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diff --git a/old/54617-0.txt b/old/54617-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 015352d..0000000 --- a/old/54617-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,49280 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Catholic World, Vol. 22, October, 1875, -to March, 1876, 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. 22, October, 1875, to March, 1876 - A Monthly Magazine of General Literature and Science - -Author: Various - -Release Date: April 27, 2017 [EBook #54617] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATHOLIC WORLD, OCT 1875-MAR 1876 *** - - - - -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. XXII. - OCTOBER, 1875, TO MARCH, 1876. - - NEW YORK: - THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE, - 9 Warren Street. - 1876. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - Allegri’s Miserere, 562. - Anglicans, Old Catholics, and the Conference at Bonn, 502. - Anti-Catholic Movements in the United States, 810. - Apostolic Mission to Chili, The, 548. - Are You My Wife? 13, 194, 309, 590, 735. - - Basques, The, 646. - Birth-Place of S. Vincent de Paul, 64. - - Castlehaven’s Memoirs, 78. - Chapter, A, in the Life of Pius IX., 548. - Charities of Rome, The, 266. - Christmas Vigil, A, 541. - Colporteurs of Bonn, The, 90. - - Doctrinal Authority of the Syllabus, 31. - Duration, 111, 244. - - Early Persecutions of the Christians, 104. - Eternal Years, The, 656, 841. - - Finding a Lost Church, 282. - Freemasonry, 145. - Friends of Education, The, 758. - From Cairo to Jerusalem, 529. - - Garcia Moreno, 691. - Gladstone Controversy, Sequel of the, 577, 721. - Grande Chartreuse, A Night at the, 712. - - Historical Romance, A, 43, 162, 339, 614, 772. - - Incident of the Reign of Terror, An, 260. - Indian Legend, 277. - Is She Catholic? 188. - - King of Metals, The, 417. - - Law of God, The, and the Regulations of Society, 223. - Lord Castlehaven’s Memoirs, 78. - Lost Church, Finding a, 282. - Louise Lateau before the Belgian Royal Academy of Medicine, 823. - - Madame’s Experiment, 637. - Message, A, 445. - Midnight Mass in a Convent, 523. - Missions in Maine from 1613 to 1854, 666. - Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration, 289. - - Nellie’s Dream on Christmas Eve, 560. - New Hampshire, Village Life in, 358. - Night at the Grande Chartreuse, A, 712. - - Palatine Prelates of Rome, 373. - Pious Pictures, 409. - Power, Action, and Movement, 379. - Precursor of Marco Polo, A. 210. - President’s Speech at Des Moines, The, 433. - President’s Message, The, 707. - Primitive Civilization, 626. - Progress _versus_ Grooves, 276. - Protestant Episcopal Church Congress, The, 473. - Prussia and the Church, 678, 787. - - Queen Mary, 1. - Questions Concerning the Syllabus, 31. - - Recollections of Wordsworth, 329. - Reign of Terror, An Incident of the, 260. - Revival in Frogtown, A, 699. - Rome, The Charities of, 266. - Rome, The Palatine Prelates of, 373. - - S. Agnes’ Eve Story, A, 637. - St. Jean de Luz, 833. - Search for Old Lace in Venice, A, 852. - Sequel of the Gladstone Controversy, 577, 721. - Sir Thomas More, 43, 162, 339, 614, 772. - Songs of the People, 395. - Story of Evangeline in Prose, The, 604. - Story with Two Versions, A, 800. - Summary Considerations on Law, 223. - - Traces of an Indian Legend, 277. - Tennyson’s Queen Mary, 1. - - Village Life in New Hampshire, 358. - Vincent de Paul, S., Birth-Place of, 64. - - William Tell and Altorf, 127. - Wordsworth, Recollections of, 329. - - Year, The, of Our Lord 1875, 565. - Yule Raps, 484. - - -POETRY. - - Adelaide Anne Procter, 89. - Æschylus, 209. - - Christmas Chimes, 501. - - Free Will, 559. - - Not Yet, 394. - - “O Valde Decora!” 12. - - Paraphrase from the Greek, A, 222. - Patient Church, The, 613. - - S. Philip’s Home, 139. - S. Louis’ Bell, 527. - Seven Fridays in Lent, The, 734. - Sine Labe Concepta, 357. - Song, 275. - Sonnets in Memory of the late Sir Aubrey de Vere, 444. - Stars, The, 126. - Suggested by a Cascade at Lake George, 771. - Summer Storms, 416. - Sweet Singer, A, 89. - - To-day and Yesterday, 564. - - Unremembered Mother, The, 110. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - Acta et Decreta Concilii Vaticani, 718. - Alcott’s Eight Cousins, 431. - Allibert’s Life of S. Benedict, 575. - American State and American Statesmen, 719. - Allies’ Formation of Christendom, 858. - American Catholic Quarterly Review, The, 859. - - Baunard’s Life of the Apostle S. John, 573. - Bégin’s Le Culte Catholique, 286. - Bégin’s The Bible and the Rule of Faith, 288. - Birlinger’s Volksthümliches aus Schwaben, 718. - Boudon’s Holy Ways of the Cross, 717. - Buckley’s Supposed Miracles, 856. - - Calderon’s Groesste Dramen religiösen Inhalts, 718. - Clarke’s Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration, 575. - Coleridge’s Public Life of Our Lord, 717. - Constable and Gillies, Personal Reminiscences of, 720. - Cudmore’s Civil Government of the States, etc., 429. - Correction, A, 860. - - Dix’s The American State and American Statesmen, 719. - - Earle’s Light leading unto Light, 143. - Eight Cousins, 431. - Evidences of Catholicity, 574. - Exposition of the Church, An, etc., 419. - Exposition of the Epistles of S. Paul, etc., 144. - - First Annual Report of the Chaplain of the Albany Penitentiary, 144. - Flowers from the Garden of the Visitation, 287. - Formation of Christendom, The, 858. - Full Course of Instruction in Explanation of the Catechism, 432. - - Garside’s The Sacrifice of the Eucharist, 718. - - Historical Scenes from the Old Jesuit Missions, 575. - History of the Protestant Reformation, 574. - Holland’s Sevenoaks, 430. - Holy Ways of the Cross, etc., 717. - - Illustrated Catholic Family Almanac, 430. - Indoors and Out; or, Views from the Chimney Corner, 720. - - Jannet’s Les Etats-Unis Contemporains, etc., 716. - - Kavanagh’s John Dorrien, 287. - Kip’s Historical Scenes, 575. - Knight and Raikes’ Personal Reminiscences, 288. - - Lamb, Hazlitt, and Others, Personal Recollection of, 428. - Lehrbuch des Katholischen und Protestantischen Kirchenrechts, 718. - Lonormant’s Madame Récamier and her Friends, 431. - Life and Letters of Paul Seigneret, 576. - Life of S. Benedict, 575. - Life of the Apostle S. John, 573. - Light leading unto Light, 143. - Lynch’s (Bishop) Pastoral Letter, 576. - - MacEvilly’s Exposition of S. Paul’s Epistles, etc., 144. - Manual of the Sisters of Charity, 432. - Manual of Catholic Indian Missionary Associations, 859. - Medulla Theologiæ Moralis, 574. - Miller’s Ship in the Desert, 573. - Miscellanea, 432. - Mr. Gladstone and Maryland Toleration, 575. - Moriarty’s Wayside Pencillings, 431. - Morris’ The Troubles of our Catholic Forefathers, 141. - - Noethen’s Report of the Albany Penitentiary, 144. - Noethen’s Thirteen Sermons, etc., 144. - - Pastoral Letter of Bishop Lynch, 576. - Perry’s Full Course of Instruction, etc., 432. - Persecutions of Annam, The, 719. - Personal Reminiscences by Knight and Raikes, 288. - Personal Recollections of Lamb, Hazlitt, and Others, 428. - Personal Reminiscences by Constable and Gillies, 720. - Public Life of Our Lord, 717. - - Rohling’s Medulla Theologiæ Moralis, 574. - - Sacrifice of the Eucharist, etc., 718. - Sadlier’s Excelsior Geography, 430. - Sevenoaks, 430. - Ship in the Desert, The, 573. - Shortland’s The Persecutions of Annam, 719. - Spalding’s Miscellanea, 432. - Spalding’s Evidences of Catholicity, 574. - Spalding’s History of the Reformation, 574. - Story of S. Peter, 718. - Supposed Miracles, 856. - - Thirteen Sermons preached in the Albany Penitentiary, 144. - Three Pearls, The, 573. - Troubles of our Catholic Forefathers, The, 141. - - Vering’s Lehrbuch des Katholischen und Protestantischen - Kirchenrechts, 718. - Volksthümliches aus Schwaben, 718. - - Wayside Pencillings, etc., 431. - - Young Catholic’s Illustrated Table Book, etc., 430. - - - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XXII., No. 127.--OCTOBER, 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. - - -MR. TENNYSON’S QUEEN MARY.[1] - -Mr. Tennyson has achieved a great reputation as a lyric poet. He urges -now a higher claim. In the sunset of a not inglorious life, when we -should have expected his lute to warble with waning melodies and less -impassioned strains, he lays it aside as too feeble for his maturer -inspirations, and, as though renewed with the fire of a second youth, he -draws to his bosom a nobler instrument, and awakes the echoes of sublimer -chords. He has grown weary of the lyric - - “hœrentem multa cum laude coronam,” - -and with some confidence claims the dramatic bays. Nay, he even invites a -comparison with Shakspere. True to the temper of the times, his prestige -follows him in so hazardous a competition, the accustomed wreaths are -showered upon him with unreflecting haste, and the facile representatives -of the most incapable of critics--public opinion--have already offered -him that homage as a dramatist which had already been too lavishly -offered to his idyllic muse. - -It is an ungrateful task to go against the popular current, and it is -an ungracious one to object to crowns which the multitude have decreed. -But there is no help for it, unless we would stoop to that criticism of -prestige which is so characteristic of the age, and would follow in the -wake of the literary rabble, criticising the works by the author, instead -of the author by his works. - -We may as well say, at once, that we have never felt it in our power -to acknowledge the poetical supremacy of the English poet-laureate.[2] -It has always appeared to us that there is, in his poetry, a lack of -inspiration. To borrow a too familiar but expressive metaphor, the coin -is highly burnished, glitters brightly, and has the current stamp, but -one misses the ring of the genuine metal. He sits patiently on the -tripod, dealing forth phrases as musical as Anacreon’s numbers, and -as polished as those of a Greek sophist, spiced with a refined humor, -which has a special charm of its own. But his soul does not kindle at -the sacred fire. We miss the divine frenzy. A passionateness of love -of the beautiful does not appear to be the quickening inspiration of -his creations. All alike show signs of extreme care and preparation. We -do not forget the counsel of Horace. But that only refers to a distant -revision of creations which an unchecked genius may have produced under -the divine influence. Whereas, Mr. Tennyson’s poetry bears evidence of -infinite toil in production. All his thoughts, ideas, and images, down to -words and phrases, are too evidently, instead of the happy inspirations -of genius, the labored workmanship of a polished, refined, and fastidious -mind. They something resemble the _tout ensemble_ of a _petit maître_ -who has succeeded in conveying to his dress an appearance of such -consummate simplicity and unexceptionable taste that every one notices -the result of hours before the mirror. His diction is pure and polished, -his phrases simple and nervous, and the English language owes him much -for what he has done towards neutralizing the injury inflicted on it -by the gaudy phraseology of the “correct” poets, and the antithetical -sesquipedalianism of such prose writers as Johnson and Gibbon, and -for preserving it in its pure and nervous simplicity. But his soul is -dull to the poetic meanings of nature. His natural scenery is rather -descriptive than a creation, much as artists, of whom there are not a -few, who reproduce with consummate skill of imitation objects in detail, -and bestow infinite care upon color, shade, perspective, grouping, and -all the other technical details of a picture, whilst comparatively -indifferent to the subject, which ought to be the poetic meaning of -creations of genius. And what are they but only fruitful manifestations -of the love of the beautiful, and echoes of its creative word, not the -mere manipulations of an artificer? Mr. Tennyson’s descriptions of nature -owe their vividness to the brilliance of word-painting and a certain -refined delicacy of touch; sometimes, even, and indeed very often, to a -certain quaint humor which is inconsistent with the highest art--it is -not a passionate love which regards the object beloved from a ridiculous -point of view--as when he describes the willows living adown the banks of -a streamlet as “shock-headed pollards _poussetting_ down the stream.” - -The sensations provoked by his poetry resemble those of one who has -sauntered through a museum of precious stones of rare workmanship and -purest water. Our æsthetic taste has been pleased by the glitter and the -color and the brilliance, but our mind and heart have not been deeply -moved. His poems are ablaze with detached thoughts of lofty meaning, -and of a multitude of others whose meaning is not obvious, all alike -expressed in vivid imagery, in the purest phraseology, and in rare melody -of rhythm. But they are confused and cabalistic. He seems to be always -laboring to be incomprehensible. He calls it “the riddling of the bards.” -And he succeeds. The problem of the Sphinx, the emblematic warning sent -by the Scythians to their Persian invader, the mute counsel sent by the -Samian to the Corinthian tyrant, a Delphic oracle, all were clear and -easy by comparison with Mr. Tennyson’s lyrics, alike in detached passages -and in entire poems. None of woman born can fathom the meaning of the -_Idylls of the King_. - -This defect alone is fatal to poetry. So keenly did Spenser feel it that -although the meaning of his allegory, _The Faerie Queene_, is obvious -enough to any ordinary intelligence, he is careful to explain it in full -in a letter dedicated to Sir Walter Raleigh. - -Mr. Tennyson, on the contrary, involves himself in the thickest mystery -he can contrive, and expects his worshippers to take it for inspiration. -Take the following, for example, from “The Coming of Arthur”: - - “Rain, rain, and sun, a rainbow in the sky! - A young man will be wiser by-and-by, - An old man’s wit may wander e’er he die. - - “Rain, rain, and sun, a rainbow on the lea! - And truth is this to me, and that to thee - And truth, or clothed or naked, let it be. - - “Rain, sun, and rain! and the free blossom blows, - Sun, rain, and sun! and where is he who knows? - From the great deep to the great deep he goes.” - -These are, no doubt, “riddling triplets,” as he himself calls them. The -riddling of Shakspere’s fools, even the wanderings from the night of -distraught Ophelia’s brain, are light itself by the side of them. We may -well echo his invocation of “Sun, rain, and sun! and where is he who -knows?” Whatever inspiration may be evident here, it is not that of the -beautiful. And yet even this has snatches of meaning which many passages -we might adduce have not; as the following, from “Gareth and Lynette”: - - “Know ye not, then, the riddling of the bards? - Confusion, and illusion, and relation. - Elusion, and occasion, and evasion?” - -It is almost a pity that the bard did not complete his “riddling” while -he was about it. Another couplet: - - Diffusion, and ablution, and abrasion. - Ablution, expectation, botheration, - -would have rendered still more impenetrable the bardic mystery. - -There is no resemblance in this studied concealment of meaning, if -meaning there be, to that - - “Sacred madness of the bards - When God makes music through them,” - -of which he sings. It is more like the melodious confusion of the Æolian -harp. Even if the poet have a definite meaning in his own mind, if he -so express it that I cannot even guess it, to me it is nonsense; and -nonsense, however melodious, although it may enchant my sense, cannot -move my heart. Here and there, however, our poet sings snatches of real -poetry, as Sir Bedivere’s answer to his king in “The Coming of Arthur”: - - “I heard the water lapping on the craig - And the long ripple washing in the reeds.” - -Upon the whole, Mr. Tennyson excels in a certain underlying vein of -exquisitely refined humor. And when his subject admits of it, he is -unrivalled. His is the poetry of humor. We would name as examples “The -Northern Farmer” and the satirical poem, “Locksley Hall,” perhaps the -most vigorous of all his productions; and, of his longer poems, _The -Princess_. It is for this reason we think he is more likely to excel, as -a dramatist, in comedy than in tragedy. - -If our readers would estimate the full force of our remarks, we would -invite them to read the works of any of the principal of our earlier -lyrical poets, as, for example, Collins. We name him because he too -excels in that melody of versification for which Mr. Tennyson is so -distinguished. At times, as in his “Sonnet on Evening,” he surpasses the -Laureate in that respect, although for sustained and unfailing rhythmical -melody the latter bears away the palm from him, and perhaps from every -other rival. But in profound sympathy with nature, in the fidelity of his -creations, in the echoes of the beautiful which he provokes within the -soul of the reader, the Poet-Laureate must yield to the Demy of Magdalen. -Like Shakspere, he peopled inanimate nature with a fairy world, and -amongst elves and genii and other dainty spirits he abandoned himself to -that power of impersonation which is almost an attribute of a true poet. - -Our space does not admit of illustrative quotations, but we would refer -the reader inclined to institute the comparison suggested to the elegy -over Fidele, in the play of _Cymbeline_, and to his _Eclogues_. - -Mr. Tennyson’s poetry has beauties of its own peculiar kind of so -remarkable and striking a description that we might have hesitated to -take any exceptions whatsoever to his poetical genius. But his new poem, -his first effort in dramatic poetry, seems to us to set all doubt at -rest. It convinces us that, for whatever reasons, of the highest flights -of poetic inspiration Mr. Tennyson is incapable. We are convinced that he -lacks that which constitutes a great poet. However beautiful his poetry, -we feel that it wants something which, however keenly we may be sensible -of it, it is not easy either to analyze or explain. - -For what is the inspiration of poetry but the echoes of the beautiful -within the soul of man? The universe of things is the visible word -of God. It is his essential beauty projected by an energy of creative -love--the quickening spirit opening his wings over chaos--into an -objective existence, on which its generator looked with complacency -as “very good,” and which he generated in order that his creature, -whom he had made in his own image, might, with himself, rejoice in -its contemplation. He did not, at first, endow him with the power of -beholding himself “face to face,” but only his reflex. We have the right -to believe that, whilst in union with his Maker, he read at a glance the -meaning of the word, he felt instantaneously the beauty of the image. His -nature, into which no discord had as yet been introduced, uncondemned -to the judgment of painful toil, did not acquire charity and knowledge -by long and laborious processes, disciplinary and ratiocinative, but by -intuition. Incapable as yet of the Beatific Vision, he comprehended the -whole of the divine beauty as revealed in creation, and the comprehension -itself was a transport of love. He saw, and knew, and loved, and the -three were one simultaneous energy of the sonship of his nature. But, as -now, “the greatest of these was charity.” It was the result and sum and -end of the sight and knowledge. It was the feeling they inevitably and -unremittingly occasioned. To speak as we can only speak in our actual -condition, it was as those thuds of loving admiration with which our -hearts throb when we look upon some surpassing embodiment of innocent -and modest female loveliness. When the mind, jealous of pre-eminence, -led captive, so to speak, the heart in revolt against the revealed law, -the human being was no longer in union with himself, a war of impulses -and of energies was set up within him, the image of God was defaced, his -perception of created beauty became more and more obscure as he went -further away from his original abode of innocence, until, finally, it was -all but lost. The emotion, if we may describe it as such, which it was of -its nature to suggest, could not perish, for it is imperishable. But it -had lost its true object, and surveyed knowledge in a form more or less -degraded. - -Now out of this very faint and rapid sketch of a psychological theory -which would require a volume for its development, we hope to be able to -convey some idea, however vague, of the nature of the poetic spirit. - -It is certain that the remains of the divine image have not since been -alike and equal in all the individuals of the race. It may be asserted, -on the contrary, that there are no two human microcosms in which the -elements of the confusion introduced into them by the original infidelity -exist in the same proportion. Those in whom the intelligence is the -quickest to see, and the mind, heart, and soul to love in unison, the -image of divine beauty revealed in creation--those, that is, in whom the -divine image remains the most pronouncedly--are the truest poets. - -When this echo of the soul to the beautiful does not go beyond the -physical creation, the inspirations of love express themselves in lyric -or idyllic poetry. The poet imitates the divine Creator in reproducing, -even creating, images of his lower creation so faithful and suggestive -that they who look upon them experience similar sensations and emotions -to those provoked within them by the divine creation itself, nay, not -unseldom, even profounder ones. He reveals the beautiful in similar -images to those in which The Beautiful revealed himself to his creature; -he is thus himself a ποιητὴς, or creator, and his work is a ποίησις, or -creation. When his forms derive their inspiration only from the inferior -creation, they are exclusively some form of idyls or lyrics. But when, -soaring above the grosser medium of the merely material universe, and -poising himself on wings tremulous with reverent joy at the confines -of the invisible, his soul echoes the music of the beautiful issuing -from that invisible creation; and that imitative energy which is of its -essence, inspired by these reawakening inspirations, calls into being -psychical individualities with their precise bodily expression and -proper destinies--that is to say, with all the causes and results, ebb -and flow, action and reaction, in human affairs, of every volition and -energy, he reproduces the highest energy of the divine creative power, he -evokes into sensible existence whole multitudes of fresh creatures made -in the image of God, and, what is even yet more sublime, he evokes into -equally sensible being the particular providence which overrules each -and all--the one difference between the two creations being that one is -original, the other imitative; one imaginary--that is, _merely_ sensible; -the other, not only sensible, but _real_ also, and _essential_. Yet are -the accidents of the former produced occasionally with such extraordinary -fidelity that they have sometimes, as in the creations of Shakspere, for -example, the same effect upon those who become acquainted with them as if -they were in truth the latter. - -Who that has ever studied the creations of that immortal dramatist has -not them all, from high to low, treasured within his inner being as -vividly as any other of his absent acquaintances, whom he has met in -society, to whom he has been formally introduced, with whom he has eaten, -drank, laughed, wept, walked, and conversed? Has not that remarkable -genius transgressed even the imitative faculty--imitative, that is, -of all the original creative energy that is known--produced original -creations, and peopled the preter- rather than supernatural with beings -which have no known existence, but whom nevertheless he surrounds with a -distinct verisimilitude which ensures them easy admission into our minds -and hearts, which presents them to our senses as concrete beings with as -much positiveness, and even as clearly defined individuality, as if they -were solid creatures of flesh and bone, and which makes us feel that if -such beings did really exist, they would be none other than precisely -those he has represented? - -Of such sort, we take it, is the highest, or dramatic, poetry. And of -it there is a manifest deficiency in this work, which its author terms, -indeed, a drama, but which is in fact a tragedy. - -Mr. Tennyson has not enough of the divine afflatus to write tragedy. If -he has not sufficient love of the beautiful in inanimate nature for his -soul to echo to it, and his heart to throb with the sense of it, with -the rapidity of an intuition, so as to make unattainable to him the -highest excellence in lyric poetry, how much more out of his reach must -be a first rank in the tragic drama; where, if anywhere, an intuition of -the beautiful amounting to an inspiration is demanded in that supreme -creation of God which, as the consummation of his “work” and word, he has -embodied in his own substance! In that profound and intuitive perception -of the workings of man’s inner being, of the passions, emotions, -feelings, appetites, their action and reaction, ebb and flow; of the -struggle of the two natures, its infinite variety and play of life, under -all conceivable conditions and vicissitudes, with much more than can be -detailed here included in these, Mr. Tennyson is strikingly deficient. - -In the tragedies of Shakspere, as in all his dramas, the distinct -personality of every one of the characters, high and low, is impressed -upon us with vivid distinctness. But the principal personages in the -tragedies dilate before us in heroic proportions as the portentous -struggle progresses. Whether it be King Lear, or King John, or King -Richard, or Othello, or Lady Macbeth, or Lady Constance, or the widowed -Princess of Wales, or Ophelia, or whoever else, we look on with bated -breath, as did the spectators of the boat-race with which Æneas -celebrated the suicide of his regal paramour, and we come away at its -close a prey to the storm of emotions which the magic art of the island -sorcerer has conjured up within us. - -But the drama, or tragedy, as we prefer to call it, we read with but -languid interest. The psychical struggle is neither very obvious nor very -critical, there is no very striking revelation of the sublime beauty or -tragic overthrow of human nature, and although the canvas is crowded -with figures, not one of them impresses any very distinct image of his -or her individuality on our mind and heart. Instead of, as Shakspere’s -creations, retaining every one of them as a distinct and intimate -acquaintance, whom we may summon into our company at will, we rise from -the perusal of _Queen Mary_ without having received any very definite -impression of any, even the principal, personages, and we forget all -about them almost as soon as we have read the play. - -This vital defect in a drama the author has rendered doubly fatal through -his having carried his imitation of Shakspere to the extent of adopting -his simplicity of plot. Shakspere could afford to do this. The inspired -verisimilitude of the struggle of the two natures in every one of his -human creations, the profoundness of his development of the innermost -working of the human microcosm, often by a few master-touches, surround -every one of his _dramatis personæ_ with all the rapt suspense and -sustained interest of a plot. Every one of his characters is, as it were, -a plot in itself. But it is quite certain that Mr. Tennyson--and it is no -depreciation of him--has not this power. He has, therefore, every right -to call to his aid the interest of an elaborate plot, which itself would -also, we think, cause him to develop more vividly his characters. It is -in this the late Lord Lytton, whose poetical pretensions are very much -below Mr. Tennyson’s, achieved whatever success he had as a dramatist. -Mr. Tennyson has not to depend on this solely, as was very nearly the -case with Lord Lytton, but it would contribute very much to a higher -success. The great dramatist he is unwise enough so avowedly to imitate -peoples the simplest plot with a whole world of stirring destinies. He -moves his quickening wand, and lo! as by the master-will of a creator, -appear a Hamlet or a Malvolio, a Lady Macbeth or a Goneril or Miranda, -an Ariel or a Caliban, contribute their precise share to the history, -which would not have been complete without them, and then disappear from -the scene, but never from our memory. A magic word or two has smitten -them into _it_, and they live for aye in our mind and heart. His heroes -and his heroines he clothes with such a majesty of poetry that we watch -anxiously with bated breath their every gesture, word, or look; we -cannot bear their absence, until, entranced into their destiny, and half -unconscious, we watch them disappear in the catastrophe, our ears are -blank, all voices mute, the brilliant theatre is the chamber of death, -and they who, to us, were but now living flesh and blood, in whose -destinies our innermost soul was rapt, have passed away, amidst a tempest -of emotions, and are no more. - -But Thucydides’ _History of the Peloponnesian War_, either of the -two great classic epics, or any striking historic passage in even so -ungraphic a writer as Lingard, is more dramatic than this drama. The -feeble plot gives birth to feebler impersonations. They come and go -without making any deep impression upon us, or seizing our attention by -any striking originality. Their features are indistinct, their actions -insignificant. They are bloodless and colorless. They are ghosts, things -of air, whom a feeble incantation has summoned from their slumber, who -mutter a few laborious Spartanisms in a renewed life in which they -seem to have no concern, and vanish without provoking a regret, nor -even an emotion. We observe in them such an absence of verisimilitude, -so marked a want of truth to nature, as very much to weaken, when it -does not entirely destroy, the dramatic illusion. Nowhere is this more -observable than where he intends most manifestly a rivalry of Shakspere. -Shakspere not unseldom introduces the multitude into his poetic history. -But when he does so, it seizes our interest as forcibly as his more -important personages. With a few rapid touches he dashes in a few typical -individuals, who reveal to us vividly what the whole kind of thing is -of which they are prominent units. They are the mob of the very time -and place to which they belong. Whether at Rome in the time of Julius -Cæsar, or at Mantua or Verona in the Middle Ages, or in England during -the time of the Tudors, we feel that they act and speak just as then -and there they might have said and done. Every one, too, has his or -her distinct individuality. And such a verisimilitude have they that -even an occasional anachronism, such as, in _Troilus and Cressida_, -making a Trojan servant talk of _being in the state of grace_, does not -dispel the charm. But Mr. Tennyson’s mob-types have no more striking -features to seize our interest than his more exalted creations, whilst -his anachronisms are of a kind which send all verisimilitude to the -winds. Joan and Tib, and the four or five citizens, have nothing in them -for which they should be singled out of the very ordinary condition of -life to which they belong. And we are tempted to sneer when we hear an -Elizabethan mob talking like Hampshire or Yorkshire peasants of the -present day. - -For all that, Mr. Tennyson’s cockneys and rustics are not his most -ineffective portraiture. We experience a slight sensation of their -having been lugged in, perhaps because of the inevitable comparison with -Shakspere they provoke, and we feel them to be too modern; but the poet’s -sense of humor here serves him in good stead, and although, in this -respect, immeasurably below Shakspere, he gives a kind of raciness to his -plebeians which saves them from being an absolute failure. - -It is, however, in the principal personages of the drama that we most -miss the Promethean fire, and pre-eminently in the hero, if Cranmer is -intended for such a dignity, and the heroine. Amongst these, the most -lifelike are Courtenay and Sir Thomas Wyatt; because, in their creation, -the peculiar vein of quaint irony and exceedingly refined humor, which is -Mr. Tennyson’s most eminent distinction, comes to his aid. For the rest, -up to the heroine herself and the canting and recanting Cranmer, they are -colorless and bloodless. We scarcely know one from the other. And we do -not care to. Noailles and Renard are but poor specimens of diplomatists. -Their sovereigns, were the time the present, might pick up a dozen such -any day in Wall Street. If the poet could embody no greater conception -of two such men as Bonner and Gardiner than a couple of vulgar, -self-seeking, blood-thirsty knaves, he should have dispensed altogether -with their presence. He should have given to them some elevation, -whatever history may say about it. A drama is a poem, not a history; and -the poet may take the names of historic personages and, within certain -limits, fit to them creations of his own. In Cardinal Pole he had an -opportunity for a noble ideal. But all we have is an amiable dummy, an -old gentleman, as ordinary and ineffective as the rest. - -Facts have been so distorted by the influence which for so long had sole -possession of literature, that there is plenty of room for taking great -liberties with history. Mr. Tennyson has slightly availed himself of -this, but in the wrong direction. Shakspere himself could not have made -a saint of Cranmer. For poetry, there was nothing for it but to make him -a more splendid sinner. To retain all his littlenesses and to array them -in seductive virtues, is to present us with some such figure as the dusky -chieftains decked in gaudy tinsel that solicit our admiration in front of -the tobacconists’ shops. To attempt to give heroic proportions to a man -whose profession of faith followed subserviently his self-interest until -no hope remained, and then place in the hands of the burning criminal -the palm of martyrdom, is to invite the love within us of the beautiful -and the true to echo to a psychical impossibility, and that without an -element of greatness. - -Yet had the front figure of the history been a noble conception grandly -executed all this might have been condoned. One might well have looked -at them as a few rough accessories to heighten by their contrast the -beauty of the central form. There was place for a splendid creation. No -more favorable material for a tragic heroine exists than Mary Tudor--with -the single exception of that other Mary who fell beneath the Puritans -like a lily before the scythe of the destroyer. Around her history and -person circle all the elements of the tenderest pathos, which is of the -very essence of tragedy. That Shakspere did not use them is a proof -he thought so. For “the fair vestal throned in the west” would have -resented such a creation as his quickening genius would have called -to life. A queen of noble nature gradually swept away by a resistless -current of untoward circumstances, is a history capable of the sublimity -of a Greek catastrophe, with the added pathos of Christian suffering. -But who have we here? A silly woman, devoutly pious, and endowed with -a conspicuous share of the family courage. But she is so weak that -her piety has the appearance of superstition, and her fits of courage -lose their royalty and fail to rescue her from contempt. Unattractive -in person, she falls desperately in love with a man much younger than -herself, and her woman’s love, ordinarily so quick to detect coldness in -a lover, is blind to the grossest neglect; and yet not so blind but that -a few words scrawled on a rag of paper, dropped in her way, could open -her eyes on the spot. The tenderness of her love and the importunity of -cruel-minded men, transform her almost suddenly from a gentle-natured -woman to an unrelenting human tigress. And she, who would not allow the -law to take its course on her most dangerous enemies, can exclaim of her -sister Elizabeth, - - “To the Tower with _her_! - My foes are at my feet, and I am queen.” - -Afterwards of Guilford Dudley, the Duke of Suffolk, and Lady Jane Grey-- - - “They shall die.” - -And again of her sister-- - - “She shall die. - My foes are at my feet, and Philip king.” - -This is not the grandness of crime, as in Richard III., or even in Lady -Macbeth. It is the petty despotism of a weak and silly woman. There is -no greatness of any kind about it. It is the mere triumphant chuckle -of an amorous queen, wooing a more than indifferent husband. It is -little--little enough for a comedy. There is something approaching the -tragic in the desolation of her last moments. Calais is lost, her husband -hates her, her people hate her. But the poet has already robbed her of -the dignity of her position. She has forfeited our esteem. We experience -an ordinary sympathy with her. But her fate is only what was to be -expected. And the highest pathos is out of the question. When, following -the example of her injured mother in the play of _Henry VIII._, she -betakes herself to lute and song, the author insists on a comparison with -Shakspere, and beside the full notes of the Bard of Avon the petty treble -of the Laureate pipe shrinks to mediocrity. - -But the most unpardonable of Mr. Tennyson’s imitations of Shakspere are -those in which he rings the changes on the celebrated passage about “no -Italian priest shall tithe nor toll in our dominions,” which inevitably -provokes the applause of those amongst a theatrical audience who do not -know what it means--unpardonable, because it makes even Shakspere himself -as ridiculous