Rome was not -granted to him. - -“A wise woman buildeth her house: but the foolish will pull down with -her hands that also which is built,” saith the Wise Man. The house of -Francesco and Maria Peretti _was_ built, and it was the home of comfort -and honor, enclosing within its walls the choicest gifts of the world; -and of its brightest ornament, the Lady Vittoria Peretti, it might be -said she was the cynosure of Roman society. The evening _conversazioni_ -drew the _élite_ of Rome, graced as they were by the presence of the -cardinal, who, with his proverbial regularity, would attend them for a -definite length of time. His wise sayings, dignity of deportment, and -agreeableness of manners, mingled with an independence of character that -made him almost redoubtable at the Roman court, enhanced the charm of -the family circle. Young prelates prized highly the privilege of being -admitted amongst the visitors. The spacious halls of the Villa Negroni -were adorned with paintings and statuary, and the noblest specimens of -the art of painting; the gardens were reckoned the most tasteful of those -of any princely family in Rome. While he was scrupulous in his attention -to consistorial meetings, and the affairs of the _Curia Romana_ over -which he was appointed, Cardinal Peretti never gave his time to what he -would consider frivolous etiquette. His library, his gardens, afforded -him all the relaxation he needed; his life was most exemplary and devout. -Happy, indeed, was the home built by such hands; but a foolish woman -pulled it down! - -At the depth of night, not many months after Vittoria had been wedded, -a note is hurriedly carried by a chambermaid to Francesco; it had been -left at the entry by a well-known friend, and the messenger had left -immediately. It was written by Marcello, who at times entered the city -under protection of night, or of some leaders of political factions, with -which the city swarmed--barons and princes who, under the mild government -of Gregory XIII., had everything their own way. - -The letter summoned Francesco to repair at once to the Esquiline hill, -there to meet some gentlemen on a business the nature whereof could not -be entrusted to paper, and admitted of no delay. Hurriedly does the -devoted man dress himself, and, his sword under his arm, forces his way -through the servants who beseech him to halt, disentangles himself from -his wife and mother, who, prostrated before him, cling to his knees, -begging of him not to trust himself to the outlawed Marcello. In vain! -Preceded by a servant with torch in hand, no sooner had he reached the -brow of the Quirinal than the contents of three arquebuses were lodged in -his breast; whereupon four men fell upon him, and finished him with their -stilettos. “Thus,” says an old historian, “fell a youth whose only crime -was to be the husband of a most beautiful woman.” Another chronicler -calls Francesco _Cale e di gran correttezza di costumi_. - -The commotion in the family when the ensanguined and ghastly corpse was -carried home can easily be imagined. The lamentations of the women and -the uproar of the servants awoke the cardinal, who slept in a distant -apartment--his palace, the Villa Negrone, as mentioned above, and by that -name known to modern tourists, extending from the Esquiline (Santa Maria -Maggiore) to the Piazza de’ Termini. It is said that on hearing the -dreadful news Montalto fell upon his knees, and prayed God to grant rest -to the soul of his nephew, and to himself fortitude, such as became his -character and dignity. His presence not only brought, but forced calm on -the distracted household. On the next day the Holy Father was to hold a -Consistory, and, contrary to the expectation of all, Cardinal Montalto -was at his post, as usual, among the first. His colleagues offer their -condolence, which he accepts with a resignation almost akin to stoicism. -But when he approaches the throne to give his opinion on the matters -debated, and the pope, with moist eyes and greatly moved, expresses a -heartfelt sympathy in the cardinal’s affliction, pledging his word that -the perpetrators shall be visited with summary and condign punishment, -Montalto thanks the Pontiff for his kind sympathy, protests that he has -already forgiven the murderers, and begs that all proceedings may be -stayed, lest the innocent should be punished for the guilty. Having thus -disposed of the matter, he proceeds with his wonted calmness to discuss -that which was before the Consistory. - -Referring to this impassiveness of Peretti, the pope remarked, with an -ominous shake of the head, to his nephew, Cardinal San Sisto, “Indeed, -Montalto is a great friar!” And those of Peretti’s own times, and -subsequent historians, seem to have had an insight of his mind and -motives. In the sober language of Ranke, “His character does not appear -to have been so guileless as it is occasionally represented. As early -as 1574 he is described as learned and prudent, but also crafty and -malignant. He was doubtless gifted with remarkable self-control. When his -nephew was assassinated, he was himself the person who requested the -pope to discontinue the investigation. This quality, which was admired by -all, very probably contributed to his election” to the papal throne. - -Those among our readers who have resided among Italians, and especially -in Rome, need not be told of the tremendous excitement which seized -the holy city as it awoke on that dreadful morning. Cardinal Peretti -of Montalto became the observed of all observers; nobles and prelates -thronged the avenues to his villa to assure him of their loyalty and -condolence; very few, indeed, as the world goes, honestly and sincerely; -many simply from custom; almost all, however, moved by a motive of -curiosity to see how the “Picenian packhorse” bore the great calamity, -and, above all, what feelings he would betray towards Paolo Giordano -Orsini, to whom the finger of public opinion already pointed as the -murderer of Vittoria’s husband. By some manœuvre of the “gossiping -committee” the day and the hour on which even Giordano would present -himself at the palace became known, and the throng at the drawing-rooms -was exceedingly great. When the murderer stood face to face before his -victim’s best friend and only avenger, not the least twitch in the -cardinal’s nerves, not a falter in the voice, nor the slightest change of -color betrayed the conflict in his soul. He received Orsini’s treacherous -sympathy as he had received the truest expressions of condolence. -Peretti stood there, the prince, not the avenger. Even the accursed -soul of Giordano was lost in wonderment; he became embarrassed and -disconcerted, and he was reported to have exclaimed as he re-entered his -carriage--“Montalto is a great friar; no mistake about it!” (Montalto è -un gran frate; chi ne dubita!) - -Vittoria had no children. Hence, after the funeral, the cardinal sent -her home to her mother, bestowing upon her costly gifts, and giving her -the jewels, plate, and precious articles of furniture and apparel, which -had been the bridal presents of husband and friends. _Ora ti credo_, -said Pasquino to Marforio, in allusion to Montalto’s forbearance and -disinterested magnanimity. - -The sequel to this tragedy is so thrilling in interest, so characteristic -of the times about which we write, and must have taxed the feelings of -the future pope so much, that a succinct account thereof cannot but prove -interesting to our readers. - -Gregory XIII. urged with energy and perseverance the necessary inquests -to ferret out the murderers of Francesco Peretti. But wily old Giordano -Orsini (he was on the other side of fifty) knew how to baffle the -requisitions of justice, by no means a difficult task in those lawless -times. He sent the waiting-maid to Bracciano, to be protected by the -feudal immunities of the Orsini castle. Vittoria and her mother were -sheltered in Rome in the Orsini palace. The feudal power was still -great in those days, and often a franchise was secured to the premises -of Roman nobles by foreign princes, to the infinite annoyance of the -local sovereign, and often clogging the workings of justice. One -Cesare Pallentieri, an outlawed ruffian, was then bribed to write to -the governor of Rome avowing himself the plotter of Peretti’s death -to revenge himself for personal injuries received at that gentleman’s -hands. Nobody believed the story; and the verdict of public opinion was -sanctioned when, in February, 1582, Mancino, the bearer of the fatal -note, declared, under oath and without compulsion, that the whole plot -had been woven by Vittoria’s mother; that the servant-maid had been made -privy to it; and moreover revealed the names of two of the emissaries, -it being well known in whose pay they bore arms, although he stated no -employer’s name. - -At this stage of the proceedings Cardinal Montalto, with persevering -endeavors with the pope and the interposition of friends, stayed all -prosecutions, and on December 13, 1583, obtained from the sovereign -pardon for Mancino, who was, however, banished from Rome, and -relegated--_interned_, in modern parlance--to Fermo, his native city, -being forbidden to quit it under penalty of death. But it was too evident -that there was a trifling with justice, and in the uncertainties between -which public opinion seemed to fluctuate, wiser counsels attempted to -vindicate the necessity of a just retribution. Hence, at the instance of -several cardinals and of the Spanish ambassador, Gregory was prevailed -upon to confine Vittoria to the castle Sant’ Angelo, and by a special -decree forbade her marrying Paolo Giordano Orsini, unless by a reserved -dispensation from himself or his successor, under attaintment of felony. -However, after two years of imprisonment she was declared innocent of -any share in or knowledge of the plot, and discharged. This happened on -the very day of Gregory’s death, April 10, 1585. Still Orsini could not -wed her, because of the forbidding clause in the pope’s order. But some -accommodating casuist came to the rescue, and averred that the defunct -pope’s brief was binding no more. Whereupon the duke hastened, by -special couriers on post-horses, to notify the good Bishop of Fossombrone -of his intended alliance with Vittoria, and to solicit his gracious -consent. Mgr. Ottavio refused his assent decidedly, nor would he allow -himself to change his refusal, although Orsini despatched messenger after -messenger, anxious, as he was, to accomplish his purpose ere a new pope -was elected. But the new pope was elected far sooner than the duke or -any one else expected, and in defiance of the express command of the -defunct pontiff, and in shameless disregard of the feelings of the new -sovereign, the very morning on which Cardinal Peretti, Vittoria’s uncle, -was proclaimed, she was wedded to Paolo Orsini, Duke of Bracciano. Rome -was bewildered at the announcement; and although no one could guess what -the consequences of the rash act might be, or how the pope would show his -displeasure, because Fra Felice never made any one the confidant of his -thoughts, yet the general impression was that sooner or later the duke -would be made to pay dearly for his daring and reckless disregard of the -commonest principles of decency. - -Rome was on the alert. Duke Orsini is admitted to offer his obeisance -to the Pontiff Sixtus V. amid the solemn assembly of cardinals, foreign -envoys, and Roman princes and senators; the expression of his liege -words, his prostration at the sovereign’s throne, and his courtly homage -meet with the simple response of a look from Sixtus. That look gave -rise to the most clashing interpretations in the observing minds of the -beholders; it was a look of benignity, weighty with authority, crushing -with power, such as to subdue at once the haughty and defiant princely -ruffian. From that moment Paolo Orsini never raised his head; his day was -gone. Within a few days a sovereign decree, worded as only Sixtus V. knew -how to pen them, in terms at which no one would dare to cavil, Orsini was -forbidden to shelter outlaws. The duke solicited an audience; of what -occurred at that meeting no one could ever surmise; but Orsini found no -more charm in what he could heretofore call _his_ Rome. Accordingly, -within two months after the inauguration of Sixtus’ pontificate, he -left the papal city. In sooth, he was an exile, voluntary, as if by -courtesy. Great was the bitterness galling Vittoria’s heart, and she was -pitied by all--the victim of a mother’s rash ambition, she had to flee -that Rome where she could still have reigned the queen of society for -her beauty, her great gifts, and close relationship to the sovereign. -Donna Camilla reigned in her stead. Nor was this all. The handsome, -youthful, accomplished niece of Sixtus was then the slavish, unhappy wife -of a cumbrous quinquagenarian prince, covered with loathsome blotches -from the sole of his feet to the crown of his head, the penalty of his -dissipations; one of his legs so ulcered with cancer that it had swollen -to the size of a man’s waist, and had to be kept bandaged (the chronicler -says), with slices of _some other animal’s meat_, that the acrid humor -would not eat into _his own_ live flesh--a fretful old debauchee, -overbearing, universally loathed for his lecherous habits, hated for his -cruelties, and made intractable by a conscience gnawed by despair. - -Poor Vittoria! On their way to Salò, near the lake of Garda in Lombardy, -her husband, consumed by ulcers and tortures of soul, died suddenly -whilst being bled in his arm! - -Forlorn Vittoria! the first paroxysm of grief being over, raised a -pistol to her head, but it was happily snatched from her in time by her -brother Giulio, and she was spared a violent, unprepared, and cowardly -death! Thus left alone, unprotected in her beauty and youth, she was at -the mercy of Ludovico Orsini, her husband’s cousin, who despised her -on account of the great disparity of their birth. Her late husband had -indeed bequeathed to her one hundred thousand crowns, besides silver -plate, horses, carriages, and jewelry without stint. All this Ludovico -coveted, and stepped forward under pretence of protecting the rights of -Flaminio Orsini, Giordano’s son by his former wife; but unable to break -the will, he summoned one Liverotto Paolucci of Camerino to come to -Padua--whither Vittoria had repaired immediately, and, aided by such as -he might chose, to murder Vittoria and her brother! The bloody ruffian -answered the summons, and entering the princess’ apartment through a -window, in the depth of the night, his men fell at first upon Giulio, -and into his breast discharged the contents of three muskets. The victim -crawled to his sister’s room and crouched under her bed. There he was -finished with _seventy-three_ thrusts of white arms, encouraged all the -time by Vittoria, anxiously repeating--“Forgive, Giulio; beg God’s mercy, -and willingly accept death for his sake.” - -It is recorded in the life of her sainted brother, the Bishop of -Fossombrone, that, upon the death of the duke, he without delay wrote -to his sister, exhorting her to amend her life, and devote herself to -works of atonement and piety; for, said he, “your days will not be many.” -And we have it from authenticated records of those times that she did -truly repent of her worldliness, and, having placed herself under the -protection of the Republic of Venice, retired to Padua, where she lived -in great retirement, dividing her time between practices of devotion in -the church, deeds of charity, and protracted orisons at home. She also -begged of the Pope leave to repair to Rome, the asylum of the wretched, -and spend the remainder of her life in a convent, for which purpose her -generous uncle had signed a remittance of five hundred gold crowns on -the very day he received the sad account of her death. Her brother, the -bishop, had so strong a presentiment, some say a revelation from above, -of the impending catastrophe, that on the 22d of December he ordered -special prayers to be offered by the clergy of his diocese in her behalf. - -And she _did_ fall a victim to Ludovico’s dagger on the 22d of that month! - -After Giulio had breathed his last, bathed in his own blood, Count -Paganello, one of Liverotto’s band, took hold of the devoted woman by -both arms, and holding her in the kneeling posture in which she had been -found at her prayers, bade one of his bravoes to tear open her dress on -the right side, whereupon she indignantly protested that she should be -allowed to die in her dress, as it became an honest woman and the _wife -of Giordano Orsini_! The brute plunged a stiletto into her bosom, and -kept trepanning towards the left side in search of the heart. She offered -no resistance, but during the horrid butchery of her form she ceased not -repeating, “I pardon you, even as I beg of God to forgive me.… Jesus!… -Jesus!… Mercy and forgiveness!” And with these words of forgiveness dying -on her lips she fell lifeless on the floor. - -Thus ended, by a cruel death, yet heroically met, one of the most -remarkable women of her time--a woman renowned for her admirable beauty, -talents, and misguided ambition. Having been the pet of European society, -she died almost an outlaw; the niece of Pope Sixtus V., she died without -a home of her own; a lamentable instance of the ignominious end awaiting -those who have been endowed by a kind Providence with the noblest of -gifts, but have made a wrong use of them. - - -THE CROSS IN THE DESERT. - -Some few years ago a pilgrim sailed across the blue waters of the -Mediterranean, smitten with the love of the cross, and bearing in his -hand “the banner with the strange device.” - -It was a lovely summer’s evening. The fierce African sun was sinking to -his rest behind the hill on which the ruins of the old city of Hippo -stand; and as the pilgrim, who had climbed to its summit, stood gazing -around him, the glow of the western sky bathed his dusty garments in a -golden light, touching the ruins with a splendor of its own, and lighting -up the sea, that heaved gently down below, with the brightness of amber -and gold. - -This, then, was all that remained of the proud old city whose name -Augustine had made famous to the end of time! - -These crumbling walls were once the school where he taught, the halls -where his youthful eloquence fired the hearts of the great scholars of -the day; here were the baths where he lounged in his idle hours with -pleasure-loving companions; here the streets where every day he came -and went from Monica’s quiet home to the busy haunts of learning, of -sophistry, and science; here was the place where she had wept so bitterly -over him, the spot where that salutary fountain of a mother’s tears had -had its source; here he had sinned; hence he had gone forth in search of -truth, and, having found it, hither he had come back, transformed into -a confessor and a doctor of the church; here, finally, he died, full of -years, leaving behind him a name great amongst the greatest saints whom -the church has raised to her altars. - -And what now remained to Africa of this light which had shed such glory -on her church? Where did his memory live? And the faith that he had -practised--whither had it fled? - -The pilgrim sat down upon a stone, and, after indulging in reflections -such as these for some time, he rose and descended slowly towards the -plain. - -Was it a fancy born of recent musings, or did he hear a voice issuing -from the massive fragment of a wall which still supported a majestic -dome, once probably the thermæ of the luxurious and wealthy citizens of -Hippo? Did he really see a light burning, or was it an hallucination -born of the mystic hour and the suggestive surroundings? He drew closer, -looked in, and beheld two white-bearded Arabs placing each a light on the -highest point of the wall. Was it some idolatrous rite, a spell, or an -incantation they were performing? - -“What are you doing?” inquired the pilgrim. - -“We are burning lights to the great Christian,” was the reply. - -“Who is that? What is his name?” - -“We do not know it; but we honor him because our fathers taught us to do -so.” - -So, then, the memory of Augustine survived in the land, though his name -had perished! - -The pilgrim murmured a prayer to the great Christian, as the Arabs -called him, and turned away, carrying in his heart a hope that he had -not known an hour ago--a hope that Augustine was still watching for the -resurrection of the cross in the land of his birth, and hastening its -advent by his intercession at the throne of Him whom he described as -“patient because he is eternal.” - -It is a fact, as striking as it is consoling, that within the last few -years the faith has been making rapid conquests amidst the barbarous -nations, where in the days of S. Augustine, and long after, it flourished -so magnificently. Perhaps it is more surprising that this result should -not have been universal after nearly half a century of the rule of a -Catholic power; but the mistaken policy of the French government, and, -alas! we must add, the evil example of the French themselves, instead -of breaking down existing barriers, have raised new and insurmountable -ones against the spread of Christianity amongst the conquered tribes. -France proclaimed her intention of not alone tolerating, but protecting, -Islamism throughout her African dominion. She carried this policy so -far for many years that it was made punishable by French law to convert -a Mussulman to the Catholic faith, whilst, on the other hand, it was -perfectly lawful for any number of Catholics to turn Mussulmans. The -priests who went out as missionaries were thwarted at every step by the -French authorities. “Our adversaries, the men who worry us and stand -in the way of our making converts, are not the Arabs or even their -marabouts,” said one of these devoted men to us only a few days ago; -“it is our own countrymen, Frenchmen calling themselves Catholics, _whom -we have chiefly_ to contend against.” And he went on to describe how, -during the famine of 1867, when the Arabs were dying like flies all -over the country, the French authorities were constantly on the alert -to prevent the missionaries baptizing them, even _in extremis_. They -actually sent detachments of spahees to the various places where the poor -famine-stricken creatures congregated in greater numbers to die; and when -the priest was seen approaching them, as they lay gasping in their agony, -the soldiers rushed forward to stop him from administering the sacrament -of regeneration. One little missionary father contrived to outwit the -authorities, however, and, in spite of the lynx-eyes that were fixed on -him, he managed to baptize numbers from a little bottle of water hid -under his burnose. - -No wonder the Arabs make small account of men who set such pitiful store -by their religion. They, call the French “sons of Satan,” and the French -priests and good Christians among the seculars will tell you themselves -that the name is well deserved; that the employees of the government, -military and civil, make the most deplorable impression on the natives, -and by their lives present a practical example of all the vices which it -is the boast of civilization to destroy. They are so untruthful that the -French missionaries declare they surpass even the Arabs in lies. The Arab -is abstemious by nature, and the law of the Koran compels him to the most -rigid sobriety; the Christians give him an example of excesses in eating -and drinking which excite his disgust and contempt. - -There is a legend current amongst the Arabs in the French dominions that -on a certain day Mahomet will arise and precipitate the sons of Satan -into the sea. When a Frenchman, in answer to this prophecy, points to -the strength of his government, its enormous resources, the power of -steam, and the monuments he has built in Algeria, the Mussulman with grim -contempt replies in his grave, sullen way: “Look at the ruins of the old -Roman monuments! They were mightier than any you have raised; and yet, -behold, they lie in ruins throughout the land, because Allah so willed. -It is written: Allah will cast you into the sea as he did the Romans.” - -All those who can speak from experience agree that there are no people -so difficult to evangelize as the Mussulmans; the pure idolater is -comparatively an easy conquest to the missionary, but it requires almost -the miraculous intervention of divine grace to make the light of the -Gospel penetrate the stolid fatalism of the Mahometan. - -One of the greatest obstacles to the reception of truth in the Arab is -the intuitive pride of race which arms him against the idea of receiving -religious instruction from a race of men whom he despises with a scorn -which is actually a part of his religion, and who in their turn look down -on the children of the desert, and treat their manners and customs with -contempt. In order to overcome this first obstacle towards the success -of their ministry, the missionaries conceived the idea of identifying -themselves, as far as possible, with the natives, adopting their dress, -their manner of eating and sleeping, and in every way assimilating -outwardly their daily lives to theirs. - -They tried it, and the system has already worked wonders. How, indeed, -could it be otherwise? If faith can move mountains, cannot love melt -them? Love, the irresistible, the conqueror who subdues all hard things -in this hard world--why should it fail with these men, who have human -souls like our own, fashioned after the likeness of our common God? Just -five years ago a handful of priests, Frenchmen, gone mad with the sweet -folly of the cross, heard of how these Arabs could not be persuaded to -receive the message of Christ crucified, but repulsed every effort to -reach them. They were seized with a sudden desire to go and try if they -could not succeed where others had failed; so they offered themselves to -the Archbishop of Algiers as missionaries in his diocese. The offer was -gladly accepted; but when the first presented himself to obtain faculties -for saying Mass in the villages outside Algiers and in the desert, the -archbishop signed the permission with the words _visum pro martyrio_, -and, handing it to the young apostle, said: “Do you accept on these -conditions?” - -“Monseigneur, it is for that I have come,” was the joyous reply. And -truly, amongst all the perilous missions which every day lure brave souls -to court the palm of martyrdom, there is not one where the chances are -more in favor of gaining it than in this mission of Sahara, where the -burning sun of Africa, added to material privations that are absolutely -incredible, makes the life of the most fortunate missionary a slow -and daily martyrdom. His first task, in preparation for becoming a -missionary, is to master the language and to acquire some knowledge of -the healing art, of herbs and medicine; then he dons the dress of the -Arabs, which, conforming in all things to their customs, he does not -quit even at night, but sleeps in it on the ground; he builds himself -a tent like theirs, and, in order to disarm suspicion, lives for some -time in their midst without making the least attempt at converting them; -he does not even court their acquaintance, but waits patiently for an -opportunity to draw them towards him; this generally comes in the form of -a sick person whom the stranger offers to help and very frequently cures, -or at least alleviates, cleanliness and the action of pure water often -proving the only remedy required. The patient, in his gratitude, offers -some present, either in money, stuffs, or eatables, which the stranger -with gentle indignation refuses. Then follows some such dialogue as this: -“What! you refuse my thank-offering? Who, then, pays you?” - -“God, the true God of the Christians. I have left country and family and -home, and all my heart loves best, for his sake and for his service; do -you think you or any man living can pay me for this?” - -“What are you, then?” demands the astonished Arab. - -“I am a marabout of Jesus Christ.” And the Mussulman retires in great -wonder as to what sort of a religion it can be whose marabouts take -neither money nor goods for their services. He tells the story to the -neighbors, and by degrees all the sick and maimed of the district come -trooping to the missionary’s door. He tends them with untiring charity. -Nothing disgusts him; the more loathsome the ulcers, the more wretched -the sufferer, the more tenderness he lavishes on them. - -Soon his hut is the rendezvous of all those who have ailments or wounds -for miles round; and though they entreat him, sometimes on their knees, -to accept some token of thanks for his services, he remains inexorable, -returning always the same answer: “I serve the God of heaven and earth; -the kings of this world are too poor to pay me.” - -He leads this life for fifteen months before taking his vows as a -missionary. When he has bound himself to the heroic apostleship, he is in -due time ordained, if not already a priest, and goes forth, in company -with two other priests, to establish a mission in some given spot of -Sahara or Soodan, these desolated regions being the appointed field of -their labors. The little community follows exactly the same line of -conduct in the beginning of its installation as above described; they -keep strictly aloof until, by dint of disinterestedness and of devotion -and skilful care of the sick, they have disarmed the fierce mistrust -of the “true believers,” and convinced them that they are not civil -functionaries or in any way connected with the government. The Arab’s -horror of everybody and of everything emanating from French headquarters -partakes of the intense character of his fanaticism in religious matters. -By degrees the natives become passionately attached to the foreign -marabouts, who have now to put limits to the gratitude which would invest -them with semi-divine attributes. The great aim of the missionaries is -of course to get possession of the children, so as to form a generation -of future missionaries. Nothing short of this will plant the cross in -Africa, and, while securing the spiritual regeneration of the country, -restore to that luxuriant soil its ancient fertility. Once reconciled -to civilization by Christianity, those two millions of natives, who are -now in a state of chronic suppressed rebellion against their conquerors, -would be disarmed and their energies turned to the cultivation of the -land and the development of its rich resources by means of agricultural -implements and science which the French could impart to them. Nor is it -well to treat with utter contempt the notion of a successful rebellion -in Algeria. At the present moment such an event would be probably -impossible; but there is no reason why it should be so in years hence. -The Arabs are as yet not well provided with arms and ammunition; but they -are making yearly large purchases in this line at Morocco and Tunis, -and the study of European military science is steadily progressing. -The deep-seated hatred of the Mussulmans for the yoke of the stranger -is moreover as intense as in the first days of their bondage; and if -even to-morrow, unprepared as they are materially, the “holy war” were -proclaimed, it would rouse the population to a man. The marabouts would -get upon the minarets, and send forth the call to every son of Mahomet to -arise and fight against the sons of the devil, proclaiming the talismanic -promise of the Koran: “Every true believer who falls in the holy war is -admitted at once into the paradise of Mahomet.” The number who would call -on the prophet to fulfil the promise would no doubt be enormous, and the -French would in all human probability remain masters of the desert; but -a kingdom held on such tenure as this state of feeling involves is at -best but a sorry conquest. If the Gospel had been, we do not even say -enforced, but simply encouraged and zealously taught, by the conquerors, -their position would be a very different one in Algeria now. After all, -there is no diplomatist like holy church. “Our little systems have their -day” and fall to pieces one after another, perishing with the ambitions -and feuds and enthusiasms that gave them birth, and leave the world -pretty much as they found it; but the power of the Gospel grows and -endures and fructifies wherever its divine policy penetrates. No human -legislation, be it ever so wise, can cope with this divine legislator; -none other can take the sting out of defeat, can make the conquerors -loved by the conquered, and turn the chains of captivity from iron to -silk. Even on the lowest ground, in mere self-interest, governments -would do well to constitute themselves the standard-bearers of the -King who rules by love, and subdues the stubborn pride of men by first -winning their hearts. The supremacy of this power of love is nowhere more -strikingly exemplified than amidst these barbarous Arab tribes. - -The story of every little dark-eyed waif sheltered at the Orphanage of -S. Charles, lately established outside Algiers, would furnish a volume -in itself; but an incident connected with the admission of one of them, -and related to us a few days ago by a missionary just returned, is so -characteristic that we are tempted to relate it. The archbishop was -making a visitation in the poor villages sixty miles beyond Algiers; the -priest presented to him a miserable-looking little object whose parents -still lived in a neighboring desert tribe, but who had cast off the child -because of its sickliness and their poverty. Could his lordship possibly -get him taken in as an orphan? The thing was not easy; for every spot -was full, and the fact of the parents being still alive militated against -the claim of the little, forlorn creature. But the archbishop’s heart -was touched. He said he would arrange it somehow; let the boy be sent -on to Ben-Aknoun at once. This, however, was easier said than done; who -would take charge of him on such a long journey? His grace’s carriage -(a private conveyance dignified by that name) was at the door. “Put -him in; I will take him,” he said, looking kindly at the small face -with the great dark eyes that were staring wistfully up at him. But the -priest and every one present exclaimed at the idea of this. The Arabs -are proverbial for the amount of _light infantry_ which they carry about -with them in their hair and their rags; and the fact of their presence in -myriads on the person of this little believer was evident to the naked -eye. The archbishop, however, nothing daunted, ordered him to be placed -in the carriage; then, finding no one would obey him, he caught up the -little fellow in his arms, embraced him tenderly amidst the horrified -protestations of the priest and others, carried him to the carriage, -seated him comfortably, and then got in himself and away they drove. A -large crowd had assembled to see the great marabout depart, and stood -looking on the extraordinary scene in amazement. A few days later several -of them came to see the priest, and ask to be instructed in the religion -which works such miracles in the hearts of men, and to offer their -children to be brought up Christians. - -This Orphanage of S. Charles is the most precious institution which -Catholic zeal has so far established in Algiers. It comprises a school -for boys, and one for girls conducted by nuns. The description of the -life there sounds like some beautiful old Bible legend. It is a life of -constant privation, toil, and suffering, both for the fathers and for -the sisters; but the results as regards the children are so abundant and -consoling that the missionaries are sometimes moved to exclaim, “Verily, -we have had our reward!” - -The full-grown Arab is perhaps as wretched a specimen of unregenerate -human nature as the world can furnish. Every vice seems natural to him, -except gluttony, which he only acquires with the spurious civilization -imported by his conquerors. He is relentless and vindictive; false, -avaricious, cruel, and utterly devoid of any idea of morality; yet the -children of these men and women are like virgin soil on which no evil -seed has ever fallen. Their docility is marvellous, their capacity for -gratitude indescribably touching, and their religious sense deep, lively, -and affective. They accept the teaching of the missionaries and the nuns -as if piety were an inherited instinct in them; and the truths of our -holy faith act upon their minds with the power of seen realities. - -One of the fathers told us, as an instance of this, that the children -were allowed to play in the fruit garden once when the trees were in -full bearing; and not a single fig, orange, or any other fruit being -touched, some visitor asked the children in surprise if they never pulled -any when their superiors were not looking; but they answered in evident -astonishment: “Oh! no; God would see us, and he would be angry!” We -quite agreed with the narrator that such a general example of obedience -and self-denial from such a principle might be vainly sought for in -our most carefully-taught schools in Europe and--would it be a calumny -to add?--America. The children also show a spirit of sacrifice that is -very striking, the girls especially. If they are ill and some nauseous -medicine is presented to them, the little things seize the cup with -avidity, and with a word, such as “For thee, dear Jesus!” drain it off at -once. They realize so clearly that every correction imposed on them is -for their good that it is nothing rare to see them go to the presiding -father or sister and ask to be punished when they have committed some -little misdemeanor unobserved. One little mite of six felt very sulky -towards a companion, and, after a short and vain struggle to overcome -herself, she went to the nun and begged to be whipped, “because she -could not make the devil go away.” Their vivid Oriental imaginations -paint all the terrible and beautiful truths of the faith in colors -that have the living glow of visible pictures. They have the tenderest -devotion to our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament, and nothing pleases them -more than to be allowed to spend their hour of recreation in prayer -before the tabernacle. Their sense of gratitude for the blessing of the -faith makes them long with an indescribable yearning to share it with -their people. All their prayers and little sacrifices are offered up -with this intention. Those among them who were old enough to remember -the wretchedness they were rescued from, speak of it continually with -the most touching gratitude to God and their instructors. One of -their greatest pleasures is to count over the good things they have -received from God. A sister overheard two of them one day summing -them up as follows: “He gives us bread and the sunshine and a house; -he has preserved us from dying in the night-time; he prevents the sea -overflowing and drowning us; he has given us monseigneur and our mammas -[the nuns]; he came on earth to teach us to be obedient; he brought us -the Gospel; he has given us the Blessed Virgin to be our mamma, and then -our angels, and then the Holy Father; he forgives us our sins; he has -given us sacraments for our soul and body; he stays always with us in the -chapel; he is keeping our place in heaven; he looks at us when we are -naughty, and that makes us sorry, and then he forgives us.” And so they -go on composing canticles out of their innocent hearts that must make -sweet music in His ears who so loved the little ones. - -The deaths of some of these little barbarians are as lovely as any we -read of in the lives of the saints. One of them, who was baptized by -the name of Amelia, has left a memory that will long be cherished in -Ben-Aknoun. She was dying of a lingering, terrible disease; but her -sufferings never once provoked a murmur. She was as gay as a little bird -and as gentle as a lamb; her only longing was to see God. “And what will -you do besides in heaven?” asked one of her companions. “I will walk -about with the angels,” she replied, “and be on the watch to meet our -mammas when they come to the beautiful gates.” In her sleep she used to -pray still; many a time the nuns found her muttering her rosary with -clasped hands while sleeping the sound sleep of a tired child. She fought -against death as long as she could, insisting on getting up and going -to the chapel, where sometimes she would lie exhausted with pain and -weakness on the step of the altar, breathing her prayers softly until -she dropped asleep. Her only fear was lest she should not make her First -Communion before she died; but her extreme youth (she was not quite eight -years old) was compensated for by her ardent piety. They gave her our -Blessed Lord after giving her Extreme Unction. The expression of her -face was seraphic in its joy and peace. All her little companions were -kneeling round her bed, their eyes fixed in admiration on the beaming -countenance of the dying child. One of them, called Anna, who was her -chosen friend, an orphan from a remote desert tribe like herself, drew -near to say good-by. The two children clasped each other in silence; but -when they parted, the tears were streaming down Amelia’s cheeks. “Why did -you make her cry, my child?” whispered the nun to Anna reproachfully. “I -did not do it on purpose,” was the reply. “I only said, ‘O Amelia! you -are too happy; why can’t you take me with you?’ and then we both cried.” -The happy little sufferer lingered on in great pain for another day and -night, constantly kissing her crucifix, thanking those around her for -their kindness and patience. - -Towards the evening of the second day the pains grew rapidly worse, and -she entreated to be carried to the chapel, that she might look once more -upon the tabernacle. The nun took her in her arms, and laid her on the -step of the altar, when her sufferings instantly ceased, and she sank -into a sleep which they thought was the last one. She was carried back -and laid on her bed, but soon opened her eyes with a look of ecstatic -joy, and cried out, gazing upwards, “See! how beautifully it shines. And -the music--do you hear? Oh! it is the _Gloria in Excelsis_.” No one heard -anything; only _her_ ears were opened to the heavenly harmonies that were -sounding through the half-open doors of Paradise. She continued listening -with the same rapt expression of delight, and then, clasping her little -hands together, she cried, “Alleluia! alleluia!” and fell back and spoke -no more. She had passed the golden portals; the glories of heaven were -visible to her now. - -What wonder if the apostolic souls who reap such harvests as these -count their labors light, and rejoice in the midst of their poverty and -self-imposed martyrdom! - -But there are homelier and less pathetic joys in the Orphanage every now -and then than these blessed deaths. When the boys and girls have learnt -all they need learn, and have come to the age when they must leave the -fathers and the nuns, they are perfectly free to return to their native -tribes; and it is a convincing argument in favor of the strength of their -newly-acquired principles and affections that they almost invariably -refuse to do so. The proportion of those who go back to the old life is -one in every hundred. The next thing to be considered is what to do with -those who refuse to go back. The plan of marrying the orphans amongst -each other suggested itself as the most practical method of securing -lasting results from their Christian education. The chief difficulty in -the execution of this plan was the reluctance of the Arab girls to marry -men of their own race; they had learned the privileges which women owe to -Christianity, and they had no mind to forego their dignity and equality, -and sink back into the degraded position of an Arab’s wife. “We will -not marry to be beaten,” they argued. “Find us Frenchmen, and we will -marry them and be good wives.” No doubt they would, but the Frenchmen -unfortunately could not be induced to take this view of the case; and -it required all the influence of their superiors to make the girls -understand that Christianity, in raising woman from the condition of a -slave to that of man’s equal, compels him to respect and cherish her. - -The way in which the courtship and marriage proceed between the sons and -daughters of the great marabout (as the archbishop is called) is curious -in its picturesque simplicity. - -A band of fifteen couples were lately married from the Orphanage of -Ben-Aknoun. The fathers informed the archbishop they had fifteen -excellent boys who were about to leave, and whom they wished to find -wives for and settle in the nearest Christian village. The archbishop -asked the superior of the girls’ school if she could supply fifteen -maidens who would go and share the humble homes of their brother orphans. - -The superior replied that she had precisely the number required--girls -who must leave the shelter of the convent in a few months, and whom she -was most anxious to see provided for. The grapes were ripe, and the -vintage, which was close at hand, would furnish an opportunity for a -meeting between the parties. So one morning, in the cool, sweet dawn, -they set out to the vineyard, the maidens conducted by a sister, the -youths by one of the priests; the latter took one side and culled the -grapes, while at the other side the maidens gathered up the branches -and bound them into bundles. As they went they sang hymns and canticles -to lighten their labor; and when the day’s task was done, they left the -vineyard in two distinct bands, as they had come, and returned to their -separate convents. - -“Well,” said Mgr. de la Vigerie to the presiding father next day, “have -the young men chosen each his maiden, and is the choice approved?” - -“Alas! monseigneur, they did not even look at each other,” replied the -disconsolate matchmaker. “They never raised their eyes from their work. -Sister C---- and I watched them like lynxes.” - -“You have brought up the children too well, my good father,” cried the -archbishop in despair. “What is to be done with them now?” - -“Have a little patience, my lord, and it will come in good time,” replied -the father encouragingly. - -Next day the two bands of maidens and youths sallied forth again to the -vineyard, and so every day for a week. - -Then the father came in triumph to the archbishop to announce the -successful issue of the scheme. One by one the youths had plucked up -courage and peeped through the tendrils of the vine, and, thanks to some -magnetic sympathy, two dark eyes had been simultaneously raised to meet -theirs, and they smiled at each other. A little further on the green -leaves were fluttered by a whisper asking the fair one’s name; she told -it, and another whisper told her his. So the flower blossomed in the -thirty young hearts, and the priest and the sister who watched the gentle -growth looked on delighted. - -But what wily diplomatists they are, these holy missionaries! How they -know the human heart, and how cunningly they can play upon it! Not a -word did they say; but, feigning complete blindness to the pretty little -comedy, marshalled the laborers home as if nothing had occurred to change -the still current of their young lives. A month went by, and then, when -the time came for the youths to leave the Orphanage, the father inquired, -with seeming innocence, if they thought of marriage by and by. - -The question was evaded at first shyly; then by degrees the confession -came out--they had each determined to marry one of the maidens of the -vineyard. The father threw up his hands in amazement, shook his head, and -expressed grave doubts as to the possibility of their obtaining such a -prize. These maidens were pearls worthy to be set in fine gold; they had -been reared like delicate plants in the shadow of the sanctuary; their -hearts were pure as lilies, guileless as the flowers of the field; they -were strong in faith and adorned with all the virtues. Were poor Arab -youths worthy of such wives? But, brave with the boldness of true love, -the suitors answered in one voice: “We will be worthy; we will work for -them and serve them faithfully; we will love them and be fathers and -mothers to them! Give us the maidens of the vineyard!” - -The missionary heaved a sigh, looked mightily perplexed, but promised to -speak to the archbishop and see what could be done. After several solemn -interviews, in which the young men were severely catechised and warned, -and made to pledge themselves to strive with all their might to make the -maidens happy, to treat them reverently, and serve them humbly, the -archbishop undertook to intercede for them. The fair ones, being of the -race of Eve, were a trifle coy at first; but soon the truth was elicited, -and each confessed that, since she needs must marry some one, Ben-Aïssa, -or Hassan, or Scheriff, would be less distasteful than another. So the -great affair was settled, and soon came the day of the weddings. The -archbishop himself was to perform the ceremony. - -The fathers and sisters were afoot before sunrise, you may be sure; for -what an event was this! Fifteen Christian marriages celebrated between -the children of this fallen race of idolaters! And now see! the two -processions are approaching the church, the bridegrooms draped in the -native white burnose, with the scarlet turban on their heads; the brides -clad in spotless white, a soft white veil crowned with white flowers -covering them from head to foot. Slowly, with the simple majesty inherent -in their race, they advance to the altar and kneel side by side before -the archbishop, who stands awaiting them, robed in his gala vestments. -He looks down upon the thirty young souls whom his love has brought here -to the foot of the altar--the altar of the true God; thirty souls whom -he has had the unspeakable joy and happiness of rescuing from misery in -this life and--may he not hope?--in the next. He must speak a few words -to them. He tries; but the father’s heart is too full. The tears start to -his eyes and course down those careworn cheeks; he goes from one to the -other, and silently presses his hands on the head of each. The marriage -rite begins; the blessing of the God of Abraham is called down upon this -new seed that has sprung up in the parched land of the patriarch, once -so fertile in saints; the music plays, and songs of rejoicing resound -on every side as the fifteen brides issue from the church with their -bridegrooms. - -And now do you care to follow them to their new homes, and to see where -their after-life is cast? The earthly providence which has so tenderly -fostered them thus far follows them still into the wide world where they -have embarked. - -The archbishop’s plan from the start was to found Christian villages -in the desert, and to people them with these new Christians educated -by the missionaries. The cost of founding a village, including the -purchase of the land, the building of twenty-five huts, furnishing the -inhabitants with European implements of labor, building a little church -and a house for the fathers and one for the sisters, an enclosure for the -cattle, a well to supply that first element of life and comfort--pure -water in abundance--amounts to forty thousand francs (or say eight -thousand dollars), and this only with the utmost economy. The Society -for the Propagation of the Faith--that glorious institution, to which -Christendom owes a debt that can only be paid in heaven--comes nobly to -the assistance of Mgr. de la Vigerie. He supplies the rest himself out of -the resources of his apostolic heart, so inexhaustible in its ingenious -devices of charity; he prays and begs, and sends his missionaries all -over the world begging. - -One of them has lately come over to Paris on that most heroic of -Christian enterprises--a begging tour--and has brought with him a little -black boy from Timbuctoo, who had been bought and sold seven times before -falling into the hands of these new masters for the sum of three hundred -francs. He is not yet ten years old--a mild-faced little fellow, who, -when you ask him in French if he likes the father, answers by a grin too -significant to need further comment, as he turns his ebony face up to -Père B---- and wriggles a little closer to him. Père B---- told us the -child belonged to a man-eating tribe, and turned up the corner of his lip -to show some particular formation of the teeth peculiar to that amiable -race of _gourmands_. He says that the same charming docility which marks -the young Arabs is observable in most of the savage tribes; they are far -more susceptive and easily moulded and impressed than the children of the -civilized races. - -The capture and purchase of these unhappy little slaves all along -the coast and in the northern parts of Africa is part of the mission -which brings the fathers the greatest consolation. It is of course -attended with immense risk, sometimes danger even to life; but the human -merchandise which they thus obtain “is worth it all and ten times more,” -the Père B---- declared emphatically, as he dilated on the fervor of -these poor children’s faith and the intensity of their gratitude. The -great and constant want for the carrying on of the mission is--need we -mention it in this XIXth century, when we can scarcely save our own -souls, much less our neighbors’, without it?