as a poor travesty cannot fail to do. He was content with -one such passage throughout his many plays. If Terence had filtered -the noble sentiment of his celebrated passage, “Ego homo sum, et nihil -humanum a me alienum,” through a variety of forms, it would have excited -the laughter instead of the plaudits of the Roman “gods.” But the author -of _Queen Mary_ is not afraid to pose _his_ sentiment, itself borrowed -in no less than three different attitudes in one play; committing the -additional absurdity of thrusting it, like a quid of tobacco, into the -cheek of two different personages. Gardiner uses it twice, Elizabeth once: - - “Yet I know well [says the former] - Your people … - Will brook nor Pope nor Spaniard here to play - The tyrant, or in commonwealth or church”; - -and again, with questionable taste: - - “And see you, we shall have to _dodge_ again, - And let the Pope trample our rights, and plunge - His _foreign fist_ into our island church, - To plump the leaner pouch of Italy”; - -whilst Elizabeth is made to vulgarize it beyond hope of redemption into a -mere petty ebullition of splenetic womanly vanity: - - “Then, Queen indeed! No foreign prince or priest - Should fill my throne, myself upon the steps.” - -It must be owned, indeed, that this play lacks the highest poetry in -its expression as much as in its conception. We occasionally come -across passages of vivid and vigorous limning, as Count Feria’s reply -to Elizabeth towards the end of the play, and Howard’s description to -the Lord Mayor of the state of mind of the citizens. But even the force -of this latter passage is not dramatic. There is none of the rush and -movement of an excited populace. There are a few striking groups. But -they are inactive. Theirs is a kind of dead life, if we may be pardoned -such an expression. Rather, they are mere _tableaux vivants_. They -inspire us with no fear for Mary’s throne. More near to dramatic power -and beauty is Elizabeth’s soliloquy at Woodstock, suddenly lowered in the -midst of its poetry, even to nursery familiarity, by the introduction of -such a phrase as “catch me who can.” - -But for one single effort of the highest poetic flight we look in vain. - -Even the few snatches of his lyre which he introduces fail to woo us. -They are not natural. If they are poetry, it is poetry in a court-dress. -It is rich with brocade, and the jewels glitter bravely; it treads -delicately, but its movements are artificial and constrained. Compare, -for example, the song of the Woodstock milkmaid, wherein labor is visible -in every line, with those gushes of nature with which the poet’s soul -would seem to be bubbling over the brim of the visible in the various -lyrical snatches of Ariel or with the song of Spring at the end of -_Love’s Labor Lost_. - -But what has more surprised us than the lack of the poetic inspiration in -this drama is the occasional want of correct taste in a writer of such -exceeding polish as Mr. Tennyson. Such a speech as - - “And God hath blest or cursed me with a nose-- - Your boots are from the horses,” - -should not have been put in the mouth of a lady, still less a lady of the -rank of Elizabeth, and that the less when she appeals to our sympathies -from a kind of honorable imprisonment. - -Lady Magdalen Dacres may have beat King Philip with a staff for insulting -her, and have remained a lady, but we do not want to be told, in the -midst of dramatic pathos, - - “But by God’s providence a good stout staff - Lay near me; and you know me strong of arm; - I do believe I lamed his Majesty’s.” - -Is our poet, again, so barren of invention that he could find no other -way of portraying Philip’s indifference to his Queen than the following: - - “By S. James, I do protest, - Upon the faith and honor of a Spaniard, - I am vastly grieved to leave your Majesty. - Simon, is supper ready?” - “RENARD--Ay, my liege, - I saw the covers laying.” - “PHILIP--Let’s have it.” - -Whatever may be the character he may have wished to depict in Philip, we -expect a Spanish king to be a gentleman. And such an ending of a scene -susceptible of the tenderest pathos, where the heroine and another of the -principal personages of the drama are in presence, argues a wonderful -dulness of perception of the beautiful. - -Worse than all, however, is his treatment of Cardinal Pole. - -Shakspere puts a few words of Latin into the mouth of Cardinal Wolsey -in a scene in _Henry VIII._, in which he and Cardinal Campeggio are -endeavoring to bend the queen to the king’s will. But it is a wonderful -touch of nature. It is one of those profound intuitions for which the -great dramatist is so distinguished. So seemingly simple an incident -reveals, at a touch, as it were, the preoccupation of Wolsey’s mind, and -the hollowness at once and difficulty of the duty he had suffered to -be imposed upon him. They had paid her ostensibly a private visit, as -friends. But Wolsey, oppressed with the difficulty of his undertaking, -and meditating how he should set about it, forgets himself, the old habit -crops up, and he begins as if he were beginning a formal ecclesiastical -document: - - “Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenissima.” - -It is a slip. The queen stops him. He recollects himself, and we hear no -more Latin. - -But in this drama the poet literally makes a cardinal, and such a -cardinal as Pole, address Queen Mary with the angelic salutation to the -Blessed Virgin, and in Latin: - - “Ave Maria, gratia plena, benedicta tu in mulieribus!” - -Upon the whole, the defects of this drama are so many and so serious, so -radical and fundamental, that no competent criticism can pronounce it -other than a failure; and a failure more complete than would have been -thought possible to a poet of so great a reputation as Mr. Tennyson.[3] - - -“O VALDE DECORA!” - - Could I but see thee, dear my love! - That face--but once! Not dazzling bright-- - Not as the blest above - Behold it in God’s light-- - - But as it look’d at La Salette; - Or when, in Pyrenean wild, - It beam’d on Bernadette, - The favor’d peasant child. - - Once seen--a moment--it would blind - These eyes to beauty less than thine: - And where could poet find - Such theme for song as mine? - - But if I ask what may not be, - So spell me with thy pictur’d face - That haunting looks from thee - May hold me like a grace. - - -ARE YOU MY WIFE? - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” “PIUS VI.,” -ETC. - -CHAPTER IX. - -And now a new life began for Franceline. - -“You must fly from idleness as from sin,” Father Henwick said; “you must -never let a regret settle on your mind for an instant. It will often be -hard work to resist them; but we are here to fight. You must shut the -door in the face of idle thoughts by activity and usefulness. I will -help you in this. You must set to work amongst the poor; not so as to -fatigue yourself, or interfere with your duties and occupations at home, -but enough to keep you busy and interested. At first it will be irksome -enough, I dare say; but never mind that. By and by the effort will bring -its own reward, and be a pleasure as well as a duty.” - -He sat down and wrote out a time-table for her which filled up every hour -of the day, and left not one moment for brooding. There were visits to -the cottages and a class for children in the morning; the afternoon hours -were to be devoted to helping her father, writing and copying for him, -sometimes copying MSS. for Father Henwick, with no other purpose than to -keep her mind and her fingers occupied. - -But when the excitement caused by this change in her daily routine -subsided, something of the first heart-sinking returned. Do what she -would, thought would not be dumb. The external activity could not -silence the busy tongues of her brain or deafen her to their ceaseless -whisperings. It was weary work staggering on under her load, while memory -tugged at her heart-strings and dragged its longings the other way. It -was hard not to yield to the temptation now and then of sitting down by -the wayside to rest and look back towards the Egypt that was for ever -out of sight. But Franceline very seldom yielded to the treacherous -allurement. When she caught herself lapsing into dreams, she would rise -up with a resolute effort, and shake off the torpor, and set to work at -something. When the torpor changed to a sting of anguish, she would steep -her soul in prayer--that unfailing opiate of the suffering spirit, its -chloroform in pain. - -One day, about three weeks after Father Henwick’s return, she was coming -home through the wood after her morning’s round amongst the cottages. -She was very tired in mind and body. It was dull work dinning the -multiplication-table into Bessy Bing’s thick skull, and teaching her -unnimble fingers to turn the heel of a stocking; to listen to the widow’s -endless lamentations over “the dear departed” and the good old times when -they killed a pig every year, and always had a bit of bacon on the rack. -Franceline came to the old spot where she used to sit and listen to the -concert of the grove. The songsters were nearly all silent now, for the -green was turning gold; but the felled tree was lying in the same place, -and tempted her to rest a moment and watch the sun shooting his golden -shafts through the wilderness of stems all round. Another moment, and she -was in dreamland; but the spell had scarcely fallen on her when it was -broken by the sound of footfalls crushing the yellow leaves that made -a carpet on every path. She started to her feet, and walked on. A few -steps brought her face to face with Father Henwick. He greeted her with a -joyous exclamation. - -“Here comes my little missionary! What has she been doing to-day?” - -“She has achieved a great conquest; she has arrived at making Bessy Bing -apprehend the problem that seven times nine and nine times seven produce -one and the same total,” replied Franceline with mock gravity. - -Father Henwick laughed; but the tired expression of her face did not -escape him. - -“I am afraid you will be growing too conceited if this sort of thing goes -on,” he said. “But you must not overdo it, my dear child; it won’t do to -wear yourself out in gaining arithmetical triumphs.” - -“Better wear out than rust out.” And Franceline shrugged her shoulders; -she had learned the expressive French trick from her father. - -The priest bent his clear eyes on her for a second without speaking. She -read, disappointment, and perhaps mild reproach, in them. - -“I am sorry I said that, father; I did not mean to complain.” - -“Why are you sorry?” - -“Because it was cowardly and ungrateful.” - -“To whom?” - -“To you, who are so kind and so patient with me!” - -“And who bids me be kind? Who teaches me to be patient with you?--poor -little bruised lamb!” - -“I know it, father; I feel it in the bottom of my heart; but one can’t -always be remembering.” There was the slightest touch of impatience in -her tone. - -“How if God were some day to grow tired of remembering us, and bearing -with us, and forgiving us?” - -“I know. But I am not rebelling; only sickening and suffering. You -have told me there was no sin in that?” The words came tremulous, as -if through rising tears; but Franceline raised her head with a defiant -movement, and forced the briny drops down. “I cannot help it!” she -continued impetuously; “I have tried my best, and I cannot help it!” - -Father Henwick heaved an almost inaudible sigh before he said: “What -cannot you help, Franceline? Suffering?” - -“No! I don’t care about that! Remembering I cannot forget.” - -“My poor child! would to God I could help you! I would suffer willingly -in your place!” The words came like a gush from his inmost heart. They -broke down the sufferer’s proud resistance and let the tears have vent. -He turned to walk back with her. For some time neither spoke; only the -soft sobs that came unchecked from Franceline broke the temple-like -stillness of the wood. Suddenly she cried out in a tone of passionate -desperation: “O father! it is dreadful. It will kill me if it lasts -much longer! The humiliation is more than I can bear! To feel that I am -harboring a feeling that my whole soul rebels against, that is revolting -in the eyes of God and of my conscience! And I cannot master it!” - -“You will never master it by pride, Franceline; that very pride is your -greatest hindrance in setting your heart free. Try and think more of God -and less of yourself. There is no sin, as you say, in the suffering, any -more than, if you strayed to the edge of a precipice in the dark, and -fell over and were killed, you would be guilty of suicide. The sinfulness -now is in your rebellion against the suffering simply because it wounds -your pride.” - -“It is not all pride, father,” she said meekly. Presently she turned and -looked up at him through wet lashes. “Father, I must tell you something,” -she said, speaking with a sort of timidity that was unusual with her -towards him--“a thought that came to me this morning that never came to -me before.…” - -“What was it?” - -“If his wife should die … he would be free?” - -A dark shadow fell now on Father Henwick’s large, smooth brow. Franceline -read his answer in the frown and the averted gaze; but he spoke soon, -though he did not look at her. - -“That was a sinful thought! You should have cast it behind you with -contempt. Has it come to that with you, that you could look forward to -the death of any one as a thing to be longed for?” - -“I did not long for it. The thought came to me.” - -“You should have hunted it out of your mind like an evil spirit, as it -was. You must never let it near you again. _He_ should be to you as if -he were already dead. Whether his wife dies or not should not, and does -not, concern you. Besides, how do you know whether she is not as young as -yourself, and stronger? My child, such a thought as that would lead you -to the brink of an abyss, if you listened to it.” - -“I never will again, father,” she answered promptly. “I hardly know now -whether I listened to it or not; only I could not help telling you.” - -“You were right to tell me; and now banish it, and never let it approach -you again.” - -After a pause he resumed: - -“You are sure that silence is best with M. de la Bourbonais?” - -“Oh! yes. How can you ask me, father?” And Franceline looked up in -surprise. - -“Yet it cannot remain a secret from him for ever; he is almost certain to -hear of it sooner or later, and it might save him a severe shock if he -heard it from you. It would set his mind at rest about you?” - -“It is quite at rest at present on that score. He has no idea that the -discovery would be likely to affect me.” - -“You are better able to judge of that, of course, than I am. But it -grieves me to see you have a secret from your father; I wish it could be -avoided.” - -“But it cannot; indeed it cannot!” she repeated emphatically. “You may -trust me to speak, if I thought it could be done without injury to both -of us. It is much better to wait; perhaps by the time it comes to his -ears I may be able to hear him speak of it without betraying myself and -paining him.” - -Father Henwick acquiesced, but reluctantly. He hoped she was right in -supposing M. de la Bourbonais quite blind to what had been so palpable -to a casual observer. But, making even the fullest allowance for the -absent-minded habits of the studious man, this seemed scarcely probable. -Franceline had affirmed it herself more confidently, perhaps, than -was warranted. She had, however, succeeded in lulling her father into -forgetfulness of his former conjectures and impressions; she was -certain of this. It had been done at a terrible price of endurance and -self-control; but she had succeeded, and it would be doubly cruel now to -revive his suspicions and let him know the truth. - -“I will trust you,” said Father Henwick; “it is indeed a mercy that he is -not called upon to bear such a trial while he is yet so unprepared.” - -There was an earnestness about him as he said this that would have caused -Franceline a deeper emotion than curiosity if her mind were not fixed -wide of the mark. She replied after a moment’s reflection: “If anything -should occur to make it necessary to tell him, will you break it to him, -father?” - -“I will,” said the priest simply. - -Franceline had not the least fear of Father Henwick. The severity of his -passionless brow did not frighten her; it never checked the outflow of -the thoughts and emotions that came surging up from her own perturbed -heart. He seemed too far removed from strife himself to be affected by -it, except as a pitying angel might, looking down from his calm heaven -on poor mortals struggling and striving in the smoke and din of their -earthly battle-field. - -“Father,” said Franceline suddenly, “I wish I cared more for the poor! -I wish I could love them and pity them as you do; but I don’t. I’m so -shy of going amongst them. I’m sure I don’t do them any good, and they -don’t do me any good, they’re so prosy and egotistical--most of them, at -least.” - -He turned an amused, indulgent smile on her. - -“There was a time when I thought so too; but persevere, and the love -will come after a little while. All that is worth having is bought with -sacrifice. Oh! if we could only understand the blessedness of sacrifice! -Then we should find the peace passing all understanding that comes of -passion overcome, of sorrow generously accepted!” - -He held out his hand to say good-by. Franceline laid hers in it; but -did not remove it at once. “Father,” she said, with her eyes lifted in -childlike fearlessness to his, “one would think, to hear you speak of -passion overcome and sorrow accepted, that you knew something about them! -I sometimes wish you did. It would make it easier to me to believe in the -possibility of overcoming and accepting.” - -A change came over Father Henwick’s face for one moment; it was not a -cloud nor a tremor, but the shadow of some deep emotion that must pass -away before he could answer. Then the words came with grave simplicity, -and low, as if they were a prayer: - -“Believe, then, my child, and take courage; I have gone through it all!” - -He turned and walked back into the wood. Franceline stood looking after -him through gathering tear-drops. Never had he seemed so far above her, -so removed from human weakness, as at this moment, when he so humbly -acknowledged kindred with it. - - * * * * * - -A pleasant surprise met Franceline on her return home. Sir Simon was at -The Lilies, and loudly expressing his indignation at not finding her -there to greet him. She arrived, however, before he had quite divested -himself of a cargo of small boxes which he had carried down himself in -order to have the delight of witnessing her curiosity and pleasure in -their contents. There was hardly any event which could have given her so -much pleasure in her present frame of mind as the sight of her kind old -friend; and she satisfied him to the full by her affectionate welcome -and her delight in all his presents. He had not forgotten her favorite -_friandise_--chocolate bonbons--and she set to nibbling them at once, -in spite of Angélique’s protest against such a proceeding close on -dinner-time. - -“Va, petite gourmande!” exclaimed the _bonne_, tramping off to her -kitchen, in high glee to see Franceline’s gayety and innocent greediness -over the dainty. - -Sir Simon was, if possible, in brighter spirits than ever; like Job’s -friends, he was “full of discourse,” so that there was nothing to do -but listen and laugh as the current rippled on. He had a deal to tell -about his rambles in the Pyrenees, and a whole budget of adventures to -retail, and anecdotes about odd people he had come across in all sorts -of out-of-the-way places. Nothing checked the pleasant flow until M. de -la Bourbonais had the unlucky inspiration to inquire for Lady Rebecca’s -health; whereupon the baronet raised his right hand and let it fall -again with an emphatic gesture, shook his head, and compressed his -lips in ominous silence. Raymond, who held the key of the pantomime, -gathered therefrom that Lady Rebecca had for the six-and-thirtieth -time rallied from the jaws of death, and plunged her long-suffering -heir once more into dejection and disappointment. He knew what was -in store for his private ear, and heaved a sigh. “But the present -hour shall be a respite,” Sir Simon seemed to say; and he quitted the -subject abruptly, and proceeded to catechise Franceline on her behavior -since his departure. He was surprised and annoyed to find that she had -been to no parties; that nothing more exciting than that short visit -to Rydal had come of his deep-laid scheme with the dowager; and that -there had been no rivalry of gallant suitors attacking the citadel of -The Lilies. He had been rather nervous before meeting her; for, though -it had been made quite clear to him by Raymond’s letters that _he_ had -received no crushing blow of any description, Sir Simon had a lurking -fear that recent events might have left a deeper shadow on his daughter’s -existence than he was conscious of. Her aspect, however, set him at -ease on this score. He could hardly have lighted on a more favorable -moment for the confirmation of his sanguine hopes regarding Franceline’s -heart-wholeness. True, she had been crying, only half an hour ago, -bitter, burning tears enough; but her face retained no trace of them, and -it still held the glow of inward triumph that Father Henwick’s last words -had called up into her eyes, and her cheeks had got a faint color from -the rapid walking. Sir Simon breathed freely as he took note of these -outward signs; he could indulge in a little chaffing without remorse or -_arrière-pensée_. He wanted to know, merely as a matter of curiosity, how -many hearts she had broken in his absence--how many unfortunates had been -mortally struck as they passed within reach of her arrows on the wayside. -Franceline protested that she carried no quiver, and had not inflicted a -scratch on any one. Humph! Sir Simon invited her to convey that answer to -the marines. - -“And how about Ponsonby Anwyll? Has he been here lately?” - -“No; he called twice, but papa and I were out.” - -“Poor devil! so much the better for him! But he won’t have the sense to -keep out of harm’s way; he’ll be at it again before long.” - -Franceline gave one of her merry laughs--she was in a mood to enjoy the -absurdity of the joke--and went to take off her things; for Angélique put -in her head to say that dinner was ready. - -Things fell quickly into their old course at the Court. There was a -procession of morning callers every day, and pleasant friendly dinners, -and a few men down in relays to shoot. Sir Simon insisted on M. de la -Bourbonais coming to join them frequently, and bringing Franceline; -he had established a precedent, and he was not going to let it drop. -Franceline, on the whole, was glad of the excitement; she was determined -to use everything that could help her good resolutions; and the necessity -for seeming to enjoy soon led to her doing so in reality. After the -stillness of her little home-life, filled as it was with restless voices -audible to no ear but hers, the gay stir of the Court was welcome. It -was a pleasurable sensation, too, to feel herself the object of admiring -attentions from a number of agreeable gentlemen, to be deferred to and -made much of, as if she were a little queen amongst them all. Sir Simon -was more indulgent than ever, and spoiled her to his heart’s content. -Father Henwick, who was kept _au courant_ of what was going on, could -not find it in his heart to oppose what seemed to be an innocent -diversion of her thoughts. - -It was, therefore, anything but a welcome break when Lady Anwyll came -down one morning, accompanied by Sir Simon, to announce her intention -of carrying off her friend the next day to Rydal. Franceline fought off -while she could, but Sir Simon pooh-poohed her excuses about not liking -to leave her father, and so forth; _he_ was there now to look after him, -and she must go. So she went. Rydal had a dreadful association in her -mind, and she shrank from going there as from revisiting the scene of -some horrible tragedy. She shrank, too, from leaving her father. Of late -they had been more bound up in their daily life than ever; she had coaxed -him into accepting her services as an amanuensis, and he had quickly -grown so used to them that he was sure to miss her greatly at his work. - -There was nothing, moreover, in the inmates of Rydal to compensate her -for the sacrifice; they were not the least interesting. It was always -the same good-natured petting from Lady Anwyll, as if she were a kitten -or a baby. She knew exactly what the conversation would be--gossip -about local trifles, about the family, especially Ponce, his boots, his -eccentricities, his pet dishes, his pranks in the regiment; the old tune -played over and over again on the same string. As to Ponce himself, -Franceline knew the big hussar already by heart; he would do his best to -be entertaining, and would only be awkward and commonplace. Nothing at -Rydal, in fact, rose above the dead-level of Dullerton. - -The dowager had some few young people in for a carpet-dance, in which -Franceline had to take her part, and did without any repugnance. Dancing -brought back certain memories that pierced her like steel blades; but -her heart was proof against the thrusts, and she defied them to wound -her. Lord Roxham was invited, and showed himself cordial and friendly, -but nothing more. He said he had been called away to London soon after -they last met, or else he would have profited by M. de la Bourbonais’ -permission to call at The Lilies; he hoped that the authorization might -still hold good. - -“Oh! yes; do come. I shall be so glad to see you,” was the frank and -unaffected reply. - -Lady Anwyll had meantime felt rather aggrieved at Lord Roxham’s behavior. -Her little scheme had gone off so swimmingly at first she could not -understand why it had suddenly collapsed in its prosperous course, -and come to a dead halt. At any rate, she would give him one more -chance. The young legislator seemed in no violent hurry to improve it. -He danced a couple of times with Franceline, and once with two other -young girls, and then subsided to dummy whist with the rector of Rydal -and his wife, leaving Franceline to the combined fascinations of Mr. -Charlton and Ponce, who usurped her between them. The latter bestowed -such an unequal share of a host’s courtesy on the young French girl, -indeed, that his mother felt it incumbent on her to explain to the other -young ladies that Mlle. de la Bourbonais was a foreigner; therefore -Ponce, being so good-natured, paid her particular attention. And he -certainly did--not only on that occasion, but while she remained. He -was continually hovering about her like a huge overshadowing bird -whose wings were always in the way of its movements. He tripped over -footstools in attempting to place them under her feet; but then he -was always so thankful that it was himself, not her, he nearly upset! -He spilt several cups of tea in handing them to her, and was nearly -overcome with gratitude when he saw the carpet had got the contents, -and that her pretty muslin frock was safe! He _would_ hold an umbrella -open over her because it looked so uncommonly like rain; and it was -such a mercy to have only spoiled her bonnet and made a hole in her -veil, when he might so easily have run the point into her eye. Ponce, -like many wiser men, had endless satisfaction in the contemplation of -the blunders he might have committed and did not. Yet, with all his -boyish awkwardness, Franceline was growing very fond of him. He was so -thoroughly kind-hearted, and so free from the taint of conceit; and then -there was an undeniable enjoyment in the sense of being cared for, and -thought of, and watched over; and it was all done in a naïve, boyish -way, and with a brotherly absence of compliment or constraint that left -her free to accept it without any sense of undue obligation, or the fear -of being called upon to repay it except by being pleased and grateful. -When he followed her into the conservatory with a shawl and wrapped it -round her unceremoniously, she looked up at his fresh, honest face, and -said, almost as if he had been a woman: “I wish I had you for a brother, -Captain Anwyll!” He got very red, and was fumbling somewhere in his mind -for an answer, when his mother called to him for the watering-pot; Ponce -seized it, and, dashing out a sudden shower-bath upon the dowager’s -dress, narrowly escaped drenching Franceline’s. But it did escape. What a -lucky dog he was! - -How pleasant it was riding home in the fresh afternoon! Lady Anwyll came -in the carriage, while Franceline and Capt. Anwyll cantered on before. -Nothing was likely to have happened at The Lilies during her absence; -but as they drew near she grew impatient and rode at a pace, as if she -expected wonderful tidings at the ride’s end. The air was so clear that -Dullerton, yet a mile off, sent its hum of life towards the riders with -sharp distinctness. The panting of the train, as it moved out of the -station, sounded close by; every street cry and tinkling cart-bell rang -out like a chime. Soon the soft cooing of the doves came wafted above the -distant voice of the town; and when the travellers came within sight of -The Lilies, the flock flew to greet Franceline, wheeling round high up in -the air several times before alighting on her shoulders and outstretched -wrist. Then came her father’s delighted exclamation, as he hurried down -the little garden-walk, and Angélique’s affectionate embrace. And once -more the small, still home-life, that was so sweet and so rich in a -restored joy, recommenced. Franceline devoted hours every day now to -working with her father, and soon she became almost as much absorbed in -the work as he was. Sometimes, indeed, she hindered rather than helped, -stopping him in the midst of his dictation to demand an explanation; but -Raymond never chided her or grudged the delay. Her fresh young eyesight -and diligent, nimble hand were invaluable to him, and he wondered how he -had got on so long without them. - - * * * * * - -Lord Roxham redeemed his promise of calling at The Lilies. He talked -a good deal to Raymond about politics and current events, saying very -little to Franceline, who sat by, stitching away at some bit of plain -sewing. This was just what she liked. Her father was entertained and -interested. A breeze from the outer world always refreshed him, though -he was hardly conscious of it, still less of needing any such reviving -incident in his quiet, monotonous existence; but Franceline always hailed -it with thankfulness for him, and was well content to remain in the shade -now while the visitor devoted himself to amusing her father. Was it -fancy, or did she, on glancing up suddenly from her needle-work, detect -an expression, half compassionate, half searching, in Lord Roxham’s face, -as he looked fixedly at her? Whether it was fancy or not, her eyes fell -at once, and the blood mantled her cheek; she did not venture to let her -gaze light on him again, and it was with a sense of shyness that she -shook hands with him at parting. - -Ponsonby Anwyll was now a frequent visitor at The Lilies, sometimes -coming alone, sometimes with Sir Simon; and it was a curious coincidence, -if quite accidental, that he generally made his appearance as Franceline -was on the point of starting for her ride; and as he was always on -horseback, there was no conceivable reason why he should not join the -party. The burly hussar was a safer companion in the saddle than in the -drawing-room; he rode with the masterly ease of a cavalryman, and, the -road being free from the disturbing influence of tea-trays and chairs, -he spilt nothing and upset nobody, and Franceline was always glad of -his company. She was too inexperienced and too much absorbed in other -thoughts to forecast any possible results from this state of things. -Ponsonby continued the same familiar, kind, brother-like manner to her; -was mightily concerned in keeping her out of the bad bits of road, and -out of the way of the cattle that might be tramping to market and prove -offensive to her mettlesome pony. He never aimed at making himself -agreeable, only useful. But the eyes of Dullerton looked on at all this -brotherly attention, and drew its own conclusion. The Langrove young -ladies, of whom somehow she had of late seen less than ever, grew excited -to the highest pitch about it, and were already discussing how many of -them would be bridemaids at the wedding, if bridemaids there were. Most -likely Sir Simon would settle that and probably give the dresses. Even -discreet Miss Merrywig could not forbear shaking her finger and her -barrel curls at Franceline one day when the latter hurried off to get -ready for her ride, with the excuse that Sir Simon and Capt. Anwyll were -due at three o’clock. But Franceline knew by this time what Dullerton -was, and what it could achieve in the way of gossip; spinning a yarn a -mile long out of a thread the length of your finger. She only laughed, -and mentally remarked how little people knew. They would be marrying her -to Sir Simon next, when Ponsonby rejoined his regiment and was seen no -more at her saddle-bow. - -The three had set out for a ride one afternoon, when, as they were -dashing along at full tilt, Sir Simon pulled up with a strong formula of -exclamation. - -“What’s the matter?” cried Sir Ponsonby, plunging back heavily, while -Franceline reined in Rosebud, and turned in some alarm to see what had -occurred. - -“If I have not actually forgotten all about Simpson, who comes down from -London by appointment this afternoon! I dare say he’s waiting for me by -this, and he must return by the 5:20. I must leave you, and post home as -quick as Nero will carry me.” And with a “by-by” to Franceline and a nod -to Capt. Anwyll, coupled with an injunction not to let her ride too fast -and to keep her out of mischief, the baronet turned his horse’s head and -galloped away, desiring the groom to follow on with the others. - -They went on at a good pace until they reached the foot of a gentle -ascent, when both of one accord fell into a walk. For the first time in -their intercourse Franceline was conscious of a certain vague awkwardness -with Capt. Anwyll; of casting about for something to say, and not finding -anything. The place was perfectly solitary, the woods on one side, -the fields sloping down to the river on the other. The groom lagged -respectfully a long way behind, quite out of ear-shot, often out of -sight; for the road curved and wheeled abruptly every now and then, and -hid the foremost riders from his view. Ponsonby broke the silence: - -“Miss Franceline”--he would call her Miss Franceline, because it was -easier and shorter--“I have something on my mind that I want badly to say -to you. I’ve been wanting to say it for some time. I hope it won’t make -you angry?” - -“I can’t say till I hear it; but if you are in doubt about it, perhaps -it would be safer not to say it,” remarked Franceline, beginning to -tremble ominously. - -“I wouldn’t vex you for anything in the world! ’Pon my honor I wouldn’t!” -protested Ponce warmly. “But, you see, I don’t know whether what I’m -going to say will vex you or not.” - -“Then don’t say it; you are sure not to vex me then,” was the encouraging -advice, and she devoutly hoped he would take it. But he was not so minded. - -“That’s true,” he assented; “but then, you see, it might please you. I’m -half afraid it won’t, though, only I can’t be sure till I try.” After -musing a moment, in obvious perplexity, he resumed, speaking rapidly, as -if he had made up his mind to bolt it all out and take the consequences. -“I’m not a puppy--my worst enemy won’t accuse me of that; but I’m not a -bad fellow either, as my mother and all the fellows in the Tenth will -tell you; and the fact is, I’ve grown very fond of you, Miss Franceline, -and if you’ll take me as I am I’ll do my best to be a good husband to you -and to make you happy.” - -He said it quickly, as if he were reciting a lesson got by heart, and -then came to a dead halt and “paused for a reply.” He might have paused -long enough, if he had not at last turned round and read his fate in -Franceline’s scared, white face and undisguised agitation. - -“Oh! now, don’t say no before you think it over!” entreated the young -man. “I know you’re ten times too good for me; but, for that matter, -you’re too good for the best fellow that ever lived. I said so myself -to Sir Simon only this morning. But I do love you with all my heart, -Franceline; and if only you could care for me ever so little to begin -with, I’d be satisfied, and you’d make me the happiest man alive!” - -Franceline had now recovered her self-possession, and was able to speak, -though she still trembled. - -“I am so sorry!” she exclaimed. “I never dreamed of this; indeed I did -not! I dare say I have been very selfish, very thoughtless; but it was -not wilful. I am very unhappy to have given you pain!” - -“Oh! don’t say that. You’ll make me miserable if you say that!” pleaded -Ponsonby. “Of course you never thought of it. It’s great impudence of me -to think of it, I have so little to offer you! But if you don’t quite -hate the sight of me, I’m sure I could make you a devoted husband, and -love you better than many a cleverer fellow. I’ve been fond of you from -the first, and so has my mother.” - -“You are both very good to me; I am very, very grateful!” The tears -rose to her eyes, and with a frank, impulsive movement she held out her -hand to him. Ponsonby bent from the saddle and raised it to his lips, -although it was gloved. If he had not been over-sanguine at heart and a -trifle stupid, poor fellow, he would have felt that it was all over with -him. The little hand lay with cold, sisterly kindness in his grasp, and -Franceline looked at him with eyes that were too kind and pitying to -promise anything more than sisterly pity and gratitude. - -“I cannot, I cannot. You must never think of it any more. Do you not see -that it is impossible? I am a Catholic!” - -“Pshaw! as if that mattered a whit! I mean as if it need make any -difference between us! I don’t mind it a pin--’pon my honor I don’t! -I said so to the count. We’ve settled all that, in fact, and if he’s -satisfied to trust me why will not you?” - -“Then you have spoken to my father?” - -“Oh! yes; that was the right thing, Sir Simon told me, as he was a -Frenchman.” - -“And what did he say to you?” - -“He said that if you said yes, he was quite willing to give you to me. I -wanted to come to settlements at once--I only wish I was ten times better -off!