--money. People say money is -the root of all evil; but really, when one sees what precious immortal -goods it can buy, one is tempted to declare it the root of all good. The -archbishop has recently sent one of his missionaries, the Père C----, to -beg in America, and we are heartily glad to hear it. A French priest, -speaking about begging for good works the other day, said to the writer: -“I wish I could go to America and make the round of the States with my -hat in my hand. They are a delightful people to beg of. Somehow they are -so sympathetic to the Catholic principle embodied in begging for our Lord -that they take all the sting out of it for one; but, oh! what a bitter -cud it is to chew in Europe.” We hope the good father’s experience did -not represent the general one on the latter point, but is well founded -as to the generous spontaneity of our American fellow-Catholics towards -those who have “held out the hat” to them in the name of our blessed -Lord. Sweet bond of charity! how it welds the nations together, casting -its silver nets and drawing all hearts into its meshes! It matters not -whether the fisher come from a near country united to us by ties of blood -or clanship, or from some distant clime where the very face of man is -scarce that of a brother whom we recognize; he comes in the name of our -common Lord, and asks us to help in the saving of souls that cost as -dear to ransom as ours. He may labor sometimes all the night, and take -nothing; but the dawn comes, when he meets Jesus in the persons of those -generous souls who love him and have his interests at heart, and are -always ready to befriend him; and then the net is cast into deep waters, -and the draught is plentiful. Can we fancy a sweeter reward to stimulate -our zeal in helping the divine Mendicant who holds out his hand to us -for an alms than the scene which at this moment many multitudes of these -faithful souls may contemplate in imagination as they have helped to -create it. - -A gathering of small, low houses--huts, if you like--set in smiling -patches of garden round a central building whose spire, pointing like -a silent finger to the skies, tells us at once its character and -destination. The time is towards sundown; the bell breaks the stillness -of the desert air, and with its silvery tongue calls the villagers to -prayer. The entire population, old and young, leave their work and -rise obedient to the summons; the children quit their play and troop -on together, while the elders follow with grave steps. The priest is -kneeling before the altar, where the lamp of the sanctuary, like a throb -of the Sacred Heart within the tabernacle, sheds its solemn radiance -in the twilight. The father begins the evening prayer; pardon is asked -for the sins and forgettings of the day, thanks are offered up for its -helps and mercies, blessings are invoked on the family assembled, then -on the benefactors far away. One who assisted at this idyl in the desert -declares that when he heard the officiating priest call down the blessing -of the Most High on “all those dear benefactors whom we do not know, -but who have been kind and charitable to us”; and when the voices of -the Arabs answered in unison, repeating the prayer, he felt his heart -bursting with joy at the thought that he was included amongst those on -whom this blessing was nightly invoked. - -The Litany of Our Lady is then sung, and the assistants quietly disperse -and go home. The cattle are lowing in the park. The stars, one by one, -are coming out in the lovely sapphire sky. Angels are flying to many of -the white huts with gifts and messages. Some are speeding afar, eastward -and westward, bearing graces just granted in answer to those grateful -prayers; for who can tell the power of gratitude with God, or his loving -inability to resist its wishes--he who was so lavish in his thanks for -the smallest act of kindness, nay, of courtesy, when he lived amongst us, -and who declared that even a cup of cold water should not go without its -reward? - - -ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF THE MISSION OF KENTUCKY. - -FROM THE FRENCH.[184] - -The Diocese of Bardstown, Kentucky, is a part of that vast extent of -country known in our ancient geographies by the name of Louisiana. It -is situated in the centre of the United States of North America, and is -bounded on the north by the Ohio, on the west by the Mississippi, on the -south by the State of Tennessee, and on the east by Virginia. - -When, in 1792, it was admitted into the Union as a State, its population -was about seventy thousand; but it has since then increased tenfold. - -About twenty poor Catholic families from Maryland, descendants of the -English colonists, came here to reside in 1785, as then good land could -be procured here almost for nothing.[185] - -Their number rapidly increased, and in the year 1788 Father Wheelan, an -Irish Franciscan, was sent to them. As they were then at war with the -natives, and as this was continued until 1795, this missionary, two of -his successors, and the colonists were compelled to cross the hostile -country to arrive at the mission, even on reaching which their lives -were sometimes exposed to imminent dangers. Besides being at a distance -from a priest, they had also to struggle against poverty, heresy, and -vulgar prejudices with regard to the pretended idolatry of Catholics, -etc. Finally, Father Wheelan, at the expiration of two years and a half, -abandoned a post so difficult to hold, without even the satisfaction of -seeing a single chapel built. It was then impossible to find another -missionary to succeed him, and the faithful “were afflicted because they -had no shepherd” (Zach. x. 2). Finally, Holy Orders were conferred in -1793 for the first time in this part of the world, where the Catholics -had but so recently suffered under the penal laws of England. The -illustrious Bishop Carroll, first bishop of Baltimore, there ordained a -priest, M. Badin, from Orleans, whom he then sent to Kentucky. Besides -the difficulties which his predecessor met, the inexperience of the -young ecclesiastic, his slight knowledge of the English language and of -the habits of the country, made his task still more difficult. One can -easily conceive how painful must have been the situation of a novice thus -isolated and deprived of guidance in a ministry the weight of which would -have been burdensome for the angels even, say the holy fathers of the -church. - -It is true he started from Baltimore with another French priest who -was invested with the power of vicar-general. But this priest was soon -discouraged by the wandering habits of the people and their style of -life. Four months had scarcely elapsed when he returned to New Orleans. -M. Badin was thus in sole charge of the mission during several years, -which mission, since the conclusion of peace with the savage tribes, -continually increased by the influx of the Catholics who came here in -large numbers from Maryland and other localities. - -In addition to the fatigue of travelling, to controversy with -Protestants, to his pastoral solicitude, and to the frequent scruples -of conscience natural to one in a situation so critical, he had to -exert himself still more to form new parishes, prepare ecclesiastical -establishments at suitable distances, and finally to erect churches -or chapels in the different places where the Catholic population -established itself. Nevertheless, by the divine mercy he obtained from -time to time profitable advice through the letters which the charity -of the neighboring priest, who, though at a distance of seventy miles, -found means to write him. M. Rivet, formerly professor of rhetoric in -the College of Limoges, in the year 1795 came to reside as _curé_ and -vicar-general at Post Vincennes, on the Wabash, in Indiana. - -But the respective needs of the two missions never permitted them to -cross the desert in order to visit one another or to offer mutual -encouragement and consolation in the Lord. Oh! how much anguish, how many -prayers and tears, arise from such isolation! And did not our divine -Saviour send his disciples in couples to preach the Gospel?--_misit illos -binos_ (S. Luc. x.) - -Finally, two priests from the Diocese of Blois--MM. Fournier and -Salmon--came successively, in the years 1797 and 1799, to the rescue of -the pastor and his flock. - -Divine Providence rendered useful to Kentucky and to several other -portions of the Diocese of Baltimore the talents and virtues of a great -number of ecclesiastics whom the French Revolution threw on the shores of -America. In the same year, 1799, there arrived a fourth missionary--M. -Thayer, the Presbyterian minister of Boston, who was converted through -the miracles of blessed Labre. At first he ridiculed this humble servant -of God and the miracles which were attributed to him, but afterwards he -investigated them with all the prejudices of a sectarian. He brought -to bear upon them his severest criticism, and finished by becoming a -Catholic at Rome, a priest at Paris, and a missionary in his own country, -where he had formerly propagated error. He found himself forced to write -several English works of controversy, which are lucid and deservedly -appreciated. His conversion, his writings, and his sermons excited either -the interest or the curiosity of all classes of society, and he hoped to -serve the cause of religion in multiplying himself, if one may speak -thus. He travelled over the United States, Canada, and a great part of -Europe, and died, beloved and revered, at Limerick, in Ireland. - -The missionaries of Kentucky are obliged to ride on horseback nearly -every day of the year, and to brave often alone the solitude of the -forests, the darkness of night, and the inclemency of the seasons, to -minister to the sick and to visit their congregations on the appointed -days.[186] - -Without this exactitude it would be difficult to assemble the families -scattered so far apart. M. Salmon was without doubt an excellent -ecclesiastic, though but a poor horseman. His zeal induced him, on the -9th of November, 1799, to visit a distant parish where he was instructing -a Protestant who has since then embraced the faith. - -Being already feeble and just convalescing from a severe illness, a -fall from his horse carried him to the grave in less than thirty-six -hours. The accident happened towards noon at a little distance from a -residence. A servant who found him half-dead in the woods went to solicit -aid, which was denied him by an impious and cruel farmer, simply because -the unfortunate man was a priest. It was only towards night that a good -Catholic of the neighborhood--Mr. Gwynn--was informed of the fact. It -must nevertheless be admitted that this farmer’s revolting conduct is -in nowise American, and can but be attributed to his individual hate -for the true religion. Perhaps, also, he was ignorant of the extremity -to which M. Salmon was reduced. This fatal event, the departure of M. -Thayer for Ireland, and the equally sudden death of M. Fournier in -February, 1803, left M. Badin for about seventeen months in sole charge -of the mission, then consisting of about a thousand families scattered -over a space of from seven to eight hundred square miles. The death -of M. Rivet, which took place in February, 1803, deprived him of the -comforting letters of this friend, who expired almost in the arms of -the governor of the province, whose esteem and affection he enjoyed. At -this unfortunate period the nearest priest was a M. Olivier from Nantes, -an elderly gentleman, who resided at a distance of one hundred and -thirty miles in an Illinois village called Prairie du Rocher. Moreover, -he ministered to Kaskaskia, where the Jesuits had formerly instituted -a novitiate; Cahokia, St. Louis, capital of Missouri, St. Genevieve, -etc., on the banks of the Mississippi. M. Richard, a zealous and pious -Sulpitian, resided at the same distance at Detroit, on Lake St. Clair, in -Michigan.[187] - -Finally, there were then but three priests in an extent of country larger -than would be France and Spain if united, and which country constitutes -to-day but one diocese, called Bardstown, formed in 1808 by the reigning -Pope, as will be seen in the sequel. - -It is true that the most distant parishes can be visited but seldom, and -it is especially in these instances that the zeal of faith and the fervor -of piety are most evident. - -One finds a great many persons who undertake fatiguing trips in order to -fulfil their Christian duties. They are seen at times to spend the night -in church, in order to make sure of having access to the sacred tribunal, -where the missionaries are to be found from early dawn. - -They are obliged to say, and sometimes even to chant, Mass at noon, and -occasionally several hours afterwards, in order that all those who are -prepared for the tribunal of Penance may also receive Holy Communion. -Neither the fast, nor the late hour, nor the fatigues of the morning -exempt them from instructing the people; otherwise it would never be -done, as the faithful are assembled but once a day. A sermon, or at least -an impromptu exhortation, on controversy, morals, or the discipline of -the church, is always in order. After divine service there are the dead -to be buried, the children to be baptized, marriages to be performed, -etc., and then the departure for another station, which being reached -the next day, the same services are to be repeated. Often it so happens -that there is not one day of rest during the entire week, especially when -several sick persons who live far apart are to be visited. - -While the confessor is occupied with his priestly functions the -catechists instruct the children and the negroes, sing canticles, and -recite the rosary, etc. To in a manner fill the vacancy caused by their -absence, the priests recommended public prayer in families, catechism, -and nightly examination of conscience; Mass prayers, devotions of S. -Bridget, the litanies, spiritual reading on Sundays and feast-days. Pious -persons add to this the rosary, and their devotion to the Blessed Virgin -causes them every day to recite some special prayer in her honor. - -The fear of God, respect for the priesthood, or filial piety often causes -good Christians to bend the knee before their fathers and mothers, their -sponsors, and their priests, to ask their blessing after prayer, in the -streets of the city or on the highways. English books on controversy are -being rapidly multiplied, and the majority of the country-people know -how to read them, and there are some persons in every congregation who -really study them in order to render themselves capable of sustaining a -discussion with Protestants. - -By this means, as also by their piety and honesty, they assist from -time to time in gaining conversions to the faith. The number of these -good works greatly increased when Providence sent to us, in 1804, a new -missionary, M. Nérinckx, a Flemish priest, who pursued his apostolic -labors unceasingly. He instituted three monasteries, which were of great -benefit in educating poor girls, either Catholics or non-Catholics. These -religious women, who are called Friends of Mary at the Foot of the Cross, -remind us of the days of the primitive church. Their manner of life is -exceedingly laborious; they observe perpetual silence, and are almost -enveloped in their veil.[188] - -A short time after M. Nérinckx arrived at the mission he was followed -there by a colony of Trappists, and by two pious and learned English -priests of the Order of S. Dominic. The one, Father Wilson, afterwards -became provincial; and Rev. Father Tuite is at present master of novices. -The Trappists organized a school for gratuitous education, but failed -to find among the poor Catholics of the neighborhood sufficient means -to maintain this charitable institution. Father Urbain Guillet, their -superior, had conceived the idea of rendering himself useful to the -savages by educating their children for them, hoping in this way to -facilitate their conversion. - -In pursuance of this idea he formed a new establishment near Cahokia. -These good religious greatly edified the country by their austerity, -their silence, and their good works; but as missions were not the objects -of their order, they returned to France at the Restoration. We must now -speak of the natives, and by so doing gratify the very natural curiosity -of our readers. The majority of the savages believe in the existence, -in the spirituality, and in the unity of God, whom they style the Great -Spirit, the Master of Life, or Kissernanetou. They even appear to believe -somewhat in his providence; they offer him prayers, and sometimes even -sacrifices according to their fashion. Here is an example, which is -authentic, as it was told the author of this work by Gen. Todd, one of -the leading men of Kentucky. A native, annoyed by the extreme drought, -offered his pipe, or wampum, his most valuable article, to the Great -Spirit; then, seated pensively on the banks of a river, he supplicated -him thus: “Kissernanetou! thou knowest how highly the Indian prizes his -wampum; well, then, give us rain, and I will give thee my wampum.” And -as the Indian said this, he threw his pipe in the river, fully persuaded -that the Great Spirit would hear his prayer. They also believe in a -future state, as with their dead they bury their guns or cross-bows to -enable them to hunt in the next world; also their pipe and tobacco, meat, -etc. Those who were instructed by the Jesuits, although deprived of -missionaries for about fifty years, still retain some idea of the true -religion, as will be seen from letters of M. Olivier, from which letters -we will give a few examples; the first, being dated the 16th of May, -1806, is addressed to Father Urbain Guillet; the second, dated the 6th of -August, 1806; and the third, the 15th of March, 1807, were written to M. -Badin: - -1. “Among the savage tribes who from the time of the Jesuits (whom they -called Black Gowns) had embraced Christianity and had erected churches in -which the greatest regularity existed, to-day, notwithstanding I am their -pastor, I do nothing but baptize their children, although among those of -Post Vincennes there are some who come to confession; which leads me to -think that you might procure some of their children. - -2. “Since the banishment of the Jesuit fathers religion has decreased -by degrees, until now there remain but a few traces which would remind -one of extinct piety. I am not forgetting the desire expressed by Father -Guillet, superior of the Trappists--namely, to have in his community some -of the children of these savages. The chief of the nation, who is at -Kaskaskia, promised to ask his brethren to send some here. - -3. “The chief of those at Kaskaskia, in selling his lands to the -government of the United States, required that it should build him a -church; and there is a provision of 300 piastres and 100 piastres to be -paid yearly to the missionary priest for seven years. Can these missions -be revived? The mercy of God is great, etc.…” - -Yes, the mercy of God is great, and it may be hoped that Mgr. Dubourg and -his missionaries, who for some years have been living in the vicinity of -the Missouri and the Mississippi, will have all desired success, which -they must undoubtedly obtain if they succeed, as did the Jesuits, in -procuring the assistance of the French government. - -The religious of S. Dominic succeeded tolerably well in their -establishments in Kentucky and Ohio. - -Father Edward Fenwick, born in Maryland, had become a member of this -order, and professor at the College of Bornheim, in Flanders, where he -had been educated. Upon his return to his native country he spent his -inheritance in founding the Convent of S. Rose and a school which is -situated in Washington County. Two zealous missionaries, Father Fenwick -and his nephew, Father Young, were the first to devote themselves, two -years ago, to preach the faith in the State of Ohio, north of Kentucky, -and three churches have already been built there.[189] - -The congregations in the interior are composed of Germans, Irish, and -Americans; but on the lakes that separate the United States from Canada -they are formed of French colonies. In the State and on the right bank of -the Ohio is situated Gallipolis, principal seat of the county of Gallia, -where in 1791 some French colonists tried to establish themselves; but -they were victims of a miserable speculation, and the majority of them -left the country. - -MM. Barrières and Badin baptized in this place about forty children in -the year 1793, and then went to Kentucky. The entire village revived at -the sight of these two priests, their fellow-countrymen, at the singing -of the sacred canticles, and the celebration of the Holy Mysteries. -In this part of America entire liberty of conscience and religion are -enjoyed. One does not fear being molested if Christian burial be refused -to those who have lived a scandalous life. On the contrary, it is -expected that such will be the case, as it is the rule of the church; -hence the increased dread of dying without the Last Sacraments. Marriages -according to the Catholic rite are legal, and divorce and polygamy are -unknown among Catholics. - -We march in procession around our cemeteries; we erect crosses on them; -we preach in the hotels and other public places, and even in Protestant -churches, for want of chapels, and all the sects come in crowds. During -the Mass they behave in a respectful and attentive manner--some of them -even bring us their children to baptize, and entrust the education of -their daughters to our religious--and sometimes we are greatly astonished -to see non-Catholics undertake to defend our belief. We also meet with -great respect in social life; for the Americans are very fond of the -French, whose politeness and gayety they try to emulate. - -They remember with pleasure and gratitude the services they received from -the Martyr-King. Finally, the government of Kentucky has incorporated -or commemorated French names in its institutions; hence we have Bourbon -County, of which Paris is the principal town. We also find a Versailles, -a Louisville, etc. In this last place we built, with the aid of the -Protestants, the beautiful church of S. Louis, King of France. - -Having the greatest esteem for learned men, they received the French -priests with generous hospitality, and our bishops are revered by -all sects. M. Carroll, formerly professor of theology among the -Jesuits, bishop and finally archbishop of Baltimore, was one of the -most distinguished men in America, and he was universally beloved and -respected. He was consecrated in England the 15th of August, 1790. -Two years afterwards he convoked a synod in Baltimore, where he was -successful in assembling twenty-five priests. His modesty and his piety -were as much admired as his learning. Finally, by his urbanity and his -inexhaustible charity, he won all hearts, even those of the Protestant -clergy. - -His edifying death, mild and patient in the greatest sufferings, took -place the 3d of December, 1815--the day on which the church celebrates -the Feast of S. Francis Xavier, the glory of the Jesuits. - -His death caused universal grief in a country where his memory has never -ceased to be venerated. It is incredible how he could have been equal to -all the tasks he had to accomplish, besides all the mental labor that -fell to his share. He afterwards obtained from the Holy See a coadjutor, -M. Neale, like himself an American and an ex-Jesuit. His Diocese embraced -all the United States; and he was, moreover, administrator of the diocese -of New Orleans. Our Holy Father, the Pope, has since then been entreated -to create four new bishoprics--namely, Philadelphia, New York, Boston and -Bardstown.[190] - -M. Flaget, a Sulpitian, arrived in America with MM. David and Badin -in the year 1792, and was appointed to this last-named bishopric. His -humility was alarmed. He thought he neither possessed the talent nor the -other qualifications necessary to fill so high a position; and for two -years he persisted in his refusal, but he was finally obliged to submit -to the express mandate of the Pope, and undertook the task, for which he -was evidently destined by divine Providence. He is doubtless the poorest -prelate of the Christian world, but he is none the less zealous and -disinterested. - -“Blessed is the rich man that is found without blemish; and that hath not -gone after gold, nor put his trust in money, nor in treasures. Who is he, -and we will praise him? for he hath done wonderful things in his life” -(Ecclesiasticus xxxi. 8, 9).[191] - -In a limited number of years he founded so many institutions, undertook -so many voyages, underwent so much fatigue, both of mind and body, and -succeeded so well in all his projects for extending the kingdom of Jesus -Christ, that we must attribute his success and the diffusion of religion -to the special blessing of God which accompanied him unceasingly. M. -David, superior of the seminary, consecrated bishop-coadjutor the 15th -of August, 1819, co-operated with him in his good works: in the founding -of the seminary, which has already produced eight or ten priests; in the -founding of several convents for the Sisters of S. Vincent de Paul; in -the building of the cathedral of Bardstown, etc.[192] - -It is in this little village, situated in the centre of the country, that -the episcopal seat has been fixed. The smallest seed becomes a large -tree, said our Saviour in the Gospel. This diocese embraces six large -States--Tennessee, Kentucky, Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, and Illinois.[193] - -In all this country, where the population, the sciences and the arts, -agriculture and commerce, have in the last twenty years progressed -wonderfully, fifty years ago could be seen dense forests and limitless -prairies, inhabited only by wild beasts or scattered Indian tribes. But -there are to-day in this diocese twenty-five priests, seven convents, two -seminaries or colleges, thirty-five churches or chapels,[194] and about -forty thousand Catholics out of a population of two million inhabitants -of all denominations. - -In all these States priests and churches are found except in Tennessee, -which, owing to its great distance and other drawbacks, has been visited -but four times by the oldest missionary in Kentucky. He gathered -together a little flock at Knoxville, the capital. With regard to this -place may these words of the prophet be fulfilled: “I will whistle for -them and gather them together; I have redeemed them; and I will multiply -them as they were multiplied before. And I will sow them among peoples, -and from afar they shall remember me.” The bishop has been trying to -establish a free school for the poor Catholics who have not made their -First Communion. Half of their time is employed in cultivating the ground -to defray their expenses, and the other half is devoted to reading, -writing, and instructions in Christian doctrine. With fifty such schools -we could renovate the entire diocese, and gather into the fold a great -many souls which otherwise would be deprived of the means of salvation. -Thus it is evident that what has been done is nothing in comparison -with what remains to be done. Our institutions, besides the incidental -and the daily expenses of the sanctuary, the voyage, etc., cost more -than 300,000 francs; and the bishop, who receives but 600 francs of -ecclesiastical revenue, owes more than 25,000 for his cathedral, which is -not yet finished, much less decorated. Unforeseen events precluded the -possibility of the subscribers making their payments; and if to-day they -were forced to do so according to the rigor of the law, it would be of -material injury to religion, and would produce the most baneful effect -on the minds and the hearts of both Catholics and Protestants, who are -also subscribers. The church in Kentucky owns some land, to be sure; but -to clear this land, and then to cultivate it, laborers are lacking, and -consequently this uncultivated property produces no revenue. The majority -of the students, both at the seminary and the monastery, pay no board. -The missionaries receive no assistance from the state; they are entirely -dependent on their parishioners, who often do not even defray their -travelling expenses, and perquisites are unheard of. - -The spirit of religion obliges us to make a great many sacrifices and to -endure innumerable privations to avoid being considered avaricious, and -frequently it is necessary to make presents. Sometimes they ask us for -prayer-books or books of controversy, sometimes for catechisms, rosaries, -etc., etc. Moreover, when the necessary expenses for the support of two -or three hundred persons[195] are calculated and contrasted with our -limited resources, that they suffice seems incredible; and the mystery -thereof can only be solved by referring it to that infinite Providence -which feeds the birds of the air and gives to the lilies of the valley a -glory more dazzling than that of Solomon. - -This paternal Providence, after having accomplished such wonders, will -not abandon us in our present distress. After making use of his ministers -as means of operation, he will also inspire religious souls with the -desire to co-operate in these good works, and crown his gifts in crowning -the merits of their charity. - -The writer of this notice was a witness to the greater number of events -he relates--“Quod vidimus et audivimus, hoc annuntiamus vobis” (1 Joan. -i.) After working twenty-five years in this mission, he returned to -France to take a little rest and to solicit aid from his countrymen, -according to the instructions of his bishop. Although weakened by a -serious illness which he had undergone the preceding fall, and which -nearly exhausted his means, he proposed, together with M. Chabrat, a -missionary from the same country, to recross the ocean and undertake -a journey of nearly four hundred miles to reach Kentucky, where his -services are still required. - -If some ecclesiastics felt themselves called to accompany him to America, -they will doubtless be persuaded from the perusal of this truthful -narrative that they will also have to travel the way of the cross, -which we know to be the way to heaven. It will also be expedient that -they procure all the books according to the ritual of Rome; theological -and Biblical works in French, English, and Latin; chalices, ciboriums, -crucifixes, vestments and church ornaments, altar pictures--in fact, -everything relating to divine service. Surely they will be assisted -through the piety of their friends and acquaintances. How many persons in -France possess ecclesiastical or theological works which are not printed -in America, as also sacred ornaments which are of no use to them; whereas -these articles could be employed in so useful and so holy a manner in -these new missions, which are in need of everything and possess nothing! -We hope through the charity of pious and wealthy souls that they will -generously offer to the service of God this small portion of the gifts -they have received from him in abundance. Faith teaches us that he will -not allow himself to be outdone in generosity, and what they sacrifice to -his glory will be returned a hundred-fold. As for us, our gratitude will -cause us to recommend our benefactors to the prayers of the missionaries, -of the religious orders, and of the laity who are thus benefited; and -we promise to celebrate a solemn Mass of thanksgiving, to which we will -invite all good Christians, to whom we will suggest a general Communion -to be offered to God for the same intention. - - S. T. BADIN, - _American Missionary_. - -PARIS, February 7, 1821, Seminary of S. Nicholas, Rue S. Victor. - - -_Extract of a letter from Bishop Flaget to Father Badin._ - - ST. ETIENNE, February 19, 1820. - -BELOVED COLABORER: Probably this letter, written from a place with which -you are familiar, and to which you are doubtless attached, will be handed -you by Father Chabrat. I earnestly desired to be in Kentucky at the time -of your departure; that which I have often said to you I repeat to-day--I -have always felt strongly inclined to love you; let us love one another -as brothers. - -I will give you none of the diocesan details; Father Chabrat knows them -as well as I do, and he will be greatly pleased to answer your numerous -questions. The departure of this young man, that of Father Nérinckx, -and yours cause a great void in my diocese, and leave a burden which -would certainly overpower me if God, who has sustained me so far, did -not continue to shower his favors upon me. I still feel all the vigor of -youth to buckle on my armor. I am to take charge of Father Nérinckx’s -_religieuses_, who to-day form quite a little congregation. My coadjutor -will give his attention to the senior seminary and to the college, which -I am to open to-morrow. - -MM. Dérigaud and Coomes direct the junior seminary and the parish of St. -Thomas, and their success astonishes every one. M. Abell is causing the -“Barrens” to prosper. Thus, my dear friend, will the diocese be managed -during your absence, while you, I hope, will make collections for our -poor parishes, which are in great want. I am going to re-employ your -brother, who is as pious and studious as ever, at the senior seminary -in Bardstown. I earnestly desire to see him a priest, and I am sure -that he is sufficiently informed either to direct the children in the -boys’ school or to take charge of Father Nérinckx’ _religieuses_. Bishop -Dubourg is endeavoring to have a bishop assigned to New Orleans, another -to Detroit, and a third to Cincinnati. If he succeeds, I will have less -extent of country to traverse, and as many opportunities as I now have of -making priests. - -Thus the prospects of my diocese are daily becoming more promising. -Hasten to return; for God has not bestowed upon you so perfect a -knowledge of the language and habits of this country to no purpose. - -Accept, I beg of you, sentiments of the most sincere friendship. - - BENOÎT-JOSEPH, _Bishop of Bardstown_. - - -BLESSED NICHOLAS VON DER FLÜE. - -Of the many beautiful views from the Rigi, none seemed so determined to -imprint itself on our memories during our stay at Kaltbad as that looking -up the Valley of Sarnen. At whatever hour we wandered to the Känzli, -early or late, in bright weather or in dull, it was all the same. Somehow -the sun was always lighting up the valley; either resting placidly on -its velvety pastures, shining broadly over its small lake, and making -it glitter like a brilliant dewdrop amidst the encircling verdure, or, -at the very least, darting shy gleams across its waters from behind the -clouds which lowered on all else around. The lake of Zug was much nearer -to us, lying right beneath one angle of the Rigi; but it had not the -like powers of fascination. Moreover, we noticed that exactly in the -same degree that Sarnen attracted the sun Zug seemed to repel it. At all -events, the lasting remembrance of Zug is dark, bleak, and unfriendly; -that of Sarnen, on the contrary, peaceful and sunny. It seemed, too, as -though it were tenderly watched over by all its neighbors. Mt. Pilatus -guards the entrance to it from Lucerne, hills enclose the valley on three -sides, while above and beyond, as seen from Kaltbad, rise those giants of -the Oberland which give such sublimity to these scenes, and enhance their -beauty by the constant variety of their aspect. - -Undoubtedly the associations connected with Sarnen had something to do -with our love for it. In the village of Sachslen, on the borders of its -lake, Blessed Nicholas von der Flüe was born and lived, and there his -remains are now preserved. - -And here, behind this promontory of the Bürgenstock, just opposite -the Känzli, lies Stanz, the capital of Nidwalden--as this division of -Unterwalden is now called--whither Blessed Nicholas hurried, and, by his -influence with the Assembly, succeeded in saving his country from civil -war. - -A visit to Sachslen held a special place in the programme sketched out -for us by Herr H----. There were some days, too, still to spare before -the feast at Einsiedeln on the 14th; so we determined to lose no further -time in making our pilgrimage to “Bruder Klaus,” as my Weggis guide and -all the people hereabouts affectionately call him. - -It was easy to trace the route when standing at the Känzli, and to -perceive that, by crossing over to Buochs, we might drive thence to -Sachslen. Dismissing, therefore, all fears of the railway descent from -our minds, we started by the eleven o’clock train from Kaltbad, which it -cost us many a pang to leave, with its dear little church, its lovely -views, and its bright, invigorating air. Crossing then in the steamer -from Vitznau to Buochs, we speedily engaged carriages to take us to -Sachslen, and to bring us back from thence on the following day. - -Our road led through Stanz, the home of Arnold von Winkelried, where we -lingered long, although determined not to visit the Rathhaus until our -return from the sanctuary of its hero. But we had two statues of Arnold -to admire--one, in fact, a handsome white marble group commemorating his -noble feat at Sempach, and erected by national subscription--to catch -a view of Winkelried’s house in a distant meadow; to see in the church -statues of “Bruder Klaus” and Konrad Scheuber--who also led a solitary -life of holiness in the Engelberg valley close by, and whose highest -honor it was to call himself the “Daughter’s Son” of the great hermit--to -read the tablet in the mortuary chapel in memory of the four hundred -and fourteen priests, women, and children who had fallen victims to -the French soldiery in 1798; and to hear tales of the desolation their -unbridled vengeance caused all this country. Pretty Stanz! now looking -so happy, smiling, and prosperous that it is difficult to realize it -ever could have been laid in ashes some seventy years ago. No district -in Switzerland is more fruitful at present; cultivated like a garden, -dotted over with fine timber, and making a beautiful picture backed by -the Engelberg line of mountains stretching away behind. - -An avenue of stately walnut-trees leads to the little port of Stanzstadt, -and on the way we passed the chapel of Winkelried, where an annual fête -is held, and close to which the bodies of eighteen women were found, -after the fight in 1798, lying beside those of their fathers, husbands, -and brothers--so completely had it then become a war _à outrance_, in -defence of hearths and homes. - -From Stanzstadt the road turned abruptly westward, at first along -the edge of the small lake of Alpnach, the ruins of Rossberg Castle -perceptible on the opposite shore--the first Austrian stronghold taken by -the Rütli confederates on the memorable New Year’s morning of 1308. - -Thence the hills grew lower and the landscape more pastoral than -Alpine, until we reached Sarnen, above which formerly rose the castle -of Landenberg, the famous imperial vogt who put out the eyes of old -Anderbalben, of the Melchthal, in punishment for his son’s misdemeanors -when the latter evaded his pursuit. This barbarous act was the immediate -cause of the Rütli uprising; but, like all the others, the castle was -taken by surprise, and Landenberg’s life was spared. The terrace where it -stood is still called the Landenberg, and there the cantonal assembly has -annually met since 1646. Of this spot it is that Wordsworth speaks in his -desultory stanzas: - - “Ne’er shall ye disgrace - Your noble birthright, ye that occupy - Your council-seats beneath the open sky - On Sarnen’s mount; there judge of fit and right, - In simple democratic majesty; - Soft breezes fanning your rough brows, the might - And purity of nature spread before your sight.” - -The panorama thence is said to be magnificent, and it was easy to -conceive it all-inspiring to a patriotic orator; but the evening had -closed in before we crossed the Sarnen bridge, and it was hopeless to -attempt the ascent thither. - -Whilst Mrs. C---- was inquiring about rooms we hastened to a church near -where a bell had been tolling as we entered the town. “Only a chapel,” -answered an old woman; “for the Blessed Sacrament is not kept there.” But -the “chapel” contained the cheering sight of troops of children saying -their night prayers aloud, headed by some of their elders. The inn is a -modest, clean establishment, but in any case it would have been dear to -us, all the rooms being full of pictures of “Bruder Klaus” and of every -incident in his life. Herr H---- had said that “no house in Obwalden -is without his picture,” and this quick fulfilment of our expectations -enchanted us. Instantly we stormed the _Kellnerinns_ with questions; but, -alas! they were Bernese maidens, and, whether from prejudice or stolid -ignorance, they only gave us the old stereotyped answer that “they were -‘Reformed,’ from the other side of the Bruning pass, and knew nothing, -nor ever inquired about such matters.” - -Accustomed as we had been of late to the large tourist hotels, everything -seemed preternaturally quiet, when suddenly, late that evening, a deep -voice sounded in the distance, advancing steadily onwards. We had -scarcely time to reflect on this singular intrusion on the peaceful -village when it became evident that it was that mediæval institution, -“the watchman going his rounds,” which none of us ever before had an -opportunity of becoming acquainted with; and as he came along the streets -he distinctly sang: - - “The clock has struck ten; - Put out fire and light, - Pray God and his Mother - To save and protect us!” - -And constantly during the night the same appealing voice returned, merely -changing the hour as time ran on. - -Next morning the sun again befriended us, and Mass was “at the convent -hard by,” said our hostess--“the convent of Benedictines, who teach all -our girls.” And she said truly; for not only did we find their chapel -crowded by the villagers, men, women, and children, while the nuns’ -choir was hidden behind the altar, but High Mass was being sung at that -early hour of half-past seven, with exposition of the Blessed Sacrament, -ending by Benediction. Mr. C---- and George visited the Rathhaus and -its portraits; but we were in feverish haste to get on to Sachslen, -“two miles off,” said a peasant woman we accosted on the road, and who -also said she was on her way thither to pray at the shrine of “Bruder -Klaus.” Immediately after breakfast, therefore, taking leave of our -comely hostess and of this capital of Obwalden, still so primitively -good, although in the close vicinity of the “great world,” and feeling -an increased aversion to the Bernese maidens, whose spirit is unmoved by -things supernatural, we drove along the flat borders of the Sarnen lake, -caught sight of the Rigi and its Känzli, and in less than half an hour -found ourselves at Sachslen. - -This village is very small, but at once tells its own tale; for the -church stands, according to the fashion of “holy places,” in a large -open space surrounded by good-sized houses, that serve as inns and -resting-places for the crowds of pilgrims who flock here at stated -periods. Now all was quiet and the church nearly empty; the Masses -of the day--unfortunately for us--were long since over. After paying -our visit to the Blessed Sacrament we wandered through the edifice, -admiring its size and beauty, but unable to discover any sign of the -shrine whose fame had brought us hither. At length George succeeded -in finding the sacristan, a wrinkled, toothless octogenarian, who, as -far as looks went, seemed quite ancient enough to have been himself a -contemporary of “Bruder Klaus.” His German, too, was so intensely local, -and consequently, to us, obscure, that we had the utmost difficulty -in understanding him. But he pointed to the altar in the centre with -an inscription in golden letters on its black marble frontal. And -certainly it was worth looking at; for a more remarkable specimen of -phonetic spelling is seldom to be found, exactly following the local -dialect, even in its total disregard of grammar. On the other hand, this -earnest simplicity in such strange contrast to the refined material that -perpetuates it is deeply touching and in perfect keeping with everything -connected with Blessed Nicholas and this pious people. It ran thus: - - “Allhier Buwet die gebein des Seeligen - Bruder Claus von Flüe--dahero gesetzt da - Man die Kirche gebüwet anno 1679.”[196] - -As soon as the aged sacristan felt satisfied that we had read the lines, -without another word he drew back the picture over the altar as he -might a curtain, and disclosed “Bruder Klaus” himself confronting us! -Never shall I forget the thrilling sensation of beholding the hermit’s -skeleton in kneeling posture right above the tabernacle and facing the -congregation, clothed in his coarse habit, his hands clasped in prayer, -the cavity of his eyes filled by two large emeralds, his nose by one -enormous long, yellow topaz, while in the centre of the ribs, near -his heart, hung a large jewelled cross, and round his neck a number -of military orders. It was startling! We had expected from the word -“gesetzt” to find him reposing in a shrine, and should have preferred, it -must be confessed, to have seen more refinement and delicacy shown in -the use of those precious stones as ornamentation. But were they not the -precious stones of simple, firm faith and true love of God? This peasant -population never had any pretension to “high art or learning.” Blessed -Nicholas himself had naught but the refinement of that exalted piety -which in itself transcends even the highest flights of human culture, and -is, after all, the “one thing needful.” With such thoughts to guide us -we could only admire and respect the desire, albeit crudely expressed, -to show reverence to one whose own simple nature despised those “earthly -treasures.” His countrymen, however, had that deep “art and learning” -which taught them to appreciate Blessed Nicholas’ devotion to the -Blessed Sacrament; for they could think of no resting-place more dear -to him than that close to the dwelling of his Lord. Tender piety, too, -prompted the offerings; but no votive tablets recorded their stories, -as in the little church at Kaltbad, and we longed in vain to know their -histories. The orders alone, we discovered, had been won in different -countries by his descendants, and have been offered up by them, as well -as various swords and trophies by other Unterwaldeners, in thanksgiving -for the prayers and protection of the saintly hermit. A striking example -of the enduring value of a noble, self-denying, God-fearing character -it is thus to see the aid of this simple peasant still sought and the -influence of his memory so powerful on the minds and better natures even -of this material age. It was impossible not to pray that he may now more -than ever watch over his beloved fellow-countrymen, and obtain for them -that steadfastness in their faith and principles which they so sorely -need during the terrible struggle they are now passing through. There is -little else belonging to Blessed Nicholas to be seen--for was he not a -hermit, and the poorest of saints?--but in a case near the wall the old -clerk displayed his rosary and another habit, which we liked to fancy -might have been made from the piece of stuff presented to him by the town -of Freyburg after his successful intervention at the diet of Stanz. - -Our thoughts now turned to his hermitage at Ranft, but only to meet with -severe disappointment. It was too far for “ladies to walk,” said every -one, and no horses could be had without previous orders, of which no one -had once thought. Had we only slept here, instead of stopping at Sarnen, -all would have been easy, and we should, moreover, have been able to have -heard Mass at the shrine. The “Engel” of Sachslen was larger than, though -scarcely so inviting as, the “Golden Eagle” of Sarnen, yet he would at -least have watched over our spiritual interests; and “when one undertakes -a pilgrimage,” exclaimed George, “ladies should despise comforts.” - -“It was Herr H----’s plan,” retorted Caroline, determined that we should -not be blamed, “and _we_ should not be ungrateful; for remember that he -had also to think of us Protestants! All we can now do is to warn other -pilgrims, and advise them to come on here straight.” - -It was provoking beyond measure to be thus deprived by mismanagement of -this point in our visit. But Mr. C---- and George were determined not -to give it up; they would go on foot, and report all to us, if only -we would wait patiently for a few hours. Where was the use of further -grumbling? Like good children, we cried out, “What can’t be cured must be -endured,” and, summoning all the piety we could command to our aid, we -offered up the disappointment in the spirit of true pilgrims in honor of -“Bruder Klaus,” and bade our friends “God speed” and depart. - -Anna and the two young ladies, soon discovering pretty points of -view, settled themselves to sketch, while Mrs. C---- and I took a -ramble through the village. Though without any pretension to an Alpine -character, none is more genuinely Swiss than Sachslen. Leaving the -square, we wandered among the detached houses, scattered here and there -in the most capricious manner on the slope of a hill that rises gently -behind, and which, dotted with timber throughout its fresh pastures, -forms a most beautiful background to the picture. The wood-work, -delicately, nay elaborately, carved, the windows glazed in many instances -with bull’s-eye glass, the low rooms with heavy cross-beams, are all many -centuries old, perhaps from the very days of Blessed Nicholas; but beyond -all doubt the “Holy Cross,” “Engel,” and other hostelries, of which the -place is chiefly composed, owe their origin to his memory. Photographs -of the church and the hermitage hung in the window of the “library” of -the village, which was opened for us, after some delay, by an active, -tidy matron. “These are quiet days and few purchasers,” she said in an -apologetic tone. “But the ladies would find it very different on feast -days; on the 21st of March above all. Then ten and twelve thousand -people often come from all quarters; every house far and near is full, -stalls are erected in the square, and the church is crowded from morning -till night. This is the _Litany_ chanted during the processions,” she -added, handing us a small book, which also contained “Prayers by Brother -Klaus,” collected from old writings by a priest. Nothing could be more -beautiful or simple than the latter; but the _Litany_ in particular -was a pre-eminently striking composition, every sentence showing that -remarkable union of patriotism and piety which runs through the whole -being of every Swiss Catholic. It begins by invoking the hermit, simply -as “Blessed Brother Klaus,” to “Pray for us,” and, going on through every -phase of his life, implores his intercession in a more emphatic manner -wherever his love of country or of justice had been most conspicuous. -And here it must be remembered that Blessed Nicholas has as yet only -been beatified. Hence those who style him “saint” transgress the proper -limits, which are never forgotten by the Swiss themselves. For this -reason it is that in no prayer is he ever addressed except as “Blessed -Nicholas,” and in popular parlance ranks no higher than their “dear -Bruder Klaus.” But that he may some day be canonized is the fond hope of -every Swiss Catholic, and one, it is said, which can be justified by many -miracles. - -Mrs. C---- and I carried off the _Litany_, etc., and, sitting down on a -bench near the church, drew out other books we had with us, determined to -refresh our memories regarding this great servant of our Lord. - -Of these, two small documents, written during his lifetime, are the most -interesting. One is a _Memoir_ by John von Waldheim, a gentleman from -Halle in Germany, giving an account of his visit to Brother Nicholas -in February, 1474, and found in the Wolfenbüttel Library; the other -a similar report of his pilgrimage to the Hermit of Ranft, addressed -to the clergy and magistrates of the town of Nuremberg, by Albert von -Bonstetten, canon of Einsiedeln, whom the historian, J. von Müller, calls -“the most learned Swiss of his age,” and found in the archives of the -town of Nuremberg in 1861, and wherein he states that, “as so many fables -had been circulated about the hermit, he felt convinced they would be -glad to know what he had himself seen.” Other contemporaries also allude -to their visits; but these two, though short, bear such internal evidence -of truth in the quaint freshness of their style and language, place -us so completely face to face with all concerned, give such a picture -of Blessed Nicholas’ humility and unsophisticated nature, and such an -insight into the habits of thought of that period, that no others equal -them, and we can only regret that space does not permit of more than -merely a passing quotation. - -All authorities agree that Blessed Nicholas was born in this then obscure -hamlet on March 21, 1417. Zschokke, however, alone mentions that his -family name was Löwenbrugger--a fact ignored by others, so completely -had “Von der Flüe,” or “of the Rocks,” become his own, even during his -lifetime. Yet all his biographers begin by explaining that this cognomen -“came from his living at the rocks of Ranft.” Bonstetten also naïvely -asks “how any inhabitant of this region can avoid coming into the world -except under some one rock or another.” His parents were very poor, -and Nicholas labored hard, in the fields especially, from his tenderest -years. Grown to manhood, he married young, had ten children, and became -distinguished above his fellows, in his public and private capacity, as -“a model son, husband, father, and citizen.” He even served as soldier, -like others, in the Thurgau war, where he was equally noted for deeds -of valor and for compassion towards the sick and wounded. So high was -his reputation amongst his neighbors that they several times elected -him Landamman and resorted to him as arbitrator in their disputes. -“The virtues he displayed to all around him,” writes Bonstetten, “were -quite marvellous. For a long time he continued to lead this honorable -existence, considerate, affectionate, true to every one, importunate to -none.” At length a yearning for greater perfection became stronger than -all else, and at fifty years of age he determined to seek for closer -union with his Lord. Several of his children were already married and -settled in the neighborhood. To those that remained and to his wife he -handed over the house that he had built and the fields he had cultivated -from early youth upwards, and, taking leave of his family and of all that -he held most dear, he left his home for ever. Von Waldheim states that he -at first intended merely to wander as a pilgrim from one holy place to -another, but that, “on reaching Basel, he had a revelation, which made -him choose a hermit’s life in preference, and in consequence of which he -turned back to Unterwalden and to his own house. He did not, however, -allow himself to be seen by wife, children, or any one, but, passing the -night in his stables, he started again at dawn, penetrated for about a -quarter of a mile into the forest behind Sachslen, gathered some branches -of trees, roofed them with leaves, and there took up his abode.” At all -events, it was in this spot, known as “the solitude of Ranft,” at the -opening of the Melchthal, that he passed the remaining twenty years of -his saintly life. - -But although _he_ had withdrawn from the world, that world soon followed -him. Before long the fame of his sanctity spread abroad; above all, -rumors were circulated that he never tasted earthly food, and that -his life was sustained solely by the Blessed Eucharist, which some -authorities say he received once a month, others on every Friday. This -celestial favor, however, was at first the cause of great suffering to -Blessed Nicholas. Calumnies were heaped upon him, insults offered. Still, -he remained impassive, taking no heed of men. Some would not doubt him. -“Why should they suppose that a man who had so long lived amongst them, -whose honor had been so well tried and recognized, and who had abandoned -the world merely to lead a hard life in the desert, would now try to -deceive them?” But others declared that he only wanted to impose on the -vulgar, and that he had food brought to him secretly. “What did the -landamman and elders do,” says Bonstetten, “in order to prevent their -being accused of playing the part of dupes? They selected trusty men, -made them take an oath to speak the truth, and placed them as guards -round the hermitage, to watch whether food was brought to Nicholas from -any quarter, or whether he procured any for himself.” For a whole month -this severe surveillance was maintained; but in the end it only proved in -a most convincing manner that the hermit neither ate nor drank anything -except that nourishment with which our Lord himself provided him. Two -Protestant writers, J. von Müller and Bullinger, give details of this -inquiry, of which they raise no doubt; and some years after it took -place, during the lifetime of Blessed Nicholas, the following entry was -made in the public archives of Sachslen: - - “Be it known to all Christians, that in the year 1417 was - born at Sachslen, Nicholas von der Flüe; that, brought up in - the same parish, he quitted father, mother, brother, wife, - and children to come to live in the solitude called Ranft; - that there he has been sustained by the aid of God, without - taking any food, for the last eighteen years, enjoying all his - faculties at this moment of our writing, and leading a most - holy life. This we have ourselves seen, and this we here affirm - in all truth. Let us, then, pray the Lord to give him eternal - life whenever he shall deign to call him from this world.” - -As a natural consequence of this investigation, a strong reaction at once -occurred. The villagers built him a chapel with a cell adjoining, and -soon the Bishop of Constance came to consecrate it. - -But the bishop was also determined to test the fact of his total -abstinence, and ordered him to eat in his presence. Various are the -versions concerning this event, the majority asserting that Blessed -Nicholas was seized with convulsions the instant he swallowed the -first mouthful. But J. von Waldheim, who seems to have experienced no -difficulty in asking direct questions, gives us the hermit’s own words on -the subject, brimful of truthfulness and humility. After stating that -he had been entertaining Nicholas by an account of his own pilgrimages -to holy places, and amongst others to the sanctuary of Blessed Mary -Magdalen, in whose honor the Ranft chapel was dedicated, and having -brought tears into the eyes of the venerable hermit by the beautiful -legends regarding her which he told him, Waldheim proceeds: - - “I said: ‘Dear Brother Nicholas! in my own country, as well as - here, I have heard it maintained that you have neither eaten - nor drunk anything for many years past. What may I believe?’ - ‘God knows it!’ he answered, and then continued: ‘Certain folk - asserted that the life I lead proceeds not from God, but from - the evil spirit. In consequence my Lord the Bishop of Constance - blessed three pieces of bread and a drop of wine, and then - presented them to me. If I could eat or drink, he thought I - should be justified; if not, there could no longer be any doubt - that I was under the influence of the devil. Then my Lord the - Bishop of Constance asked me what thing I considered the most - estimable and meritorious in Christianity. ‘Holy obedience,’ I - answered. Then he replied: ‘If obedience be the most estimable - and meritorious thing, then I command you, in the name of - that holy virtue, to eat these three pieces of bread and to - drink this wine.’ I besought my lord to dispense me from this, - because this act would grieve me to excess. I implored him - several times, but he continued inflexible, and I was obliged - to obey, to eat and to drink.’ I then asked Brother Nicholas,” - continued Waldheim: ‘And since that time you have neither eaten - nor drunk any thing?’ But I could extract no other answer from - him save the three words, ‘God knows it.’” - -Numberless were the reports concerning his mysterious ways. He often went -to Einsiedeln, yet it was said that no one ever met him on the road! - -“How does he get there?” asks Waldheim. “God alone knows.” His -appearance, too, was said to be unearthly. - -Waldheim had heard, too, that his body was emaciated and devoid of -natural warmth, his hands icy, and his aspect like that of a corpse. He -lays particular stress, therefore, on the fact that Nicholas possessed a -natural bodily heat, like any other man, “in his hands especially, which -I and my valet Kunz touched several times. His complexion was neither -yellow nor pale, but that of one in excellent health; his humor pleasant, -his conversation, acts, and gestures those of an affable, communicative, -sociable, gay being looking at every thing from the bright side. His hair -is brown, his features regular, his skin good, his face thin, his figure -straight and slight, his German agreeable to listen to.” - -A few years later Père Bonstetten heightens this picture by a minuteness -that rivals the _signalements_ of old-fashioned passports. He describes -Brother Nicholas as being “of fine stature, extremely thin, and of a -brown complexion, covered with freckles; his dark hair tinged with gray, -and, though not abundant, falling in disorder on his shoulders; his beard -in like manner, and about an inch long; his eyes not remarkable, except -that the white is in due proportion; his teeth white and regular; and his -nose in harmony with the rest of his face.” - -And as we read this clear description, Mrs. C---- and I could not -help regretting that posterity had not been satisfied with such a -recollection, without having endeavored by emeralds and precious stones -to fill up the voids which nature had since created; but when the motives -had been so pure and loving, it was not for us to find fault with the -manner of their reverence, nor do more than admire its earnestness and -simplicity. - -There seems to have been a certain difficulty in obtaining admittance -to the hermit; for even Père Bonstetten had to be introduced by the -landamman, and Von Waldheim took with him the Curé of Kerns. Brother -Nicholas, it must be remembered, though an anchorite, was still not -ordained; hence a priest was to him always a welcome visitor. His family, -too, seem at all times to have had free access to him. Both writers -commenced their visits by hearing Mass in his little chapel, where -Brother Nicholas knelt behind a grating; but after their introduction he -let them into his adjoining cell. Here he impressed them deeply by his -humility, politeness, and gentleness, and both remark his sweet-toned -voice and his kindliness in shaking hands with every one, “not forgetting -a single person.” Père Bonstetten, more than Waldheim, seems to have -retained his self-possession; for he says: “I kept my eyes wide open, -looking right and left around the room, attentively considering -everything. The cell was not half warm. It had two small windows, but no -sleeping place, unless a raised portion at one end may be used for that -purpose.” Nor could he see a table, nor furniture of any kind, nor sign -even of a mattress on which this servant of God could ever repose. But -he dwells with emphasis on his simplicity and truthfulness, saying that -he answered his many questions, “not in the fashion of a hypocrite, but -simply as became an unlettered man.” - -And like these visitors came others from every quarter to see and -consult him--magistrates to ask the advice of one who, in the words -of the _Litany_, had been like that “just judge whose decisions were -altogether dictated by conscience and justice,” and that “wise statesman -who administered his offices solely for the honor of God and the good -of his fellow-men”; soldiers to see the “brave warrior who took up -arms for God and fatherland, and was a model of virtue to the army”; -those in affliction to beg the prayers of that “most perfect follower -of Jesus, who, by meditation on the life and sufferings of our Lord, -had been so like unto him”; sinners to implore that “pious hermit, who -left the world from desire of greater perfection,” to teach them how to -subdue their passions. For all and each he had some word of comfort and -exhortation. One of these pilgrims was so captivated by his heavenly -admonitions that he resolved to remain near Blessed Nicholas and lead the -same life. He built himself a chapel and cell close by, and soon became -remarkable for his sanctity; but his antecedents are veiled in mystery, -and he has descended to posterity simply as “Brother Ulrich, once a -Bavarian gentleman.” Blessed Nicholas, however, evidently held him in -high regard; for, after praising him warmly, he urged both Waldheim and -Père Bonstetten to visit him before leaving Ranft. The naïve Waldheim -takes no pains to conceal that he was prejudiced against poor Ulrich by -reason of the mystery surrounding him; although “he is educated,” he -says,“whereas Brother Nicholas is a simple layman who does not know how -to read.” The learned monk of Einsiedeln, on the contrary, is at once -prepossessed in his favor by the tincture of culture which he quickly -detects. He notes that Ulrich “talks more and shows less dislike for the -society of men than Brother Nicholas. No doubt,” he adds, “because he is -more instructed. He is somewhat of a Latin scholar. At the same time, his -books are in German. He showed them to me. I think that I perceived the -_Gospels_ and the _Lives of the Fathers_ translated into German”--a fact -which we may further note as a remarkable proof that such translations -of the Gospels into the vernacular, mentioned thus incidentally by Père -Bonstetten, were common before the days of printing, in the very midst of -the so-called “dark ages.” - -Amongst the many traits for which Blessed Nicholas was distinguished, -Père Bonstetten records that conformity to the will of God and love of -peace were pre-eminent. “He preaches submission and peace--that peace -which he never ceases to recommend to the confederates.” And a time was -coming when all his power and influence would be needed to preserve it. -Some years after these two accounts were written, and while Blessed -Nicholas and Brother Ulrich were praying and fasting in their “solitude -at Ranft,” great deeds were being done in other parts of Switzerland. -The battles of Grandson and Morat were fought and won, Charles the Bold -driven back into Burgundy, and the rich spoils of his army became the -property of the Swiss. But what union and heroism had gained victory -and prosperity well-nigh destroyed. Soleure and Freyburg, in virtue of -their hard fighting, claimed admission into the confederacy, which claim -the older states disdainfully rejected; while the enormous Burgundian -booty likewise became a fruitful source of discord. Numerous diets were -held, without avail, for the settlement of these questions, each only -increasing the trouble. At length a diet assembled at Stanz purposely -in order to come to a final decision; but the disputes reached such a -pitch that the deputies were about to separate, although the return to -their homes would have been the signal for civil war. Blessed Nicholas, -though so near, knew nothing of these proceedings until one morning, -when one of his oldest and most esteemed friends unexpectedly arrived -at the hermitage. It was the curé of Stanz; a worthy priest and a -true patriot, who, in despair at the state of affairs, and mindful of -Nicholas’ patriotism and love of peace, came to implore his help. Without -an instant’s delay the hermit took up his staff, walked across the paths -he knew so well, and marched straight into the hall at Stanz where the -deputies were assembled. Zschokke, the Protestant writer, thus describes -the scene: - - “All with one accord rose from their seats as they beheld in - their midst this old man of emaciated aspect, yet full of - youthful vigor, and deeply venerated by every one. He spoke - to them with the dignity of a messenger from heaven, and in - the name of that God who had given so many victories to them - and to their fathers, he preached peace and concord. ‘You have - become strong,’ he said, ‘through the might of united arms. - Will you now separate them for the sake of miserable booty? - Never let surrounding countries hear of this! Ye towns! do not - grieve the older confederates by insisting on the rights of - citizens. Rural cantons! remember that Soleure and Freyburg - have fought hard beside you, and receive them into fellowship. - Confederates! take care, on the other hand, not to enlarge your - boundaries unduly! Avoid all transactions with foreigners! - Beware of divisions! Far be it from you ever to prefer money - to the fatherland.’ This and much more did Nicholas von der - Flüe say, and all hearts were so deeply touched, so stirred, by - the words of the mighty hermit, that in one single hour every - disputed point was settled. Soleure and Freyburg were that - day admitted into the confederacy; old treaties and compacts - were renewed; and at the suggestion of the pious Nicholas it - was decided that in future all conquered territory should be - distributed amongst the cantons, but booty divided amongst - individuals! This done,” continues Zschokke, “the hermit - returned to his wilderness, each deputy to his canton. Joy - abounded everywhere. From all the church-towers of the land - festive peals announced the glad tidings, from the furthest - Alps even unto the Jura.” - -The cantons vied with each other in the effort to express their gratitude -to Blessed Nicholas. But in vain; he would take nothing from them except -a few ornaments for his small chapel. Freyburg alone was favored by his -acceptance of a piece of stuff to repair his worn-out habit, which was -then in shreds; and this it was which we liked to think identical with -the relic shown to us by the old sacristan in the church at Sachslen. -Bern, in a spirit widely different from that of its degenerate posterity, -presented him with a chalice, which elicited from him a letter full of -patriotism and tender Christian feeling: “Be careful,” he writes in -answer, “to maintain peace and concord amongst you; for you know how -acceptable this is to Him from whom all good proceeds. He who leads a -godly life always preserves peace; nay, more, God is that sovereign -peace in whom all can repose. Protect the widows and orphans, as you -have hitherto done. If you prosper in this world, return thanks to God, -and pray that he may grant you a continuance of the same happiness in -the next. Repress public vice and be just to all. Deeply imprint in your -hearts the remembrance of the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ. It will -console and strengthen you in the hour of adversity.” Then, as if in -prophetic strain to the proud town, he adds: “Many people in our day, -tempted by the devil, are troubled with doubts on faith. But why have any -doubts? The faith is the same to-day that it ever has been.” - -What wonder, after all this, that, in spite of himself, Blessed Nicholas -became the arbiter of Switzerland during the few remaining years of his -life? Every dispute was referred to him, and, as one writer adds, “In -that solitude, where he thought only of serving God, by the simple fact -of his sanctity he became of all his compatriots the most pleasing to God -and the most useful to his neighbor.” At length the holy hermit lay down -on the bare ground, which had so long been his couch, and, full of years -and honor, he “fell asleep in the Lord” on the 21st of March, 1487--on -the very day that he had fulfilled seventy years of his most spotless and -saintly life. - -We had just reached this point, when, looking up, we beheld Mr. C---- -and George advancing and exclaiming: “Such a pity you did not come--such -a pity!” Breathlessly they told us that the distance had proved -trifling; they found horses, too, on the way, and everything had been -deeply interesting. The road had passed near “Bruder Klaus’” fields, -crossed the rushing stream mentioned by Von Waldheim; and not only had -they visited the chapel and cell of Blessed Nicholas, but also that of -Brother Ulrich, exactly as described by the two mediæval pilgrims. The -stone used by Blessed Nicholas as his pillow is there preserved; both -places, kept in excellent repair and attended by a priest who resides -on the spot, are much frequented and full of votive offerings of various -kinds. At once it became a question of our starting thither, even at -that advanced hour. Had Anna and I been alone, we should have upset all -previous arrangements for this purpose; but charity and forbearance -are the virtues most needed and most frequently brought into play when -travelling with a large party. Smothering our annoyance, therefore, a -second time, as best we could, and making a mental resolve to return -some future day and see with our own eyes what our friends so vividly -described, we adjourned to the Engel, and did full justice to the meal -which its pleasant-faced hostess had prepared for us. In another hour we -were on the road back to Stanz, but this time across the hills. Kerns, -now speaking to our minds of Von Waldheim and Père Bonstetten, was first -passed, succeeded before long by St. Jacob and its plain, the scene of -the terrible battle with the French in 1798; and in two and a half hours -the comfortable cottages of Nidwalden had gradually developed into, and -terminated in, the pretty houses of its capital, Stanz. Here we now -halted, in order to repair our omission of yesterday by a visit to the -Rathhaus. It was opened for us after some delay by a bluff Nidwaldener, -whose German was as unintelligible as that of the Sachslen clerk. But, -in like manner, he supplied the defect by pointing to two curious and -very ancient paintings which hung in the entrance lobby, one representing -Blessed Nicholas taking leave of his wife and family before he went to -Ranft, the other his appearance at the diet here. The deputies in the -painting have all risen, whilst the emaciated hermit is addressing them -boldly and earnestly. As we proceeded into the hall close by, it required -no stretch of imagination to fancy that the scene had but just occurred -in that spot, so exactly is the room of the same shape, the chairs and -table of the same pattern, and all placed in the same position as in the -old picture. Though not the same building, one may well believe that -the present is only a reproduction of the former town-hall, simple and -unpretending as it is, and yet invested with such deep interest. Three -sides of the hall are hung with portraits of the landammans since 1521, -and the fourth is decorated by various banners won on different patriotic -occasions. Of these, we notice one that was taken at the battle of -Kappel, where Zwingle met his death; another sent to the Unterwaldeners -by Pope Julius II.; and a third recently presented by Zschokke, a native -of these parts, representing William Tell shooting the apple off his -son’s head--thus giving the sanction of this grave and graphic historian -to the story we all so much love. Long did we linger in the hall, full -of the day’s impressions; but the light was waning, and it was necessary -to depart. Ere we reached Buochs the sun had set; it was dark when the -steamer came up to the quay; and night had closed when we arrived at -Brunnen and entered the brilliantly-lighted hall of the Walstätter Hof. - - -THE ASSUMPTION. - - Crown her with flowers! She is the queen of flowers: - Roses for royalty and mignonette - For sweet humility, and lilies wet - With morning dew for holy purity. - Crown her with stars! She is the queen of stars: - They sparkle round her maiden path in showers - And stretch their beams of light in golden bars, - Making a pavement for her majesty. - Crown her with prayers! She is the queen of prayer: - With eager hands she gathers every one, - Wreathing them into garlands for her Son, - Holding them close with fond, maternal care: - Sweet flower--first planet in the realms above! - Crown her with love! She is the queen of love. - - -THE SCIENTIFIC GOBLIN. - -By one of those freaks of fortune rare even in fairyland, the small -people known as the Odomites had, in order to escape being devoured by -a strolling giant named Googloom, made him their king. This ogre was of -so wonderful an ugliness that babes died at the sight of him, and men -and maids had gone into convulsions of merriment; but the majority of -the Odomites, blessed with a wholesome fear, dared no more than laugh -in their sleeves at bare memory of his face, avoiding as much as they -could to see him. However, to make sure that all his people were as -sober as himself, King Googloom issued an edict defining laughter as -treason, under any pretext to be punished with death by slow torture. -In cases of young and pretty maids this sentence was varied by the fact -that the giant himself ate them up. Yet, spite of the terrors of his -decree, hundreds of his subjects perished for want of self-control; and -one man, whose fate became renowned as that of a voluntary martyr to free -expression, died laughing involuntarily, notwithstanding his tortures, -the giant Googloom being a witness of his execution. - -When the realm of Odom was thus rid of all rebellion in the shape -of quips, jokes, pranks, tricks, antics, capers, smiles, laughs, -caricatures, chuckles, grimaces, Googloom yawned and rolled his eyes in a -manner fearful to see, and, leaving his throne, made a tour through his -dominions. Not a soul dared so much as smile in obeisance to him. Though -he made his ugliest faces, to such a degree that the passing ravens were -scared, not a single Odomite lifted up his head to grin for a moment. -Over all the land reigned the shadow of funlessness. Googloom had become -a dreadful chimera, a nightmare. Hardly knowing it, his people grew lean -and pined away. - -Googloom himself began to be weary of the prevailing dulness, even -while he boasted that the land was never so sober and its population so -orderly. “When will the old times return,” asked his sages of themselves, -“when the land laughed and grew fat?” Googloom eyed with contempt the -bones of the children that were served up at his banquets; and one day, -seeing that the leanness of his people had extended to their crops, and -yet unwilling to alter his decrees, mockingly proclaimed that anybody who -could make him laugh at his own expense, or make anybody else laugh on -the same terms, should have the privilege of laughing whenever he pleased. - -There was at this time living in one of the mountains of Odom a famous -goblin named Gigag. His exceeding knowledge and invention, assisted -by good-nature, had made him famous in the country round about; and -notwithstanding the prejudices of some of the Od people, he was permitted -to benefit them in various ways. For instance, he made them a stove which -gave them both heat and light; an instrument that produced exquisite -melodies whether you could play it or not; an accordeon that invented -tunes of its own accord, for the help of composers; a portable bridge -to be flung over chasms at pleasure; a drink that gave men’s eyes the -power of microscopes, and another that inspired them with the capacity -of telescopes; a fertilizer that brought up crops in seven days with -care; a flying-machine to save all who laughed; and a pill to cure -headache, heartache, rheumatism, dropsy, palsy, dyspepsia, epilepsy, -consumption--everything short of death itself--and to cause lost hair, -eyes, teeth, legs, and arms to grow again. There was also rumor that the -goblin Gigag had tunnelled the whole kingdom through, and that goblin -steeds and people could now travel at will an underground thoroughfare. -But, for all these things, the Odomites were no better than before. Their -taste in music was bad; they were blind as bats to their interests; -they tumbled over precipices; they neglected their crops, and were too -stupid to fly, if not too dull to laugh; and headaches, heartaches, -and palsies were much the same as ever, because they disliked to take -a pill that was not sugar-coated. In the end the scientific Gigag was -thought to be a goblin of genius--one of those fine spirits who are -always doing magnificent things to no purpose. Had he relied upon the -effect of his mechanical or chemical exploits to make his way in the -world, the well-meaning goblin would certainly have made a mistake. What, -then, was the secret of that extraordinary power which the goblin Gigag -exercised over the minds of those who came in contact with him? It was -his expression. - -All the variety of which the goblin countenance is susceptible seemed to -be concentrated in that of Gigag. But its peculiarity was this: that his -eyes grew piercing and dazzling at will, while his teeth enlarged, his -mouth curved, and his nose elongated and turned at pleasure. It may well -be supposed that no Odomite could resist a smile or survive the scorn of -a countenance so effective; and we can only ascribe it to Gigag’s known -forbearance that the so-called anticachination laws of Googloom were not -a thousand times violated. But patience has its bounds. The national -dulness which made Googloom yawn and sneer made Gigag almost swear. The -reigning condition must be put an end to, or science itself would be -powerless at length to amuse or to cure. Accordingly, he sped through his -underground road, and came up at court by a secret path. Wearing a long, -conical hat and a fanciful jacket, with doublet and hose, and elongating -his features while he stretched himself to his full height, he stepped -into the presence of the king, knocking down by the way a few insolent -attendants who had excited his gaze. Bristling the few hairs of his upper -lip, which resembled the mustache of Grimalkin, and bowing with the most -obsequious of smiles, the goblin Gigag stood before the giant Googloom. - -Never had that ogre seen a figure at once so lean and long, and a face -so bright and cunning. He would have ordered it at once to his darkest -dungeons, were it not for an unaccountable fascination which forced him -to listen to Gigag while he proposed not only to make Googloom laugh at -his own expense, but to make everybody else laugh at him on the same -terms, and to solve the problem of perpetual motion by making the land -of Odom merry ever afterwards. “I presume,” said he, “you have heard the -story of the pig’s fiddle”; and he proceeded to tell a tale which for -wit and fun would have made a thousand unicorns die laughing. But on -the giant it had either no effect at all or had only raised his spirits -to the point of being serious. Gigag clearly saw that he had failed by -trusting to the merits of his story instead of using his great weapon of -expression. “This is no ordinary case,” said the goblin to himself. “The -problem is to make an immense creature laugh who has nothing of the sort -in him. Perhaps the best thing to do is to torture him till he laughs in -despair.” Spite of the giant’s disposition to put his visitor at once to -the torture, he agreed that the accomplished goblin should call next day, -and