--but he would not hear a word about that until I had consulted you. -Only, he said he would be glad to receive me as his son; he did indeed, -Franceline!” She was looking straight before her, her eyes dilated, her -whole face aglow with some strong emotion that his words seemed to have -stirred in her. - -“You remember,” continued Ponsonby, “that you said to me once you -would like to have me for a brother? Well, it will be nearly the same -thing. You would get used to me as a husband after a while; you would, -Franceline!” - -“Never, never, never!” she repeated, not passionately, but with a calm -emphasis that made Ponsonby’s heart die within him. He could not find a -word to oppose to the strong, quiet protest. - -“No, it is all a mistake,” said Franceline. “I don’t know who is to -blame--I suppose I am. I should not have let you come so often; but you -were so kind, and I have so few people to care for me; and when one is -sad at heart, kindness is so welcome! But I should have thought of you; I -have been selfish!” - -“No, no, you have not been selfish at all; it’s all my doing and my -fault,” affirmed the young man. “I wish I had held my tongue a little -longer. My mother will come and see you to-morrow; she will explain it -all, and how it sha’n’t make any trouble to you, my being a Protestant.” - -“She must not come,” said Franceline with decision; “there is nothing -to explain. I am sincerely grateful to her and to you; but I have only -gratitude to give you. I hope with all my heart that you may soon forget -me and any pain I am causing you, and that you may meet with a wife who -will make you happier than I could have done.” - -Ponsonby was silent for a few moments, and then he said, speaking with a -certain hesitation and diffidence: - -“I could be satisfied to wait and to go on hoping, if I were sure of one -thing:… that you did not care for anybody else. Do you?” - -She flashed a glance of indignant pride at him. - -“What right have you to put such a question to me? I tell you I do not -care for you, and that I will never marry you! You have no right to ask -me any more.” - -Ponsonby recoiled as if a flash of lightning had forked out of the cold, -gray sky. “Good heavens! I did not mean to offend you. I declare solemnly -I did not!” - -But he had touched a vibrating chord unawares, and set every fibre in her -heart thrilling and every pulse throbbing; and the disturbance was not to -be laid by any words that he could utter. Franceline turned homewards, -and they did not exchange a word until they reached The Lilies and -Ponsonby was assisting her to alight. - -“Say you forgive me!” he said, speaking very low and penitently. - -She had already forgiven him but not herself. - -“I do, and I am sorry for being so impetuous. Good-by!” - -“And my mother may come and see you to-morrow?” - -“No, no! It is no use; it is no use! I say again I wish you were my -brother, Sir Ponsonby, but, as you care to remain my friend, never speak -to me again of this.” - -He pressed the hand she held out to him; the groom backed up to take the -reins of her horse, and Ponsonby rode away with a thorn in his honest -heart. - -Miss Merrywig was within, chatting and laughing away with the count. -Franceline was not in a mood to meet the garrulous old lady or anybody; -so she went straight to her room, and only came down when the visitor was -gone. - -“Father,” she said, going up behind him and laying a hand on each -shoulder, “what is this Sir Ponsonby tells me? That you are tired of your -_clair-de-lune_, and want to get rid of her?” - -M. de la Bourbonais drew down the two trembling hands, and clasped them -on his breast, and lifted his head as if he would look at her. - -“It would not be losing her, but gaining a son, who would take care of -her when I am gone! She has not thought of that!” - -“No; and she does not wish to think of it! I will live with you while I -live. I don’t care to look beyond that; nor must you, petit père. But I -am very sorry for Sir Ponsonby. You must write and tell him so, and that -he must not come any more--until he has forgotten me; that you cannot -give me up.” - -“My cherished one! Let us talk about this matter; it is very serious. We -must not do anything rashly.” He tried to unclasp her hands and draw her -to his side; but she locked them tighter, and laid her cheek on his head. - -“Petit père, there is nothing to talk about; I will never marry him or -anybody!” - -“My child, thou speakest without reflection. Captain Anwyll is a good, -honorable man, and he loves thee, and it would be a great comfort to me -to see thee married to him, and not to leave thee friendless and almost -penniless whenever God calls me away. I understand it has taken thee by -surprise, and that thou canst not accept the idea without some delay and -getting used to it; but we must not decide so important a matter hastily. -Come, sit down, and let us discuss it.” - -“No, father,” she answered in a tone of determination that was quite -foreign to her now, and reminded him of the wilful child of long ago; -“there is no use in discussing what is already decided. I will never -marry Ponsonby--or anybody. Why, petit père, do you forget that he is a -Protestant?” - -“Nay, I have forgotten nothing; that has been all arranged. He is most -liberal about it; consents to leave you to … to have everything your own -way in that respect, and assures me that it shall make no difference -whatever to you, his not being of your religion.” - -“No difference, father! No difference to a wife that her husband should -be a heretic! You cannot be in earnest. What blessing could there be on -such a marriage?” - -“But you would soon convert him, my little one; you would make a good -Catholic of him before the year was out,” said M. de la Bourbonais. -“Think of that!” - -“And suppose it were the other way, and that he made a good Protestant -of me? It is no more than I should deserve for my presumption. You know -what happens to those who seek the danger.…” - -“Oh! that is a different thing; that warning applies to those who seek -it rashly, from vain or selfish motives,” protested Raymond, moving his -spectacles, as he always did instinctively when his argument was weak; -and he knew right well that now it was slipping into sophistry. - -“I cannot see anything but a selfish motive in marrying against the -express prohibition of the church and without any affection for the -person, but simply because he could give you a position and the good -things of this life,” said Franceline. - -“The prohibition is conditional,” persisted Raymond, “and those -conditions would be scrupulously fulfilled; and as to there not being the -necessary affection, there is enough on his side for both, and his love -would soon beget thine.” - -“Father, it is no use. I am grieved to contradict you; but I cannot, -cannot do this to please you. You must write and say so to Capt. Anwyll; -you must indeed.” - -Raymond heaved a sigh. He felt as powerless as an infant before this new -wilfulness of his _clair-de-lune_; it was foolish as well as imprudent to -yield, but he did not know how to deal with it. There was honest truth -on her side; no subterfuges could baffle the instinctive logic of her -childlike faith. - -“We will let things remain as they are for a few days, and then, if thou -dost still insist, I will write and refuse the offer,” he said, seeking a -last chance in temporizing. - -“No, petit père; if you love me, write at once. It is only fair to Sir -Ponsonby, and it will set my mind at rest. Here, let me find you a pen!” -She chose one out of a number of inky goose-quills on the little Japan -tray, and thrust it playfully between his fingers. - -The letter was written, and Angélique was forthwith despatched with it to -the pillar at the park gate. - -During the remainder of the afternoon Franceline worked away diligently -at the Causes of the French Revolution, and spent the evening reading -aloud. But M. de la Bourbonais could not so lightly dismiss the day’s -incident from his thoughts. He had experienced a moment of pure joy and -unutterable thankfulness when Ponsonby had come in and stammered out -his honest confession of love, and pleaded so humbly with the father to -“take his part with Miss Franceline.” The pleasure was all the greater -for being a complete surprise. Sir Simon had cautiously resolved to -have no hand in negotiating between the parties; he had let things take -their course from the first, determined not to interfere, but clearly -foreseeing the issue. Raymond was bewildered by Franceline’s rejection -of the proposed marriage. He did not try much to explain it to himself; -it was a puzzle that did not come within the rule and compass of his -philosophy--a young girl refusing to be married when an eligible husband -presented himself for her father’s acceptance. He heaved many a deep sigh -over it, as his anxious gaze rested on the golden-haired young head bent -over the desk. But he did not ask any questions. - -Sir Simon came down next morning in high displeasure. He was angry, -disappointed, aggrieved. Here he had been at considerable pains of -ingenuity and forethought to provide a model husband for Franceline, -a young fellow whom any girl ought to jump at--high-principled, -unencumbered rent-roll, good-looking, good-tempered--and the little -minx turns up her nose at him, and sends him to the right-about! Such -perverseness and folly were not to be tolerated. What did she mean by it? -What did she see amiss in Anwyll? Sir Simon was for having her up for a -round lecture. But Raymond would not allow this. He might groan in his -inmost heart over Franceline’s refusal, but he was not going to let her -be bullied by anybody; not even by Sir Simon. He stood up for his child, -and defended her as if he had fully approved of her conduct. - -“I’ll tell you what it is, Bourbonais, you’re just as great a fool as -she is; only she is a child, and knows nothing of life, and can’t see -the madness of what she is doing. But you ought to know better. I have -no patience with you. When one thinks of what this marriage would do for -both of you--lifting you out of penury, restoring your daughter to her -proper position in the world, and securing her future, so that, if you -were called away to-morrow, you need have no care or anxiety about her! -And to think of your backing her up in rejecting it all!” - -“I did not back her up in it. I deplore her having done so,” replied -Raymond. “But I will not coerce her; her happiness is dearer to me than -her interest or my own.” - -“What tomfoolery! As if her interest and her happiness were not identical -in this case! A man who is fond of her, and rich enough to give her -everything in life a girl could wish for! What does she want besides?” -demanded Sir Simon angrily. - -“I believe she wants nothing, except to be left with her old father. She -does not care for Capt. Anwyll,” said Raymond; but his French mind felt -this was very weak argument. - -“The devil she doesn’t! Who does she care for?” retorted the baronet. -But he had no sooner uttered the words than he regretted them; they -seemed to recoil on him like a stone flung too near. He seized his hat, -and, muttering impatiently something about the nonsense of giving into -childish fancies, etc., strode out of the cottage, and did not show -himself there for several days. - -He was pursued by that question of his own, “Who did Franceline care -for?” and made uncomfortable by the persistency with which it kept -dinning in his ears. He had made up his mind long ago that the failure -of his first matrimonial plot had had no serious effect on her heart or -spirits. She was looking very delicate when he came back, but that was -the dulness of the life she had been leading during his absence. She -had picked up considerably since then. It was plain to everybody she -had; her spirits were better. There was certainly nothing wrong in that -direction. How could there be when he, Sir Simon, so thoroughly desired -the contrary, and did so much to cheer up the child--and himself into -the bargain--and make her forget any impression that unlucky Clide might -have made? Still, no matter how emphatically he answered it, the tiresome -question kept sounding in his ears day after day. He could stand it no -longer. He must go and see them at The Lilies--see Franceline, and read -on her innocent young face that all was peace within, and cheer up his -own depressed spirits by a talk with Raymond. Nobody listened to him and -sympathized with him as Raymond did. He had no worries of his own to -distract him, for one thing; and if he had, he was such a philosophical -being he would carry them to the moon and leave them there. Sir Simon was -blessed with no such happy faculty. He could forget his troubles for a -while under the stimulating balm of cheerful society and generous wine; -but as soon as he was alone they were down on him like an army of ants, -stinging and goading him. Things were very gloomy just now, and he could -less than ever dispense with the opiate of sympathetic companionship. -Lady Rebecca had taken a fresh start, and was less likely to depart than -she had been for the last ten years. The duns, who watched her ladyship’s -fluctuations between life and death with almost as sincere and breathless -an interest as her heir, had got wind of this, and were up and at him -again, hunting him like a hare--the low, grasping, insolent hounds! His -revived money annoyances made him the more irascible with Franceline for -throwing away her chance of being for ever saved and protected from the -like. But he would harp no more on that string. - -He had been into Dullerton on horseback, and, overtaking the postman on -his way home, he stopped to take his letters, and then asked if there -were any for The Lilies. He was going there, and would save the postman -the walk that far. - -“Thank you, sir! There is one for the count.” And the man held up a large -blue envelope, like a lawyer’s letter, which Sir Simon thrust into his -pocket. He left his horse at the Court, and walked on through the park, -reading his letters as he went. Their contents were not of the most -agreeable, to judge by the peevish and angry ejaculations that the reader -emitted in the course of their perusal. He had not done when he reached -the cottage. - -“Here’s a letter for you, Bourbonais; I’ll finish mine while you’re -reading it.” He handed the blue envelope to his friend, and, flinging -himself into a chair, became again absorbed and ejaculatory. - -M. de la Bourbonais, meanwhile, proceeded to open his official-looking -communication. He surveyed it with uplifted eyebrows, examined well the -large red seal, and scrutinized the handwriting of the address, before -he tore it open. His eye ran quickly over the page. A nervous twitch -contracted his features; his hand shook as if a string at his elbow had -been rudely pulled; but he controlled all further sign of emotion, and, -after reading the contents twice over, silently folded the letter and -replaced it in the envelope. Sir Simon had seen nothing; he was deep in -suppressed denunciations of some rascally dun. - -“Hang me if I know what’s to be the end of it, or the end of me--an ounce -of lead in my skull, most likely!” he burst out, ramming the bundle of -offending documents into his coat-pocket. “The brutes are in league to -drive me mad!” - -“Has anything new happened?” inquired the count anxiously. “I hoped -things had arranged themselves of late?” - -“Not they! How can they when these vampires are sucking the blood of one? -It’s pretty much like sucking a corpse!” he laughed sardonically. “The -fools! If they would but have sense to see that it is their own interest -not to drive me to desperation! But they will goad me to do something -that will make an end of their chance of ever being paid!” - -M. de la Bourbonais ought to have been hardened to this sort of thing; -but he was not. The vague threats and dark innuendoes always alarmed -him. He never knew but that each crisis which called them out might be -the supreme one that would bring about their fulfilment. At such moments -he had not the heart to rebuke Sir Simon and add the bitterness of -self-reproach to his excited feelings. His look of keen distress struck -Sir Simon with compunction. - -“Oh! it will blow off, as it has done so often before, I suppose,” he -said, tossing his head. “Here’s a letter from L---- to say he is coming -down next week with a whole houseful of men to shoot. I’ve not seen -L---- for an age. He’s a delightful fellow; he’ll cheer one up.” And the -baronet heaved a sigh from the very depths of his afflicted spirit. - -“Mon cher, is it wise to be asking down crowds of people in this way?” -asked Raymond dubiously. - -“I did not ask them! Don’t I tell you they have written to invite -themselves?” - -It was true; but Sir Simon forgot how often he had besought his friends -to do just what they were now doing--to write and say when they could -come, and to bring as many as they liked with them. That had always been -the way at the Court; and he was not the man to belie its old traditions. -But Raymond, who had also his class of noble traditions, could not see -it. - -“Why not write frankly, and, without explaining the precise motive, say -that you cannot at present receive any one?” - -Sir Simon gave an impatient pshaw! - -“Nonsense, my dear Bourbonais, nonsense! As if a few fellows more or less -signified that”--snapping his fingers--“at the end of the year! Besides, -what the deuce is the good of having a place at all, if one can’t have -one’s friends about one in it? Better shut up at once. It’s the only -compensation a man has; the only thing that pulls him through. And then -the pheasants are there, and must be shot. I can’t shoot them all. But -it’s no use trying to make you take an Englishman’s view of the case. You -simply can’t do it.” - -M. de la Bourbonais agreed, and inwardly hoped he never might come to see -the case as his friend did. But, notwithstanding this, Sir Simon went on -discussing his own misfortunes, denouncing the rascality and rapacity of -the modern tradesman, and bemoaning the good old times when the world was -a fit place for a gentleman to live in. When he had sufficiently relieved -his mind on the subject, and drew breath, M. de la Bourbonais poured what -oil of comfort he could on his friend’s wounds. He spoke confidently -of the ultimate demise of Lady Rebecca, and expressed equal trust in -the powers of Mr. Simpson to perform once again the meteorological feat -known to Sir Simon as “raising the wind.” Under the influence of these -soothing abstractions the baronet cheered up, and before long Richard -was himself again. He overhauled Raymond’s latest work; read aloud some -notes on Mirabeau which Franceline had taken down at his dictation the -previous evening, and worked himself into a frenzy of indignation at the -historian’s partiality for that thundering demagogue. Raymond waxed warm -in defence of his hero; maintained that at heart Mirabeau had wished to -save the king; and almost lost his philosophical self-control when Sir -Simon called him the master-knave of the Revolution, a traitor and a -bully, and other hard names to the same effect. - -“I wash my hands of you, if you are going to play panegyrist to that -pock-marked ruffian!” was the baronet’s concluding remark; and he -flung out his hands, as if he were shaking the contamination from his -fingers. Suddenly his eye fell upon the great blue letter, and, abruptly -dismissing Mirabeau, he said: “By the way, what a formidable document -that is that I brought you just now! Has it anything to do with the -Revolution?” - -Raymond shook his head and smothered a rising sigh. - -“It has been as good as a revolution to me, at any rate.” - -“My dear Bourbonais, what is it? Nothing seriously amiss, I hope?” -exclaimed Sir Simon, full of alarmed interest. - -The count took up the letter and handed it to him. - -“Good heavens! Bankrupt! Can pay nothing! How much had you in it?” - -“Nearly two hundred--the savings of the last fourteen years,” replied M. -de la Bourbonais calmly. - -“My dear fellow, I’m heartily sorry!” exclaimed his friend in an accent -of sincere distress; “with all my heart I’m sorry! And to think of -you having read this and said nothing, and I raving away about my own -troubles like a selfish dog as I am! Why did you not tell me at once?” - -“What good would it have done?” Raymond shrugged his shoulders, and with -another involuntary sigh threw the letter on the table. “It’s hard, -though. I was so little prepared for it; the house bore such a good -name.…” - -“I should have said it was the safest bank in the country. So it was, -very likely; only one did not reckon with the dishonesty of this scheming -villain of a partner--if it be true that he is the cause of it.” - -“No doubt it is; why should they tell lies about it? The whole affair -will be in the papers one of these days, I suppose.” - -“And you can stand there and not curse the villain!” - -“What good would cursing him do? It would not bring back my poor -scrapings.” Raymond laughed gently. “I dare say his own conscience will -curse him before long--the unhappy man! But who knows what terrible -temptation may have driven him to the deed? Perhaps he got into some -difficulty that nothing else could extricate him from, and he may have -had a wife and children pulling at his conscience by his heart-strings! -Libera nos a malo, Domine!” And looking upwards, Raymond sighed again. - -“What a strange being you are, Raymond!” exclaimed Sir Simon, eyeing him -curiously. “Verily, I believe your philosophy is worth something after -all.” - -M. de la Bourbonais laughed outright. “Well, it’s worth nearly the money -to have brought you to that!” - -“To see you stand there coolly and philosophize about the motives that -may possibly have led an unprincipled scoundrel to rob you of every penny -you possessed! Many a man has got a fit from less.” - -“Many a fool, perhaps; but it would be a poor sort of man that such -a blow would send into a fit!” returned the count with mild contempt. -“But I must not be forgetful of the difference of conditions,” he added -quickly. “It all depends on what the money is worth to one, and what its -loss involves. I don’t want it at present. It was a little hoard for the -rainy day; and--qui sait?--the rainy day may never come!” - -“No; Franceline may marry a rich man,” suggested the baronet, not with -any intent to wound. - -“Just so! I may never want the money, and so never be the poorer for -losing it.” - -“And supposing there was at this moment some pressing necessity for -it--that your child was in absolute need of it for some reason or -other--what then?” queried Sir Simon. - -Raymond winced and started imperceptibly, as if a pain went through him. - -“Thank heaven there is no necessity to answer that,” he said. “We were -taught to pray to be delivered from temptation; let us be thankful when -we are, and not set imaginary traps for ourselves.” - -“Some men are, I believe, born proof against temptation; I should say you -are one of them, Bourbonais,” said his friend, looking steadily at him. - -“You are mistaken,” replied Raymond quietly. “I don’t know whether any -human being may be born with that sort of fire-proof covering; but I -know for certain that I was not.” - -“Can you, then, conceive yourself under a pressure of temptation so -strong as that your principles, your conscience, would give way? Can -you imagine yourself telling a deliberate lie, for instance, or doing a -deliberate wrong to some one, in order to save yourself--or, better, your -child--from some grievous harm?” - -Raymond thought for a moment, as if he were poising a balance in his -mind before he answered; then he said, speaking with slow emphasis, as -if every word was being weighed in the scales: “Yes, I can fancy myself -giving way, if, at such a crisis as you describe, I were left to myself, -with only my own strength to lean on; but I hope I should not be left to -it. I hope I should ask to be delivered from it.” - -The humility of the avowal went further to deepen Sir Simon’s faith in -his friend’s integrity and in the strength of his principles than the -boldest self-assertion could have done. It informed him, too, of the -existence of a certain ingredient in Raymond’s philosophy which the -careless and light-hearted man of the world had not till then suspected. - -“One thing I know,” he said, taking up his hat, and extending a hand to -M. de la Bourbonais: “if your conscience were ever to play you false, it -would make an end of my faith in all mankind--and in something more.” - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -QUESTIONS CONCERNING THE SYLLABUS. - -DOCTRINAL AUTHORITY OF THE SYLLABUS. - -FROM LES ETUDES RELIGIEUSES, ETC. - -We enter on a work whose practical usefulness no one, we suspect, will -dispute, since it concerns perhaps the most memorable act of the reign -of Pius IX.--the Syllabus. There has been a great deal of discussion -about the Syllabus--much has been written on it in the way both of attack -and defence--but it is remarkable that it has scarcely been studied at -all. The remark was made by one of the editors of this review, Father -Marquigny, in the General Congress of Catholic Committees at Paris; -and, so true was it felt to be, that it provoked the approving laughter -of the whole assembly. But to pass by those who busy themselves about -this document without having read it, how many are there, even among -Catholics, who, after having read it, have only the most vague and -confused notions about it--how many who, if they were asked, “What does -the Syllabus teach you; what does it make obligatory on you?” would not -know what to answer! Thus is man constituted. He skims willingly over the -surface of things; but he has no fancy for stopping awhile and digging -underneath. If he is pleased with looking at a great many things, he does -not equally concern himself to gain knowledge; because there is no true -science without labor, and labor is troublesome. Yet nothing could be -more desirable for him than to come by this luminous entrance from the -knowledge to the possession of truth. Christian faith, when it is living -and active, necessarily experiences the desire of it; for, according to -the beautiful saying of S. Anselm, it is, by its very nature, a seeker of -science--of knowing: _Fides quærens intellectum_. - -But, not to delay ourselves by these considerations, is it possible to -exaggerate the importance of the study of the Syllabus in the critical -circumstances in which we are placed? The uncertainty of the future; the -impossibility of discovering a satisfactory course in the midst of the -shadows which surround us; the need of knowing what to seize a firm hold -of in the formidable problems whose obscurity agitates, in these days, -the strongest minds; above all, the furious assaults of the enemies of -the church, and the authority belonging to a solemn admonition coming -to us from the chair of truth--all these things teach us plainly enough -how culpable it must be for us to remain indifferent and to neglect the -illumination offered to us. The teachings of the Vicar of Jesus Christ -deserve to be meditated on at leisure. It is this which inspires us with -a hope that our work will be favorably received. Truth, moreover, claims -the services of all, even of the feeblest, and we must not desert her -cause for fear our ability may not suffice for her defence. - -Certainly, no one will expect us, here, to give an analytical exposition -of the eighty propositions condemned by Pius IX. Several numbers of the -_Etudes_ would scarcely suffice for that. General questions dominate -all others; it is to the careful solution of these that we shall devote -ourselves. They have always appeared to us to need clear and decisive -explanation. Often they are incorrectly proposed, oftener still they -are ill-defined. The object of our efforts will be to point out with -precision the limits within which they must be restrained, the sense -in which they must be accepted, and their necessary import; then, to -give them, as clearly as we are able, a solution the most sure and the -most conformable to first principles. If it should be objected that in -this we are entering on a wide theological field, we shall not deny it. -Proudhon, who desired anarchy in things, in principles--everywhere, in -fact, except in reasoning--averred that rigorous syllogism lands us -inevitably at theology. How, then, would it be possible not to find it -in the Syllabus? They, on the other hand, who are unceasing in their -violent attacks on this pontifical act, are they not the first to provoke -theological discussions? We are compelled to take their ground. As Mgr. -Dupanloup judiciously observed, in his pamphlet on the Encyclical of the -8th December: “It is needful to recur to first principles in a time when -thousands of men, and of women even, in France talk theology from morning -to night without knowing much about it.” - -The first and fundamental question to be determined is: What is the -precise weight to be ascribed to the Syllabus, or, rather, what is its -doctrinal authority? On the manner in which we reply to this depends the -solution of numerous practical difficulties which interest consciences, -and which have more than once been the subject of the polemic of the -journals themselves. For example, are the decisions of the Syllabus -unchangeable; is it not possible that they should be modified some day; -is it certain they will never be withdrawn; are Catholics obliged to -accept them as an absolute rule of their beliefs, or may they content -themselves with doing nothing exteriorly in opposition to them? It is -understood, in fact, that if we are in presence of an act wherein the -successor of S. Peter exercises his sovereign and infallible authority, -the doctrine is irrevocably, eternally, fixed without possible recall; -and, by an inevitable corollary, the most complete submission, not of -the heart only, but also of the intelligence, becomes an obligation -binding on the conscience of the Catholic which admits of no reserve or -subterfuge. If, on the contrary, the step taken by the Pope is merely -an act of good administration or discipline, the door remains open for -hopes of future changes, the constraint imposed on the minds of men in -the interior forum is much less rigorous; a caviller would remain in -Catholic unity provided that, with the respectful silence so dear to the -Jansenists, he should also practise proper obedience. Now, the question, -in the terms in which we have stated it, although treated of at various -times by writers of merit, has not always been handled in a complete -manner. Writers have been too often contented with generalities, with -approaching only the question, and nothing has been precisely determined. - -Some have asserted, with much energy, the necessity of this submission, -but they have not sufficiently defined its extent and nature. Others -have dwelt upon the deference and profound respect with which every -word of the Holy Father should be received, but, not having given any -further explanation, they have left us without the necessary means -for ascertaining what precisely they intended. Others have ventured -to insinuate that the Syllabus was perhaps merely an admonition, a -paternal advice benevolently given to some rash children, to which such -as are docile are happy to conform, without feeling themselves under -the absolute necessity of adopting it. Others, more adventurous still, -have been unwilling to see more in it than a mere piece of information, -an indication. According to these, Pius IX., wishing to notify to all -the bishops of Christendom his principal authoritative acts since the -commencement of his pontificate, had caused a list of them to be drawn -out, and to be forwarded to them. The Syllabus was this illustrious -catalogue, neither more nor less. - -Is there any excuse to be found for this indecision on one hand, -presumption on the other? We do not think so; but they do, we must -confess, admit of a plausible explanation. And here, let it be observed, -we come to the very marrow of the difficulty. The Syllabus was drawn -out in an unusual form. It resembles no pontifical documents hitherto -published. When, in other times, the sovereign pontiffs wished to -stigmatize erroneous propositions, they did not content themselves -with reproducing the terms of them, in order to mark them out for the -reprobation of the people. They were always careful to explain the -motives of the judgment they delivered, and above all to formulate -with clearness and precision the judgment itself. Invariably, the -texts they singled out for condemnation were preceded by grave and -weighty words, wherein were explained the reasons for and the nature of -the condemnation. In the Syllabus, there is nothing of the kind. The -propositions, stated without commentary, are classified and distributed -under general titles; at the end of each of them we read the indication -of the Encyclical Letter, or pontifical Allocution, in which it had been -previously rebuked. For the rest, there is no preamble, no conclusion, -no discourse revealing the mind or intention of the pontiff, unless it -be the following words, inscribed at the head of the document, and which -we here give both in the Latin and in English: _Syllabus complectens -præcipuos nostræ ætatis errores, qui notantur in Allocutionibus -consistorialibus, in Encyclicis, aliisque Apostolicis Litteris -sanctissimi Domini Papæ Pii IX._--Table, or synopsis, containing the -principal errors of our epoch, noted in the consistorial Allocutions, the -Encyclicals, and other Apostolic Letters of our most Holy Father, Pope -Pius IX. - -We may add, that nowhere does the Pope formally express an intention -of connecting the Syllabus with the bull _Quanta cura_, although he -issued them both on the same day, at the same hour, under the same -circumstances, and upon the same subjects. He left it to the public -common sense and to the faith of Christians to decide whether these two -acts are to be taken together, or whether they are to be considered as -isolated acts having no common tie between them. - -Such are the facts. Minds, either troubled or prejudiced, or, may be, -too astute, have drawn from them consequences which, if we lay aside -accessory details of not much importance here, we may reduce to two -principal ones. - -It has been stated--and they who hold this language form, as it were, -the extreme group of opposers--that the Apostolic Letters mentioned in -the Syllabus are the only documents which have authoritative force; that -the latter, on the contrary, has no proper weight of its own--absolutely -none, whether as a dogmatic definition, or as a disciplinary measure, -or even as a moral and intellectual direction. To these assertions, not -a little hazardous, have been added others whose rashness would fain be -hidden under the veil of rhetorical artifices. We will lift the veil, and -expose the naked assertions. The meaning of the Syllabus, it is stated, -must not be looked for in the Syllabus, but in the pontifical letters -whence it is drawn. The study of the letters may be useful; not only is -that of the Syllabus not so, but it is dangerous, because it often leads -to lamentable exaggerations. To know the true doctrines of Rome, we must -search the letters for them, not the Syllabus. In fact, to sum up all in -a few words, as a condemnation of error and a manifestation of truth, the -letters are all, the Syllabus nothing. - -The other group, which we may describe as the moderates, knows how to -guard itself against excess. It does not diminish the authority of the -Syllabus to the extent of annihilation. Very far from it--it recognizes -it and proclaims it aloud; but, struck with the peculiar form given -to the act, it asserts that it is impossible to discover in it the -marks of a dogmatic definition, and, to borrow a stock expression, of -a definition _ex cathedra_. The Syllabus, it is said, is undoubtedly -something by itself--to deny it would be ridiculous and absurd. It has a -weight of its own; who would venture to dispute it? It may be termed, if -you please, an universal law of the church, so only that its pretensions -be not carried further, and that it does not claim to be considered an -infallible decision of the Vicar of Jesus Christ. - -What, then, have we to do but to demonstrate that the Syllabus is -by itself, and independently of the pontifical acts which supply -the matter of it, a veritable teaching; that this teaching obliges -consciences because it issues from the infallible authority of the head -of the church? We shall not have omitted, it seems to us, any of the -considerations calculated to throw light on this important subject if, -after having thus followed it through all its windings and discussed all -its difficulties, we succeed in illustrating the triple character of the -pontifical act--its doctrinal character, its obligatory character, and -its character of infallibility. - -To assert that Pius IX., when he denounced with so much firmness to the -Christian world the errors of our time, did not propose to teach us -anything, that he had no intention of instructing us, was, even at the -time of the appearance of the Syllabus, to advance a sufficiently hardy -paradox; but to state it, to maintain it, at this time of day, when we -are the fortunate witnesses of the effects produced by that immortal -act, is to speak against evidence. Undoubtedly--we stated it at the -commencement--the Syllabus is not sufficiently known nor sufficiently -studied. Little known as it may be, however, it cannot be denied that -it has already set right many ideas, and corrected and enlightened -many minds. Thanks to it, not learned men only and those who are close -observers of events, but Catholics generally, perceive more clearly the -dangers with which certain doctrines threaten their faith. They have been -warned, they keep themselves on their guard, they see more distinctly -the course they must follow and the shoals they must avoid. Pius IX. has -lighted a torch and placed it in their hands. - -That being the case, what is the use of playing with words, as if -vain subtleties could destroy the striking evidence of this fact? -Let them say, as often as they please, “The Syllabus is only a -list, a catalogue, a table of contents, a memorial of previously -condemned propositions”--what good will they have done? What matter -these denominations, more or less disrespectful, if it be otherwise -demonstrated that this list, catalogue, or table of contents explains -to us exactly what we must believe or reject, and is imposed upon us -as a rule to which we owe subjection. The imprudent persons who speak -thus would seem never to have studied the monuments of our beliefs. Had -they considered their nature more attentively, would they have allowed -themselves to indulge in such intemperance of language? If they would -more closely examine them, their illusions would soon be dissipated. Are -not all the series of propositions condemned by the Popes, veritable -lists? Did not Martin V. and the Council of Constance, Leo X. and S. -Pius V., when they smote with their anathemas the errors of Wycliffe, -John Huss, Luther, Baïus, draw out catalogues? Are not the canons of -our councils tables in which are inscribed an abridgment, summary, -or epitome of the impious doctrines of heretics? Is not every solemn -definition, every symbol of the faith, a memorial designed to remind the -Christian what he is obliged to believe? It is, then, useless to shelter -one’s self behind words of doubtful meaning, and which can only perplex -the mind without enlightening it. It is to assume gratuitously the air of -men who wish to deceive others and to deceive themselves. What is the use -of it? - -They are much mistaken who imagine themselves to be proposing a serious -difficulty when they demand how the Syllabus, which, before its -publication, existed already in the letters of the Holy Father, can -possibly teach us anything new? Let us, for the sake of argument, since -they ask it, reduce it to the humble _rôle_ of echo or reverberator, if -we may be pardoned such expressions. Let us suppose that its whole action -consists in repeating what has been already said. We ask if an echo does -not often convey to the ear a sound which, without it, would not have -been heard--if it does not sometimes send back the sound stronger, more -resounding, and even more distinct than the original voice? It is not a -new voice it brings to us. Be it so. But it does bring it to us in fact, -and is able to give it to us again fuller and more sonorous. - -Comparison, it is true, is not reason. We will therefore abandon the -redundancy of figurative language, and reply directly to the question -put to us. What is wanted is to know what the Syllabus is in itself, -independently of the pontifical letters which are its original sources. -It is as follows: - -It is, at least, a new promulgation, more universal, more authentic, -and therefore more efficacious, of previous condemnations. Now, it is -well known, it is a maxim of law, that a second promulgation powerfully -confirms and, in case of need, supersedes the first. The history of -human legislation is full of instances of this. When, by reason of the -negligence of men, of the difficulty of the times, of the inconstancy -or waywardness of peoples, a law has fallen into partial neglect and -oblivion, they in whom the sovereign power resides re-establish its -failing authority by promulgating it anew. It revives thus, and if it has -been defunct it receives a second life. What can the greater number of -Christians know of so many scattered condemnations, buried, one may say, -in the voluminous collection of pontifical encyclicals, if the Syllabus -had not revealed them? How could they respect them, how obey them? It was -necessary that they should hear them resound, in a manner, a second time, -in the utterance of the great Pontiff, in order to be able to submit anew -to their authority, and to resume a yoke of which many of them did not -know the very existence. The salvation of the church required this. - -The Syllabus is, however, not only a new promulgation, it is often a -luminous interpretation of the original documents to which it relates; -an interpretation at times so necessary that, should it disappear, -from that moment the meaning of those documents would become, on many -points, obscure or at least doubtful. It is worthy of remark that in -order to deny the doctrinal value of the Syllabus the following fact -is relied on--that it is unaccompanied with any explanation, with any -reflections. “It is a dry nomenclature,” it has been said, “of which we -cannot determine either the character or the end.” Now, it happens to -be exactly here that brevity has brought forth light. The eighty-four -propositions, in fact, isolated from their context, appear to us more -exact, in stronger relief, more decidedly drawn. One may perceive that in -the bulls their forms were, as yet, slightly indistinct; here they detach -themselves vividly, and with remarkable vigor. And we wish that all our -readers were able to judge of this for themselves. They would better -understand, possibly, wherefore certain men insist with so much energy -on our abandoning the Syllabus and applying ourselves exclusively to the -sources--an excellent mode of preventing certain questions from becoming -too clear. - -We will cite a few examples in illustration of our argument. - -The second paragraph of the Syllabus has for its object the condemnation -of _moderate rationalism_. Some of the seven propositions contained in -it reproduce the doctrine of a man little known in France, but much -thought of in Germany--a kind of independent Catholic, who, before he -opposed himself to the church, from which he is now, we believe, quite -separated, having transferred his allegiance to the pastoral staff of the -aged Reinkens, wrote some works destined to sow among the students of -the university of Munich the damaged grain of infidel science. We allude -to M. Froschammer, a canon who has lost his hood, professor of misty -philosophy, as befits a doctor on the other side of the Rhine. Pius IX. -rebuked his errors in a letter addressed to the Archbishop of Munich the -12th December, 1862. We will lay aside the Syllabus, and take merely the -letter. We shall find in it only the condemnation of M. Froschammer and -his works; nothing whatever else. But who, in this our country, France, -has ever opened the works of M. Froschammer? The Catholic Frenchman -who might read the letter of Pius IX. knowing nothing of the condemned -works, would say to himself: “This Munich professor has doubtless written -according to his own fancy; he must have been rash, as every good German -is bound to be who loses himself in the shadowy mazes of metaphysics. -After all, there is nothing to show that he has written exactly my -opinions. Why should I trouble myself about the letter of Pius IX.? It -does not concern me.” - -Another example. In Paragraph X. we find the same principle of modern -liberalism enunciated in the following manner: “In this our age, it is no -longer expedient that the Catholic religion should be considered as the -only religion of the state, to the exclusion of all others.” “Ætate hac -nostra, non amplius expedit religionem Catholicam haberi, tanquam unicam -status religionem, cæteris quibuscumque cultibus exclusis.” The document -to which we refer is a consistorial Allocution pronounced the 26th July, -1855, and it commences with these words, _Nemo vestrum_. What is this -Allocution? A solemn protest against the criminality of the Spanish -government, which, in contempt of its word and oath, of the rights of the -church and the eternal laws of justice, had dared to perjure itself by -abrogating, of its own single authority, the first and second articles -of the concordat. Pius IX., full of grief, speaks in these terms: “You -know, venerable brethren, how, in this convention, amongst all the -decisions relative to the interests of the Catholic religion, we have, -above all, established that this holy religion should continue to be the -only religion of the Spanish nation, to the exclusion of every other -worship.” The proposition of the Syllabus is not expressed in any other -way in the Allocution. A man of great ability, or a scientific man, -taking into account the facts, and weighing carefully the expressions of -the Pontiff, might perhaps detect it therein. But how many others would -it wholly escape! How many would not perceive it, or, if they should -chance to catch sight of it, would remain in suspense, uncertain which -was rebuked, the application of the doctrine or the doctrine itself! How -many, in short, would be unwilling to recognize, in these words, aught -but the sorrowful complaint of the Vicar of Jesus Christ outraged in his -dearest rights! Return, however, to the Syllabus, and that which was -obscure comes to light and manifests itself clearly. The two propositions -we have cited do not appear, in it, confused or uncertain. Detached, on -the contrary, from the particular circumstances which were calculated -to weaken their meaning, and clad in a form more lofty, more universal, -more abstract, they receive an unspeakable signification. No hesitation -is possible. It is no longer the doctrine of M. Froschammer, nor the -sacrilegious usurpations of the Spanish government, which are rebuked; -it is but the doctrine considered in itself and in its substance. And -since the Roman Pontiff, after having isolated it, fixes on it a mark of -reprobation by declaring it erroneous, he denounces it to all ages and -all people as deserving the everlasting censure of the church. - -It is for this reason, as far as ourselves, at least, are concerned, we -shall never accept without restriction a phrase which we find, under one -form or other, in all directions, even from the pen of writers for whom -we entertain, in other respects, the highest esteem: “The Syllabus has -only a relative value, a value subordinate to that of the pontifical -documents of which it is the epitome.” No! We are unable to admit an -appreciation of it, in our opinion, so full of danger. We must not allow -ourselves to weaken truth if we would maintain its salutary dominion -over souls. They talk of the value of the Syllabus. What is meant by -this? Its authority? It derives that most undoubtedly from itself, and -from the sovereign power of him who published it. It is as much an act -of that supreme authority as the letters or encyclicals to which it -alludes. The meaning of the propositions it contains? Doubtless many of -these, if we thus refer to their origin, will receive from it a certain -illustration. Others, and they are not the fewest, will either lose there -their precision, or will rather shed more light upon it than they receive -from it. Between the two assertions--The pontifical letters explain the -Syllabus, and, The Syllabus explains the pontifical letters--the second -is, with a few exceptions, the most rigorously true. A very simple -argument demonstrates it. Suppose that, by accident or an unforeseen -catastrophe, one or other of these documents were to perish and not leave -any trace of its existence, which is the one whose preservation we should -most have desired, in order that the mind of Pius IX. and the judgment of -the church concerning the errors of our age might be transmitted more -surely to future generations? - -Most fertile in subtleties is the mind of man when he wishes to escape -from a duty that molests him. We must not, consequently, be astonished -if many opponents of the Syllabus have lighted on ingenious distinctions -which allow of their almost admitting, in theory, the doctrines we have -just explained, whilst contriving to elude their practical consequences. -For that, what have they done? They have acknowledged the real authority -of this grand act in so far as it is a doctrinal declaration, or, if it -is preferred, a manifestation of doctrine; adding, nevertheless, that -the Pope has not imposed it on us in the way of obligation, but _only -in the way of guidance_. The expression, only in the way of guidance, -would have been a happy enough invention, had it been possible, in -matter so important, and in an act so solemn, to imagine a guidance -truly efficacious--such, for instance, as the Pope could not but wish -it to be--which would not be an obligation. But we ourselves must avoid -reasoning with too much subtlety, and content ourselves with opposing a -difficulty more specious than solid with a few positive proofs. - -We interpose, in the first place, the very title of the Syllabus: “Table, -or abridgment, of the principal errors of our time, pointed out in -consistorial Allocutions,” etc. To which we add the titles of various -paragraphs: “Errors in relation to the church”; “Errors in relation to -civil society”; “Errors concerning natural and Christian morals,” etc. -For the Pope, the guardian and protector of truth, obliged by the duty -of his office to hinder the church from suffering any decline or any -alteration, to denounce to the Christian world a doctrine by inflicting -on it the brand of error, is evidently to forbid the employment of -it, and to command all the faithful to eschew it. What communion is -there between light and darkness, between life and death? There can -be no question about guidance or counsel when the supreme interest -is at stake. The duty speaks for itself. It is imposed by the nature -of things. When Pius IX. placed at the head of his Syllabus the word -“error,” and intensified it by adding words even more significant, when -he expressed himself thus, “Principal errors of this our age,” he as good -as said, “Here is death! Avoid it.” And if, in order still to escape -from the consequences, a distinction is attempted to be drawn between -an obligation created by the force of circumstances and an obligation -imposed by the legislator, we would wish it to be remembered that the -same Pius IX. uttered, in reference to the Syllabus, the following -memorable sentence: “When the Pope speaks in a solemn act, it is to be -taken literally; what he has said, he intended to say.” For our part, we -would say, “What the Pope has done, he intended to do.” - -But what need is there of so much discussion? The proof of what we -have urged is written in express terms in the letter accompanying the -Syllabus--a letter signed by his eminence Cardinal Antonelli, secretary -of state, and intended to make known to the bishops the will of His -Holiness. It is sufficient to quote this decisive document, which we do -in full, on account of its importance: - - “MOST REVEREND EXCELLENCY: - - “Our Holy Father, Pope Pius IX., profoundly solicitous for - the safety of souls and of holy doctrine, has never ceased, - since the commencement of his pontificate, to proscribe and to - condemn by his encyclicals, his consistorial Allocutions, and - other apostolic letters already published, the most important - errors and false doctrines, above all, those of our unhappy - times. But since it may come to pass that all the political - acts reach not every one of the ordinaries, it has seemed - good to the same sovereign Pontiff that a Syllabus should be - drawn out of these same errors, to be sent to all the bishops - of the Catholic world, _in order that these same bishops may - have before their eyes all the errors and pernicious doctrines - which have been reproved and condemned by him_. He has - therefore commanded me to see that this printed Syllabus be - sent to your most reverend excellency, on this occasion, and - at this time. When the same sovereign Pontiff, in consequence - of his great solicitude for the safety and well-being of the - Catholic Church, and of the whole flock which has been divinely - committed to him by the Lord, has thought it expedient to write - another encyclical letter to all the Catholic bishops, thus - executing, as is my duty, with all befitting zeal and respect, - the orders of the same Pontiff, I hasten to send to your - excellency this Syllabus with this letter.” - -This Syllabus, placed by the order of the Holy Father “before the eyes -of all the bishops,” what else is it, we ask, than the text of the -law brought under the observation of the judges charged with the duty -of causing it to be executed? What is it except a rule to which they -owe allegiance, and from which they must not swerve? They must not -lose sight of it. Wherefore? Because it is their duty to be careful -to promulgate its doctrine in their own teaching, because it is their -duty to repress every rash opinion which should dare to raise itself -against and contradict it. It is thus that all have understood the -commandment given to them. The fidelity and unconquerable courage of -their obedience prove it. What has taken place in France? In the midst -of the universal emotion produced by the appearance of the Syllabus, the -government, abusing its power, had the sad audacity to constitute itself -judge of it. Through the instrumentality of the keeper of the seals, -minister of justice and of public worship, it forbade the publication -of the pontifical document in any pastoral instruction, alleging that -“it contained propositions contrary to the principles on which the -constitution of the empire rests.” What was the unanimous voice of the -episcopate? Eighty-four letters of bishops are in existence to bear -witness to it. All, united in the same mind, opposed to the ministerial -letter the invincible word of the apostles, _Non possumus_. All declared -that they must obey God rather then man; and two amongst them, ascending -courageously their cathedral thrones, braved the menaces of a susceptible -government by reading before the assembled people that which they had -been forbidden to print. Could they have acted all alike with this power -truly episcopal, if they had not been inspired by the conviction that -they were fulfilling a duty, and putting into practice the adage of the -Christian knights, “I do my duty, happen what may”? - -We will insist no further on this point. We approach, lastly, the -question which might well supersede all the others. Let us enquire -whether the Syllabus is an infallible decision of the Vicar of Jesus -Christ. - -It appears to us that, in reality, we have already settled this question. -Can a definition _ex cathedra_ be anything else than an instruction -concerning faith and morals addressed to, and imposed on, the whole -church by her visible head upon earth? How can we recognize it except -by this mark, and is not that the idea given to us of it by the Council -of the Vatican? Read over the words, so weighty and selected with so -much care by the fathers of that august assembly, and you will find that -nothing could express more accurately the exact and precise notion of it. -After that, all doubts ought to disappear. The Syllabus emanates from -him who is the master and sovereign doctor of Catholic truth. It belongs -exclusively to faith and morals by the nature of the subjects of which -it treats. It has received from the circumstances which have accompanied -its publication the manifest character of an universal law of the church. -What is wanting to it to be an irreformable decision, an act without -appeal, of the infallible authority of Peter? - -We know the objection with which we shall be met. Peter may speak, it -will be urged, and not wish to exert the plenitude of his doctrinal -power. Yes; but when he restrains thus within voluntary limits the -exercise of his authority, he gives us to understand it clearly. He -is careful, in order not to overtax our weakness, to apprise us that, -notwithstanding the obligation with which he binds consciences, it is not -in his mind, as yet, to deliver a definitive sentence upon the doctrine. -Frankly, does the Syllabus offer to us an indication, however faint, of -any such reserve? What more definitive than a judgment formulated in -these terms: “This is error, that is truth”? Is any revision possible -of such a judgment? Is it possible to be revoked or abrogated? Does it -not settle us necessarily in an absolute conclusion which excludes all -possibility of diminution or of change? In a word, can the assertion -be ever permissible--“Error in these days, truth in others”? It may be -added that, by the admission of all, friends and enemies--an admission -confirmed by the declaration of the cardinal secretary of state, the -Syllabus is an appendix to, and as it were a continuation of, the bull -_Quanta cura_, to which no one can reasonably refuse the character of -a definitive and irreformable decree; and it will be understood how -unreasonable it would be to despise the evidence of facts, in order to -cling to an objection without consistency, and which falls of itself for -want of a solid foundation. - -For the rest, the mind of the Holy Father is not concealed, as has been -at times suggested, under impenetrable veils. It appears the moment -we look for it; and we find it, for example, in the preparation of -the Syllabus. It should be known that the Syllabus was not the work -of a day. Pius IX. has often asserted this. He had early resolved to -strike a signal blow, and to destroy from top to bottom the monstrous -edifice of revolutionary doctrines. To this end, immediately after the -proclamation of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception, he transformed -the congregation of cardinals and theologians who had aided him in the -accomplishment of that work into a congregation charged with the duty of -singling out for the Apostolic See the new errors which, for a century, -had been ravaging the church of God. Ten years passed away; encyclicals -were published, allocutions pronounced; the theologians multiplied -their labors. At length, on the 8th of December, 1864, the moment of -action appearing to have arrived, Pius IX. addressed to the world that -utterance whose prolonged echoes we all have heard. The bull _Quanta -cura_ and the Syllabus were promulgated. It is obvious that an act so -long prepared, and with so much anxiety, cannot be likened to an ordinary -act. The object of the Pontiff was not simply to check the evil--it was -to uproot it. The object of such efforts could not have been to determine -nothing. Who is there, then, who will venture to assert that the whole -thought of an entire reign, and of such a reign as that of Pius IX., -should miserably collapse in a measure without authority and without -effectiveness? To believe it would be an outrage; to affirm it would be -an insult to the wisdom and prudence of the most glorious of pontiffs. - -But what need is there for searching for proofs? A single reflection -banishes every difficulty. We have in the church two means for -ascertaining whether a pontifical act is, or is not, a sovereign -definition, an infallible decision. We have to enquire of the pontiff -who is the author of it, or the people who subordinate themselves to -his teaching. Neither one nor the other can deceive us in the answer -they give. The divine promise continues equally assured in both: in the -former, when he teaches; in the latter, when they listen and obey. It is -what the theologians call active and passive infallibility. Admit that -Pius IX. had left us in ignorance; that he published the Syllabus, but -did not tell us what amount of assent he required of us. Well, none of -us are in any doubt as to that. How many times has not this people said, -how many times has it not repeated with an enthusiasm inspired by love, -that this Syllabus, despised, insulted by the enemies of the church, -they accept as the rule of their beliefs, as the very word of Peter, as -the word of life come down from heaven to save us. Is it not thus that -have spoken, one after the other, bishops, theologians, the learned and -the ignorant, the mighty and the humble? Who amongst us has not heard -this language? A celebrated doctor, Tanner, has said that in order to -distinguish amongst the teachings of the church those which belong to its -infallible authority, we must listen to the judgment of wise men, and -above all consult the universal sentiment of Christians. If we adhere to -this decision, it reveals to us our duties in regard to the sovereign act -by which Pius IX. has withdrawn the world from the shadow in which it was -losing its way, and has prepared for it a future of better destinies. - -We have the more reason for acting thus as hell, by its furious hatred, -gives us, for its part, a similar warning, and proclaims, after its -fashion, the imperishable grandeur of the Syllabus. Neither has it, nor -have those who serve it, ever been under any illusion in this respect. -They have often revealed their mind both by act and word. What implacable -indignation! what torrents of insults! what clamor without truce or -mercy! And when importunate conciliators interfered to tell them they -were mistaken, that the Syllabus was nothing or next to nothing, and need -not provoke so much anger, how well they knew how to reply to them and to -bury them under the weight of their contempt! At the end of 1864, at the -moment when the struggle occasioned by the promulgation of the Encyclical -and Syllabus was the most furious, an agency of Parisian publicity, the -agency Bullier, could insert the following notice: “The Encyclical is -not a dogmatic bull, but only a doctrinal letter. It is observable that -the Syllabus does not bear the signature of the Pope. This Syllabus -has besides been published in a manner to allow us to believe that the -Holy Father did not intend to assign to it a great importance. One may -conclude, therefore, that the propositions which do not attack either the -dogma or morals of Catholics, and do not at all impeach faith, are not -condemned, but merely blamed.” To these words, poor in sense, but crafty -and treacherous in expression, the journal _Le Siècle_ replied as follows: - -“There are now people who tell us that the Encyclical is not a dogmatic -bull, but a doctrinal letter; that the eighty propositions are not -condemned, because they do not figure in the Encyclical, but only in the -Syllabus; that this Syllabus does not bear the signature of the Pope; -that it has been composed only by a commission of theologians, etc. These -people would do better to be silent. Encyclical or Syllabus, the fact is -that the theocracy has just hurled as haughty a defiance against modern -ideas as it was possible for it to do. We shall soon see what will be the -result.” - -We will leave them to settle their quarrels between themselves. For -ourselves, listening to these voices of heaven and of hell, of the church -and of the world, which coincide in exalting the work eternally blessed -by Pius IX., we repeat with profounder conviction than ever: “Yes, the -Syllabus is the infallible word of Peter; and if our modern society is -within the reach of cure, it is by the Syllabus that it is to be saved!” - - -SIR THOMAS MORE. - -_A HISTORICAL ROMANCE._ - -FROM THE FRENCH OF THE PRINCESSE DE CRAON. - -I. - -In a sumptuous apartment, whose magnificent furniture and costly -adornings announced it as the abode of kings, in a large Gothic -arm-chair--whose massive sides were decorated with carvings in ebony and -ivory of exquisite delicacy, and which was in itself, altogether, a model -of the most skilful workmanship--there reclined the form of a stately and -elegant woman. - -Her small feet, but half-concealed beneath the heavy folds of a rich -blue velvet robe, rested on a footstool covered with crimson brocade, -embroidered with golden stars. Bands of pearls adorned her beautiful -neck, contrasted with its dazzling whiteness, and were profusely twined -amid the raven tresses of her luxuriant hair. An expression of profound -melancholy was imprinted upon her noble features; her eyes were cast -down, and the long, drooping lashes were heavy with tears which she -seemed vainly endeavoring to repress, as she sat absorbed in thought, and -nervously entwining her snowy fingers with the silk and jewelled cord -which, according to the fashion of that day, she wore fastened at her -girdle and hanging to her feet. This royal personage was Catherine of -Aragon, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, wife of Henry VIII., -and queen of England. - -The king himself was hurriedly pacing to and fro in the apartment, with -contracted brow, a deeply troubled expression gleaming from his dark eyes -and obscuring, with a shade of gloomy fierceness, the naturally fine -features of his face. The ordinary grace of his carriage had disappeared; -his step was hurried and irregular; and every movement denoted a man -laboring under some violent excitement. From time to time he approached -the window, and gazed abstractedly into the distance; then, returning -to Catherine, he would address her abruptly, with a sharp expression or -hurried interrogation, neither waiting for nor seeming to desire a reply. - -While this strange scene was being enacted within the palace at -Greenwich, one of an entirely different nature was occurring in the -courtyard. From the road leading from Greenwich a cavalcade approached, -headed by a personage invested with the Roman purple, and apparently -entitled to and surrounded by all the “pomp and circumstance” of royalty. -He was mounted on a richly caparisoned mule with silver-plated harness, -adorned with silver bells and tufted with knots of crimson silk. This -distinguished personage was no other than the Archbishop of York, the -potent minister, who united in his person all the dignities both of -church and state--the Cardinal Legate, the king’s acknowledged favorite, -Wolsey. To increase his already princely possessions, to extend his -influence and authority, had been this man’s constant endeavor, and the -sole aim of his life. And so complete had been his success that he was -now regarded by all as an object of admiration and envy. But how greatly -mistaken was the world in its opinion! - -In his heart, Wolsey suffered the constant agony of a profound -humiliation. Compelled to yield in all things, and bow with servile -submission to the haughty will of his exacting and imperious master--who -by a word, and in a moment, could deprive him of his dignities and -temporalities--he lived in a state of constant dread, fearing to lose the -patronage and favor to secure which he had sacrificed both his honor and -his conscience. - -He was accompanied on this journey by a numerous retinue, composed -of gentlemen attached to his household and young pages carrying his -standard, all of whom were eagerly pressing upon him the most obsequious -attentions. They assisted him to dismount, and as he approached the -palace the guards saluted and received him with the utmost military -deference and respect; and with an air of grave dignity Wolsey passed on, -and disappeared beneath the arch of the grand stairway. - -Let us again return to the royal apartments. The king, seeing Wolsey -arrive, immediately turned from the window and, confronting Catherine, -abruptly exclaimed: - -“Come, madam, I wish you to retire; the affairs of my kingdom demand -instantly all my time and attention.” And hastily turning to the window, -he looked eagerly into the courtyard. - -Catherine arose without uttering a word, and approaching the centre of -the apartment she took from the table a small silver bell, and rang it -twice. - -On this table was a magnificent cloth cover that she had embroidered -with her own hands. The design represented a tournament, in which Henry, -who was devoted to chivalrous amusements, had borne off the prize over -all his competitors. In those days her husband received such presents -with grateful affection and sincere appreciation, and, as the souvenir -recalled to her mind the joy and happiness of the past, tears of -bitterness flowed afresh from the eyes of the unhappy princess. - -In answer to her signal, the door soon opened, the queen’s ladies in -waiting appeared, and, arranging themselves on either side, stood in -readiness to follow their royal mistress. She passed out, and was slowly -walking in silence through the vast gallery leading to the king’s -apartments, when Wolsey appeared, advancing from the opposite end of the -gallery, followed by his brilliant retinue. - -Catherine, then, instantly understood why the king had so abruptly -commanded her to retire. Suddenly pausing, she stood transfixed and -immovable, her soul overwhelmed with anguish; but, with a countenance -calm and impassible, she awaited the approach of the cardinal, who -advanced to salute her. In spite of all her efforts, however, she could -no longer control her feelings. - -“My lord cardinal,” she exclaimed in a low voice, trembling with emotion, -“go, the king waits for you!” And as she uttered these words, the -unhappy woman fell senseless to the floor. - -The hardened soul of the ambitious Wolsey was moved to its very depths -with compassion as he silently gazed on the noble woman before him, who -possessed the unbounded love and grateful esteem of all her household, -not only as their sovereign, but also as their beneficent mother. - -The cloud of ambition that forever surrounded him, darkening his soul and -obscuring his perceptions, was for the moment illuminated, and for the -first time he realized the enormity of Henry’s proceedings against the -queen. - -As this sudden light flashed on him, he felt remorse for having -encouraged the divorce, and resolved that henceforward all his influence -should be used to dissuade his sovereign from it. - -At the approach of the royal favorite the ushers hastily made their -salutations (although the queen had been permitted to pass them with -scarcely the slightest mark of respect), and seemed to consider the -most humble and servile attitude they could assume before him as only -sufficiently respectful. They hastened to throw open the doors before -him as he advanced, and Wolsey soon found himself in the presence of the -king, who awaited his arrival in a state of almost angry impatience. - -“Well! what do you come to tell me?” he cried. “Do you bring me good -news?” - -Wolsey, whose opinions had so recently undergone a very great change, -for a moment hesitated. “Sire,” he at length replied, “Campeggio, the -cardinal legate, has arrived.” - -“Has he indeed?” said Henry, with an ironical smile. “After so many -unsuccessful applications, we have then, at last, obtained this favor. -Well, I hope now this affair will proceed more rapidly; and, Wolsey, -remember that it is your business so entirely to compromise and surround -this man, that he shall not be able even to _think_ without my consent -and sanction. And, above all, beware of the intrigues of the queen. -Catherine is a Spaniard, with an artful, unyielding nature and fierce, -indomitable will. She will, without doubt, make the most determined and -desperate effort to enlist the legate in favor of her cause.” - -“Is the decision of your majesty irrevocable on the subject of this -divorce?” replied Wolsey, in a hesitating and embarrassed manner. “The -farther we advance, the more formidable the accumulating difficulties -become. I must acknowledge, sire, I begin myself to doubt of success. -Campeggio has already declared that, if the queen appeals to Rome, he -will not refuse to present her petition, and defend her cause; that -he himself will decide nothing, and will yield to nothing he cannot -conscientiously approve.” - -On hearing Wolsey express these sentiments, Henry’s face flushed with -rage, and a menacing scowl contracted his brow. - -“Can it be possible,” he cried, “that you dare address me in this manner? -I will castigate the Pope himself if he refuses his sanction. He shall -measure his power with mine! He trembles because Charles V. is already on -his frontier. I will make him tremble now, in my turn! I will marry Anne -Boleyn--yes, I will marry her before the eyes of the whole world!” - -“What do you say, sire? Anne Boleyn!” cried Wolsey. - -“Yes, Anne Boleyn!” replied the king, regarding Wolsey with his usual -haughty and contemptuous expression. “You know her well. She is attached -to the service of Catherine.” - -“Lady Anne Boleyn!” again cried Wolsey after a moment’s silence, for -astonishment had almost for the time rendered him speechless and -breathless. “Lady Anne Boleyn! The King of England, the great Henry, -wishes, then, to marry Anne Boleyn! Why, if contemplating such a marriage -as that, did you send me to seek the alliance of France, and to offer the -hand of your daughter in marriage to the Duke of Orleans? And why did -you instruct me to declare to Francis I. that your desire was to place -on the throne of England a princess of his blood? It was only by these -representations and promises that I succeeded in inducing him to sign the -treaty which deprived Catherine of all assistance. You have assured me of -your entire approval of these negotiations. This alliance with France was -the only means by which to secure for yourself any real defence against -the Pope and the Emperor. Do you suppose that Charles V. will quietly -permit you to deprive his aunt of her position and title as queen of -England?” Here Wolsey paused, wholly transported with indignation. - -“Charles!” replied the king, “Charles? I can easily manage and pacify him -by fine promises and long negotiations. As to our Holy Father, I will -stir up strife enough to fill his hands so full that he will not be able -to attend to anything else. The quarrels of Austria and France always -end by recoiling on his head, and I imagine he will not soon forget the -sacking Rome and his former imprisonment.” - -“Yes, but you forget,” said Wolsey, “that the King of France will -accuse you of flagrant bad faith: and will you bring on yourself their -abhorrence in order to espouse Anne Boleyn?” - -The minister pronounced these last words with an expression and in a -tone of such contemptuous scorn as to arouse in a fearful degree the -indignation of the king, accustomed only to the flattery and servile -adulation of his courtiers. At the same time, he was compelled to feel -the force of the cardinal’s reasoning, although the truth only served -still more to irritate and enrage him. - -“Cease, Wolsey!” cried Henry, fixing his flashing eyes fiercely upon him; -“I am not here to listen to your complaints. I shall marry whom I please; -and your head shall answer for the fidelity with which you assist me in -executing my will.” - -“My head, sire,” replied Wolsey courageously, “has long belonged to you; -my entire life has been devoted to your service; and yet I shall most -probably, in the end, have bitter cause to repent having always made -myself subservient to your wishes. But your majesty will surely reflect -more seriously on the dishonor you will necessarily incur by such a -choice as this. The queen’s party will grow stronger and stronger, and I -tell you frankly, I fear lest the legate be inflexible.” - -“Wolsey,” cried Henry, elevating his voice in a threatening manner, “I -have already declared my intentions--is that not sufficient? As to the -legate, I repeat, he must be gained over to my cause. Gold and flattery -will soon secure to us that tender conscience whose scruples you now so -sorely apprehend. Bring him to me to-morrow.” - -“He is suffering too much, sire. The cardinal is aged and very infirm; I -have no idea he will be in a condition to see your majesty for several -days yet.” - -“Too long, entirely too long to wait!” replied the king. “I must see him -this very day; he shall be compelled to make his appearance. I wish you -to be present also, as we shall discuss affairs of importance, and then I -shall depart.” - -With these words Henry withdrew and went to look for a casket, of which -he alone carried the key, and in which he usually kept his most valuable -and important papers. - -During his absence, Wolsey remained leaning on the table, before which -he was seated, absorbed in deep and painful reflections. He feared Henry -too much to oppose him long in any of his designs; besides, he saw no -possible means to induce him to change his resolution. He had felt, as -we have seen, a momentary compassion for the misfortunes of the queen, -but that impression had been speedily effaced by considerations of far -greater moment to himself. - -As a shrewd diplomatist, he regretted the alliance with France; besides, -he was really too much interested in the welfare of the king not to -deplore his determination to contract such a marriage. - -But the cause of his deepest anxiety was the knowledge he possessed of -Anne’s great dislike for him, and the consciousness that her family -and counsellors were his rivals and enemies; in consequence of which -he clearly foresaw they would induce her to use all the influence she -possessed with the king in order to deprive him of Henry’s favor -and patronage. He was suffering this mental conflict when the king -reappeared, bearing a bronze casket carved with rare perfection. Placing -it on the table, he unlocked it. Among a great many papers which it -contained was a very handsome book, the printing beautifully executed, -and every page ornamented with arabesques exquisitely tinted and shaded. -The cover, formed of two metal plates, represented in bass-relief the -figures of Faith, Hope, and Charity as young virgins, bearing in their -hands and on their foreheads the allegorical emblems of those sublime -Christian virtues. Emeralds of immense value, surrounded by heavy gold -settings, adorned the massive gold clasps, and also served to hold them -firmly in their places. - -On the back of this book, deeply engraven in the metal, were the -following words: _The Seven Sacraments_. Henry had written this work -in defence of the ancient dogmas of the Catholic Church, when first -attacked by the violent doctrines of a monk named Luther. Whether the -king had really composed it himself, or whether he had caused it to be -secretly done by another, and wished to enjoy the reputation of being -the author, he certainly attached great importance to the work. Not only -had he distributed it throughout his own kingdom, but had sent it to the -Pope and to all the German princes, through the Dean of Windsor, whom he -instructed to say that he was ready to defend the faith, not only with -his pen but, if need be, with his sword also. It was at that time that he -asked and obtained from the court of Rome the title of “Defender of the -Faith.” - -Now he was constantly busy with a manuscript, which he took from the -mysterious casket, containing a Treatise on Divorce, and to which he -every day devoted several hours. Greatly pleased with a number of -arguments he had just found, he came to communicate them to Wolsey. The -latter, after urging several objections, at length reminded him of the -fraudulent and persistent means that had been employed to extract from -the University of Oxford an opinion favorable to divorce. “And yet,” -added the cardinal, “it has been found impossible to prevent them from -increasing the number of most important restrictions, and thus rendering -your case exceedingly difficult, if not entirely hopeless.” - -“What!” said the king, “after the good example of the University of -Cambridge, are we still to encounter scruples? Consider it well, -cardinal, in order not to forget the recompense, and, above all, the -punishment, for that is the true secret of success! You will also take -care to write to the Elector Frederick, and say that I wait to receive -the humble apologies of that man Luther, whom he has taken so entirely -under his protection.” - -“Sire,” replied the cardinal, “I have received frequent intelligence with -regard to that matter which I have scarcely dared communicate to you.” - -“And why not?” demanded the king. “Do you presume, my lord cardinal, that -the abuse of an obscure and turbulent monk can affect me? And besides, to -tell you the truth, I do not know but this man may, after all, be useful -to me. He has attracted the attention of the court of Rome, and may yet -have to crave my protection.” - -“Well, sire, since you compel me to speak, I will tell you that, far -from making humble apologies, his violence against you has redoubled. I -have just received a tract he has recently published. In it I find many -passages where, in speaking of you, he employs the most abusive epithets -and expressions. For instance, he repeatedly declares that your majesty -‘is a fool, an ass, and a madman,’ that you are ‘coarser than a hog, -and more stupid than a jackass.’ He speaks with equal scurrility of our -Holy Father the Pope, addressing him, in terms of the most unparalleled -effrontery, this pretended warning, which is of course intended simply -as an insult: ‘My petit Paul, my petit Pope, my young ass, walk -carefully--it is very slippery--you may fall and break your legs. You -will surely hurt yourself, and then people will say, “What the devil does -this mean? The petit Pope has hurt himself.”’ Further on, I find this -ridiculous comparison, which could only emanate from a vile and shameless -pen: ‘The ass knows that he is an ass, the stone knows that it is a -stone, but these asses of popes are unable to recognize themselves as -asses.’ He concludes at length with these words, which fill the measure -of his impiety and degradation: ‘If I were ruler of an empire, I would -make a bundle of the Pope and his cardinals, and throw them altogether -into that little pond, the Tuscan Sea. I pledge my word that such a bath -would restore their health, and I pledge Jesus Christ as my security!’” - -“What fearful blasphemy!” cried Henry. “Could a Christian possibly be -supposed to utter such absurd, blasphemous vulgarities? I trow not! This -pretended ‘reformer’ of the ‘discipline and abuses of the church’ seems -to possess any other than an evangelical character. No one can doubt his -divine mission and his Christian charity! A man who employs arguments -like these is too vile and too contemptible to be again mentioned in my -presence. Let me hear no more of this intolerable apostate! Proceed now -with business.” - -“Sire,” then continued the cardinal, presenting a list to the king, -“here are the names of several candidates I wish you to consider for -the purpose of appointing a treasurer of the exchequer. Thomas More has -already filled, most honorably, a number of offices of public trust, and -is also a man of equal ability and integrity. I recommend him to your -majesty for this office.” - -“I approve your selection most unhesitatingly,” replied the king. “I am -extremely fond of More, and perfectly satisfied with the manner in which -he has performed his official duties heretofore. You will so inform him -from me. What next?” - -“I would also petition your majesty that Cromwell be confirmed as -intendant-general of the monasteries latterly transformed into colleges.” - -“Who is this Cromwell?” inquired Henry. “I have no recollection of him.” - -“Sire,” replied Wolsey, “he is of obscure birth, the son of a fuller of -this city. He served in the Italian wars in his youth; afterwards he -applied himself to the study of law. His energies and abilities are such -as to entitle him to the favorable consideration of your majesty.” - -“Let him be confirmed as you desire,” replied the king very graciously, -as he proceeded to sign the different commissions intended for the newly -appointed officials. - -“I wish,” he added, regarding Wolsey with a keen, searching glance, “that -you would find some position for a young ecclesiastic called Cranmer, who -has been strongly recommended to me for office.” - -The brow of the cardinal contracted into a heavy frown as he heard the -name of a man but too well known to him. He immediately divined that it -was from Anne Boleyn alone the king had received this recommendation. - - * * * * * - -In the meantime, the queen had been carried to her apartments. The -devoted efforts of the ladies of her household, who surrounded her with -the tenderest ministrations, soon recalled her to the consciousness and -full realization of her misery. - -Now the night has come, and found Catherine still seated before the -grate, absorbed in deep thought. Born under the soft skies of Spain, -she had never become acclimated, nor accustomed to the humid, foggy -atmosphere of England. Like a delicate plant torn from its native soil, -she sighed unceasingly for the balmy air and the golden sunlight of -her own genial southern clime. Such regrets, added to the sorrows she -had experienced, had thrown her into a state of habitual melancholy, -from which nothing could arouse her, and which the slightest occurrence -sufficed to augment. For a long time her firmness of character had -sustained her; but her health beginning to fail, and no longer able -to arouse the energy and courage which had before raised her above -misfortune, she sank beneath the burden and abandoned herself to hopeless -sorrow. - -As she sat all alone in her chamber, she held in her hand a letter but -recently received from her native country. Reading it slowly, she mused, -dreaming of the days of her happy childhood, when suddenly the door was -opened, and a young girl, apparently ten or twelve years of age, ran -in and threw her arms around the neck of the queen. The figure of the -child was slight and graceful; around her waist was tied a broad sash -of rose-colored ribbon, with long ends floating over her white muslin -dress; her beautiful blonde hair was drawn back from her forehead and -fastened with bows of ribbon, leaving exposed a lovely little face -glowing with animation and spirit, and a frank, ingenuous expression, -at once prepossessing and charming. This was the Princess Mary, the -daughter of Henry, the future consort of a Spanish prince, to whom the -shrewd diplomatist Wolsey had promised her hand, in order to deprive the -unfortunate mother of this her only remaining consolation. - -“Why is it, my dearest mamma,” she exclaimed, “that you are again in -tears?” And, laughingly, she took the handkerchief from the queen and put -it to her own eyes, pretending to weep. - -“See now, this is the way I shall do when I am grown up, for it seems to -me grown-up people are always weeping. Oh! I wish I could always remain -a child, and then I should never be miserable! Listen, my dear mamma,” -she continued, again twining her arms around her mother’s neck, “why is -it that you are always weeping and so sad? It must surely do you harm. -Everybody is not like you, constantly sighing and in tears, I do assure -you. Only this morning, I was at St. James’ Park with Alice, and there -I met Lady Anne Boleyn; she was laughing gaily as she promenaded with a -number of her friends. I ran immediately to her to say good morning, for -I was really very glad to see her. How is it, mamma--I thought you told -me she had gone to Kent to visit her father?” - -“My child,” replied the queen, her tears flowing afresh, “what I told you -was true; but she has since returned without my being informed.” - -“But, mamma, since this is your own house, why has she not yet presented -herself? I am very sorry she has acted so, for I love her better than any -of the other ladies. She told me all she saw in France when she travelled -with my aunt, the Duchess of Suffolk. Oh! how I would love to see France. -Lady Anne says it is a most beautiful country. She has described to me -all the magnificent entertainments that King Louis XII. gave in honor of -my aunt. Mamma, when I marry, I want the King of France to be my husband.” - -“And you--you also love Anne Boleyn?” replied the queen. - -“Oh! yes, mamma, _very_ much, very much indeed!” innocently answered the -child. “I am very sorry she is no longer to be here, she is so amiable, -and when she plays with me she always amuses me so much!” - -“Well, my dear child,” replied the queen, “I will tell you now why people -weep when they are grown up, as you say: it is because they very often -love persons who no longer return their affection.” - -“And do you believe she no longer loves me?” replied the impulsive little -Mary with a thoughtful expression. “And yet, mamma, I kissed her this -morning and embraced her with all my heart. However, I now remember that -she scarcely spoke a word to me; but I had not thought of it before. She -seemed to be very much embarrassed. But why should she no longer love me -when I still love her so dearly?” - -As Mary uttered these words, a woman entered the room and, whispering a -moment in the ear of the queen, placed a note in her hand. - -Catherine arose and approached the light; after reading the note, she -called the young princess and requested her to retire to her chamber, as -she had something to write immediately that was very important. - -Mary ran gaily to her mother, and, after kissing and embracing her fondly -and tenderly again and again, she at last bade her good-night, and with a -smiling face bounded from the room in the same light and buoyant manner -that she had entered it. - -“Leonora,” said the queen, “my dear child, you have left for my sake our -beautiful Spain, and have ever served me with faithful devotion. Listen, -now, to the request I shall make--go bring me immediately the dress and -outer apparel belonging to one of the servant women.” - -“Why so, my lady?” - -“Ask no questions--I have use for them; you will accompany me; I must go -to London this night.” - -“Good heaven! my dear mistress, what are you saying?” cried Leonora in -great alarm. “Go to London to-night? It is five miles; you will never be -able to walk it, and you well know it would be impossible to attempt the -journey in any other way--they would detect us.” - -“Leonora,” answered the queen, “I am resolved to go. Faithful friends -inform me that the legate has arrived. Henry will now redouble his -vigilance. I have but one day--if I lose this opportunity, I shall -never succeed. My last remaining hope rests upon this. If you refuse to -accompany me, I shall go alone.” - -“Alone!--oh! my beloved mistress,” cried Leonora, her hands clasped and -her eyes streaming tears, “you can never do this! Think of what you are -going to undertake! If you were recognized, the king would be at once -informed, and we would both be lost.” - -“Even so, Leonora; but what have I to lose? Is it possible for me to be -made more wretched? Shall I abandon this, my last hope? No, no, Leonora; -I am accountable to my children for the honor of their birth. Go now, my -good girl! fly--there is not a moment to lose. Fear nothing; God will -protect us!” - -Leonora, shrewd and adroit like the women of her country, was very soon -in possession of the desired habiliments. Her actions might have excited -suspicion, perhaps; but entirely devoted to the queen as she was she felt -no fear, and would, without hesitation, have exposed herself to even -greater danger, had it been necessary, in the execution of her mistress’ -wishes. - -Catherine feigned to retire; and, after her attendants had been -dismissed, she left the palace, closely enveloped in a long brown cloak, -such as was habitually worn by the working-women of that period. The -faithful Leonora tremblingly followed the footsteps of her mistress. They -breathed more freely when they found themselves at last beyond the limits -of the castle. Leonora, however, when they entered the road leading to -London, anxiously reflected on the danger of meeting some one who would -probably recognize them. Her excited imagination even began to conjure up -vague apprehensions of the dead, to blend with her fears of the living. -She also dreaded lest the strength of the queen should prove unequal -to the journey--in fine, she feared everything. The sighing winds, the -rustling leaves, the sound of her own footsteps as she walked over the -stones, startled and filled her with apprehension. Very soon there was -another cause for alarm. The wind suddenly arose with violence; dark -clouds overspread the heavens; the moon disappeared; large drops of -rain began to fall, and soon poured in torrents, deluging the earth and -drenching their garments. - -In vain they increased their speed; the storm raged with such fury they -were compelled to take refuge under a tree by the roadside. - -“My poor Leonora,” said the queen, supporting herself against the trunk -of the tree, whose wide-spread branches were being lashed and bent by the -fury of the storm, “I regret now having brought you with me. I am already -sufficiently miserable without the additional pain of seeing my burdens -laid upon others.” - -“My beloved lady and mistress,” cried Leonora, “I am not half so unhappy -at this moment as I was when I feared my brothers would prevent me from -following you to England. It seems to me I can see the vessel now, -with its white sails unfurled, bearing you away, whilst I, standing on -the shore, with frantic cries, entreated them to let me rejoin you. -That night, I remember, being unable to sleep, I went down into the -orange-grove, the perfume of whose fruits and flowers embalmed the air -of the palace gardens. Wiping away the sad tears, I fixed my eyes upon -your windows, which the light of our beautiful skies rendered distinctly -visible even at night. In Spain, at that hour, we can walk by the light -of the stars; but in this land of mud and water, this horrid England, -one has to be wrapped to the ears in furs all the year round, or shiver -with cold from morning till night. This is doubtless the reason why -the English are so dull and so tiresome to others. In what a condition -is this light mantle that covers our heads!” said Leonora, shaking the -coarse woollen cloak dripping with water, that enveloped Catherine. -“These Englishwomen,” she resumed, “know no more about the sound of a -guitar than they do about the rays of the sun; they are all just as -melancholy as moles. There is not one of them, except the Princess Mary, -who seems to have the slightest idea of our beautiful Spain.” - -“Ah!” sighed the queen, “she is just as I was at her age. God forbid that -her future should resemble that of her mother!” - -In the meantime the storm had gradually abated; time pressed, and -Catherine again resumed her journey with renewed courage and accelerated -speed. In spite of the mud, in which she sank at every step, she -redoubled her efforts. For what cannot the strong human will accomplish, -when opposed to feeble, physical strength alone, or even when the -obstacles interposed proceed from the elements themselves? She at length -arrived at the gate of the palace of Lambeth, situated on the banks of -the Thames, where the cardinal Campeggio, according to the intelligence -conveyed to her, would hold his court. - -The courtyards, the doors, the ante-chambers, were thronged with servants -and attendants, eager and active in the performance of their duties, for -Henry had ordered that the cardinal should be entertained in a style -of princely munificence, and entirely free from personal expense. All -these valets, being strangers to their new masters, and unaccustomed to -their new employments, permitted the queen to pass without question or -detention, not, however, without a stare of stupid curiosity at her muddy -boots and draggled garments. - -Catherine, being perfectly familiar with the interior of the palace, had -no difficulty in finding the legate’s cabinet. - -The venerable prelate was slightly lame, and in a feeble and precarious -state of health. She found him seated before the fire in a large velvet -arm-chair, engaged in reading his Breviary. His face was pale and -emaciated; a few thin locks of snow-white hair hung about his temples. -Hearing the door open, he rested the book on his knee, casting upon the -queen, as she entered, a keen, penetrating glance. - -Without hesitation, Catherine advanced towards him. “My lord cardinal,” -she exclaimed, removing the hood from her face, “you see before you the -queen of England, the legitimate spouse of Henry VIII.” - -Hearing these words, Campeggio was unable to suppress an exclamation of -surprise. He arose at once to his feet, and, perceiving the extraordinary -costume in which Catherine was arrayed, he cast upon her a look of -incredulous astonishment. He was about to speak when she, with great -vehemence, interrupted him. - -“Yes,” she cried, raising her hands towards heaven, “I call upon God to -witness the truth of what I say--I am Queen Catherine! You are astonished -to see me here at this hour, and in this disguise. Know, then, that I am -a prisoner in my own palace; my cruel husband would have prevented me -from coming to you. They tell me you are sent to sit in judgment on my -case. Surely, then, you should be made acquainted with my bitter woes and -grievances. Lend not your aid to the cause of injustice and wrong, but be -the strength of the weak, the defence of the innocent. A stranger in this -country, I have no friends; fear of the king drives them all from me. -I cannot doubt it--no, you will not refuse to hear my appeal. You will -defend the cause of an injured mother and her helpless children. What! -would you be willing to condemn me without first hearing my cause--I, -the daughter of kings? Have I been induced to marry Henry of Lancaster -to enjoy the honors of royalty, when all such honors belong to me by my -birthright? Catherine of Aragon has never been unfaithful to her husband; -but to-day, misled by a criminal passion, he wishes to place upon the -throne of England a shameless woman, to deny his own blood, and brand his -own children with the stigma of illegitimacy! Yes, I solemnly declare to -you that nothing can shake my resolution or divert me from my purpose! -Strong in my innocence and in the justice of my cause, I will appeal to -the whole world--aye, even to God himself!” - -The cardinal stood motionless, regarding Catherine with reverence, as an -expression of haughty indignation lighted up her noble features. He was -struck with admiration at her courage and filled with compassion for her -woes. - -“No, madam,” he replied, “I am not to be your judge. I know that it is -but too true that you are surrounded by enemies. But let me assure you -that in me, at least, you will not find another. I shall esteem myself -most happy if, by my counsel or influence, I may be of service to your -cause, and it is from the depths of my heart that I beg you to rely upon -this assurance.” - -Catherine would have thanked him, but a noise was that moment heard of -the ushers throwing the doors violently open and announcing, in a loud -voice, “His Eminence Cardinal Wolsey!” - -“Merciful heaven!” cried Catherine, “must this odious man pursue me for -ever?” She hurriedly lowered her veil, and took her place at the left of -the door, and the moment he entered passed out behind him. Wolsey glanced -at her sharply, the appearance of a woman arousing instantly a suspicion -in his mind, but, being compelled to respond with politeness to the -legate’s salutations, he had no time to scrutinize, and Catherine escaped -without being recognized. - -Wolsey was passionately fond of pomp and pageant. The principal positions -in his house were filled by barons and chevaliers. Among these attendants -were numbered the sons of some of the most distinguished families, who, -under his protection and by the aid of his all-powerful patronage and -influence, aspired to civil or military preferment. - -On this occasion, he considered it necessary to make an unusual display -of luxurious magnificence. It was with great difficulty and trepidation -that the queen threaded her way through the crowd of prelates, noblemen, -and young gentlemen who awaited in the ante-chambers the honor of being -presented by the king’s favorite to the cardinal-legate. - -The courtyard was filled with their brilliant equipages, conspicuous -among which were observed a great number of mules, richly caparisoned, -and carrying on their backs immense chests, covered with crimson cloth, -trimmed with fringe and embroidered with gold. - -A crowd of idle valets were engaged in conversation at the foot of the -stairs. The queen, in passing them, attracted their attention, exciting -their ridicule and coarse gibes, and she heard them also indulge in the -most insolent conjectures regarding her. - -“Who is that woman?” said one. “See how dirty she is.” “She looks like -a beggar, indeed,” cried another, addressing himself to one of the -new-comers engaged to attend the legate. “Your master receives strange -visitors; we, on the contrary, have nothing to do with people like that, -except quickly to show them the door.” - -“Ha! ha! you will have your hands full,” exclaimed the most insolent -of the crowd, “if your master gives audience to such rabble as that.” -Emboldened by these remarks, one of the porters approached the queen, -and, rudely pushing her, exclaimed with an oath: “Well, beldame, what -brought you here? Take yourself off quickly. My lord is rich, but his -crowns were not made for such as you.” These words excited the loudest -applause from the whole crowd, who clapped their hands and cheered -vociferously. Catherine trembled with mortification. - -“It is thus,” she mentally exclaimed, “that the poor are received in -the palaces of the rich. And I myself have probably more than once, -without knowing it, permitted them to sigh in vain at the gates of my own -palace--mothers weeping for their children, or men, old and helpless, -making a last appeal for assistance.” - -The queen, entirely absorbed in these reflections, together with the -impression made upon her by the appearance of the venerable legate, the -sudden apparition of Wolsey, the snares that had been laid for her, and -the temptations with which they had surrounded her, mechanically followed -Leonora, to whom the fear that her mistress might be pursued and arrested -seemed to have given wings. - -“Leonora,” at length cried the queen, “I feel that I can go no farther. -Stop, and let us rest for a moment; you walk too quickly.” Exhausted with -fatigue, she seated herself on a rock by the roadside. - -She had scarcely rested a moment when a magnificent carriage passed. -The silken curtains were drawn back, and the flaming torches, carried -by couriers, who surrounded the carriage, completely illuminated the -interior. Seated in this princely equipage was a young girl, brilliant -in her youthful beauty and the splendor of her elegant dress and -jewelled adornings. At a glance, Catherine recognized Anne Boleyn, who -was returning from a grand entertainment given her by the Lord Mayor of -London. - -She passed like the light; the carriage rapidly whirling through the mud -and water, that flew from the wheels and covered anew the already soiled -garments of the hapless queen. - -Catherine, completely overcome by painful emotions, felt as though she -were dying. - -“Leonora, listen!” she said in a faint voice, scarcely audible--“Leonora, -come near me--give me your hand; I feel that I am dying! You will carry -to my daughter my last benediction!” - -She sought in the darkness the hand of Leonora; the film of death -seemed gathering over her eyes; she did not speak, her head sank on her -shoulder, and poor Leonora thought the queen had ceased to breathe. She -at first held her in her arms; but at length, overcome by fatigue, she -sank upon the earth as she vainly endeavored to revive her by breathing -into her mouth her own life-breath. But seeing all her efforts to restore -animation useless, she came to the terrible conclusion that Catherine was -indeed dead. - -“My dear mistress,” she cried wildly, wringing her hands, “my good -mistress is dead! What will become of me? It is my fault: I should -have prevented her from going. Ah! how miserable I am!” And her tears -and cries redoubled. At length she heard in the distance the sound of -approaching footsteps, and was soon able to distinguish a litter, borne -by a number of men. “Help!” she cried, her hopes reviving at the sight, -and very soon they were near her--“help! come to my assistance; my -mistress is dying!” Seeing two women, one lying on the ground supported -in the arms of another, who appeared half-deranged, the person who -occupied the litter commanded the men to stop immediately, and he quickly -alighted. It was the king! He also was going to London to see the -legate; to prevent his anxious haste from being known, and commented on, -he had adopted this secret conveyance. When she saw him, Leonora was -paralyzed with apprehension and alarm. The king instantly recognized -the queen and the unhappy Leonora. In a furious voice, he demanded what -she was doing there and where she had been. But in vain she endeavored -to reply--her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth--she was unable to -articulate a word. Transported with rage at her silence, and by what -he suspected, he immediately had the queen placed in the litter, and -ordering the men to walk slowly, he followed them on foot to the palace. - -Catherine was carried to her own apartment, and soon restored to -consciousness; but on opening her eyes she looked around, vainly hoping -to behold her faithful Leonora. She never saw her again! She had been -taken away, and the punishment that was meted out to her, or the fate -that befel the unfortunate girl, was for ever involved in mystery. - -While discord filled the royal palace with perplexity and sorrow a -statesman, simple and peaceful, awaited, with happiness mingled with -impatience, the arrival of a friend. In his house, all around him seemed -possessed of redoubled activity. The family table was more elegantly -spread, fresh flowers decorated all the apartments, the children ran to -and fro in the very excess of their joy and delight, until at length, -in every direction, the glad announcement was heard, “He has come! he -has come!” The entire family eagerly descended to the court-yard to meet -and welcome the visitor, and Sir Thomas, with feelings of inexpressible -joy, folded in his embrace the Bishop of Rochester, the wise and virtuous -Fisher, whom he loved with the purest and tenderest sentiments of -friendship. - -“At last you are here,” he exclaimed; “how happy I am to see you once -more!” - -While the good bishop was ascending the stairs, surrounded by a troop -of Sir Thomas’ youngest children, Margaret, the eldest daughter, came -forward and saluted him, accompanied by Lady More, her step-mother, -and young William Roper, her affianced husband. They all entered the -drawing-room together, and, after engaging a short time in general -conversation, Sir Thomas bade the children retire, that he might converse -with more freedom. - -“My dear friend,” he exclaimed, taking the bishop’s hand again in his -own, “I cannot express the joy I feel at your return. I have been so long -deprived of your presence, and I have so many things to say to you. But -my heart is too full at this moment to permit me to express all I feel or -would say! But why have you not answered my letters?” - -“Your letters!” replied the bishop. “Why, it has been more than a month -since I received one from you.” - -“How can that be possible unless they have been intercepted?” replied -More. “The king every day becomes more and more suspicious. If this -continues, it will soon be considered high treason for a man to think.” - -“I cannot tell what has become of your letters. I only know I have -not received them, and it has caused me a great deal of anxiety and -apprehension. But my friend, since I find you full of life and health, -I am quite satisfied and happy. Now, let me hear all that has happened -at court; but let me begin by first telling you that the king has sent -me, through Cardinal Wolsey, a document he has written on the subject -of divorce, asking my opinion and advice. I have answered him with all -frankness and candor, expressing myself strongly against his views. -Certainly, there is nothing more absurd than the idea of the king’s -wishing to repudiate, after so many years of marriage, a princess so -virtuous and irreproachable, to whom he can find no other objection -than that she was betrothed to his brother, Prince Arthur. Besides, a -dispensation was obtained on that account at the time of his marriage, -therefore it would seem his conscience ought to be perfectly satisfied.” - -“Yes, yes, his conscience should be entirely at rest,” replied Sir -Thomas. “And if he sincerely believes the marriage has been void -until this time, why does he not make the effort to have it rendered -legitimate, instead of endeavoring to annul it entirely? It is because he -wishes to marry one of the queen’s ladies--the young Anne Boleyn!” - -“Oh! horrible,” cried Fisher. “Are you sure, my friend, of what you say? -Gracious heaven! If I had only suspected it! But I assure you I have -had entire confidence in him. I have, therefore, examined the subject -conscientiously and with the greatest possible diligence before giving -him my reply. Had I suspected any such scheme as this, I should never -have had the patience to consider the arguments he has presented with so -much duplicity.” - -“Well, my dear Fisher,” replied Sir Thomas, “such is the sad truth, and -such are the ‘scruples’ that disturb the tender conscience of the king. -To repudiate the queen and the Princess Mary, his daughter, is his sole -aim, his only desire. I also have received an order to read and give my -opinion on the divorce question; but I have asked to be excused, on the -ground of my very limited knowledge of theological matters. Moreover, all -these debates and hypocritical petitions for advice are entirely absurd -and unnecessary. Cardinal Campeggio, the Pope’s legate, has already -arrived from Rome, and the queen will appear before a court composed of -the legate and Wolsey, together with several other cardinals.” - -“The queen brought to trial!” cried the Bishop of Rochester. “The queen -arraigned to hear her honor and her rank disputed? What a shame upon -England! Who will speak for her? I would give my life to be called to -defend her! But how is it that Wolsey--the all-powerful Wolsey--has not -diverted the king from his unworthy purpose?” - -“He is said to have tried; but he stands in awe of the king. You know an -ambitious man never opposes him to whom he owes his power. Nevertheless,” -added More, “I cannot believe he will dare to pronounce the Princess Mary -illegitimate. For, all laws aside, supposing even that the marriage were -annulled, the good faith in which it was contracted invests her birth -with an inalienable right.” - -“I hope it may be so,” said Fisher; “but what immense calamities this -question will bring on our unhappy country!” - -“I fear so, my friend,” replied More. “At present, the people are pledged -to the