make him laugh, or else die by slow boiling. This the goblin heard -with a mixture of scorn and amusement, curling his nose and showing his -teeth in an aristocratic manner. - -As the cunning Gigag left the king’s chamber to go to his quarters in -a corner of the great palace, he took good care to scatter about two -scientifically-prepared powders, one of which dissolved in the air, -producing sleep, and the other by a similar change entered the nostrils, -producing throughout the body tickling sensations and a disposition -to low chuckling. When Gigag again came before Googloom, it was seen -that none of the royal guards were fit for duty, and that throughout -the palace and its grounds the disposition among courtiers, retainers, -servants, pages, to laugh in their sleeves at the smallest incitement, -was unmistakable. Even the kitchen cats had caught the infection, and -mewed dispersedly. - -“Now, O great Googloom!” said Gigag when all the court had assembled, -“let me in three acts essay to complete that transformation by which thy -people’s despair shall be turned to joy, and thy laughing face shall -behold its own merriment.” At this moment the giant shook like one -who is tickled all over, but cannot laugh, experiencing the greatest -tortures without knowing what to make of them. To divert him the goblin -related his favorite story of the merry owl, with such catcalls, crowing, -mincing, and mewing, and withal such unearthly jest, that a thousand -dogs would have died if they did not laugh. What wonder, then, that long -before the witty Gigag had concluded a favorite page was so wrought upon -by chuckling that, bursting his buttons, at length he laughed right out, -which had such an effect upon all assembled that they chuckled, and then -roared. “Ho, guards!” cried Googloom; but Gigag easily drew his attention -to the second part of the programme--for the goblin had actually brought -the giant to the point of complacency. “I propose now,” he said, “to show -you the most ridiculous countenance that was ever seen, except one.” -Hereupon he diminished and heightened his figure at intervals, while he -curved his nose by degrees, lengthened his teeth as he pleased, and put -upon his mouth such an expression of maddening humor that his spectators -gasped with laughing, to the vast confusion of the helpless giant, who -vowed with a feeble smile that the gifted Gigag was certainly the most -ingenious man he ever knew. - -“Nothing will serve you, I perceive, O beautiful Googloom! except -the light of science; and now I will show you the face of the most -ridiculous man that ever was born.” Accordingly, by means of an -instrument which he had invented, Gigag reflected upon a large canvas -the features of Googloom! Unwittingly the giant smiled, for he had never -seen so preposterous a face before; and the more he smiled, the more -ridiculous it grew, till at last, after the giant himself had given way -to laughter, it was so horribly funny that the whole court shrieked and -shrieked again, and Googloom, losing all control, roared with such a -volume and power of merriment that he toppled off his throne, and was -crushed under its ruins. The people, seeing the faces of the courtiers -and of each other, caught an infectious laughter, which prevailed -throughout all Odom, and did not by any means cease when the goblin Gigag -was called to the throne, and the reign of science began. - - -THE HAPPY ISLANDS. - - “Tell me, brother, dearest brother, - Why it is thou aye dost weep? - Why thus, ever listless, sittest - Looking forth across the deep? - - “Thy impatient steed is wond’ring - Why his master doth not come, - On his perch thy hawk is sleeping, - E’en thy hound’s deep voice is dumb. - - “Yesternight there came a minstrel - With a glee-maid young and fair, - If mayhap their merry voices - Would beguile thy weary care.” - - “Hawk may sleep, and hound may slumber, - My impatient steed must wait, - Nor care I to hear the minstrel - Who is resting at the gate. - - “E’en the keen breeze of the mountains - Would not cool my fevered brow, - E’en the shrill note of the trumpet - Would not serve to rouse me now. - - “Dost remember, that our father - Told us how his wond’ring eyes - Once beheld the Happy Islands - Far off on the ocean rise? - - “Those fair Islands where no mortal, - As ’tis said, has ever been, - Though at evening in the westward - They at sunset oft are seen. - - “Those blest Islands that so often - Were our aged minstrel’s theme, - That surpass the fairest fancies - Of a poet’s wildest dream. - - “Where the Holy Grail lies hidden - Far from mortal quest or claim, - And the Tree of Life stands, guarded - By the Seraph’s sword of flame: - - “Where the Blessed Ones are dwelling - Till the dawning of the day - When this world and all upon it, - Like a dream, will pass away. - - “And our sire sailed towards those Islands, - Till their shore he drew so near - That the strains of heavenly singing - Fell upon his raptured ear. - - “And as that immortal music - O’er his ravished senses stole, - An intense and eager longing - Took possession of his soul. - - “When, lo! as entranced he listened, - Suddenly the mists of night, - Gath’ring round the Happy Islands, - Hid them from his anxious sight. - - “Then all through that weary midnight - Stayed he waiting for the dawn, - But when day broke, lo! the Islands - With the mists of night had gone. - - “From that day thou know’st he languished, - And could take nor food nor rest, - For he aye was thinking, thinking - On those Islands of the Blest. - - “When he died, dost thou remember - We heard music from the sea, - That enchained us with the weirdness - Of its mystic melody? - - “Scarce three days ago at sunset - I was sitting, thinking here, - When I saw those Happy Islands - In the west there, bright and clear. - - “Words would fail to tell their beauty, - They were wrapt in golden haze, - And they glowed with such a radiance - That on them I scarce could gaze. - - “And since that resplendent vision - On my raptured senses fell, - It has haunted and enthralled me - With the magic of its spell. - - “I must go and seek those Islands - That far to the westward lie. - I hear distant voices calling, - I must find those isles or die.” - - At the early dawn next morning - Young Sir Brian sailed away, - Mournfully his brother watchèd - On the shore the livelong day. - - Long kept guard the weary watchers, - ’Mid the tempest and the rain, - But ah! nevermore Sir Brian - To his home came back again. - - It is said by some he perished - In the wild and stormy wave, - Where the sea-birds wailed the requiem - O’er his mist-enshrouded grave. - - If perchance he reached those Islands, - Be ye sure that he stayed there; - For what earthly joy or beauty - With those Islands can compare? - - Where the sun is ever shining - And the blossom doth not fade, - Where from quest of mortal hidden - The most Holy Grail is laid. - - Where with flaming swords the Seraphs - Stand around the Tree of Life, - Where the Blessed Ones are dwelling - Who have conquered in the strife. - -NOTE.--This poem is founded on an ancient Irish legend, to the effect -that the Happy Islands, as they are called--that is, the temporal -resting-place of the blessed, where yet stands the Tree of Life guarded -by the cherubim--are situated in the ocean somewhere to the far westward -of Ireland. - -It is said they are sometimes to be seen at sunset from the coast o’ -Galway. - -Many have sought to find them, and some even have come near them, but -just as they were approaching, either the night fell or a storm arose and -drove them from the enchanted shores. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - LES DROITS DE DIEU ET LES IDEES MODERNES. Par l’Abbé François - Chesnel, Vicaire-Général de Quimper. Poitiers et Paris: Henri - Oudin. 1875. - -Every age has its special errors and its special manifestations of the -truth precisely opposite to those errors. The special errors of the -present age may be well summed up under one formula, which we find on p. -335 of the Abbé Chesnel’s work bearing the title placed at the head of -this notice: “The pretended incompetence of God and his representatives -in the order of human things, whether scientific or social.” The system -which springs from this fundamental notion has received the name of -Liberalism. In contradiction to it, the authority of God and the church -over those matters which are included in the order of human things, is -the truth which in our day has been the special object of inculcation, -definition, explanation, and defence on the part of the Catholic Church -and her most enlightened advocates. A great number of the very finest -productions of our contemporary Catholic writers in books, pamphlets, -and periodicals, treat of themes and topics connected with this -branch of the great controversy between Catholic truth and universal -error. The volume just published by the Abbé Chesnel is particularly -remarkable among these for simplicity, lucidity, and moderation in its -statements, and for its adaptation to the understanding of the great -mass of intelligent and educated readers, who are unable to profit by -any treatises presupposing a great amount of knowledge and thought on -abstruse matters. The form of dialogue helps the author and the reader -very much in respect to the facility and simplicity of the work of -giving and receiving elementary instruction on the subjects contained -within the volume. The other topics besides the particular one we are -about to mention are handled very much in the same manner by M. Chesnel -as by other sound and able writers, and require no special remark. -Thank God! our instructed American Catholics are not inclined to bury -themselves in what the author happily styles “the fog of liberalism,” -in so far as this confuses the view of the rights of the church and -the Holy See in respect to the usurpations of the civil power and the -rebellions of private judgment. We have turned with a more particular -interest to that part of the volume which treats of the nature, origin, -acquisition, and loss of sovereign rights by the possessors of political -power in the state. This is one of the most difficult topics in the -department of ethics, and one seldom handled, in our opinion, so well -as by our author. To a certain extent sound Catholic writers agree, -and the principles maintained are proved with ease to the satisfaction -of right-minded students. That political power is from God, that human -rights are from God, that an authority certainly legitimate cannot -be resisted within its lawful domain without sin, are so many first -principles universally accepted and easily proved. But when the sources -and criteria of legitimacy are in question, there is far less agreement -even among those who reject liberalism, and much less facility of laying -down and proving propositions in a satisfactory manner. The ingenious and -learned Dr. Laing, in his little book entitled _Whence do Kings Derive -the Right to Rule?_ in our opinion sustains most extravagant theories -regarding the divine right of monarchs. On the other hand, we are not -entirely satisfied with the reasonings of the very able and brilliant -Dublin Reviewer on the principles of legitimacy. In fact, we have not -seen the subject handled in a perfectly thorough and satisfactory -manner by any author writing in the English language. M. Chesnel is not -exhaustive, but, so far as his scope in writing permits him to develop -his subject, he seems to us remarkably clear and judicious. The beginning -of sovereignty he traces to the parental expanding into the patriarchal -authority. Acquisition of lawful sovereignty he refers to inheritance, -election, and just conquest. The rehabilitation of a sovereignty unjustly -acquired he refers to the accession of the right of a nation to the -possession of the goods which have become dependent on the peaceable -maintenance of a _de facto_ sovereignty, sanctioned by a common consent. -The possessor who has been unjustly despoiled of his sovereignty _de -jure_ by one who has become sovereign _de facto_ evidently loses his -right as soon as it is transferred lawfully to this spoliator or his -heirs in the manner indicated. The author, as we think unnecessarily, -resorts to the supposition that he is supposed to cede it, because he -cannot reasonably maintain it. He adds, however, that if he does not -cede it he nevertheless loses it, which seems to us to make his cession -or non-cession wholly irrelevant and without effect. It is lost by the -prevalence of a higher right on the part of the nation. Nevertheless, -we think that until a permanent and stable union of the welfare of -the nation with the right of the new dynasty is effected, the former -sovereign right may in certain cases remain in abeyance, and therefore -revive again in the future. This appears to us to be exemplified in the -case of the rights of Don Carlos to the throne of Spain, and of the Comte -de Chambord to the throne of France. Strictly, in themselves, their -rights have been in abeyance, and remain imperfect, until the national -welfare, sustained by a sound and powerful part of the body politic, -demands their restitution and actually effects the same. In such cases -there is always more or less doubt about the real sense of the better and -sounder part of the nation, and about the best settlement of conflicting -claims for the common good. And hence it is that the best men may differ, -and conscientiously espouse opposite sides, when a nation is in an -unsettled and divided state respecting its sovereignty. - -In respect to the relation of the state to the church, the author has -some very just and sagacious remarks on the peculiar condition of things -in our own republic, quite in accordance with the views which have been -expressed by our soundest American Catholic writers. We conclude our -criticism by quoting a few passages: - -“The religious system existing in the United States does not resemble, -either in its origin or in its applications, that which the liberal sect -imposes on the Catholic peoples of Europe. The American population, the -progeny of colonists driven from England by persecution, never possessed -religious unity. When Presbyterians, Episcopalians, and Catholics, who -had all fought in common for independence, assembled in Congress and -formed their constitution, they recognized the variety of worships as an -antecedent fact, and endeavored to accommodate themselves to it in the -best way they could. No false political theory disturbed the good sense -of these legislators. Governed by a necessity manifestly invincible, and -which still continues, they secured to each worship a complete liberty; -proclaimed that which is a just consequence from this principle: that -the state should have only a very restricted agency--that is, no more -than what is necessary for reconciling the liberty of each one with that -of all others. In fact, when separated from the true church, the state -is reduced to pure naturalism, and in this condition the action of the -state, separated from the church, ought to be reduced to the minimum” (p. -179). - - MEMOIRS OF GENERAL WILLIAM T. SHERMAN. By Himself. New York: D. - Appleton & Co. 1875. - -This book marks an epoch in the literary history of the war. Ten years -of reconstruction and of political spoil-gathering, of slow and still -incomplete recuperation at the South, and of reluctant, painful -subsidence to the moderate profits and the quiet of peace at the North, -had dulled the excitement attending the events of the war, had corrected -many prejudices, had taken off many of the prominent actors of both sides -of the contest, and had added to the literary public many men and women -who were children when Sherman “marched to the sea.” And now comes one -of the great conquerors of the Rebellion, and tells almost every word -that an honorable man would dare to tell of all that he knows about the -soldiers and the generals, the fighting and the plotting, of the war, -and with infinite frankness--not stopping with facts, and dates, and -figures, but detailing his remembrance of conversations, frankly offering -his opinion of motives and his judgment of character, as well adverse as -favorable--as readily giving names of those deserving blame as of those -worthy of praise. No wonder, therefore, that these _Memoirs_ have set -the whole country to thinking about the war, and all the newspapers to -discussing it. We have already had scores of explanations and defences -of those attacked, or of friends in their behalf, and we are promised -the Memoirs, Recollections, and Narratives of many of the more prominent -generals; so that we shall shortly be supplied with testimony as to -all the events of the late war, given by the actors themselves or by -eye-witnesses. - -The first six chapters are occupied with General Sherman’s life from -the beginning of the Mexican war till the outbreak of the civil war. -They are intensely interesting. Many of those who afterwards became -leaders of great armies are introduced to the reader as simple captains -or lieutenants in the old army. Little incidents illustrative of their -characters are continually related, and the writer’s own impressions, -with his unflinching candor, continually offered, every page glowing -with good-humor and sparkling with entertaining anecdotes. The domestic -archives of more than one household of Lancaster, Ohio, must have been -well ransacked to get the letters written home by the young artillery -lieutenant, in order to secure such exactness in date, and place, and -conversation. One learns from these chapters about all that was done in -California during the Mexican war, and who did it; graphic descriptions -of many of the natural wonders of that country, and a very interesting -account of the early gold excitement. Gen. Sherman was on the staff of -Col. Mason, commanding United States forces in California, when gold was -found in Sutter’s mill-race; was present when Sutter’s messenger showed -it to Col. Mason and asked for a patent to the land; went to Sutter’s -place, and saw the first miners at work there; wrote (August 17, 1848) -the official despatch of Col. Mason to the Adjutant-General which gave -the world the first authentic information that gold could be had in -California for the digging. - -After peace was concluded with Mexico, the author of the _Memoirs_ -returned to the States; but soon resigned his commission, went back to -California, and opened a banking office in San Francisco--a branch of a -well-known house in St. Louis. His statement of the events of the year -1856 in San Francisco is most interesting, throwing much light on the -history of the famous Vigilance Committee. He was Militia General at the -time, and, in conjunction with the Governor, treated with the leaders of -the Committee, whom he undertakes to convict of falsehood, positively -asserting that, had Gen. Wool given him the arms, he was prepared to -fight the Vigilantes with militia, and would have suppressed them. -Hard times induced him shortly after to wind up his banking business -and return to the States, and in the autumn of 1860, after trying and -giving up various undertakings, he had organized and was president of -a flourishing military school, under the patronage of the State of -Louisiana. When that State seceded, Sherman at once resigned and went -North, and when war broke out was commissioned colonel in the regular -army, rising gradually in rank till finally half the army and country was -subject to his command. - -Now begins his story of the war. To the most timid civilian there is an -intense fascination in that war--a deep interest in every true narrative -of it. Gen. Sherman takes us through some of its most exciting scenes, -and so frankly and so familiarly that you feel as if you were some -invited stranger, sharing his mess, discussing his plans, participating -in his hopes and fears, and rejoicing with him in his nearly uniform -success. His first battle was Bull Run, in which he commanded a brigade. -Shortly after this he was transferred to the West, where he remained -until in the winter of 1864-5, when, having fought and conquered his way -from Chattanooga to Atlanta, then through Georgia and South Carolina, -he found himself in North Carolina, in command of a large army, and -upon the communications of Richmond. The General’s narrative of these -four years is intensely interesting. Every description of battle or -march is intelligible and vivid, every statement of plans is clear. -The battle of Shiloh is wonderfully well described; so are the battles -which were fought around Atlanta. The same may be said of the storming -of Fort McAllister--one of the most gallant deeds of the war. Thousands -of ex-soldiers will fight their battles over again with this book--will -lose themselves in the great mass of the army--will struggle once more -against that sickening sensation which their sense of honor overcame as -the first bullet whistled by, the first pale, senseless form was borne -to the rear on the bloody stretcher--will tingle again in every nerve -at the first sight of the Southerners--will feel the sudden thrill of -the fearful excitement of the rush, or of the stubborn defence, or the -ecstasy of victory. Many a one will once more feel the terrible fatigue -of the march, the pangs of hunger and thirst, the weariness of sleepless -nights on picket, the tedious, painful weeks spent in hospital. And every -soldier will once more feel sad as he reads of the places and scenes of -the death of his comrades, and will repeat for the thousandth time that -it was always the best men who were killed. - -The charges of cruelty and barbarity made during and after the war -against Gen. Sherman are indignantly denied. The depopulation of the -town of Atlanta is justified in so far as the General clearly shows the -purity of his motives and can cite the approval of both the civil and -military authorities; yet the ugly fact remains that it was done not for -the instant safety of his army or the immediate injury of the enemy’s, -but thousands of women and children were driven among strangers and their -homes abandoned to the chances of a civil war to secure a temporary -convenience. As to the unauthorized foraging of the troops generally, -the General condemned and often reproved and condemned it; though his -correspondence shows a secret satisfaction at the devastation committed -in South Carolina, except where it might result in permanent injury to -private property. His defence against Secretary Stanton’s charges of -usurping civil powers in treating with Gen. Jos. Johnston is simply -complete. Gen. Sherman here had the honor to be the first after the war -to suffer abuse and persecution because a kind heart and chivalrous -sympathy with a gallant and beaten foe roused the hatred and fear of a -class of politicians as malicious and vindictive as they were ambitious. - -The last chapter, “Military Lessons of the War,” is extremely -interesting, especially to military men. It contains some very important -conclusions; for example, that infantry must hereafter fight in -skirmishing order; that cavalry can no longer be used against organized -infantry; that every night’s camp in an enemy’s vicinity should be -covered by light works; and that good troops with the rifle can beat off -from trenches double their numbers. All this and nearly all the other -opinions advanced in this chapter had become truisms to even the common -soldier in our war, and the late Franco-German war has made them such for -the whole world. But Gen. Sherman’s modesty has hindered him from showing -that his own persistent adherence to this new science not only gained -him Atlanta, but left him an intact and veteran army with which to crush -through the heart of the South; and that Gen. Grant’s neglect of it, -and his adopting the “hammering-away” method instead, not only did not -conquer Lee and take Richmond, but positively buried the old gallant Army -of the Potomac between the Rapidan and the Appomattox. - -It is a great injustice to the Army of the Cumberland and its General to -say so glibly that at Chickamauga “Bragg had completely driven Rosecrans’ -army into Chattanooga”; it is notorious that at the battle itself the -key of the position was never given up, and that the whole army offered -battle defiantly at Rossville before retiring to Chattanooga. Such a -mistake as this throws discredit upon Gen. Sherman’s statements of -other events of which he was not an eye-witness. It is also much to be -regretted that in matters wholly private he should not have reserved the -names of persons whose conduct was reprehensible. Thus it adds nothing -to the interest of his narrative to give the _name_ of the officer of the -ship whose incorrect reckoning so inconvenienced the passengers on the -author’s first voyage to California; or to give the _name_ of the lawyer -who swindled him out of the proceeds of a note given him to collect; wife -and children and friends should not be made to share public disgrace for -private acts of which they themselves are entirely guiltless. - - THE FIRST CHRISTMAS: A Mystery Play. By Albany James Christie, - S.J. London: Burns & Oates. 1875. (New York: Sold by The - Catholic Publication Society.) - -We wish we could say that the contents of this small volume are worth its -elegant exterior. - - A POLITICO-HISTORICAL ESSAY ON THE POPES, as the Protectors of - Popular Liberty. By Rev. Henry A. Brann, D.D. New York: D. & J. - Sadlier & Co. 1875. - -In spite of the confident assurance which every loyal Catholic has that -the rule of Rome, both temporal and spiritual, is not, never has been, -nor ever will be, a despotism, it cannot be denied that but few are well -acquainted with the facts of history which prove that the Papal power -has been the only interpreter, defender, and protector of their rights -which the people ever had, and that all the liberties nations now enjoy -are the result of the preaching and defence of the doctrines which lie at -the basis of all civilization by the popes, bishops, and priests of the -Catholic Church. - -Just new the old howl against Rome is being renewed--the howl of the -wolves against the shepherd; and the sheep now and again think it -necessary to apologize to the wolves for the care their ever-watchful -guardian keeps over them, and also try to make them understand that it -is both convenient and necessary that he should keep a dog and carry a -crook. It is little wonder that the wolves bark and snarl in reply to the -apologies, and see no force in our argument for either the dog or crook. -But the sheep of the true fold, and also the “other sheep” who are not -yet of it, need, rather, plain, straightforward instruction, which, by -the grace of God, they will receive to their profit. Such is the essay -before us, which we heartily welcome as most opportune, and, although -far from being exhaustive of the subject, is both pertinent and forcible. -We commend it as an excellent pamphlet to be freely distributed both -among Catholics and honest-minded American non-Catholics. - - THE STORY OF S. STANISLAUS KOSTKA. Edited by Father Coleridge, - S.J. London: Burns & Oates. 