queen’s cause; it could not be otherwise, she is so much beloved -and esteemed; and they declare, if the king does succeed in repudiating -Catherine, that he will find it impossible to deprive his daughter of her -right to reign over them.” - -“And Wolsey,” replied the bishop thoughtfully, “will be called to -sit in judgment on his sovereign! He will be against her! And this -Campeggio--what says he in the matter?” - -“We believe,” replied More, “that he will sustain the queen; he seems to -possess great firmness and integrity of character. His first interview -with the king gave us great hopes. Henry has overwhelmed him with -protestations of his entire submission, but all his artifices have been -frustrated by the discernment and prudence of the Italian cardinal. His -impenetrable silence on the subject of his own personal opinions has -plunged the king into despair. Since that day he has honored him with -incessant visits, has offered him the rich bishopric of Durham, and -worked unceasingly to corrupt his integrity by promises and flattery.” - -“How keenly the queen must suffer,” said Fisher--“she that I saw, at -the time of her arrival in the kingdom, so young, so beautiful, and so -idolized by Henry!” - -“Alas! I think so,” said More. “For some time I have found it impossible -to approach her. However, she appears in public as usual, always gracious -and affable; there is no change in her appearance. The queen is truly -a most admirable woman. During your absence, an epidemic made its -appearance called the ‘sweating sickness,’ which made terrible ravages. -Wolsey fled from his palace, several noblemen belonging to his household -having died very suddenly of the disease. The king was greatly alarmed; -he never left the queen for a moment, and united with her in constant -prayers to God, firmly believing that her petitions would avail to stay -the pestilence. He immediately despatched Anne Boleyn to her father, -where she was attacked by the disease, and truly we would have felt -no regret at her loss if the Lord in taking her had only deigned to -show mercy to her soul. At one time we believed the king had entirely -reformed, but, alas! the danger had scarcely passed when he recalled Anne -Boleyn, and is again estranged from the queen.” - -“Death gives us terrible lessons,” replied the Bishop of Rochester. “In -his presence we judge of all things wisely. The illusions of time are -dissipated, to give place to the realities of eternity!” As the bishop -said these words, several persons who had called to see Sir Thomas -entered the room. Conspicuous among them was Cromwell, the protégé of -Wolsey. This man was both false and sinister, who made use of any means -that led to the acquisition of fortune. He possessed the arts of intrigue -and flattery. To a profound dissimulation he added an air of politeness -and a knowledge of the world that, in general, caused him to be well -received in society. A close scrutiny of his character, however, made -it evident that there was something in the depths of this man’s soul -rendering him unworthy of any confidence. To him, vice and virtue were -words devoid of any meaning. When he found a man was no longer necessary -to his designs, or that he could not in some manner use him, he made no -further effort to conciliate or retain his friendship. He saluted Sir -Thomas and the Bishop of Rochester with a quiet ease, and seated himself -beside young Cranmer--“with whom I am very well acquainted,” he remarked. -For Cromwell, like all other intriguers, assumed intimacy with all the -world. - -Scarcely had he uttered the words when a Mr. Williamson was ushered in, -who had returned to London a few days before, after a long absence on the -Continent. - -“And so you are back, Mr. Williamson,” cried More, taking his hand. “You -are just from Germany, I believe? Well, do tell us how matters stand in -that country. It seems, from what we hear, everything is in commotion -there.” - -“Your supposition is quite correct, sir,” replied Williamson in a -half-serious, half-jesting manner. “The emperor is furious against our -king, and has sent ambassadors to Rome to oppose the divorce. But the -empire is greatly disturbed by religious dissensions, therefore I doubt -if he will be able to give the subject as much attention as he desires. -New reformers are every day springing up. The foremost now is Bacer, -a Dominican monk; then comes Zwingle, the curate of Zürich--where he -endeavored to abolish the Mass, to the great scandal of the people--and -there is still another, named Œcolampadius, who has joined Zwingle. But -strangest of all is that these reformers, among themselves, agree in -nothing. The one admits a dogma, the other rejects it; to-day they think -this, to-morrow that. Every day some new doctrine is promulgated. Luther -has a horror of Zwingle, and they mutually damn each other. The devil is -no longer able to recognize himself. They occasionally try to patch up a -reconciliation, and agree altogether to believe a certain doctrine, but -the compact is scarcely drawn up before the whole affair is upset again.” - -Cranmer, while listening to this discourse, moved uneasily in his chair, -until at length, unable to restrain himself longer, he interrupted -Williamson in a sharp, cutting manner that he endeavored to soften. - -“In truth, sir, you speak very slightingly of these learned and -distinguished men. And only, it seems, because they demand a reform in -the morals of the clergy, and preach against and denounce the abuses of -the church in the matter of indulgences.” - -“Beautiful reformers!” cried Williamson. “They protest to-day against an -abuse which they alone have felt as such, and that but for a very short -time. And permit me to insist on your observing a fact, which it is by no -means necessary or expedient to forget, that this quarrel originated in -the displeasure felt by Luther because it was not to his own order, but -to that of the Dominicans, to whom the distribution of indulgences was -entrusted.” - -“That may be possible, sir,” interrupted Cranmer, “but at least you will -not deny that the immorality of the German clergy imperatively demanded a -thorough reformation.” - -“It is quite possible, my dear sir, that I may not be ready at once to -agree with you in your opinions. But if the German church has become -relaxed in morals, it is the fault of those only who before their -elevation to the holy office had not, as they were bound to have, the -true spirit of their vocation. But I pray you, on this point of morals, -it will not do to boast of the severity of these new apostles. The -disciples of Christ left their wives, when called to ‘go into all the -world and preach the Gospel,’ but these men begin by taking wives. Luther -has married a young and beautiful nun, an act that has almost driven his -followers to despair, and scandalized and excited the ridicule of the -whole city. As to Bucer, he is already married to his second wife!” - -“What!” cried the bishop, “these men marry! Marry--in the face of the -holy church! Do they forget the solemn vows of chastity they have -made?--for they are all either priests or monks.” - -“Their vows! Oh! they _retract_ their vows, they say. These ‘vows’ are -what they call _abuses_; and the priests of this so severely reformed -church will hereafter enjoy the inestimable privilege of marrying.” - -Whilst this conversation had been going on, Sir Thomas kept his eyes -closely fixed on Cranmer, trying to discover, from the expression of his -pale, meagre face, the impression made on him by the conversation. He -was well convinced that latterly Cranmer, although he had already taken -orders, maintained the new doctrines with all the influence he possessed. -And the reason why he had so thoroughly espoused them was because of a -violent passion conceived for the daughter of Osiander, one of the chief -reformers. - -Born of a poor and obscure family, he had embraced the ecclesiastical -state entirely from motives of interest and ambition, and without the -slightest vocation, his sole aim being to advance his own interests -and fortunes by every possible means, and he had already succeeded in -ingratiating himself with the Earl of Wiltshire, who, together with all -the family of Anne Boleyn, were his devoted patrons and friends. It was -by these means that he was afterwards elevated to the archiepiscopal see -of Canterbury, where we will find him servilely devoting himself to the -interests of Henry VIII., and at last dying the death of a traitor. - -Influenced by such motives, Cranmer warmly defended the new doctrines, -bringing forward every available argument, and ended by declaring he -thought it infinitely better that the priests should be allowed to marry -than be exposed to commit sin. - -“Nothing obliges them to commit sin,” cried the Bishop of Rochester, who -was no longer able to maintain silence. “On the contrary, sir, every -law and regulation of the discipline and canons of the church tends to -inspire and promote the most immaculate purity of morals. These rules -may seem hard to those who have embraced the ecclesiastical state from -motives of pride and an ambitious self-interest, and without having -received from God the graces necessary for the performance of the duties -of so exalted and holy a ministry. This is why we so often have to grieve -over the misconduct of so many of the clergy. But if they complain of -their condition now, what will it be when they have wives and families -to increase their cares and add to their responsibilities? The priest!” -continued the bishop, seeming to penetrate the very depths of Cranmer’s -narrow, contracted soul, “have you ever reflected upon the sublimity of -his vocation? The priest is the father of the orphan, the brother of the -poor, the consoler of the dying, the spiritual support of the criminal -on the scaffold, the merciful judge of the assassin in his dungeon. Say, -do you not think the entire human race a family sufficiently large, its -duties sufficiently extended, its responsibilities, wants, and cares -sufficiently arduous and pressing? How could a priest do more, when his -duty now requires him to devote, and give himself entirely to, each and -every one of the human family? No; a priest is a man who has made a -solemn vow to become an angel. If he does not intend to fulfil that vow, -then let him never pronounce it!” - -“O Rochester!” cried Sir Thomas More, greatly moved, “how I delight to -hear you express yourself in this manner!” - -And Sir Thomas spoke with all sincerity, for the bishop, without being -conscious of it, had faithfully described his own life and character, -and those who knew and loved him found no difficulty in recognizing the -portrait. - -As Sir Thomas spoke, the door again opened, and all arose respectfully -on seeing the Duke of Norfolk appear--that valiant captain, to whom -England was indebted for her victory gained on the field of Flodden. -He was accompanied by the youngest and best-beloved of his sons, the -young Henry, Earl of Surrey. Even at his very tender age, the artless -simplicity and graceful manners of this beautiful child commanded the -admiration of all, while his brilliant intellect and lively imagination -announced him as the future favorite and cherished poet of the age. - -Alas! how rapidly fled those golden years of peace and happiness. Later, -and Norfolk, this proud father, so happy in being the parent of such a -son, lived to behold the head of that noble boy fall upon the scaffold! -The crime of which Henry VIII. will accuse him will be that of having -united his arms with those of Edward the Confessor, whose royal blood -mingled with that which flowed in his own veins. - -Sir Thomas approached the duke and saluted him with great deference. The -Bishop of Rochester insisted on resigning him his chair, but the duke -declined, and seated himself in the midst of the company. - -“I was not aware,” said he, turning graciously towards the bishop, “that -Sir Thomas was enjoying such good company. I congratulate myself on the -return of my Lord of Rochester. He will listen, I am sure, with lively -interest to the recital I have come to make; for I must inform you, -gentlemen, I am just from Blackfriars, where the king summoned me this -morning in great haste, to assist, with some of the highest dignitaries -of the kingdom, at the examination of the queen before the assembly of -cardinals.” - -He had scarcely uttered these words when an expression of profound -amazement overspread the features of all present. More was by no means -the least affected. - -“The queen!” he cried. “Has she then appeared in person? And so -unexpectedly and rudely summoned! They have done this in order that she -might not be prepared with her defence!” - -“I know not,” replied the duke; “but I shall never be able to forget -the sad and imposing scene. When we entered, the cardinals and the two -legates were seated on a platform covered with purple cloth; the king -seated at their right. We were arranged behind his chair in perfect -silence. Very soon the queen entered, dressed in the deepest mourning. -She took her seat on the left of the platform, facing the king. When the -king’s name was called he arose, and remained standing and in silence. -But when the queen was in her turn summoned, she arose, and replied, -with great dignity, that she boldly protested against her judges for -three important reasons: first, because she was a stranger; secondly, -because they were all in possession of royal benefices, which had been -bestowed on them by her adversary; and, thirdly, that she had grave and -all-important reasons for believing that she would not obtain justice -from a tribunal so constituted. She added that she had already appealed -to the Pope, and would not submit to the judgment of this court. Having -said these words, she stood in silence, but when she heard them declare -her appeal should not be submitted to the Pope, she passed before the -cardinals, and, walking proudly across the entire hall, she threw herself -at the feet of the king. - -“It would be impossible,” continued Norfolk, “to describe the emotion -excited by this movement. - -“‘Sire,’ she cried, with a respectful but firm and decided tone, ‘I beg -you to regard me with compassion. Pity me as a woman, as a stranger -without friends on whom I can rely, without a single disinterested -adviser to whom I can turn for counsel! I call upon God to witness,’ -she continued, raising her expressive eyes towards heaven, ‘that I have -always been to you a loyal, faithful wife, and have made it my constant -duty to conform in all things to your will; that I have loved those whom -you have loved, whether I knew them to be my enemies or my friends. For -many years I have been your wife; I am the mother of your children. God -knows, when I married you, I was an unsullied virgin, and since that time -I have never brought reproach on the sanctity of my marriage vows. Your -own conscience bears witness to the truth of what I say. If you can find -a single fault with which to reproach me, then will I pledge you my word -to bow my head in shame, and at once leave your presence; but, if not, I -pray you in God’s holy name to render me justice.’ - -“While she was speaking, a low murmur of approbation was heard throughout -the assembly, followed by a long, unbroken silence. The king grew deadly -pale, but made no reply to the queen, who arose, and was leaving the -hall, when Henry made a signal to the Duke of Suffolk to detain her. He -followed her, and made every effort to induce her to return, but in vain. -Turning haughtily round, she said, in a tone sufficiently distinct to be -heard by the entire assembly: - -“‘Go, tell the king, your master, that until this hour I have never -disobeyed him, and that I regret being compelled to do so now.’ - -“Saying these words, she immediately turned and left the hall, followed -by her ladies in waiting. - -“Her refusal to remain longer in the presence of her judges, and the -touching, unstudied eloquence of the appeal she had made, cast the -tribunal into a state of great embarrassment, and the honorable judges -seemed to wish most heartily they had some one else to decide for them; -when suddenly the king arose, and, turning haughtily towards them, spoke: - -“‘Sirs,’ he said, ‘most cheerfully and with perfect confidence do -I present my testimony, bearing witness to the spotless virtue and -unsullied integrity of the queen. Her character, her conduct, in every -particular, has been above reproach. But it is impossible for me to -live in the state of constant anxiety this union causes me to suffer. -My conscience keeps me in continual dread because of having married -this woman, who was the betrothed wife of my own brother. I will use no -dissimulation, my lords; I know very well that many of you believe I -have been persuaded by the Cardinal of York to make this appeal for a -divorce. But I declare in your presence this day, this is an entirely -false impression, and that, on the contrary, the cardinal has earnestly -contended against the scruples which have disturbed my soul. But, I -declare, against my own will, and in spite of all my regrets, his -opinions have not been able to restore to me the tranquillity of a heart -without reproach. I have, in consequence, found it necessary to confer -again with the Bishop of Tarbes, who has, unhappily, only confirmed the -fears I already entertain. I have consulted my confessor and many other -prelates, who have all advised me to submit this question to the tribunal -of our Holy Father, the Sovereign Pontiff. To this end, my lords, you -have been invested by him with his own supreme authority and spiritual -power. I will listen to you as I would listen to him--that is to say, -with the most entire submission. I wish, however, to remind you again -that my duty towards my subjects requires me to prevent whatever might -have the effect in the future of disturbing their tranquillity; and, -unfortunately, I have but too strong reasons for fearing that, at some -future day, the legitimacy of the right of the Princess Mary to the -throne may be disputed. It is with entire confidence that I await your -solution of a question so important to the happiness of my subjects and -the peace of my kingdom. I have no doubt that you will be able to remove -all the obstacles placed in my way.’ - -“Saying these words, the king retired, and started instantly for his -palace at Greenwich. The noblemen generally followed him, but I remained -to witness the end of what proved to be a tumultuous and stormy debate. -Nevertheless, after a long discussion, they decided to go on with the -investigation, to hear the advocates of the queen, and continue the -proceedings in spite of her protest.” - -“Who is the queen’s advocate?” demanded the Bishop of Rochester. - -“He has not yet been appointed,” replied Norfolk. “It seems to me it -would only be just to let the queen select her own counsel.” - -“But she will refuse, without a doubt,” replied Cromwell, “after the -manner she has adopted to defend herself.” - -They continued to converse for a long time on this subject, which filled -with anxious apprehension the heart of Sir Thomas, as well as that of his -faithful friend, the good Bishop of Rochester. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -THE BIRTH-PLACE OF S. VINCENT DE PAUL - - “I love all waste - And solitary places where we taste - The pleasure of believing what we see - Is boundless as we wish our souls to be: - And such was this wide ocean and the shore - More barren than its billows.” - - --_Shelley._ - -The Landes--that long, desolate tract on the western coast of France -between the Gironde and the Adour, with its vast forests of melancholy -pines, its lone moors and solitary deserts, its broad marshes, and its -dunes of sand that creep relentlessly on as if they had life--appeal -wonderfully to the imagination, that _folle du logis_, as Montaigne calls -it, but which, in spite of him, we love to feed. One may travel for hours -through these vast steppes covered with heather without discovering the -smoke of a single chimney, or anything to relieve the monotonous horizon, -unless a long line of low sand-hills that look like billows swayed to -and fro in the wind; or some low tree standing out against the cloudless -heavens, perhaps half buried in the treacherous sands; or a gaunt -peasant, the very silhouette of a man, on his stilts, “five feet above -contradiction,” like Voltaire’s preacher, perhaps with his knitting-work -in his hands, or a distaff under his arm, as if fresh from the feet of -Omphale, driving his flock before him--all birds of one feather, or -sheep of one wool; for he is clad in a shaggy sheepskin coat, and looks -as if he needed shearing as much as any of them. Or perhaps this Knight -of the Sable Fleece--for the sheep of the Landes are mostly black--is -on one of the small, light horses peculiar to the region, said to have -an infusion of Arabian blood--thanks to the Saracen invaders--which are -well adapted to picking their way over quaking bogs and moving sands, but -unfortunately are fast degenerating from lack of care in maintaining the -purity of the breed. - -During the winter season these extensive heaths are converted by the -prolonged rains into immense marshes, as the impermeable _alios_ within -six inches of the surface prevents the absorption of moisture. The -peasant is then obliged to shut himself up with his beasts in his low, -damp cottage, with peat for his fuel, a pine torch for his candle, -brackish water relieved by a dash of vinegar for drink, meagre broth, -corn bread, and perhaps salt fish for his dinner. Whole generations are -said to live under one roof in the Landes, so thoroughly are the people -imbued with the patriarchal spirit. Woman has her rights here--at least -in the house. The old _dauna_ (from _domina_, perhaps) rules the little -kingdom with a high hand, including her sons and her sons’ wives down to -the remotest generation, with undisputed sway. It is the very paradise -of mothers-in-law. The _paterfamilias_ seldom interferes if his soup is -ready at due time and she makes both ends meet at the end of the year, -with a trifle over for a barrel of _pique-pout_ to be indulged in on -extraordinary occasions. From La Teste to the valley of the Gave this -old house-mother is queen of the hive, active, thrifty, keen of eye, and -sharp of tongue. The slightest murmur is frozen into silence beneath the -arctic ray of her Poyser-like glance. She is a hawk by day and an owl by -night. She directs the spinning and weaving of the wool and flax, orders -the meals, and superintends the wardrobe of the whole colony. The land -is so poor that it is seldom divided among the children. The oldest heir -becomes head of the family, and they all fare better by sharing in the -general income. In unity there is safety--and economy. - -At every door is the clumsy machine for breaking the flax that is spun -during the long winter evenings for the sail-makers of Bayonne or the -weavers of Béarn, whose linen, if not equal to that of Flanders, is -as good as that of Normandy. Before every house is also the huge oven -where the bread is baked for general consumption. Flocks of geese paddle -from pool to pool in the marshes, and wild ducks breed undisturbed in -the fens. In the villages on the borders of the Landes you hear in the -morning a sharp whistle that might serve for a locomotive. It is the -swineherd summoning his charge, which issue in a gallop, two or three -from each house, to seek their food in the moors. They all come back in -the evening, and go to their own pens to get the bucket of bran that -awaits them. Feeding thus in the wild, their meat acquires a peculiar -flavor. Most of these animals go into the market. The hams of Bayonne -have always been famous. We might say they are historic, for Strabo -speaks of them. - -When the rainy season is at an end, these bogs and stagnant pools give -out a deadly miasma in the burning sun, engendering fevers, dysentery, -and the fatal pellagra. The system is rapidly undermined, and the peasant -seldom attains to an advanced age. He marries at twenty and is old at -forty. - -A kind of awe comes over the soul in traversing this region, and yet -it has a certain mysterious attraction which draws us on and on, as -if nature had some marvellous secret in store for us. The atmosphere -is charged with a thin vapor that quivers in the blazing sun. Strange -insects are in the air. A sense of the infinite, such as we feel in the -midst of the ocean, comes over us. We grow breathless as the air--grow -silent as the light that gilds the vast landscape before us. One of the -greatest of the sons of the Landes--the Père de Ravignan--says: “Solitude -is the _patrie des forts_: silence is their prayer.” One feels how true -it is in these boundless moors. It is the only prayer fit for this realm -of silence, where one is brought closer and closer to the heart of -nature, and restored, as it were, at least in a degree, to the primeval -relation of man with his Creator. - -Carlyle says the finest nations in the world, the English and the -American, are all going away into wind and tongue. We recommend a season -in the Landes, where one becomes speedily impressed that “silence is the -eternal duty of man.” - -We wonder such a region should be inhabited. The _daunas_, we hope, never -have courage enough to raise their still voices in the open air. We fancy -wooing carried on in true Shaksperian style: - - “O Imogen! I’ll speak to thee in silence.” - - --“What should Cordelia do? Love and be silent.” - -However this may be, the Landes are peopled, though thinly. Here and -there at immense distances we come to a cottage. The men are shepherds, -fishermen, or _résiniers_, as the turpentine-producers are called. -Pliny, Dioscorides, and other ancient writers speak of the inhabitants -as collecting the yellow amber thrown up by the sea, and trafficking in -beeswax, resin, and pitch. The Phœnicians and Carthaginians initiated -them into the mysteries of mining and forging. The Moors taught them the -value of their cork-trees. They still keep bees that feed on the purple -bells of the heather, and sell vast quantities of wax for the candles -used in the churches of France--_cierges_, as they are called, from _cire -vierge_--virgin wax, wrought by chaste bees, and alone fit for the sacred -altars of Jesus and Mary. - -Ausonius thus speaks of the pursuits of the people: - - “Mercatus ne agitas leviore numismate captans, - Insanis quod mox pretiis gravis auctio vendat, - Albentisque sevi globulos et pinguia ceræ - Pondera, Naryciamque picem, scissamque papyrum - Fumantesque olidum paganica lumina tœdas.” - -They are devoting more and more attention to the production of turpentine -by planting the maritime pine which grew here in the days of Strabo, -and thereby reclaiming the vast tracts of sand thrown up by the sea. -A priest, the Abbé Desbiez, and his brother are said to have first -conceived the idea of reclaiming their native deserts and staying the -progress of the quicksands which had buried so many places, and were -moving unceasingly on at the rate of about twenty-five yards a year, -threatening the destruction of many more. That was about a hundred -years ago. A few years after M. Brémontier, a French engineer, tested -the plan by planting, as far as his means allowed, the maritime pine, -the strong, fibrous roots of which take tenacious hold of the slightest -crevice in the rock, and absorb the least nutriment in the soil. But this -experiment was slow to lead to any important result, as the _pinada_, or -pine plantations, involve an outlay that makes no return for years. It -was not till Louis Philippe’s time that the work was carried on with any -great activity. Napoleon III. also greatly extended the plantations--the -importance of which became generally acknowledged--not only to arrest the -progress of the sands, but to meet the want of turpentine in the market, -so long dependent on imports. - -In ten years the trees begin to yield an income. Each acre then furnishes -twelve or fifteen thousand poles for vineyards or the coalman. The -prudent owner does not tap his trees till they are twenty-five years old. -By that time they are four feet in circumference and yield turpentine -to the value of fifty or sixty francs a year. Then the _résinier_ comes -with his hatchet and makes an incision low down in the trunk, from which -the resin flows into an earthern jar or a hollow in the ground. These -jars are emptied at due intervals, and the incision from time to time -is widened. Later, others are made parallel to it. These are finally -extended around the tree. With prudence this treatment may be continued -a century; for this species of pine is very hardy if not exhausted. When -the poor tree is near its end, it is hacked without any mercy and bled to -death. Then it is only fit for the sawmill, wood-pile, or coal-pit. - -Poor and desolate as the Landes are, they have had their share of great -men. “Every path on the globe may lead to the door of a hero,” says some -one. We have spoken of La Teste. This was the stronghold of the stout old -Captals de Buch,[4] belonging to the De Graillys, one of the historic -families of the country. No truer specimen of the lords of the Landes -could be found than these old captals, who, poor, proud, and adventurous, -entered the service of the English, to whom they remained faithful as -long as that nation had a foothold in the land. Their name and deeds are -familiar to every reader of Froissart. The nearness of Bordeaux, and the -numerous privileges and exemptions granted the foresters and herdsmen of -the Landes, explain the strong attachment of the people to the English -crown. The De Graillys endeavored by alliances to aggrandize their -family, and finally became loyal subjects of France under Louis XI. They -intermarried with the Counts of Foix and Béarn, and their vast landed -possessions were at length united with those of the house of Albret. -Where would the latter have been without them? And without the Albrets, -where the Bourbons? - -And this reminds us of the Sires of Albret, another and still more -renowned family of the Landes. - -Near the source of the Midou, among the pine forests of Maremsin, you -come to a village of a thousand people called Labrit, the ancient -Leporetum, or country of hares, whence Lebret, Labrit, and Albret. Here -rose the house of Albret from obscurity to reign at last over Navarre and -unite the most of ancient Aquitaine to the crown of France. The history -of these lords of the heather is a marvel of wit and good-luck. Great -hunters of hares and seekers of heiresses, they were always on the scent -for advantageous alliances, not too particular about the age or face of -the lady, provided they won broad lands or a fat barony. Once in their -clutches, they seldom let go. They never allowed a daughter to succeed to -any inheritance belonging to the _seigneurie_ of Albret as long as there -was a male descendant. Always receive, and never give, was their motto. -Their daughters had their wealth of beauty for a dowry, with a little -money or a troublesome fief liable to reversion. - -The Albrets are first heard of in the XIth century, when the Benedictine -abbot of S. Pierre at Condom, alarmed for the safety of Nérac, one of -the abbatial possessions, called upon his brother, Amanieu d’Albret, for -aid. The better to defend the monk’s property, the Sire of Albret built a -castle on the left bank of the Baïse, and played the _rôle_ of protector -so well that at last his descendants are found sole lords of Nérac, on -the public square of which now stands the statue of Henry IV., the most -glorious of the race. The second Amanieu went to the Crusades under the -banner of Raymond of St. Gilles, and entered Jerusalem next to Godfrey -of Bouillon, to whom an old historian makes him related, nobody knows -how. Oihenard says the Albrets descended from the old kings of Navarre, -and a MS. of the XIVth century links them with the Counts of Bigorre; -but this was probably to flatter the pride of the house after it rose to -importance. We find a lord of Albret in the service of the Black Prince -with a thousand lances (five thousand men), and owner of Casteljaloux, -Lavazan, and somehow of the abbey of Sauve-Majour; but not finding the -English service sufficiently lucrative, he passed over to the enemy. -Charles d’Albret was so able a captain that he quartered the lilies of -France on his shield, and held the constable’s sword till the fatal -battle of Agincourt. Alain d’Albret made a fine point in the game by -marrying Françoise de Bretagne, who, though ugly, was the niece and only -heiress of Jean de Blois, lord of Périgord and Limoges. His son had still -better luck. He married Catherine of Navarre. If he lost his possessions -beyond the Pyrenees, he kept the county of Foix, and soon added the lands -of Astarac. Henry I. of Navarre, by marrying Margaret of Valois, acquired -all the spoils of the house of Armagnac. Thus the princely house of -Navarre, under their daughter Jeanne, who married Antoine de Bourbon, was -owner of all Gascony and part of Guienne. It was Henry IV. of France who -finally realized the expression of the blind faith of the house of Albret -in its fortune, expressed in the prophetic device graven on the Château -de Coarraze, where he passed his boyhood: “_Lo que ha de ser no puede -faltar_”--That which must be will be! - -But we have not yet come to the door of our hero. There is another native -of the Landes whose fame has gone out through the whole earth--whose -whole life and aim were in utter contrast with the spirit of these -old lords of the heather. The only armor he ever put on was that of -righteousness; the only sword, that of the truth; the only jewel, that -which the old rabbis say Abraham wore, the light of which raised up the -bowed down and healed the sick, and, after his death, was placed among -the stars! It need not be said we refer to S. Vincent de Paul, the great -initiator of public charity in France, who by his benevolence perhaps -effected as much for the good of the kingdom as Richelieu with his -political genius. He was born during the religious conflicts of the XVIth -century, in the little hamlet of Ranquine, in the parish of Pouy, on the -border of the Landes, a few miles from Dax. It must not be supposed the -_particule_ in his name is indicative of nobility. In former times people -who had no name but that given them at the baptismal font often added the -place of their birth to prevent confusion. S. Vincent was the son of a -peasant, and spent his childhood in watching his father’s scanty flock -among the moors. The poor cottage in which he was born is still standing, -and near it the gigantic old oak to the hollow of which he used to retire -to pray, both of which are objects of veneration to the pious pilgrim -of all ranks and all lands. Somewhere in these vast solitudes--whether -among the ruins of Notre Dame de Buglose, destroyed a little before by -the Huguenots, or in his secret oratory in the oak, we cannot say--he -heard the mysterious voice which once whispered to Joan of Arc among -the forests of Lorraine--a voice difficult to resist, which decided his -vocation in life. He resolved to enter the priesthood. The Franciscans -of Dax lent him books and a cell, and gave him a pittance for the love -of God; but he finished his studies and took his degree at Toulouse, as -was only discovered by papers found after his death, so unostentatious -was his life. He partly defrayed his expenses at Toulouse by becoming -the tutor of some young noblemen of Buzet. Near the latter place was a -solitary mountain chapel in the woods, not far from the banks of the -Tarn, called Notre Dame de Grâce. Its secluded position, the simplicity -of its decorations, and the devotion he experienced in this quiet -oratory, attracted the pious student, and he often retired there to pray -before the altar of Our Lady of Grace. It was there he found strength to -take upon himself the yoke of the priesthood--a yoke angels might fear -to bear. It was there, in solitude and silence, assisted by a priest and -a clerk, that he offered his first Mass; for, so terrified was he by the -importance and sublimity of this divine function, he had not the courage -to celebrate it in public. This chapel is still standing, and is annually -crowded with pilgrims on the festival of S. Vincent of Paul. It is good -to kneel on the worn flag-stones where the saint once prayed, and pour -out one’s soul before the altar that witnessed the fervor of his first -Mass. The superior-general of the Lazarists visited this interesting -chapel in 1851, accompanied by nearly fifty Sisters of Charity. They -brought a relic of the saint, a chalice and some vestments for the use of -the chaplain, and a bust of S. Vincent for the new altar to his memory. - -Every step in S. Vincent’s life is marked by the unmistakable hand of -divine Providence. Captured in a voyage by Algerine pirates, he is sold -in the market-place of Tunis, that he might learn to sympathize with -those who are in bonds; he falls into the hands of a renegade, who, -with his whole family, is soon converted and makes his escape from the -country. S. Vincent presents them to the papal legate at Avignon, and -goes to Rome, whence he returns, charged with a confidential mission by -Cardinal d’Ossat. He afterwards becomes a tutor in the family of the -Comte de Gondi--another providential event. The count is governor-general -of the galleys, and the owner of vast possessions in Normandy. S. Vincent -labors among the convicts, and, if he cannot release them from their -bonds, he teaches them to bear their sufferings in a spirit of expiation. -He establishes rural missions in Normandy, and founds the College of -Bons-Enfants and the house of S. Lazare at Paris. - -A holy widow, Mme. Legros, falls under his influence, and charitable -organizations of ladies are formed, and sisters for the special service -of the sick are established at S. Nicolas du Chardonnet. Little children, -abandoned by unnatural mothers, are dying of cold and hunger in the -streets; S. Vincent opens a foundling asylum, and during the cold winter -nights he goes alone through the most dangerous quarters of old Paris -in search of these poor waifs of humanity.