1875. (New York: Sold by The - Catholic Publication Society.) - -This is the thirteenth volume of the admirable Quarterly Series edited -by the Jesuit fathers in London. The “Story” is a brief one, but full -of interest. We confess that S. Stanislaus has always seemed to us more -charming than even S. Aloysius. Both “angelic youths” are among the -greatest glories of the Catholic Church and the Society of Jesus. - -Father Coleridge tells us that the present work was at first intended to -be a simple translation from the Italian of Father Boero, but that he -has taken the pains to prepare an original narrative instead. All who -know his style will be grateful for the exchange. He has also confined -himself to a narration of facts, without digressing into “religious and -moral reflections.” We think this, too, makes the volume more attractive, -particularly to the young. - - BIOGRAPHICAL READINGS. By Agnes M. Stewart. London: Burns - & Oates. 1875. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication - Society.) - -It is somewhat aggravating to those familiar with the larger biographical -dictionaries to take up a compilation like this. One is reminded of -the poet who sent his MSS. to a learned editor to prepare them for -publication, and, after hearing the judgment passed by the critic, -insisted that he had thrown out the best pieces and retained the only -trash in the collection. The reader must try to put himself in the place -of the compiler who undertakes the invidious task of determining who -to speak of and what to say in a book of the kind. Almost inevitably, -each reader has to regret the absence of some subjects by him deemed -important. But, at least, the work will serve as an introduction to more -exhaustive ones, and Catholics have an assurance in the editor that the -stale assertions against cherished names, lay or cleric, which have -heretofore disfigured most non-Catholic biographical sketches, will not -be found here. - - THE YOUNG LADIES’ ILLUSTRATED READER. New York: The Catholic - Publication Society, 9 Warren St. 1875. - -This is the last volume of the Young Catholic’s Illustrated Series of -Readers. We have read it with considerable care, and are of the opinion -that it is the best book of the kind in the English language. The -selections, which embrace a wide range of subjects, all bearing more or -less directly upon the mission and work of woman, have been made with -discernment and taste. The most important lessons are here taught in the -most agreeable style and in the pleasantest manner. It is a treatise on -the duties of Christian women without any of the dulness of the moral -essay. - -We admire especially the biographical sketches of the foundresses of -religious orders which are scattered here and there through the book. -Whatever the vocation of a young girl may be, she will be all the truer -and nobler woman for having been taught to reverence and love the -religious life. - -The perusal of the several Readers of the Young Catholic’s Series has -shown us, in a light in which we have never seen it before, the great -educational value of such books. We are not surprised at the favorable -manner in which these Readers have been received, nor shall we be -astonished to hear of their superseding all others in our Catholic -Schools. - - * * * * * - -ANNOUNCEMENT.--In the October number of THE CATHOLIC WORLD we shall begin -a new serial story, entitled _Sir Thomas More: A Historical Romance_. - - -BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS RECEIVED. - - From P. O’Shea, New York: Notes on the Rubrics of the Roman - Ritual. By the Rev. James O’Kane. 12mo, pp. xiv., 471. - - --Lives of the Saints, with a Practical Instruction on the Life - of each Saint. By Rev. F. X. Weninger, D.D., S.J. Part III. - 8vo, pp. 144. - - --Recollections of the Last Four Popes and of Rome in their - Times. By His Eminence Cardinal Wiseman. 12mo, pp. 487. - - From APPLETON & CO., New York: John Dorrien. By Julia Kavanagh. - 12mo, pp. 500. - - From the OFFICERS: Proceedings of the General Theological - Library for the year ending April 26, 1875. 8vo, pp. 49. - - From K. TOMPKINS, New York: “Righteousness”: The - Divinely-Appointed Rule of Life. By Philalethes. Paper, 12mo, - pp. 75. - - From J. S. WHITE & CO., Marshall, Mich.: Mass in C. with - Accompaniment for Piano or Organ. By Rev. H. T. Driessen. - - From GEORGE WILLIG & CO., Baltimore: Peters’ Celebrated Mass in - D. Composed by W. C. Peters. Pp. 32. - - From D’Augutin Cote et Cie., Quebec: Annuaire de l’Université - Laval pour l’Année Académique 1875-6. 8vo, pp. 97, xxviii. - - From The Christian Brothers’ College, Memphis: Address to the - Graduates, June 25, 1875. By Hon. Jacob Thompson. 12mo, pp. 8. - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] For particulars see _Bulletin of the Catholic Union_, Jan., 1875, -which contains an admirably-prepared statement of the whole case. - -[2] Italy! Italy!… Oh! that thou wert less fair or more powerful! - -[3] “A slavish Italy! thou inn of grief!”--_Cary’s Dante._ - -[4] _Conf. of S. Aug._, b. x. ch. vi. - -[5] A Sister’s Story. - -[6] “Love that denial takes from none beloved.”--_Cary’s Dante, Inferno_, -canto v. - -[7] Alexandrine de la Ferronnays. - -[8] Madame Swetchine. - -[9] We have the _eleventh_ edition of the English translation with the -title, _The Lady’s Travels into Spain_, 2 vols., London, 1808. - -[10] See John Hay’s _Castilian Days_, p. 233. - -[11] _Psiquis y Cupido_, two autos, refacciamento of the comedy of _Ni -Amor se libra de Amor_; _El Pintor de su Deshonra_, comedy of same name; -_El Arbol del Mejor Fruto_, _La Sibila del Oriente_; _La Vida es Sueño_, -comedy of same name; _Andromeda y Perseo_, comedy of same name; _El -Jardin de Falernia_, comedy of same name; _Los Encantos de la Culpa, el -mayor Encanto Amor_. - -These, we believe, are all the _autos_ which duplicate comedies. - -[12] A Mass, followed by the Benediction of the Most Holy Sacrament, -is celebrated with this intention the first Saturday of every month at -nine o’clock, in the chapel of the Barnabite Fathers at Paris, 64 Rue de -Monceau. The reader will find at the end of our second essay (_Le Pape de -Rome et les Popes de l’Eglise Orthodoxe d’Orient_. Paris: Plon) a notice -upon the “Association of prayers in honor of Mary Immaculate for the -return of the Greco-Russian Church to Catholic Unity,” with the documents -relating to it. - -[13] “It is not for naught that the Russians have preserved among the -treasures of their faith the _cultus_ of Mary; it is not for naught that -they invoke her, that they believe in her Immaculate Conception, without, -perhaps, knowing it, and that they celebrate its festival.… Yes, Mary -will be the bond which shall unite the two churches, and which will make -of all those who love her a people of brethren, under the fraternity of -the Vicar of Jesus Christ” (_Ma Conversion et ma Vocation_, par le Père -Schouvaloff, Barnabite, II. part, §9, Paris, Douniol, 1859). - -[14] She chose S. Rose of Lima for her patron, and took her name at -confirmation. - -[15] The day of burial. - -[16] See _Louis XVII., sa Vie, sa Mort, son Agonie_, par M. de -Beauchesne, published 1852. - -[17] Materia quandoque est sub una forma, quandoque sub alia, per se -autem nunquam potest esse; quia, quum in ratione sua non habeat aliquam -formam, non potest esse in actu (quum esse in actu non sit nisi a forma), -sed solum in potentia; et ideo quidquid est in actu non potest dici -materia prima.--Opusc. _De Principiis Naturæ_. - -[18] Quia materia est potentia tantum, ideo est una numero, non -per unam formam quam habeat, sed per remotionem omnium formarum -distinguentium.--In 1 sent., dist. 2, q. 1, a. 1, ad 3m. - -[19] Forma accidentalis advenit subjecto jam præexistenti in actu; forma -autem substantialis non advenit subjecto jam præexistenti in actu, sed -existenti in potentia tantum, scilicet materiæ primæ.--In Arist. _De -Anima_, lib. 2, lect. 1. - -[20] Hæc est vera natura materiæ, ut scilicet non habeat actu aliquam -formam, sed sit in potentia ad omnes.--In Arist. _Metaph._, 1, lect. 12. - -[21] Materia prima est potentia pura, sicut Deus est actus purus.--_Sum. -Theol._, p. 1, q. 115, a. 1, ad 2m. - -[22] Ut enim ad statuam æs, vel ad lecticam lignum, vel ad aliud quidpiam -corum quæ formam habent, materia et quod forma caret se habet priusquam -formam acceperit, sic ipsa ad substantiam se habet et ad id quod est hoc -aliquid, atque ens.--_Physic._, lib. 1. - -[23] Materia prima est in omnibus corporibus.--_Sum. Theol._, p. 1, q. 8, -a. 4. - -[24] Oportet ponere etiam materiam primam creatam ab universali causa -entium, … sed non quod sit creata sine forma.--_Ibid._, q. 44, a. 2. - -[25] Quod autem materia prima remaneat actu post formam, non est nisi -secundum actum alterius formæ.--_Contra Gent._, lib. 2, c. 81. - -[26] Id communiter materia prima nominatur, quod est in genere -substantiæ ut potentia quædam intellecta præter omnem speciem et formam, -et etiam præter privationem; quæ tamen est susceptiva formarum et -privationum.--_De Spirit. Creaturis_, art. 1. We can hardly conceive how -the matter thus abstracted from all forms can be understood to remain -“not under privations.” When we conceive the matter without any form, we -conceive it as _deprived_ of all forms. The thing is evident. Materia -absque forma intellecta cum privatione etiam intelligitur, says S. Thomas -himself, _De Potentia_, q. 4., a. 1. - -[27] Terra autem ipsa quam feceras, informis materies erat, quia -invisibilis erat et incomposita … de qua terra invisibili et incomposita, -de qua informitate, de quo pene nihilo faceres hæc omnia quibus iste -mutabilis mundus constat.--_Confess._, lib. 12 c. 8. - -[28] Augustinus accipit informitatem materiæ pro carentia omnis formæ; et -sic impossibile est dicere quod informitas materiæ tempore præcesserit -vel formationem ipsius vel distinctionem. Et de formatione quidem -manifestum est. Si enim materia informis præcessit duratione, hæc erat -jam in actu; hoc enim creatio importat. Creationis enim terminus est ens -actu; ipsum autem quod est actus, est forma. Dicere igitur, materiam -præcedere sine forma, est dicere ens actu sine actu, quod implicat -contradictionem.--_Sum. Theol._, p. 1, q. 66, a. 1. - -[29] Informe appellabam non quod careret forma, sed quod talem haberet, -ut, si appareret, insolitum et incongruum aversaretur sensus meus, -et conturbaretur infirmitas hominis. Verum illud quod cogitabam, non -privatione omnis formæ, sed comparatione formosiorum erat informe: -et suadebat vera ratio ut omnis formæ qualescumque reliquias omnino -detraherem, si vellem prorsus informe cogitare; et non poteram. Citius -enim non esse censebam quod omni forma privaretur, quam cogitabam quiddam -inter formatum et nihil, nec formatum, nec nihil, informe prope nihil. -Et cessavit mens mea interrogare hinc spiritum meum plenum imaginibus -formatorum corporum et eas pro arbitrio mutantem atque variantem; et -intendi in ipsa corpora, eorumque mutabilitatem altius inspexi, qua -desinunt esse quod fuerant, et incipiunt esse quod non erant; eorumdemque -transitum de forma in formam per informe quiddam fieri suspicatus sum, -non per omnino nihil; sed nosse cupiebam, non suspicari. Et si totum -tibi confiteatur vox et stilus meus, quidquid de ista quæstione enodasti -mihi, quis legentium capere durabit? Nec ideo tamen cessabit cor meum -dare tibi honorem et canticum laudis de iis quæ dictare non sufficit. -Mutabilitas enim rerum mutabilium ipsa capax est formarum omnium in quas -mutantur res mutabiles. Et hæc quid est? Numquid animus? numquid corpus? -numquid species animi vel corporis? Si dici posset “Nihil aliquid,” et -“Est non est,” hoc eam dicerem; et tamen jam utcumque erat, ut species -caperet istas visibiles et compositas.--_Confess._, lib. 12, c. 6. - -[30] Tu enim, Domine, fecisti mundum de materia informi, quam fecisti de -nulla re pene nullam rem.--_Confess._, lib. 12, c. 8. - -[31] Licet essentia, qua res denominatur ens, non sit tantum forma, -nec tantum materia, tamen hujusmodi essentiæ sola forma suo modo est -causa.--_De Ente et Essentia_, c. 2. - -[32] Etiam formæ non habent esse, sed composita habent esse per -eas--_Sum. Theol._, p. 1, q. 5, a. 4. - -[33] Nec forma substantialis completam essentiam habet; quia in -definitione formæ substantialis oportet quod ponatur, id cujus est -forma.--_De Ente et Essentia_, c. 5. - -[34] Creationis terminus est ens actu; ipsum autem quod est actus est -forma.--_Sum. Theol._, p. 1, q. 66, a. 1. - -[35] This article is reprinted, with the author’s permission, from -advance sheets of a pamphlet published by Basil Montagu Pickering, -London.--ED. C. W. - -[36] S. Matthew xviii. 8. - -[37] Thomas à Kempis, book iii. c. 3. - -[38] Genesis xvii. 1. - -[39] Psalm xlv. 11. - -[40] Psalm xxxiii. 9. - -[41] 1 Corinth. iii. 16. - -[42] Philip. ii. 13. - -[43] Psalm ciii. 30. - -[44] January 15, 1872. This, and the subsequent quotations of the words -of Pius IX. are taken from _Actes et Paroles de Pius IX._ Par Auguste -Roussel. Paris: Palmé. 1874. - -[45] _Traite du S. Esprit_, par Mgr. Gaume, 1864. - -[46] January 22, 1871. - -[47] De Maistre, _Soirées de St. Petersburg_, Xe Soirée. - -[48] S. Matt. xvi. 18. - -[49] 1 Timothy iii. 15. - -[50] Psalm lxvi. 5. - -[51] S. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, xi. 23. - -[52] Encyclical to the German bishops, 1854. - -[53] January 24, 1872. - -[54] _History of the Conflict between Religion and Science._ By John W. -Draper. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1874. - -[55] The metrical translations used in this article are substantially -those of Mr. D. F. MacCarthy, whose works have been noticed before. -We cannot refrain from again expressing our admiration and wonder at -the successful manner in which he has overcome difficulties almost -insuperable, and which no one can appreciate until he has himself -attempted to translate Spanish _asonantes_ into corresponding English -verse. - -[56] We have already spoken of Spanish _asonante_ rhyme and the -difficulty of its translation into corresponding English verse. - -For those who are unacquainted with Spanish prosody the following -explanation of what the _asonante_ is may not be amiss. - -Assonance consists simply in the similarity of the final, or last two -vowels in the line, _e. g._, _luna_, _juzoa_, _culpas_, _gula_, _suma_. -These all are considered to rhyme because they have the same vowels, -_u-a_; _honor_, _sol_, _hoy_, _dió_, _cuatro_, are examples of single -_asonantes_ in _o_. - -Dean Trench calls this the “ghost and shadow of a rhyme.” How well Mr. -MacCarthy has succeeded in reproducing it the reader can see in the -above extract. The _asonantes_ in the original are _u-a_, for which Mr. -MacCarthy has substituted _u-e_. - -[57] See Daniel, chap. v. 10, 11. - -[58] Dico ergo primo: Materia prima ex se, et non intrinsece a forma, -habet suam entitatem actualem essentiæ, quamvis non habeat illam nisi cum -intrinseca habitudine ad formam.--_Disp. Metaph._ 13, sect. 4, n. 9. - -[59] Dico secundo: Materia prima etiam habet in se et per se entitatem, -seu actualitatem, existentiæ distinctam ab existentia formæ, quamvis -illam habeat dependenter a forma.--_Ibid._ n. 13. - -[60] Subjectum secundum privationem.--Arist. 8. _Metaph._, n. 1. - -[61] Si enim materia prima haberet aliquam formam propriam, per eam esset -aliquid actu; et sic, quum superinduceretur alia forma, non simpliciter -materia per eam esset, sed fieret hoc vel illud ens; et sic esset -generatio secundum quid, et non simpliciter. Unde omnes ponentes primum -subjectum esse aliquod corpus, ut aërem et aquam, posuerunt generationem -idem esse quod alterationem.--_In 8. Metaph._, lect. 1. - -[62] Cardinal Tolomei, who was not only a well-read man, but also -a peripatetic at heart, candidly confesses that the peripatetic -view of generation has never been substantiated. “Depend upon it,” -says he, “either no sound argument can be adduced in proof of the -peripatetic system, and we must, accordingly, simply postulate it; or, -if any proof can be adduced, it consists in the sole argument from -authority.” Crede mihi; vel solidi nihil afferri potest pro systemate -peripatetico adstruendo, adeoque simpliciter erit postulandum; vel unico -a nobis allecto argumento (auctoritatis) satis est roboris ad ipsum -confirmandum.--_Phil. Mentis et Sensuum_, diss 8, phys. gen. concl. 2. -And speaking of the argument drawn from substantial changes, he declares -it to be a mere sophism: Est mera petitio principii, et æquivocatio inter -materiam primam ab omnibus philosophis admissam, et materiam primam -Aristotelicam.--_Ibid._ See Tongiorgi, _Cosmol._, lib. 1, c. 2, n. 42 et -seq. - -[63] On the difference between substantial and essential forms, see THE -CATHOLIC WORLD, November, 1873, p. 190. - -[64] _Summa Theol._, p. 1, q. 76, a. 4. - -[65] Vera corpora, quæ nimirum substantiæ sunt, et non aggregata -substantiarum, componuntur quoad essentiam ex materia et forma -substantiali.--Liberatore, _Metaph. Special._, p. 1, n. 53. - -[66] Hominis ergo compositio ex materia et forma substantiali ostendit, -esse in rebus naturalibus quoddam subjectum naturale natura sua aptum ut -informetur actu aliquo substantiali; ergo tale subjectum imperfectum et -incompletum est in genere substantiæ; petit ergo esse semper sub aliquo -actu substantiali.--Suarez, _Disp. Metaph._ 15, sect. 1, n. 7. - -[67] This reason is given by Suarez: “Homo constat forma substantiali ut -intrinseca causa.… Nam anima rationalis substantia est et non accidens, -ut patet, quia per se manet separata a corpore, quum sit immortalis; est -ergo per se subsistens et independens a subjecto. Non ergo est accidens, -sed substantia”--_Disp. Metaph._ 15, sect. 1, n. 6. - -[68] Hæc paritas est innumeris affecta disparitatibus, quantum -videlicet interest inter animam rationalem, spiritualem, per se -subsistentem, immortalem, et entitates quasdam corporeas, corruptibiles, -incompletas.--_Loc. cit._ - -[69] See Tongiorgi, _Cosmol._, lib. i. c. 2, n. 35. - -[70] THE CATHOLIC WORLD, April, 1875. - -[71] See THE CATHOLIC WORLD, February, 1874, p. 584. - -[72] See “Le Courrier Russe,” by M. J. Martinov, from which the present -article is in great part an abridged translation, _Revue des Questions -Historiques_ for April, 1874. - -[73] It was on the 19th of February, 1861, that the Emancipation of the -Serfs was proclaimed. - -[74] _Rousskaïa Istoria v jizneopisaniakh ïeïa glavneïchikh -predstavitelaei._ - -[75] The _Væringer_, or Varangians, were a people of Scandinavian race -who had settled in Neustria, which owes to them its name of Normandy. -Many of these warriors were invited into Sclavonia by the Novogorodians -to defend their northern frontier against the incursions of the Finns; -but some years later, in 862, Rurik, their chief, took possession of -Novogorod, assuming the title of Grand Prince. Others of the same race -established themselves at Kiev, in the year 864. - -[76] The Countess Boutourlin and her sister, the Countess Virenzov. - -[77] _Drevniaïa russkaïa istoria do Mongolskago iga._ Moscow: 1871. - -[78] Amongst these may be named the _Historic Papers of Arseniev_, those -of _Catherine II._, and the _Marquis de Chétardie_, French Ambassador at -the court of Elizabeth, and in particular the very interesting work on -_Learning and Literature in Russia under Peter II._ - -[79] _Prikhodsokoïe doukhovenstvo so vremeni reformy Petra I._ Kazan: -1873. - -[80] See also _The Russian Clergy_. By Father Gagarin, S.J. London: 1872. - -[81] See p. 610. - -[82] The Ruthenians, or Ruthenes, are a people of Sclavonic race -inhabiting the province of Servia. The Ruthenian or Servian alphabet is -also called “the Alphabet of S. Cyril.” - -[83] _Istoria vozsoïedineniïa zapadnorouskikh ouniatov starykh vremen._ -Petersburg: 1873. - -[84] - - “E’en thus the Romans, when the year returns - Of Jubilee, with better speed to rid - The thronging multitudes, their means devise - For such as pass the bridge; that on one side - All front toward the castle, and approach - S. Peter’s fane, on the other towards the mount.” - - --_Cary’s Translation._ - -[85] - - “Like a wight, - Who haply from Croatia wends to see - Our Veronica and the while ’tis shown, - Hangs over it with never-sated gaze, - And, all that he hath heard revolving, saith - Unto himself in thought: ‘And didst thou look - E’en thus, O Jesus, my true Lord and God? - And was this semblance thine?’” - - --_Cary’s Translation._ - -[86] _The Greville Memoirs._ A Journal of the Reigns of King George IV. -and King William IV. By Charles C. F. Greville, Clerk of the Council to -those Sovereigns. Edited by H. Reeve, Registrar of the Privy Council. New -York: Appleton & Co. 1875. - -_Mémoires du Duc de Saint-Simon sur le siècle de Louis XIV. et la -Régence._ Paris: 1858. - -[87] This notice is taken in part from the French of Henry Hoisnard and -other sources. - -[88] “Preach the Word, be instant in season, out of season.”--2 Tim. iv. -ii. - -[89] “And the dragon was angry against the woman.”--Apoc. xii. 17. - -[90] The age of some of the “children” in this institution actually runs -up to twenty and even twenty-one. - -[91] Possibly the superintendent, Mr. Israel C. Jones, and such as -he, have had much to do with bringing about this magnificent result. -Their course of treatment of the unfortunate children committed to -their care is sufficiently well known to many of our readers. Here is -a picture of Mr. Jones and his associate reformers, painted by his -own hand, and exhibited to the public gaze in a court of justice. It -occurred during the trial of Justus Dunn, an inmate of the Institution -for the Reformation of Juvenile Delinquents, for the killing of Samuel -Calvert, one of the keepers. In his cross-examination Mr Jones testified -respecting various modes of punishment used in the institution. One was -as follows: “I know of Ward being tied up by the thumbs. (The witness -described this mode of punishment.) In the tailor’s shop there is an -iron column five inches in diameter; around the top of that was placed a -small cord, and another small cord was run through it, and dropped down; -_the boys’ thumbs were put into the ends and drawn up until the arms were -extended_, but their feet were not moved. - -“By Judge Bedford: How long were they kept in that position? A. From -three, perhaps to eight minutes. To Mr Howe: I tried the effect upon -myself; it was an idea that struck me to deal with that particular class -of boys. I think seven, not to exceed eight, boys were punished in this -way. I was present during the punishment of one of the boys part of the -time. I went out of the room. - -“By Judge Bedford: You do not know of your own knowledge whether they -were raised from the ground? A. Not of my own knowledge. - -“By Mr. Howe: You saw the boys put up by this small whip-cord? A. Yes, -sir. - -“Q. And you would leave the room when they were spliced up? A. Yes, sir; -I stepped out of the room once or twice. I have seen boys beaten with -a rattan, but not so severely as to be able to count the welts by the -blood.” - -There is much more of the same character, but the extract given is -enough to show the means adopted in this estimable institution and by -this eminently pious superintendent for the reformation of juvenile -delinquents. It is like reading again the pages of another but an earlier -Reformation. - -[92] This answer was actually made not long ago to a Catholic priest by a -Protestant clergyman. - -[93] How now! - -[94] Light of the moon. - -[95] Some codices have XXXV. - -[96] During the residence of the popes at Avignon, and afterwards until -about the time of the Council of Trent, it was usual to call cardinals -by the name of their native places or of their dioceses, as the Cardinal -of Gaeta (Cajetan), the Cardinal of Toledo. This was the case at first -possibly because the cardinals were not very familiar with their titles -on the banks of the Tiber, which many of them never saw, and may have -been kept up afterwards when the popes returned to Rome, in some degree -by that love of grand nomenclature which characterized the age of the -revival of letters. It requires sometimes no little search to discover -the _real_ name of one who is called in history, for instance, the -Cardinal of S. Chrysogonus (Cardinalis Sancti Chrysogoni) or the Cardinal -of Pavia (Cardinalis Papiensis). - -The present style has long been to call cardinals by their family names; -but if these be ancient or memorable ones, there is a recognized form of -Latinization not to be departed from. Thus, to give an example, the late -Cardinal Prince Altieri was in Latin Cardinalis de Alteriis. - -[97] Those who use the Roman _Ordo_ in saying the Office will have -remarked how constantly the expression _Mense decembri_ occurs in the -lessons of the earlier pope-saints as the season at which they held one -or more ordinations. These ordinations thought worthy of being recorded -were only those of cardinals. - -[98] Cenni gives it as here from a precious Veronese MS.; but Gratian, -in the _Decretum_ (dist. 79, can. 5), read _filiorum_; yet this does not -materially alter the text. - -[99] Stand bravely. - -[100] - - Jesus, thou didst labor, - Aid us in our toil! - -[101] - - Jesus! thou art the Good Shepherd; - Thy flock, it is the sinner; - Guard it from the wolf infernal - And every kind of evil! - -[102] _Vie du Frère Philippe._ Par M. Poujoulat. Tours: Mame et Fils. - -[103] Letter of March 17, 1766. - -[104] Ibid., April 1, 1766. - -[105] Ibid., April 17, 1766. - -[106] _Géométrie Pratique appliquée au dessin Linéaire._ - -[107] The article is as follows: “Primary instruction comprises moral -and religious teaching, reading, writing, the elements of the French -language, arithmetic, and the legal system of weights and measures; to -which may also be added arithmetic applied to practical operations, -the elements of history and geography, some acquaintance with physical -science and natural history applicable to the requirements of life, -elementary instruction in agriculture, manufactures and hygiene, -land-surveying, levelling, linear drawing, singing, and gymnastics.” - -[108] From the MS. _Journey of the Lady Anne of Cleves_, in the State -Paper Office. - -[109] The first was Catherine of Aragon; the second Jane Seymour; the -third Anne of Cleves. Between the first and second came Anne Boleyn, who -was never his _wife_; and after the third came two more queens, Catherine -Howard and Catherine Parr, neither of whom lays claim to the title of -wife, as Anne outlived him for many years. - -[110] See Moreri and De Thou. - -[111] State Papers. - -[112] This essay, by the Rev. Henry Formby, published in England in -1849, has been many years out of print. We lay it before our readers -with the kind permission of the author, being assured that those who are -interested in the subject of which it treats will be glad to obtain an -opportunity to peruse it.--ED. C. W. - -[113] Mgr. Parisis, Bishop of Langres, speaks thus of its importance: -“Far, then, from thinking that, in occupying ourselves with it, we -derogate from the sanctity of our ministry, we consider ourselves to be -performing an imperious duty and to be providing for an urgent necessity” -(_Instruction pastorale sur le Chant de l’Eglise_). - -[114] The Roman chant exists in two principal collections: the _Gradual_, -which contains the Order of the Celebration of Mass throughout the year; -and the _Antiphonale_, which contains the chant for the canonical hours. -These usually form two large folio volumes. Besides these there are -smaller collections, the Rituale and Processionale, Hymnarium, etc. - -[115] _Fundamental Philosophy_, lib. iii. c. 11. - -[116] _De Divinis Perfectionibus_, lib. ii, c. 2. - -[117] _Fundamental Philosophy_, lib. iii. c. 12, n. 82. - -[118] _Ibid._, n. 83. - -[119] THE CATHOLIC WORLD, January, 1875, p. 487. - -[120] THE CATHOLIC WORLD, August, 1874, p. 583. - -[121] This objection is taken from Dmowski’s _Cosmology_, n. 34. - -[122] The phrase “space is mensurable” is common, but it is not strictly -correct; for it is not absolute space, but only the intervals or -distances (which are relations in space) that are really mensurable, -as we shall see in our next article. Yet, as the phrase was used in -the objection, we kept it in our answer, on the ground that, although -absolute space is not formally mensurable in itself, it is the reason -of the mensurability of all intervals arising from its extrinsic -terminations. - -[123] Ipsa enim immensitas divinæ substantiæ et sibi et mundo sufficiens -est spatium, et intervallum capax omnis naturæ creabilis, tam corporalis, -quam spiritualis. Sicut enim essentia divina est primæva essentia, origo -et fundamentum omnis essentiæ et entis conceptibilis, ita immensitas -divina est primum et intimum intervallum, seu spatium, origo omnis -intervalli, et spatium omnium spatiorum, locus omnium locorum, sedes -et basis primordialis omnis loci et spatii.--_Lessius, De Divinis -Perfectionibus_, lib. ii., c. 2. - -[124] _Philos. Fundament._, c. xvi. n. 113. - -[125] _Ibid._, c. xvii. n. 119, 120. - -[126] THE CATHOLIC WORLD, January, 1875, p. 487. - -[127] Childishness. - -[128] The Chevalier Gaetano Moroni is a gentleman of the bedchamber to -the present Pope. His farraginous work in one hundred and three volumes, -is an inexhaustible source of ecclesiastical erudition; but as Niebuhr -said of Cancellieri’s writings, these large octavos contain some things -that are important, many things that are useful, and everything that is -superfluous. - -[129] _Relazione della corte di Roma._ The best edition is that published -at Rome in 1774, with notes by the learned Jesuit, F. A. Zaccaria. - -[130] This strange proceeding of the belted custodian of the conclave -is confirmed by a document which was issued by the cardinals on the -8th of June--“In palatio discooperto episcopatus Viterbiensis” (Macri, -_Hierolexicon_). - -[131] Our English distinction of Very, Right, and Most Reverend is -unknown in good Latin. _Admodum Reverendus_ is barbarous and repudiated -by the _stylus curiæ_. - -[132] Betrayed his uncle Paul IV., was tried by eight of his peers and -condemned to death. - -[133] Abused the confidence of Benedict XIII.; condemned by Clement XII. -to a fine of two hundred thousand crowns, to loss of all dignities, and -ten years’ imprisonment. - -[134] He purged himself and was reinstated in the cardinalate; seems to -have been more of a dupe than a rogue. - -[135] Deprived of his dignity by Pius VI. on Sept. 21, 1791, for taking -the schismatical civil oath of the French clergy. - -[136] After the battle of Gravelotte, the Christian Brothers carried -eight thousand wounded from that sanguinary field. - -[137] See _Les Frères des Ecoles chrétiennes pendant la Guerre de -1870-71_, par J. d’Arsac. - -[138] See _Vie du Frère Philippe_, p. 296. - -[139] “Forma erigendi seminarium clericorum:”--“Ut vero in eadem -disciplina ecclesiastica commodius instituantur, tonsura statim -atque habitu clericali semper utentur; grammatices, cantus computi -ecclesiastici, aliarumque bonarum artium disciplinam discent,” -etc.--_Concilium Tridentinum_: Sessio XXIII. de Reform, c. 18. - -[In the letters of the Holy Father Pius IX. establishing the Seminario -Pio, he ordered that the students should be taught Gregorian Chant, and -no other. “Cantus Gregorianus, omni alio rejecto, tradetur.”--ED. C. W.] - -[140] The approbation of the Missa Papæ Marcelli was based upon the fact -that the music most nearly approached in gravity to the ecclesiastical -song, not that it was better. - -[141] It may not be unworthy of remark that the composers of modern -church music have uniformly thought a different style of composition -becoming, whenever occasion required the introduction of a _sham prayer_ -into their operas; as may be seen in Mozart’s chorus of Egyptian priests -in the _Zauberflöte_, and many other similar instances. To real prayer, -and to the true adorable sacrifice, it is the operatic effects that are -exclusively dedicated, as in Mozart’s No. XII. and Haydn’s No. II. - -[142] The following anecdote is told in the Breviary lections of S. Felix -of Valois, founder of the Congregation of the Most Holy Trinity for the -Redemption of Captives (his day occurs the 20th of November): - -“S. Felix received a remarkable favor from the Blessed Virgin Mother. -All the brethren remaining asleep, and, by the disposition of God, not -rising for the celebration of Matins, which were to have been recited -at midnight on the Vigil of the Blessed Mother’s Nativity, Felix awoke, -as was his custom, and entering into the choir before the time, found -there the Blessed Virgin herself, clothed in a habit marked with the -cross of the order, and in company with a number of angels habited in -the same manner. Felix, taking his place amongst them, sang through and -finished the entire Office, the Blessed Mother herself acting the part of -precentor.”--_Breviarium Romanum._ - -This is but one specimen, among the many others which are to be found in -church history, of the light in which angels and saints regard the chant -of the Ritual. - -[143] Mgr. Parisis continues: “My dear friends and brethren, we have -ourselves never precisely seen these sweet days of the faith; but in our -very early youth we seem to have caught, as it were, their last twilight; -we well remember that the sounds which first caught our ear were the -sweet melodies of the Liturgy, and during that Reign of Terror when they -were banished from the churches, we bless God with all our heart on -recollecting the holiday evenings when we were rewarded by being allowed -to sing with the family the touching mysteries of the Divine Son of Mary, -at one time in the language of the Church, at another in the well-known -tongue of our religious ancestors.” - -[144] It is a fashion to despise _unison singing_; yet the highest -authorities in the church have given it their decided preference. The -Pontiffs John XXII. and Benedict XIV. have recommended unison singing -to the whole church as the fittest; Abbot Gerbert and Cardinal Bona -recognize its superiority; Mgr. Parisis says, “We speak here exclusively -of _unison singing, because it is this that best suits the church_.” -Conceit and fashion may be and most probably are at the bottom of such -a feeling of contempt; and of course where the singing is confined to -a limited number, individuals will naturally wish for an opportunity -of displaying their own little talent. “Omnium hominum,” is Guido of -Arezzi’s experience, “fatuissimi cantores.” S. Bernard says: “That new -canticle, which it will be given to virgins alone to sing in the kingdom -of God, there is no one who doubts but that the Queen of Virgins herself -will be the first to sing; and I think that, besides that song peculiar -to virgins, and which is common to her with others, she will delight -the city of God with some still sweeter and more beautiful song, the -exquisite melody of which no other virgin will be found worthy to sing, -save her only who may boast of having given birth, and that to God” (II. -Homily on _Missus est Gabriel_). Now the song here spoken of will be in -_unison_. - -[145] The Empress Catherine of Russia, as well as the King of Denmark, -was in the habit of sending every year for a supply of these pears. They -are in less demand now, like many other things once valued. - -[146] We were shown some of these curious boxes at S. Oren’s Priory. -The straw of different colors is woven in figures, giving the effect of -a kind of mosaic, or cloth of gold, according to the quality. The nuns -formerly made candlesticks for the altar in this way, which were both -unique and beautiful. - -[147] There are in the canton 47,868 Catholics, of whom 25,000 are -foreigners; and 43,639 Protestants, of whom only 9,000 are foreigners. So -that the Protestant electors numbered 10,000 against 16,000. - -[148] Waiter. - -[149] On the relative modes see THE CATHOLIC WORLD for May, 1874, p. 179. - -[150] This same subject has been developed under another form in THE -CATHOLIC WORLD for January, 1875, p. 495 _et seq._ - -[151] Which is still extant. - -[152] The following is another interesting passage from a fragment of -Kirke White: - - “Hark, how it falls! and now it steals along, - Like distant bells upon the lake at eve, - When all is still; and now it grows more strong, - As when the choral train their dirges weave, - Mellow and many-voic’d; where every close - O’er the old minster-roof in echoing waves reflows. - - “Oh! I am rapt aloft. My spirit soars - Beyond the skies, and leaves the stars behind. - Lo! angels lead me to the happy shores, - And floating pæans fill the buoyant wind. - Farewell! base earth, farewell! my soul is freed; - Far from its clayey cell it springs.” - -It is remarkable, also, that Goethe represents Faust as in the very act -of swallowing poison, to escape from the miseries of life, when the song -of an Easter hymn, sung in procession, falls upon his ear, and charms -away the thought of suicide. - -[153] Vol i. p. 250. - -[154] _Leaders of Public Opinion in Ireland_, p. 120. - -[155] - - Hac arte Pollux et vagus Hercules - Euisus arces attigit igneas.--_Hor._ Carm. iii. 3. - -[156] We are indebted for the principal portion of the events mentioned -in this sketch to the beautiful narrative lately published by the Rev. -Giovanni Spillmann, S.J. - -[157] The words _soulier_ and _savate_ mean _shoe_, and _old shoe_. - -[158] The arms of Lourdes consist of three golden towers, the central -one bearing an eagle with a silver trout in its mouth, referring to the -legend of the fish brought by an eagle during the siege and dropped on -the highest point of the castle, still known as the _Pierre de l’Aigle_. -Mirat hastened to send it to Charlemagne as a proof his _vivier_ still -furnished good fish. - -Bernard, Count of Bigorre, with his wife Clémence, went on a pilgrimage -to Notre Dame de Puy in the year 1062, and there consecrated himself and -his province to the Virgin, in presence of the chapter and many lords, -among whom was Arnaud Guillaume de Barbazan. Moreover, he agreed to pay -her a tribute of sixty sols annually. - -[159] In the archives of the Tower of London we read: “No. 9 de -concedendo Joanni de Bearn armigero, custodiam castri de Lourdes et -patriæ de Bigorre, nec non officium senescalciæ; de Bigorre, teste Rege, -Westminster, 20 Januarii, 1383.” - -[160] The poet Musset thus sings of the Artist-Princess: - - “Ce naïf génie - Qui courait à sa mère au doux nom de Marie, - Sur son œuvre chéri, penchant son front rêveur - A la fille des champs qui sauva sa Patrie - Prête sa piété, sa grace et sa pudeur.”-- - - “This simple genius, - Who, at the sweet name of Marie, to her mother ran-- - To the daughter of the fields, the deliverer of her country, - Lends her own piety, modesty, and grace.” - -[161] The writer is indebted to M. l’Abbé Huot for portions of the -foregoing. - -[162] By the help of God and S. Peter, I swear to be good and loyal to -the town; to seek its welfare and avert all evil; to take counsel in -doubt, do justice to the small as well as the great; as former mayors -have done, and better if I know. So help me God and S. Peter. - -[163] Article--“Dominique de Gourgues.” - -[164] This church was sacked and burned by the Huguenots. De Gourgues can -hardly have sympathized with the destroyers of his mother’s tomb, to say -nothing of several generations of ancestors. - -[165] See Letters of Charles IX., Catherine de Médicis, and M. de -Fourquevaulx ambassador at Madrid, published by the Marquis Duprat. - -[166] Evidently for ship provisions. - -[167] “Letter of the Bishop of Orleans to the Catholic -Committee.”--_Univers_, January 7, 1872. - -[168] See the number of February, 1875--“Education on the Radical Plan.” - -[169] Laboulaye’s measure concerning higher instruction. The reporter -recognizes in it the right of families themselves to choose tutors for -their children, and also the right of associations formed with the view -of instruction. - -[170] A recent speech delivered at Belleville by the leader of French -liberalism, M. Gambetta, gives a sufficiently exact idea of this kind of -civil constitution. See the political journals of April 26, 1875. - -[171] _Ancienne et nouvelle discipline de l’Eglise touchant les bénéfices -et les bénéficiers_, 2ᵉ part., liv. ii. ch. 26, 27; 3ᵉ part., liv. ii. -ch. 18-23. - -[172] _Conc. Trid._, sess. xxii. _de reform._, cap. 18. - -[173] “Quæ omnia, atque alia ad hanc opportuna et necessaria, episcopi -singuli, cum consilio duorum canonicorum seniorum et graviorum, quos -ipsi elegerint, prout Spiritus Sanctus suggesserit, constituent; eaque -ut semper observentur, sæpius visitando, operam dabunt.”--_Conc. Trid._, -loc. cit. - -[174] “Pietas ad omnia utilis est, pro missionem habens vitæ quæ nunc -est, et futuræ.”--1 Tim. iv. 8. - -[175] _Summ. Theol._, 1. 2. q. xc., art. 3. - -[176] We quote at length the remarkable passage from which these words -are quoted. It occurs in an allocution of the Holy Father to the -cardinals, delivered in the Secret Consistory, Sept. 5, 1851, in which -his Holiness announces the concordat which had recently been concluded -with the Spanish government “The great object of our solicitude was -to secure the integrity of our holy religion and to provide for the -spiritual wants of the church. Now, you will see, the concordat arranges -that the Catholic religion, with all the rights it enjoys by virtue of -its divine institution, and of rules established by the sacred canons, -should be exclusively dominant in that kingdom; every other religion -will be openly banished from it and forbidden. It is, consequently, -settled that the manner of educating and instructing the youth in all -the universities, colleges or seminaries, in all the public and private -schools, will be in full conformity with the doctrine of the Catholic -religion. The bishops and heads of dioceses, who, by virtue of their -office, are bound to labor with all their might to protect the purity -of Catholic teaching, to propagate it, to watch that the youth receive -a Christian education, will find no obstacle to the accomplishment of -those duties; they will be able, without meeting the least hindrance, to -exercise the most attentive superintendence over the schools, even the -public ones, and to discharge freely, in all its plenitude, their office -of pastor.” Is not this, in exact terms, the thesis here defended? - -[177] The following proposition has been condemned by Pius IX. in his -Encyclical _Quanta cura_: “Optimam societatis publicæ rationem civilemque -progressum omnino requirere, ut humana societas constituatur et -gubernetur, nullo habito ad religionem respectu, ac si ea non existeret, -vel saltem nullo facto veram inter falsasque religiones discrimine.” - -[178] Incredible as this may seem, it is nevertheless true. - -[179] “Nomine loci videtur intelligi superficies realis corporis -circumdantis, non tamen secundum se solum, sed prout immobilis, hoc est, -prout est affixa tali spatio imaginario” (_De Sacr. Euch._, disp. 5, -sect. 4). - -[180] Loc. cit., sect. 5, n. 123. - -[181] Corpus Christi non est in hoc sacramento sicut in loco, sed per -modum substantiæ.… Unde nullo modo corpus Christi est in hoc sacramento -localiter.--_Summ. Theol._, p. 3, q. 76, a. 5. - -[182] Sed contra: omnia duo loca distinguuntur ad invicem secundum -aliquam loci contrarietatem, qua sunt sursum et deorsum, ante, retro, -dextrum et sinistrum. Sed Deus non potest facere quod duo contraria sint -simul; hoc enim implicat contradictionem. Ergo Deus non potest facere -quod idem corpus localiter sit simul in duobus locis.--_Quodlib._ 3, q. -1, a. 2. - -[183] A bird in hand, etc. - -[184] Full title of the original publication: _Origine et Progrès de la -Mission du Kentucky_ (Etats-Unis d’Amérique). Par un Témoin Oculaire. -Prix, 1 fr. au profit de la Mission. A Paris: chez Adrien Le Clere, -Imprimeur de N. S. P. le Pape, et de S. E. Mgr. le Cardinal Archevêque de -Paris. Quai des Augustins, No. 35. 1821. - -[185] And even now, for one or two dollars an acre, fertile land can -be purchased in the vast extent of country watered by the Mississippi, -the Missouri, the Arkansas, etc.--that land which Bonaparte sold to the -United States in 1801 for ten million dollars. Kentucky produces in -abundance all sorts of grain, especially corn, and also sweet potatoes, -tobacco, cotton, flax, hemp, and indigo. In the month of February the -inhabitants tap the maple tree, in order to procure a liquid which they -boil until it is reduced to syrup or sugar. The wild grape-vine grows to -the height of thirty or forty feet, but the grapes are small and the wine -acrid; moreover, Americans do not understand the culture of the vine. - -[186] When it is necessary to cross a desert, or when the guide loses his -way in the forest--which is of frequent occurrence--then the missionaries -are obliged to spend the night in the woods, to sleep on the ground near -a large fire, by the light of which they read their Breviary. - -[187] The city of Detroit and the church were accidentally burned -seventeen years ago. The city was afterwards rebuilt and captured by -the English, assisted by the savages, during the last war with the -United States. Since the conclusion of peace there has been a cathedral -built, to which the Sovereign Pontiff has attached an episcopal seat -in perpetuity. The missions of Michigan, Illinois, Missouri, and Post -Vincennes were then almost entirely formed of French Canadians. With -regard to all the territory mentioned in this narrative, one can consult -M. Arrowsmith, an American geographer, whose work can be found in Paris -at Dezauche’s, Rue des Noyers, No. 40. - -[188] Several years previous M. Badin, after having received the vows of -a few pious persons, and having had donated to him a hundred acres of -land, had a monastery built for the same purpose; but as it was a frame -building, it was, through the carelessness of the workmen, burnt before -being completed. - -[189] We here submit an extract from an English letter written the 15th -of March, 1820, by Father Fenwick to the author of this notice: “I hope -that this will find you in good health and on the point of returning -to America. It will be a great pleasure for me to see you again and to -hear from your lips the particulars of your trip. If possible, bring me -home some pictures. With gratitude would I receive some for the altars -of the Blessed Virgin and S. Joseph, as also any other church furniture -or books, such as the lives of the saints of the Order of S. Dominic -by Father Touron, the history of the miracles of the holy fathers, or -any other works on those subjects. If you saw my relative, M. J. F., I -flatter myself sufficiently to hope that you remembered me to him, and -that you laid before him the needs of my mission. We have built three -churches, and only for one of these three do we possess sufficient -ornaments and other articles necessary for divine service.” - -[190] We have to-day in the United States five bishops of French origin: -Bishop Maréchal, born at Ingré, in the Diocese of Orleans, third -archbishop of Baltimore; Bishop Cheverus, of Paris, first bishop of -Boston; Bishop Flaget, born in Auvergne, bishop of Kentucky, and Bishop -David, of the Diocese of Nantes, his coadjutor; and, finally, Bishop -Dubourg, bishop of Louisiana and the Floridas, who resides in St. Louis -on the Mississippi, in the State of Missouri. The see of Philadelphia -became vacant by the death of Bishop Egan, and that of New York is -occupied by Bishop Connelly, an Irishman of the Order of S. Dominic. The -number of American bishops is continually increasing. New Orleans and -the Floridas are too far from St. Louis; the Dioceses of Baltimore and -Bardstown are too extensive; and, moreover, the number of Catholics is -daily increasing, in consequence of the immigrations from Europe and from -conversions. - -[191] By his writings you can judge the man; and we can give you no -better idea of the mildness, humility, and modesty of the Bishop of -Bardstown than by inserting here extracts from several letters which he -wrote from Baltimore to his vicar-general in Kentucky. His zeal, his -disinterestedness, and his self-abnegation are equalled only by his -confidence in divine Providence: “God be my witness that I do not desire -riches; and I would a thousand times rather die than be attacked by this -craving. The less we possess, the less worried will we be with regard to -it; but there are some things necessary, and it is upon you that I depend -to procure them for me. I must rely upon the friendship which you have -for me to ask you, my dear M. Badin, henceforth to provide for my wants. -After all, you desired it; for if it had not been for you, I would never -have been made bishop. We will have eight or nine trunks filled with -books and other articles. The distance is great and transportation very -high; the trip and the transportation will cost more than 4,000 francs, -and we have not a cent. We can only wait until Providence comes to our -rescue. To lessen my expenses I will leave the servant who offers me his -services in Baltimore; and I would even leave my books there, did I not -consider them essential to our establishment. In order not to increase -your expenses I will only bring with me M. David, and we will both be but -too happy to share your mode of life, however humble it may be. If the -bishopric had only presented difficulties of this nature, I would not -have hesitated so long before accepting it. Providence calls me to it -despite myself, and it was useless for me to travel over land and sea in -order to evade this charge. All my trouble was lost. God seems to exact -it of me that I bow my head to this weighty yoke, even though it should -crush me. Alas! should I stop sufficiently long to consider my weakness -and my troubles, I would fall into despair, and hardly would I dare take -one step in the vast career that is opening before me. To reassure myself -it is necessary that I frequently recall to mind that I did not install -myself in this important post, and that all my earthly superiors in a -manner forced me to accept it.” - -From Baltimore, where he had more than one hundred miles by land and -three hundred miles by water over which to travel to arrive at Bardstown, -he writes thus: “Remember that for the use of seven or eight we have -but one horse, which I destine for M. David, as he is the least active -among us. For myself and the other gentlemen, we will go on foot with -the greatest pleasure, if there is the least difficulty in travelling -otherwise. This pilgrimage will please me exceedingly, and I do not -think it derogatory to my dignity. I leave it all to your judgment, and -I would be very glad to have sufficient money to join you at Louisville; -the remainder of the journey will be entirely at your expense. That the -will of God be done, I would a thousand times prefer going on foot rather -than to cause the slightest murmur; and you did very well to recall the -subscription which had been started for my benefit, as it would only have -tended to alienate people from me. It was, however, but right that people -anxious to have a bishop among them should furnish him means to reach -them. There is nothing I would not do for the sanctification of my flock. -My time, my work, my life even, is consecrated to it; and, finally, it -will only remain for me to say that I am ‘an unprofitable servant, having -done only that which I ought to do.’” - -Divine Providence, whose intervention he had merited by his zeal and his -resignation, supplied, as if by miracle, in some invisible way, the needs -of the prelate, who on the 11th of June, 1811, arrived at St. Etienne, -the residence of M. Badin, with two priests and four scholastics. There -he found the faithful on their knees singing holy canticles, the women -nearly all robed in white, and some of them still fasting, although it -was then four o’clock in the afternoon, as they hoped to assist at his -Mass and receive Holy Communion from his hands that very day. An altar -had been erected under some shrubbery to afford a shade where the bishop -might rest himself. After the Asperges he was conducted in procession to -the chapel, the Litany of the Blessed Virgin being sung meanwhile; and -then followed the ceremonies and prayers prescribed in the Pontifical -for such an occasion. M. Badin lived in a little frame house, and, in -consequence of the expenses incurred to rebuild the burned monastery -of which we have already spoken, he with difficulty was able to build -two miserable little huts, sixteen feet square, for his illustrious -friend and the ecclesiastics who accompanied him. Finally, one of the -missionaries slept on a mattress in the attic of this whitewashed -episcopal palace, whose sole furniture consisted of one bed, six chairs, -two tables, and the shelves for a library. The bishop resided here one -year, and he considered himself happy to live thus in the midst of -apostolic poverty. - -[192] The Dominican Fathers, assisted by their novices, with their own -hands performed a great deal of the work on their monastery and the -beautiful church of S. Rose. Like them, the scholastics afterwards made -bricks and lime, cut the wood, etc., to build that of S. Thomas, the -seminary, and convent of Nazareth. The poverty of our establishment -forces them to devote their hours of recreation to this work. Every day -they spend three hours in gardening, in working in the fields or in the -woods. Nothing could be more frugal than their table, and that of the two -bishops is no better; pure water from a spring is their ordinary drink. -Neither could anything be more humble than their clothing--imagine fifty -poor scholastics who are obliged to cover themselves with rags, and to -borrow decent clothes with which to appear in the town. - -Bishop Flaget hopes that pious and charitable persons who are not able to -send him money for his cathedral will endeavor to send clothes or books -necessary for the studies and the clothing of his beloved scholastics. - -[193] Since the appointment of Bishop Dubourg to St. Louis, the too -distant mission of Illinois, which was part of the Diocese of Bardstown, -has been attended by this prelate, whose residence is in the vicinity. - -[194] Eight of these buildings are brick and stone, and the others frame. - -[195] Besides the bishops and the missionaries, the students and servants -in the seminaries and convents are included in this number. - -[196] Here rest the bones of Blessed Brother Claus von der Flüe, placed -here when this church was built, anno 1679. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Catholic World, Vol. 21, April, -1875, to September, 1875, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CATHOLIC WORLD, VOL. 21 *** - -***** This file should be named 54377-0.txt or 54377-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/3/7/54377/ - -Produced by 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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