[5] Clerical instruction is -needed, and Richelieu, at his instance, endows the first ecclesiastical -seminary. The moral condition of the army excites the saint’s compassion, -and the cardinal authorizes missionaries among the soldiers. The province -of Lorraine is suffering from famine. Mothers even devour their own -children. In a short time S. Vincent collects sixteen hundred thousand -livres for their relief. Under the regency of Anne of Austria he becomes -a member of the Council of Ecclesiastical Affairs. In the wars of -the Fronde he is for peace, and negotiates between the queen and the -parliament. The foundation of a hospital for old men marks the end of -his noble, unselfish life. The jewel of charity never ceases to glow -in his breast. It is his great bequest to his spiritual children. How -potent it has been is proved by the incalculable good effected to this -day by the Lazarists, Sisters of Charity, and Society of S. Vincent of -Paul--beautiful constellations in the firmament of the church! - -In the midst of his honors S. Vincent never forgot his humble origin, but -often referred to it with the true spirit of _ama nesciri et pro nihilo -reputari_. Not that he was inaccessible to human weakness, but he knew -how to resist it. We read in his interesting _Life_ by Abbé Maynard that -the porter of the College of Bons-Enfants informed the superior one day -that a poorly-clad peasant, styling himself his nephew, was at the door. -S. Vincent blushed and ordered him to be taken up to his room. Then he -blushed for having blushed, and, going down into the street, embraced his -nephew and led him into the court, where, summoning all the professors of -the college, he presented the confused youth: “Gentlemen, this is the -most respectable of my family.” And he continued, during the remainder of -his visit, to introduce him to visitors of every rank as if he were some -great lord, in order to avenge his first movement of pride. And when, not -long after, he made a retreat, he publicly humbled himself before his -associates: “Brethren, pray for one who through pride wished to take his -nephew secretly to his room because he was a peasant and poorly dressed.” - -S. Vincent returned only once to his native place after he began his -apostolic career. This was at the close of a mission among the convicts -of Bordeaux. During his visit he solemnly renewed his baptismal vows -in the village church where he had been baptized and made his First -Communion, and on the day of his departure he went with bare feet on a -pilgrimage to Notre Dame de Buglose, among whose ruins he had so often -prayed in his childhood, but which was now rebuilt. He was accompanied, -not only by his relatives, but by all the villagers, who were justly -proud of their countryman. He sang a solemn Mass at the altar of Our -Lady, and afterwards assembled the whole family around the table for a -modest repast, at the end of which he rose to take leave of them. They -all fell at his feet and implored his blessing. “Yes, I give you my -blessing,” replied he, much affected, “but I bless you poor and humble, -and beg our Lord to continue among you the grace of holy poverty. -Never abandon the condition in which you were born. This is my earnest -recommendation, which I beg you to transmit as a heritage to your -children. Farewell for ever!” - -His advice was religiously kept. By mutual assistance his family might -have risen above its original obscurity. Some of his mother’s family were -advocates at the parliament of Bordeaux, and it would have been easy to -obtain offices that would have given them, at least, prominence in their -own village; but they clung to their rural pursuits. The advice of their -sainted relative was too precious a legacy to be renounced. - -Not that S. Vincent was insensible to their condition or unambitious -by nature, but he knew the value of the hidden life and the perils -of worldly ambition. We have on this occasion another glimpse of his -struggles with nature. Hardly had he left his relatives before he gave -vent to his emotion in a flood of tears, and he almost reproached himself -for leaving them in their poverty. But let us quote his own words: “The -day I left home I was so filled with sorrow at separating from my poor -relatives that I wept as I went along--wept almost incessantly. Then came -the thought of aiding them and bettering their condition; of giving so -much to this one, and so much to that. While my heart thus melted within -me, I divided all I had with them. Yes, even what I had not; and I say -this to my confusion, for God perhaps permitted it to make me comprehend -the value of the evangelical counsel. For three months I felt this -importunate longing to promote the interests of my brothers and sisters. -It constantly weighed on my poor heart. During this time, when I felt a -little relieved, I prayed God to deliver me from this temptation, and -persevered so long in my prayer that at length he had pity on me and -took away this excessive tenderness for my relations; and though they -have been needy, and still are, the good God has given me the grace to -commit them to his Providence, and to regard them as better off than if -they were in an easier condition.” - -S. Vincent was equally rigid as to his own personal necessities, as may -be seen by the following words from his own lips: “When I put a morsel of -bread to my mouth, I say to myself: Wretched man, hast thou earned the -bread thou art going to eat--the bread that comes from the labor of the -poor?” - -Such is the spirit of the saints. In these days, when most people are -struggling to rise in the world, many by undue means, and to an unlawful -height, it is well to recall this holy example; it is good to get a -glimpse into the heart of a saint, and to remember there are still many -in the world and in the cloister who strive to counterbalance all this -ambition and love of display by their humility and self-denial. - -Immediately after S. Vincent’s canonization, in 1737, the inhabitants of -Pouy, desirous of testifying their veneration for his memory, removed the -house where he was born a short distance from its original place, without -changing its primitive form in the least, and erected a small chapel -on the site, till means could be obtained for building a church. The -great Revolution put a stop to the plan. In 1821 a new effort was made, -a committee appointed, and a subscription begun which soon amounted to -thirty thousand francs; but at the revolution of 1830 material interests -prevailed, and the funds were appropriated to the construction of roads. - -The ecclesiastical authorities at length took the matter in hand, and -formed the plan, not only of building a church, but surrounding it with -the various charitable institutions founded by S. Vincent--a hospital -for the aged, asylums for orphans and foundlings, and perhaps a _ferme -modèle_ in the Landes. - -In 1850 the Bishop of Aire appealed to the Catholic world for aid. Pius -IX. blessed the undertaking. On the Festival of the Transfiguration, -1851, the corner-stone was laid by the bishop, assisted by Père Etienne, -the superior-general of the Lazarists. Napoleon III. and the Empress -Eugénie largely contributed to the work, and in a few years the church -and hospice were completed. The consecration took place April 24, 1864, -in the presence of an immense multitude from all parts of the country. -From three o’clock in the morning there were Masses at a dozen altars, -and the hands of the priests were fatigued in administering the holy -Eucharist. Among the communicants were eight hundred members of the -Society of S. Vincent de Paul, from Bordeaux, who manifested their joy -by enthusiastic hymns. At eight in the forenoon Père Etienne, surrounded -by Lazarists and Sisters of Charity, celebrated the Holy Sacrifice at -the newly-consecrated high altar, and several novices made their vows, -among whom was a young African, a cousin of Abdel Kader. A _châsse_ -containing relics of S. Vincent was brought in solemn procession from the -parish church of Pouy, where he had been held at the font and received -the divine Guest in his heart for the first time. The road was strewn -with flowers and green leaves. The weather was delightful and the heavens -radiant. At the head of the procession was borne a banner, on which S. -Vincent was represented as a shepherd, followed by all the orphans of -the new asylum and the old men of the hospice. Then came a long line -of _Enfants de Marie_ dressed in white, carrying oriflammes, followed -by the students of the colleges of Aire and Dax. Behind were fifteen -hundred members of the Society of S. Vincent de Paul, and a file of -sisters of various orders, including eight hundred Sisters of Charity, -with a great number of Lazarists in the rear. Then came thirty relatives -of S. Vincent, wearing the peasant’s costume of the district, heirs of -his virtues and simplicity--_Noblesse oblige_. Then the Polish Lazarists -with the flag of their nation, beloved by S. Vincent, and after them -the clergy of the diocese and a great number from foreign parts, among -whom was M. Eugène Boré, of Constantinople, now superior-general of the -two orders founded by the saint. The shrine came next, surrounded by -Lazarists and Sisters of Charity. Behind the canons and other dignitaries -came eight bishops, four archbishops, and Cardinal Donnet of Bordeaux, -followed by the civil authorities and an immense multitude of people -nearly two miles in extent, with banners bearing touching devices. - -This grand procession of more than thirty thousand people proceeded with -the utmost order, to the sound of chants, instrumental music, and salutes -from cannon from time to time, to the square in front of the new church, -where, before an altar erected at the foot of S. Vincent’s oak, they were -addressed by Père Etienne in an eloquent, thrilling discourse, admirable -in style and glowing with imagery, suited to the fervid nature of this -southern region. He spoke of S. Vincent, not only as the man of his age -with a providential mission, but of a type suited to all ages. - -The man who loved his brethren, reconciled enemies, brought the rich and -poor into one common field imbued with a common idea of sacrifice and -devotion, fed the orphan, aided the needy, and wiped away the tears of -the sufferer, is the man of all times, and especially of an age marked by -the fomentation of political passions. - -The old oak was gay with streamers, the hollow was fitted up as an -oratory, before which Cardinal Donnet said Mass in the open air, after -which thousands of voices joined in the solemn _Te Deum Laudamus_, and -the thirteen prelates terminated the grand ceremony by giving their -united benediction to the kneeling crowd. - -A whole flock of Sisters of Charity, with their dove-like plumage of -white and gray, took the same train as ourselves the pleasant September -morning we left Bayonne for the birth-place of S. Vincent of Paul. They -seemed like birds of good omen. They were also going to the _Berceau_ -(cradle), as they called it, not on a mere pilgrimage, but to make their -annual retreat. What for, the saints alone know; for they looked like the -personification of every amiable virtue, and quite ready to spread their -white wings and take flight for heaven. It was refreshing to watch their -gentle, unaffected ways, wholly devoid of those demure airs of superior -sanctity and repulsive austerity so exasperating to us worldly-minded -people. They all made the sign of the cross as the train moved out of -the station--and a good honest one it was, as if they loved the sign -of the Son of Man, and delighted in wearing it on their breast. Some -had come from St. Sebastian, others from St. Jean de Luz, and several -from Bayonne; but they mingled like sisters of one great family of -charity. Some chatted, some took out their rosaries and went to praying -with the most cheerful air imaginable, as if it were a new refreshment -just allowed them, instead of being the daily food of their souls; and -others seemed to be studying with interest the peculiar region we were -now entering. For we were now in the Landes--low, level, monotonous, and -melancholy. The railway lay through vast forests of dusky-pines, varied -by willows and cork-trees, with here and there, at long distances, an -open tract where ripened scanty fields of corn and millet around the low -cottages of the peasants. The sides of the road were purple with heather. -The air was full of aromatic odors. Each pine had its broad gash cut by -some merciless hand, and its life-blood was slowly trickling down its -side. Passing through this sad forest, one could not help thinking of -the drear, mystic wood in Dante’s _Inferno_, where every tree encloses a -human soul with infinite capacity of suffering, and at every gash cut, -every branch lopped off, utters a despairing cry: - - “Why pluck’st thou me? - Then, as the dark blood trickled down its side, - These words it added: Wherefore tear’st me thus? - Is there no touch of mercy in thy breast? - Men once were we that now are rooted here.” - -Though the sun was hot, the pine needles seemed to shiver, the branches -swayed to and fro in the air, and gave out a kind of sigh which sometimes -increased into an inarticulate wail. We look up, almost expecting to see -the harpies sitting - - “Each on the wild thorn of his wretched shade.” - -Could we stop, we might question these maimed trees and learn some -fearful tragedy from the imprisoned spirits. Perhaps they recount them -to each other in the wild winter nights when the peasants, listening -with a kind of fear in their lone huts, start up from their beds and -say it is Rey Artus--King Arthur--who is passing by with his long train -of dogs, horses, and huntsmen, from an old legend of the time of the -English occupation which says that King Arthur, as he was hearing Mass on -Easter-day, attracted by the cries of his hounds attacking their prey, -went out at the elevation of the Host. A whirlwind carried him into the -clouds, where he has hunted ever since, and will, without cessation or -repose, till the day of judgment, only taking a fly every seven years. -The popular belief that he is passing with a great noise through space -when the winds sweep across the vast moors on stormy nights probably -embodies the old tradition of some powerful lord whose hounds and -huntsmen ruined the crops of the poor, who, in their wrath, consigned -them to endless barren hunting-fields in the spirit-land--a legend which -reminds us of the _Aasgaardsreja_ of whom Miss Bremer tells us--spirits -not good enough to merit heaven, and yet not bad enough to deserve -hell, and are therefore doomed to ride about till the end of the world, -carrying fear and disaster in their train. - -In a little over an hour we arrived at Dax, a pleasant town on the banks -of the Adour, with long lines of sycamores, behind which is a hill -crowned with an old château, now belonging to the Lazarists. The place -is renowned for its thermal springs and mud-baths, known to the Romans -before its conquest by the Cæsars. It was from Aquæ Augustæ, the capital -of the ancient Tarbelli (called in the Middle Ages the _ville d’Acqs_, -or _d’Acs_, whence Dax), that the name of Aquitaine is supposed to be -derived. Pliny, the naturalist, speaking of the Aquenses, says: _Aquitani -indè nomen provinciæ_. The Bay of Biscay was once known by the name of -Sinus Tarbellicus, from the ancient Tarbelli. Lucan says: - - “Tunc rura Nemossi - Qui tenet et ripas Aturri, quo littore curvo - Molliter admissum claudit Tarbellicus æquor.” - -S. Vincent of Saintonge was the first apostle of the region, and fell a -martyr to his zeal. Dax formed part of the dowry of the daughter of Henry -II. of England when she married Alfonso of Castile, but it returned to -the Plantagenets in the time of Edward III. The city was an episcopal -see before the revolution of 1793. François de Noailles, one of the -most distinguished of its bishops, was famous as a diplomatist in the -XVIth century. He was sent to England on several important missions, and -finally appointed ambassador to that country in the reign of Mary Tudor. -Recalled when Philip II. induced her to declare war against France, he -landed at Calais, and, carefully examining the fortifications, his keen, -observant eye soon discovered the weak point, to which, at his arrival -in court, he at once directed the king’s attention, declaring it would -not be a difficult matter to take the place. His statements made such an -impression on King Henry, who had always found him as judicious as he was -devoted to the interests of the crown, that he resolved to lay siege to -Calais, notwithstanding the opposition of his ministers, and the Duke of -Guise began the attack January 1, 1558. The place was taken in a week. -It had cost the English a year’s siege two hundred and ten years before. -Three weeks after its surrender Cardinal Hippolyte de Ferrara, Archbishop -of Auch (the son of Lucretia Borgia, who married Alphonso d’Este, Duke -of Ferrara) wrote François de Noailles as follows: “No one can help -acknowledging the great hand you had in the taking of Calais, as it was -actually taken at the very place you pointed out.” French historians have -been too forgetful of the hand the Bishop of Dax had in the taking of a -place so important to the interests of the nation, which added so much to -the glory of the French arms, and was so humiliating to England, whose -anguish was echoed by the queen when she exclaimed that if her heart -could be opened the very name of Calais would be found written therein! - -This great churchman was no less successful in his embassy to Venice, -where he triumphed over the haughty pretensions of Philip II., and, as -Brantôme says, “won great honor and affection.” After five years in Italy -he returned to Dax, where he devoted most of his revenues to relieve -the misery that prevailed at that fearful time of religious war. Dax, -as he said, was “the poorest see in France.” In 1571 he was appointed -ambassador to Constantinople by Charles IX. Florimond de Raymond, an old -writer of that day, tells us the bishop was at first troubled as to his -presentation to the sultan, who only regarded the highest dignitaries -as the dust of his feet, and exacted ceremonies which the ambassador -considered beneath the dignity of a bishop and a representative of -France. He resolved not to submit to them, and, thanks to his pleasing -address, and handsome person dressed for the occasion in red _cramoisie_ -and cloth of gold, he was not subjected to them. Moreover, by his -fascinating manners and agreeable conversation, he became a great -favorite of the sultan, and took so judicious a course that his embassy -ended by rendering France mistress of the commerce of the Mediterranean, -and giving her a pre-eminence in the East which she has never lost. - -It was after his return from the Levant that, in an interview with Henry -III., the sagacious bishop urged the king to declare war against Spain, -as the best means of delivering France from the horrors of a civil war. -De Thou says the king seemed to listen favorably to the suggestion; but -it was opposed by the council, and it was not till ten years later that -Henry IV. declared war against that country, as Duruy states, “the better -to end the civil war.” - -The Bishop of Dax seems to have been poorly remunerated for his eminent -services. Like Frederick the Great’s father, he said kings were always -hard of hearing when there was a question of money, and complained -that, notwithstanding his long services abroad, he had never received -either honors or profit. Even his appointments as ambassador to Venice, -amounting to more than thirty thousand livres, were still due. Many of -his letters to the king and to Marie de Médicis have been preserved, -which show his elevation of mind, and his broad political and religious -views, which give him a right to be numbered among the great churchmen of -the XVIth century. - -At Dax we took a carriage to the _Berceau_ of S. Vincent, and, after -half an hour’s drive along a level road bordered with trees, we came -in sight of the great dome of the church rising up amid a group of fine -buildings. Driving up to the door, the first thing we observed was the -benign statue of the saint standing on the gable against the clear, blue -sky, with arms wide-spread, smiling on the pilgrim a very balm of peace. -Before the church there is a broad green, at the right of which is the -venerable old oak; at the left, the cottage of the De Pauls; and in the -rear of the church, the asylums and hospice--fine establishments one is -surprised to find in this remote region. We at once entered the church, -which is in the style of the Renaissance. It consists of a nave without -aisles, a circular apsis, and transepts which form the arms of the cross, -in the centre of which rises the dome, lined with an indifferent fresco -representing S. Vincent borne to heaven by the angels. Directly beneath -is the high altar where are enshrined relics of the saint. Around it, -at the four angles of the cross, are statues of four S. Vincents--of -Xaintes, of Saragossa, of Lerins, and S. Vincent Ferrer. The whole life -of S. Vincent of Paul is depicted in the stained-glass windows. And on -the walls of the nave are four paintings, one representing him as a boy, -praying before Our Lady of Buglose; the second, his first Mass in the -chapel of Notre Dame de Grâce; in the third he is redeeming captives, and -in the fourth giving alms to the poor. - -We next visited the asylums, admiring the clean, airy rooms, the -intelligent, happy faces of the orphans, and the graceful cordiality of -the sister who was at the head of the establishment--a lady of fortune -who has devoted her all to the work. - -At length we came to the cottage--the door of the true hero to which -our path had led. The broad, one-story house in which S. Vincent was -born is now a mere skeleton within, the framework of the partitions -alone remaining, so one can take in the whole at a glance. There is the -kitchen, with the huge, old-fashioned chimney, around which the family -used to gather--so enormous that in looking up one sees a vast extent of -blue sky. Saint’s house though it was, we could not help thinking--Heaven -forgive us the profane thought!--it must have been very much like the -squire’s chimney in _Tylney Hall_, the draught of which, like the Polish -game of draughts, was apt to take backwards and discharge all the smoke -into his sitting-room! The second room at the left, where the saint was -born, is an oratory containing an altar, the crucifix he used to pray -before, some of the garments he wore, shoes broad and much-enduring as -his own nature, and many other precious relics. Not only this, but every -room has an altar. We counted seven, all of the simplest construction, -for the convenience of the pilgrims who come here with their _curés_ at -certain seasons of the year to honor their sainted countryman who in his -youth here led a simple, laborious life like themselves. We found several -persons at prayer in the various compartments, all of which showed the -primitive habits and limited resources of the family, though not absolute -poverty. The floor was of earth, the walls and great rafters only -polished with time and the kisses of the pilgrims, and above the rude -stairway, a mere loft where perchance the saint slept in his boyhood. -Everything in this cottage, where a great heart was cradled, was from its -very simplicity extremely touching. It seemed the very place to meditate -on the mysterious ways of divine Providence--mysterious as the wind that -bloweth where it listeth--the very place to chant the _Suscitans à terrâ -inopem: et de stercore erigens pauperem; ut collocet eum cum principibus, -cum principibus populi sui_. - -S. Vincent’s oak, on the opposite side of the green, looks old enough to -have witnessed the mysterious rites of the Druids. It is surrounded by -a railing to protect it from the pious depredations of the pilgrim. It -still spreads broad its branches covered with verdure, though the trunk -is so hollowed by decay that one side is entirely gone, and in the heart, -where young Vincent used to pray, stands a wooden pillar on which is a -statue of the Virgin, pure and white, beneath the green bower. A crowd of -artists, _savants_, soldiers, and princes have bent before this venerable -tree. In 1823 the public authorities of the commune received the Duchess -of Angoulême at its foot. The learned and pious Ozanam, one of the -founders of the Society of S. Vincent of Paul, came here in his last days -to offer a prayer. On the list of foreign visitors is the name of the -late venerable Bishop Flaget of Kentucky, of whom it is recorded that he -kissed the tree with love and veneration, and plucked, as every pilgrim -does, a leaf from its branches. - -There is an herb, says Pliny, found on Mt. Atlas; they who gather it see -more clearly. There is something of this virtue in the oak of S. Vincent -of Paul. One sees more clearly than ever at its foot the infinite moral -superiority of a nature like his to the worldly ambition of the old lords -of the Landes. Famous as the latter were in their day, who thinks of them -now? Who cares for the lords of Castelnau, the Seigneurs of Juliac, or -even for the Sires of Albret, whose ancient castle at Labrit is now razed -to the ground, and, while we write, its last traces obliterated for ever? -The shepherd whistles idly among the ruins of their once strong holds, -the ploughman drives thoughtlessly over the place where they once held -proud sway, as indifferent as the beasts themselves; but there is not a -peasant in the Landes who does not cherish the memory of S. Vincent of -Paul, or a noble who does not respect his name; and thousands annually -visit the poor house where he was born and look with veneration at the -oak where he prayed. - -Charity is the great means of making the poor forget the fearful -inequality of worldly riches, and its obligation reminds the wealthy they -are only part of a great brotherhood. Its exercise softens the heart and -averts the woe pronounced on the rich. S. John of God, wishing to found -a hospital at Granada, and without a ducat in the world, walked slowly -through the streets and squares with a hod on his back and two great -kettles at his side, crying with a loud voice: “Who wishes to do good to -himself? Ah! my brethren, for the love of God, do good to yourselves!” -And alms flowed in from every side. It was these appeals in the divine -name that gave him his appellation. “What is your name?” asked Don -Ramirez, Bishop of Tuy. “John,” was the reply. “Henceforth you shall be -called John of God,” said the bishop. - -And so, that we may all become the sons of God, let us here, at the foot -of S. Vincent’s oak, echo the words that in life were so often on his -lips: - -CARITATEM, PROPTER DEUM! - - -LORD CASTLEHAVEN’S MEMOIRS.[6] - -In the year 1638 the Earl of Castlehaven, then a young man, made the -Grand Tour, as became a nobleman of his family in that age. Being at -Rome, whither the duty of paying his respects to the Holy Father had -carried him--for this lord was the head of one of those grand old -families which had declined to forswear its faith at the behest of Henry -or Elizabeth--he received a letter from King Charles I., requiring him to -attend the king in his expedition against the Scots, then revolted and -in arms. With that instant loyalty which was the return made by those -proscribed families to an ungrateful court from the Armada down, Lord -Castlehaven, two days after the messenger had placed the royal missive -in his hands, took post for England. Near Turin he fell in with an army -commanded by the Marquis de Leganes, Governor of Milan for the King of -Spain, who was marching to besiege the Savoy capital. But the siege was -soon raised, and Lord Castlehaven entered the town. There he found her -Royal Highness the Duchess of Savoy in great confusion, as if she had got -no rest for many nights, so much had she been occupied with the conduct -of the defence; for even the wives of this warlike and rapacious family -soon learned to defend their own by the strong hand, and could stretch it -out to grasp still more when occasion served. But as yet the ambition of -the House of Savoy stopped short of sacrilege--or stooped to it like a -hawk on short flights--nor dreamed of aggrandizing itself with the spoils -of the whole territory of the church. When Lord Castlehaven came to -take leave of the duchess, her royal highness gave him a musket-bullet, -much battered, which had come in at her window and missed her narrowly, -charging him to deliver it safely to her sister, the Queen of England--as -it proved, a present of ill omen; for of musket-balls, in a little time, -the English sister had more than enough. - -Arriving in London, Lord Castlehaven followed the king to Berwick, -where he found the royal army encamped, with the Tweed before it, and -the Scotch, under Gen. Leslie, lying at some distance. A pacification -was soon effected, and both armies partially disbanded. After this the -earl passed his time “as well as he could” at home till 1640. In that -year the King of France besieged Arras, and Lord Castlehaven set out to -witness the siege. Within was a stout garrison under Owen Roe O’Neal, -commanding for the Prince Cardinal, Governor of the Low Countries. This -was the first meeting of Castlehaven with the future victor of Benburb, -with whom he was afterwards brought into closer relations in the Irish -Rebellion. The French pressed Arras close, and the confederates being -defeated, and the hope of the siege being raised grown desperate, -the town was surrendered on honorable terms. This action over, Lord -Castlehaven returned to England and sat in Parliament till the attainder -of the Earl of Strafford. When that great nobleman fell, deserted by -his wavering royal master, and the king’s friends were beginning to -turn about--they scarce knew whither--to prepare for the storm that all -men saw was coming, Lord Castlehaven went to Ireland, where he had some -estate and three married sisters. While there the Rebellion of 1641 broke -out. Although innocent of any complicity in the outbreak, his faith -made him suspected, and he was imprisoned on a slight pretext by the -lords-justices. Escaping, his first design was to get into France, and -thence to England to join the king at York, and petition for a trial by -his peers. But coming to Kilkenny, he found there the Supreme Council -of the Confederate Catholics just assembled--many of them being of his -acquaintance--and was persuaded by them to throw in his lot with theirs, -seeing, as they truly told him, that they were all persecuted on the same -score, and ruined so that they had nothing more to lose but their lives. -From that time till the peace of 1646 he was engaged in the war of the -Confederate Catholics, holding important commands in the field under the -Supreme Council. His _Memoirs_ is the history of this war. - -After the peace of 1646, concluded with the Marquis of Ormond, the king’s -lord-lieutenant, but which shortly fell through, Lord Castlehaven retired -to France, and served as a volunteer under Prince Rupert at the siege of -Landrecies. Then, returning to Paris, he remained in attendance on the -Queen of England and the Prince of Wales (Charles II.) at St. Germain -till 1648. In that year he returned to Ireland with the lord-lieutenant, -the Marquis of Ormond, and served the royal cause in that kingdom -against the parliamentary forces under Ireton and Cromwell. The battle -of Worcester being lost, and Cromwell the undisputed master of the three -kingdoms, Castlehaven again followed the clouded fortunes of Charles II. -to France. There he obtained permission to join the Great Condé. In the -campaigns under that prince he had the command of eight or nine regiments -of Irish troops, making altogether a force of 5,000 men. Thus we find -the Irish refugees already consolidated into a brigade some years before -the Treaty of Limerick expatriated those soldiers whose valor is more -commonly identified with that title. - -Lord Castlehaven returned to England at the Restoration. In the war -with Holland he served as a volunteer in some of the naval engagements. -In 1667, the French having invaded Flanders, he was ordered there with -2,400 men to recruit the “Old English Regiment,” of which he was made -colonel. The peace of Aix-la-Chapelle ended this war. Peace reigned in -the Low Countries till the breaking out, in 1673, of the long and bloody -contest between the Prince of Orange and the confederate Spaniards and -Imperialists on the one side, and Louis XIV. on the other. This was -the age of grand campaigns, conducted upon principles of mathematical -precision by the great captains formed in the school of M. Turenne, -before the “little Marquis of Brandenburg”[7] and the “Corsican -corporal” in turn revolutionized the art of war. Castlehaven entered -the Spanish service, and shared the checkered but generally disastrous -fortunes of the Duke of Villahermosa and the Prince of Orange (William -III.) against Condé and Luxembourg, till the peace of Nymegen put an end -to the war in 1678. - -Then, after forty years’ hard service, this veteran retired from the -field, and returning to England, like another Cæsar, set about writing -his commentaries on the wars. Thus he spent his remaining years. First -he published, but without acknowledging the authorship, his _Memoirs -of the Irish Wars_. This first edition was suppressed. Then, in 1684, -appeared the second edition, containing, besides the _Memoirs_, -his “Appendix”--being an account of his Continental service--his -“Observations” on confederate armies and the conduct of war, and a -“Postscript,” which is a reply to the Earl of Anglesey. And right well -has the modern reader reason to be thankful for his lordship’s literary -spirit. His _Memoirs_ is one of the most authentic and trustworthy -accounts we have of that vexed passage of Irish history--the Rebellion -of 1641. Its blunt frankness is its greatest charm; it has the value of -an account by an actor in the scenes described; and it possesses that -merit of impartiality which comes of being written by an Englishman -who, connected with the Irish leaders by the ties of faith, family, and -property, and sympathizing fully with their efforts to obtain redress -for flagrant wrongs was yet not blind to their mistakes and indefensible -actions. - -Castlehaven, neglected for more than a century, has received more -justice at the hands of later historians. He is frequently referred to by -Lingard, and his work will be found an admirable commentary on Carte’s -_Life of Ormond_. There is a notice of him in Horace Walpole’s _Catalogue -of Royal and Noble Authors_ (vol. iii.) - -“If this lord,” says Walpole, “who led a very martial life, had not -taken the pains to record his own actions (which, however, he has done -with great frankness and ingenuity), we should know little of his -story, our historians scarce mentioning him, and even our writers of -anecdotes, as Burnet, or of tales and circumstances, as Roger North, -not giving any account of a court quarrel occasioned by his lordship’s -_Memoirs_. Anthony Wood alone has preserved this event, but has not -made it intelligible. … The earl had been much censured for his share -in the Irish Rebellion, and wrote the _Memoirs_ to explain his conduct -rather than to excuse it; for he freely confesses his faults, and imputes -them to provocations from the government of that kingdom, to whose -rashness and cruelty, conjointly with the votes and resolutions of the -English Parliament, he ascribes the massacre. There are no dates nor -method, and less style, in these _Memoirs_--defects atoned for in some -measure by a martial honesty. Soon after their publication the Earl of -Anglesey wrote to ask a copy. Lord Castlehaven sent him one, but denying -the work as his. Anglesey, who had been a commissioner in Ireland for -the Parliament, published Castlehaven’s letter, with observations and -reflections very abusive of the Duke of Ormond, which occasioned first -a printed controversy, and this a trial before the Privy Council; the -event of which was that Anglesey’s first letter was voted a scandalous -libel, and himself removed from the custody of the Privy Seal; and that -the Earl of Castlehaven’s _Memoirs_, on which he was several times -examined, and which he owned, was declared a scandalous libel on the -government--a censure that seems very little founded; there is not a word -that can authorize that sentence from the Council of Charles II. but -the imputation on the lords-justices of Charles I.; for I suppose the -Privy Council did not pique themselves on vindicating the honor of the -republican Parliament! Bishop Morley wrote _A True Account of the Whole -Proceeding between James, Duke of Ormond, and Arthur, Earl of Anglesey_.” - -Immediately after the Restoration, as it is well known, an act was -passed, commonly called in that age “the Act of Oblivion,” by which all -penalties (except certain specified ones) incurred in the late troublous -and rebellious times were forgiven. So superfine would have been the net -which the law of treason would have drawn around the three kingdoms, had -its strict construction been enforced, that it was quite cut loose, a few -only of the greatest criminals and regicides being held in its meshes. -So harsh had been Cromwell’s iron rule that there were few counties of -England in which the stoutest squires, and even the most loyal, might -not have trembled had the king’s commission inquired too closely into -the legal question of connivance at the late tyrant’s rule. And in the -great cities, London especially, the tide of enthusiasm which now ran -so strongly for the king could not hide the memory of those days when -the same fierce crowds had clamored for the head of the “royal martyr.” -Prudent it was, as well as benign, therefore, for the “merry monarch” -to let time roll smoothly over past transgressions. But though the law -might grant oblivion, and even punish the revival of controversies, -the old rancor between individuals and even parties was not so easily -appeased after the first joyful outburst. Books and pamphlets by the -hundred brought charges and counter charges. But these “authors of -slander and lyes,” as Castlehaven calls them, outdid themselves in their -tragical stories of the Irish Rebellion of 1641. Nor have imitators been -wanting in this age, as rancorous and more skilful, in the production -of “fictions and invectives to traduce a whole nation.” To answer those -calumnies by “setting forth the truth of his story in a brief and plain -method” was the design of Castlehaven’s work. - -Then, as now, it was the aim of the libellers of the Irish people to -make the whole nation accountable for the “massacre,” so called, of -1641, and to confound the war of the Confederate Catholics and the -later loyal resistance to Cromwell in one common denunciation with the -first sanguinary and criminal outbreak. Lord Castlehaven’s narrative -effectually disposes of this charge. In a singularly clear and candid -manner he narrates the rise and progress of the insurrection, and -shows the wide difference between the aims and motives of those who -planned the uprising of October 23, 1641, and of those who afterwards -carried on the war under the title of the Confederate Catholics of -Ireland. The former he does not hesitate to denounce as a “barbarous -and inhumane” conspiracy, but the responsibility for it he fixes in the -right quarter--the malevolent character of the Irish government and the -atrocious spirit of the English Puritan Parliament, which, abandoning all -the duties of protection, kept only one object in view--the extirpation -of the native Irish. - -With the successful example of the Scotch Rebellion immediately before -them, it was a matter of little wonder to observant and impartial minds -in that age that the Irish should have seized upon the occasion of the -growing quarrel between the king and Parliament as the opportune moment -for the redress of their grievances. For in the year 1640, two years -after the pacification of Berwick, the Scotch Rebellion, primarily -instigated by the same cause as the Irish--religious differences--broke -out with greater violence than ever. The Scots’ army invaded England, -defeated the king’s troops at Newburn, and took Newcastle. Then, -driven to extremity by those Scotch rebels, as mercenary as they -were fanatical,[8] and his strength paralyzed by the growing English -sedition, Charles I. called together “that unfortunate Parliament” which, -proceeding from one violence to another, first destroyed its master, -and then was in turn destroyed by its own servant. Far from voting the -Scotch army rebels and traitors, the Parliament at once styled them “dear -brethren” and voted them £300,000 for their kindness. Mr. Gervase Holles -was expelled from the House for saying in the course of debate “that the -best way of paying them was by arms to expel them out of the kingdom.” -The quarrel between King and Commons grew hotter, until finally it became -evident that, notwithstanding Charles’ concessions, a violent rupture -could not be long delayed. - -No fairer opportunity could be hoped for by the Irish leaders, -dissatisfied with their own condition, and spurred on by the hope of -winning as good measure of success as the Scotch. The plan to surprise -the Castle of Dublin and the other English garrisons was quickly matured; -but failing, some of the conspirators were taken and executed, and the -rest forced to retire to the woods and mountains. But the flame thus -lighted soon spread over the whole kingdom, and occasioned a war which -lasted without intermission for ten years. - -The following reasons are declared by Castlehaven to have been afterwards -offered to him by the Irish as the explanation of this insurrection: - -First, that, being constantly looked upon by the English government as -a conquered nation, and never treated as natural or free-born subjects, -they considered themselves entitled to regain their liberty whenever they -believed it to be in their power to do so. - -Secondly, that in the North, where the insurrection broke out with the -greatest violence, six whole counties had been escheated to the crown at -one blow, on account of Tyrone’s rebellion; and although it was shown -that a large portion of the population of those counties was innocent of -complicity in that rising, nothing had ever been restored, but the whole -bestowed by James I. upon his countrymen. To us, who live at the distance -of two centuries and a half from those days of wholesale rapine, these -confiscations still seem the most gigantic instance of English wrong; -but who shall tell their maddening effect upon those who suffered from -them in person in that age--the men flying to the mountains, the women -perishing in the fields, the children crying for food they could not get? - -Thirdly, the popular alarm was heightened by the reports, current during -Strafford’s government in Ireland, that the counties of Roscommon, Mayo, -Galway, and Cork, and parts of Tipperary, Limerick, and Wicklow, were to -share the fate of the Ulster counties. It hardly needs the example of our -own Revolution to prove the truth of Castlehaven’s observation upon this -project: “That experience tells us where the people’s property is like -to be invaded, neither religion nor loyalty is able to keep them within -bounds if they find themselves in a condition to make any considerable -opposition.” And this brings to his mind the story related by Livy of -those resolute ambassadors of the Privernates, who, being reduced to such -extremities that they were obliged to beg peace of the Roman Senate, yet, -being asked what peace should the Romans expect from them, who had broken -it so often, they boldly answered--which made the Senate accept their -proposals--“If a good one, it shall be faithful and lasting; but if bad, -it shall not hold very long. For think not,” said they, “that any people, -or even any man, will continue in that condition whereof they are weary -any longer than of necessity they must.” - -Fourthly, it was notorious that from the moment Parliament was convened -it had urged the greatest severities against the English Roman Catholics. -The king was compelled to revive the penalties of the worst days of -Edward and Elizabeth against them. His own consort was scarce safe from -the violence of those hideous wretches who concealed the vilest crimes -under the garb of Puritan godliness. Readers even of such a common and -one-sided book as Forster’s _Life of Sir John Eliot_ will be surprised -to find the prominence and space the “Popish” resolutions and debates -occupied in the sittings of Parliament. The popular leaders divided their -time nearly equally between the persecution of the Catholics and assaults -upon the prerogative. The same severities were now threatened against the -Irish Catholics. “Both Houses,” says Castlehaven, “solicited, by several -petitions out of Ireland, to have those of that kingdom treated with the -like rigor, which, to a people so fond of their religion as the Irish, -was no small inducement to make them, while there was an opportunity -offered, to stand upon their guard.” - -Fifthly, the precedent of the Scotch Rebellion, and its successful -results--pecuniarily, politically, and religiously--encouraged the -Irish so much at that time that they offered it to Owen O’Conally as -their chief motive for rising in rebellion; “which,” says he (quoted by -Castlehaven), “they engaged in to be rid of the tyrannical government -that was over them, and to imitate Scotland, who by that course had -enlarged their privileges” (O’Conally’s _Exam._, October 22, 1641; -Borlace’s _History of the Irish Rebellion_, p. 21). - -To the same purpose Lord Castlehaven quotes Mr. Howell in his _Mercurius -Hibernicus_ in the year 1643; “whose words, because an impartial author -and a known Protestant, I will here transcribe in confirmation of what I -have said and for the reader’s further satisfaction”: - - “Moreover,” says Mr. Howell, “they [the Irish] entered into - consideration that they had sundry grievances and grounds of - complaint, both touching their estates and consciences, which - they pretended to be far greater than those of the Scots. For - they fell to think that if the Scot was suffered to introduce - a new religion, it was reason they should not be punished in - the exercise of their old, which they glory never to have - altered; and for temporal matters, wherein the Scot had no - grievance at all to speak of, the new plantations which had - been lately afoot to be made in Connaught and other places; the - concealed lands and defective titles which were daily found - out; the new customs which were enforced; and the incapacity - they had to any preferment or office in church or state, with - other things, they considered to be grievances of a far greater - nature, and that deserved redress much more than any the Scot - had. To this end they sent over commissioners to attend this - Parliament in England with certain propositions; but they were - dismissed hence with a short and unsavory answer, which bred - worse blood in the nation than was formerly gathered. And this, - with that leading case of the Scot, may be said to be the first - incitements that made them rise.… Lastly, that army of 8,000 - men which the Earl of Strafford had raised to be transported - into England for suppressing the Scot, being by the advice of - our Parliament here disbanded, the country was annoyed by some - of those straggling soldiers. Therefore the ambassadors from - Spain having propounded to have some numbers of those disbanded - soldiers for the service of their master, his majesty, by the - mature advice of his Privy Council, to occur the mischiefs - that might arise to his kingdom of Ireland from those loose - cashiered soldiers, yielded to the ambassadors’ motion. But as - they were in the height of that work (providing transports), - there was a sudden stop made of those promised troops; and this - was the last, though not the least, fatal cause of that horrid - insurrection. - - “Out of these premises it is easy for any common understanding, - not transported with passion or private interest, to draw - this conclusion: That they who complied with the Scot in his - insurrection; they who dismissed the Irish commissioners with - such a short, impolitic answer; they who took off the Earl of - Strafford’s head, and afterwards delayed the despatching of the - Earl of Leicester; they who hindered those disbanded troops in - Ireland to go for Spain, may be justly said to have been the - true causes of the late insurrection of the Irish. - -“Thus,” continues Castlehaven, “concludes this learned and ingenious -gentleman, who, as being then his majesty’s historiographer, was as -likely as any man to know the transactions of those times, and, as an -Englishman and a loyal Protestant, was beyond all exception of partiality -or favor of the Papists of Ireland, and therefore could have no other -reason but the love of truth and justice to give this account of the -Irish Rebellion, or make the Scotch and their wicked brethren in the -Parliament of England the main occasion of that horrid insurrection.” - -As for the “massacre,” so called, that ensued, Lord Castlehaven speaks -of it with the abhorrence it deserves. But this very term “massacre” is -a misnomer plausibly affixed to the uprising by English ingenuity. In a -country such as Ireland then was--in which, though nominally conquered, -few English lived outside the walled towns--an intermittent state of -war was chronic; and therefore there was none of that unpreparedness -for attack or absence of means of defence on the part of the English -settlers which, in other well-known historical cases, has rightfully -given the name of “massacre” to a premeditated murderous attack upon -defenceless and surprised victims. To hold the English as such will be -regarded with contemptuous ridicule by every one acquainted with the -system of English and Scotch colonization in Ireland in that age. The -truth is, the cruelties on both sides were very bloody, “and though -some,” says Lord Castlehaven, “will throw all upon the Irish, yet ’tis -well known who they were that used to give orders to their parties sent -into the enemies’ quarters to spare neither man, woman, nor child.” -And as to the preposterous muster-rolls of Sir John Temple--from whom -the subsequent scribblers borrowed all their catalogues--giving _fifty -thousand (!)_ British natives as the number killed, Lord Castlehaven’s -testimony is to the effect that there was not one-tenth--or scarcely -five thousand--of that number of British natives then living in Ireland -outside of the cities and walled towns where no “massacre” was committed. -Lord Castlehaven also shows that there were not 50,000 persons to be -found even in Temple’s catalogue, although it was then a matter of common -notoriety that he repeats the same people and the same circumstances -twice or thrice, and mentions hundreds as then murdered who lived many -years afterwards. Some of Temple’s, not the Irish, victims were alive -when Castlehaven wrote. - -But the true test of the character of this insurrection is to be found, -not in the exaggerated calumnies of English libellers writing after the -event, but in the testimony of the English settlers themselves when in a -position where lies would have been of no avail. We will therefore give -here, though somewhat out of the course of our narrative, an incident -related by Castlehaven to that effect. - -Shortly after he had been appointed General of the Horse under Preston, -Commander-in-Chief of the Confederate Catholics in Leinster, that general -took, among other places, Birr, in King’s County. Here Castlehaven -had the good fortune, as he says, to begin his command with an act of -charity. For, going to see this garrison before it marched out, he came -into a large room where he found many people of quality, both men and -women. They no sooner saw him but, with tears in their eyes, they fell -on their knees, desiring him to save their lives. “I was astonished,” -says Castlehaven, “at their posture and petition, and, having made them -rise, asked what the matter was? They answered that from the first day of -the war there had been continued action and bloodshed between them and -their Irish neighbors, and little quarter on either side; and therefore, -understanding that I was an Englishman, begged I would take them into -my protection.” It is enough to say that Lord Castlehaven, with some -difficulty, and by personally taking command of a strong convoy, obtained -for them the protection they prayed for from the exasperated and outraged -population around them. But what we wish to point out is this: that here -are those victims of Sir John Temple’s “massacre”--not the garrison of -the fort, observe, but the English settlers driven in by the approach of -Preston’s army, after terrorizing the country for months--now, with the -fear of death before them, confessing on their knees that from the first -day of the war they had arms in their hands, and that little quarter was -given on either side! - -How well the English were able to take care of themselves at this time, -and what _their_ “massacres” were like, are shown by the following -extract from a letter of Colonel the Hon. Mervin Touchett to his brother, -Lord Castlehaven. Col. Touchett is describing a raid made by Sir Arthur -Loffens, Governor of Naas, with a party of horse and dragoons, killing -such of the Irish as they met, to punish an attack upon an English party -a few days before: “But the most considerable slaughter was in a great -strength of furze, scattered on a hill, where the people of several -villages (taking the alarm) had sheltered themselves. Now, Sir Arthur, -having invested the hill, set the furze on fire on all sides, where the -people, being a considerable number, were all burned or killed, men, -women, and children. I saw the bodies and the furze still burning.” - -We remember the horror-stricken denunciations of the English press some -years ago when it was stated, without much authentication, that some of -the French commanders in the Algerine campaigns had smoked some Arabs to -death in caves. But it would seem from Col. Touchett’s narrative that -the English troopers would have been able to give their French comrades -lessons in the culinary art of war some centuries ago. A grilled Irishman -is surely as savory an object for the contemplation of humanity as a -smoked Arab! - -But whatever the atrocities on the English side, we will not say that -the cruelties committed by the Irish were not deserving of man’s -reprobation and God’s anger. Only this is to be observed: that whereas -the “massacres” by the Irish were confined to the rabble and Strafford’s -disbanded soldiers, those committed by the English side were shared in, -as the narratives of the day show, by the persons highest in position -and authority. They made part of the English system of government of -that day. On the other hand, the leading men of the Irish Catholic body -not only endeavored to stay those murders, but sought to induce the -government to bring the authors of them on both sides to punishment. But -in vain! On the 17th of March, 1642, Viscount Gormanstown and Sir Robert -Talbot, on behalf of the nobility and gentry of the nation, presented a -remonstrance, praying “that the murders on both sides committed should -be strictly examined, and the authors of them punished according to -the utmost severity of the law.” Which proposal, Castlehaven shrewdly -remarks, would never have been rejected by their adversaries, “but that -they were conscious of being deeper in the mire than they would have the -world believe.” - -So far the “massacre” and first uprising. - -Now, as to the inception of the war of the Confederate Catholics, and its -objects, Lord Castlehaven’s narrative is equally convincing and clear. - -Parliament met in the Castle of Dublin, Nov. 16, 1641. The Rebellion -was laid before both Houses by the lords-justices, Sir William Parsons -and Sir John Borlace. Concurrent resolutions were adopted, without a -dissenting voice, by the two Houses, declaring their abhorrence of -the Rebellion, and pledging their lives and fortunes to suppress it. -Castlehaven had a seat in the Irish House of Lords as an Irish peer, -and being then in Ireland, as before related, took his seat at the -meeting of Parliament. Besides Castlehaven, most of the leaders of -the war that ensued were members of the Irish House of Lords. These -Catholic peers were not less earnest than the rest in their unanimous -intention to put down the Rebellion. Both Houses thereupon began to -deliberate upon the most effectual means for its suppression. “But this -way of proceeding,” says Castlehaven, “did not, it seems, square with -the lords-justices’ designs, who were often heard to say that ‘the -more were in rebellion, the more lands should be forfeit to them.’” -Therefore, in the midst of the deliberations of Parliament on the -subject, a prorogation was determined on. The lords, understanding this, -sent Castlehaven and Viscount Castelloe to join a deputation from the -commons to the lords-justices, praying them not to prorogue, at least -till the rebels--then few in number--were reduced to obedience. But the -address was slighted, and Parliament prorogued the next day, to the great -surprise of both Houses and the “general dislike,” says Castlehaven, “of -all honest and knowing men.” - -The result was, as the lords-justices no doubt intended, that the -rebels were greatly encouraged, and at once began to show themselves in -quarters hitherto peaceful. The members of Parliament retired to their -country-houses in much anxiety after the prorogation. Lord Castlehaven -went to his seat at Maddingstown. There he received a letter, signed by -the Viscounts of Gormanstown and Netterville, and by the Barons of Slane, -Lowth, and Dunsany, containing an enclosure to the lords-justices which -those noblemen desired him to forward to them, and, if possible, obtain -an answer. This letter to the lords-justices, Castlehaven says, was very -humble and submissive, asking only permission to send their petitions -into England to represent their grievances to the king. The only reply -of the lords-justices was a warning to Castlehaven to receive no more -letters from them. - -Meanwhile, parties were sent out from Dublin and the various garrisons -throughout the kingdom to “kill and destroy the rebels.” But those -parties took little pains to distinguish rebels from loyal subjects, -provided they were only Catholics, killing promiscuously men, women, and -children. Reprisals followed on the part of the rebels. The nobility and -gentry were between two fires. A contribution was levied upon them by the -rebels, after the manner of the Scots in the North of England in 1640. -But although to pay that contribution in England passed without reproach, -in Ireland it was denounced by the lords-justices as treason. The English -troopers insulted and openly threatened the most distinguished Irish -families as favorers of the Rebellion. “This,” says Castlehaven, “and -the sight of their tenants, the harmless country people, without respect -to age or sex, thus barbarously murdered, made the Catholic nobility and -gentry at last resolved to stand upon their guard.” Nevertheless, before -openly raising the standard of revolt against the Irish government, -which refused to protect them, they made several efforts to get their -petitions before Charles I. Sir John Read, a Scotchman, then going to -England, undertook to forward petitions to the king; but, being arrested -on suspicion at Drogheda, was taken to Dublin, and there put upon the -rack by the lords-justices to endeavor to wring from him a confession of -Charles I.’s complicity in the Rebellion. This Col. Mervin Touchett heard -from Sir John Read himself as he was brought out of the room where he was -racked. But that unfortunate monarch knew not how to choose his friends -or to be faithful to them when he found them. He referred the whole -conduct of Irish affairs to the English Parliament, thus increasing -the discontent to the last pitch by making it plain to the whole Irish -people that he abandoned the duty of protecting them, and had handed them -over to the mercy of their worst enemies--the English Parliament. That -Parliament at once passed a succession of wild votes and ordinances, -indicating their intention of stopping short at nothing less than utter -extirpation of the native race. Dec. 8, 1641, they declared they would -never give consent to any toleration of the Popish religion in Ireland. -In February following, when few of any estate were as yet engaged in -the Rebellion, they passed an act assigning two million five hundred -thousand acres of cultivated land, besides immense tracts of bogs, woods, -and mountains, to English and Scotch adventurers for a small proportion -of money on the grant. This money, the act stated, was to go to the -reduction of the rebels; but, with a fine irony of providence upon the -king’s weak compliance, every penny of it was afterwards used to raise -armies by the English rebels against him. “But the greatest discontent -of all,” says Castlehaven, “was about the lords-justices proroguing -the Parliament--the only way the nation had to express its loyalty and -prevent their being misrepresented to their sovereign, which, had it -been permitted to sit for any reasonable time, would in all likelihood, -without any great charge or trouble, have brought the rebels to justice.” - -Thus all hopes of redress or safety being at an end--a villanous -government in Dublin intent only upon confiscation, a furious Parliament -in London breathing vengeance against the whole Irish race, and a king -so embroiled in his English quarrels that he could do nothing to help -his Irish subjects, even had he wished it--what was left those loyal, -gallant, and devoted men but to draw the sword for their own safety? -The Rebellion by degrees spread over the whole kingdom. “And now,” -says Castlehaven, “there’s no more looking back; for all were in arms -and full of indignation.” A council of the leading Catholic nobles, -military officers, and gentry met at Kilkenny, and formed themselves -into an association under the title of the Confederate Catholics of -Ireland. Four generals were appointed for the respective provinces of the -kingdom--Preston for Leinster, Barry for Munster, Owen Roe O’Neale for -Ulster, and Burke for Connaught. Thus war was declared. - -When the Rebellion first broke out in the North, Lord Castlehaven -had immediately repaired to Dublin and offered his services to the -lords-justices. They were declined with the reply that “his religion -was an obstacle.” After the prorogation of Parliament, as we have seen, -he retired to his house in the country. Then, coming again to Dublin to -meet a charge of corresponding with the rebels which had been brought -against him, he was arrested by order of the lords-justices, and, after -twenty weeks of imprisonment in the sheriff’s house, was committed to the -Castle. “This startled me a little,” says Castlehaven--as it well might -do; for the state prisoner’s exit from the Castle in Dublin in those days -was usually made in the same way as from the Tower in London, namely, by -the block--“and brought into my thoughts the proceedings against the Earl -of Strafford, who, confiding in his own innocence, was voted out of his -life by an unprecedented bill of attainder.” Therefore, hearing nothing -while in prison but rejoicings at the king’s misfortunes, who at last -had been forced to take up arms by the English rebels, and knowing the -lords-justices to be of the Parliament faction, and the lord-lieutenant, -the Marquis of Ormond, being desperately sick of a fever, not without -suspicion of poison, and his petition to be sent to England, to be tried -there by his peers, being refused, he determined to make his escape, -shrewdly concluding, as he says, that “innocence was a scurvy plea in an -angry time.” - -Arriving at Kilkenny, he joined the confederacy, as has been related. - -From this time the war of the Confederate Catholics was carried on with -varying success until the cessation of 1646, and then until the peace of -1648, when the Confederates united, but too late, with the Marquis of -Ormond to stop the march of Cromwell. - - -A SWEET SINGER: ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER. - - She sang of Love--the love whose fires - Burn with a pure and gentle flame, - No passion lights of wild desires - Red with the lurid glow of shame. - - She sang of angels, and their wings - Seemed rustling through each soft refrain; - Gladness and sorrow, kindred things - She wove in many a tender strain. - - She sang of Heaven and of God, - Of Bethlehem’s star and Calvary’s way, - Gethsemane--the bloody sod, - Death, darkness, resurrection-day. - - She sang of Mary--Mother blest, - Her sweetest carols were of thee! - Close folded to thy loving breast - How fair her home in heaven must be! - - -THE COLPORTEURS OF BONN. - -I was very stupid in my youth, and am still far from being sharp. I could -not master knotty questions like other boys; so this natural deficiency -had to be supplemented by some plan that would facilitate the acquisition -of knowledge. The advantage to be derived from a garrulous preceptor, -whose mind was stored with all sorts of learning without dogmatism or -hard formularies, were fully appreciated by my parents. John O’Neil was -a very old man when I was a boy, and he was just the person qualified -to impart an astonishing quantity of all sorts of facts, and perhaps -fancies. I hold him in affectionate remembrance though he be dead over -twenty-five years, and rests near the remains of his favorite hero, -O’Connell, in Glasnevin Cemetery. When he became the chief architect of -my intellectual structure, I thought him the most learned man in the -world. On account of my dulness, he adopted the method of sermonizing -to me instead of giving me unintelligible lessons to be learned out of -books. I took a great fancy to him, because I found him exceedingly -interesting, and he evinced a strong liking for me because I was docile. -We became inseparable companions, notwithstanding the great discrepancy -in our years. His tall, erect, lank figure and lantern jaw were to me the -physiological signs of profundity, firmness, and power, and his white -head was the symbol of wisdom. Our tastes--well, I had no tastes save -such as he chose to awaken in me, and hence there came to be very soon -a great similitude in our respective inclinations. I was like a ball of -wax, a sheet of paper, or any other original impressionable thing you -may name, in his hands for ten years, after which very probably I began -to harden, though I was not conscious of the process. However, the large -fund of knowledge that he imparted to me crystallized, as it were, and -became fixed in my possession as firmly as if it had been elaborately -achieved by a severe mental training. After I went to college he was -still my friend, and rejoiced in my subsequent successes, and followed me -with a jealous eye and a sort of parental anxiety in my foreign travels, -and even in death he did not forget me, for he made me the custodian of -his great heaps of literary productions, all in manuscript, embracing -sketches, diaries, notes of travel, learned fragments on scientific -and scholastic topics, essays, tales, letters, the beginnings and the -endings and the middles of books on history, politics, and polemics, -pieces of pamphlets and speeches, with a miscellaneous lot of poetry in -all measures. He was a great, good man, who never had what is called -an aim in life, but he certainly had an aim _after_ life; and yet no -one could esteem the importance of this pilgrimage more than he did. He -would frequently boast of being heterodox on that point. “You will hear,” -he would remark, “people depreciating this life as a matter of little -concern. Don’t allow their sophistry to have much weight with you. The -prevalent opinions which are flippantly spoken thereon will not stand the -test of sound Christian reasoning. That part of human existence which -finds its scene and scope of exertion in this life is filled with eternal -potentialities. You have heard it said that man wants but little here -below. Where else does he want it? Here is where he wants everything. -Then do not hesitate to ask, but be careful not to ask amiss. When the -battle is over, it will be too late to make requisitions for auxiliaries. -If you conquer, assistance will not be wanted; if you are defeated, -assistance cannot reach you. The fight cannot be renewed; the victory or -defeat will be final. This life is immense. You cannot think too much of -it, cannot estimate it too highly. A minute has almost an infinite value. -Man wants much here, and wants it all the time.” I thought his language -at that time fantastical; now I regard it as profound. From a survey -of his own aimless career, it is evident he did not reduce the good of -earthly existence of which he spoke to any sort of money value. Those -elements and forces of life to which he attached such deep significance -and importance could not have their equivalent in currency, nor in -comforts, nor in real estate, nor even in fame. My old preceptor had -spent most of his youth in travelling, and the picturesque meanderings -of the Rhine furnished subjects for many of his later recollections. I -recall now with a melancholy regret the many pleasant evenings I enjoyed -listening to his narratives of travel on that historic river, and in -imagination sat with him on the Drachenfels’ crest, looking down upon -scenes made memorable by the lives and struggles of countless heroes -and the crowds of humanity that came and went through the course of a -hundred generations--some leaving their mark, and others erasing it -again; some leaving a smile behind them on the face of the country, and -others a scar. He loved to talk about the beautiful city of Bonn, where -he had spent some years, it being the most attractive place, he said, -from Strasbourg to the sea--for learning was cheap there, and so were -victuals--the only things he found indispensable to a happy life. He -would glide into a monologue of dramatic glow and fervor in reciting how -he procured access to the extensive library of its new university, and, -crawling up a step-ladder, would perch himself on top like a Hun, who, -after a sleep of a thousand years, had resurrected himself, gathered his -bones from the plains of Chalons, and having procured a second-hand suit -of modern clothes from a Jew in Cologne, traced with eager avidity the -vicissitudes of war and empire since the days of Attila. It was there, no -doubt, he discovered the materials of this curious paper, which I found -among his literary remains. Whether he gathered the materials himself, -or merely transcribed the work of some previous writer, I am unable to -determine. Without laying any claim to critical acumen, I must confess -it appears to me to be a meritorious piece, and I picked it out, because -I thought it unique and brief, for submission to the more extensive -experience and more impartial judgment of THE CATHOLIC WORLD’S readers. -Having entire control of these productions of my friend and preceptor, I -took the liberty of substituting modern phraseology for what was antique, -and of putting the sketch in such style that the most superficial reader -will have no difficulty in running it over. Objection may be raised to -the title on the score of fitness. I did not feel authorized to change -it, believing the one chosen by the judgment of my old friend as suitable -as any I could substitute. - - * * * * * - -In the year 1250 the mind of man was as restless and impatient of -restraint as now, and some people in Bonn, under a quiet exterior, -nursed in their bosoms latent volcanoes of passion, and indulged the -waywardness of rebellious fancy to a degree that would have proved -calamitous to the placid flow of life and thought could instrumentality -for action have been found. There is indubitable proof that the principle -of the Reformation, which three hundred years later burst through the -environment of dogma and spread like a flood of lava over Europe, -existed actively in Bonn in the year named, and would have arrived at -mature strength if nature had not interposed an impassable barrier to -the proceeding. It is hard to rebel against nature, and it is madness -to expect success in such a revolt. Fourteen men, whose names have come -down to us, gave body and tone, and a not very clearly defined purpose, -to this untimely uprising against the inevitable in Bonn. How many others -were in sympathy or in active affiliation with them is not shown. Those -fourteen were bold spirits, who labored under the misfortune of having -come into the world three or four centuries too soon. They were great -men out of place. There is an element of rebellion in great spirits -which only finds its proper antidote in the stronger and more harmonious -principle of obedience. Obedience is the first condition of creatures. -Those fourteen grew weary of listening to the Gospel preached every -Sunday from the pulpit of S. Remigius, when they attended Mass with the -thousands of their townsmen. The Scriptures, both New and Old, were given -out in small doses, with an abundant mixture of explanation and homily -and salutary exhortation. Their appetites craved a larger supply of -Scripture, and indeed some of them were so unreasonable as to desire the -reading of the whole book, from Genesis to Revelations, at one service. -“Let us,” said Giestfacher, “have it all. No one is authorized to give a -selection from the Bible and hold back the rest. It is our feast, and we -have a right to the full enjoyment thereof.” - -“Well,” said Heuck, his neighbor, to whom he addressed the remonstrance; -“go to the scrivener’s and purchase a copy and send your ass to carry -it home. Our friend Schwartz finished a fine one last week. It can be -had for sixteen hundred dollars. When you have it safe at home, employ -a reader, who will be able to mouth it all off for you in fifty hours, -allowing a few intervals for refreshment, but none for sleep.” And Heuck -laughed, or rather sneered, at Giestfacher as he walked away. - -Giestfacher was a reformer, however, and was not to be put down in -that frivolous manner. He had been a student himself with the view of -entering the ministry, but, being maliciously charged with certain grave -irregularities, his prospects in that direction were seriously clouded, -and in a moment of grand though passionate self-assertion he threw up -his expectations and abandoned the idea of entering the church, but -instead took to the world. He was a reformer from his infancy, and -continually quarrelled with his family about the humdrum state of things -at home; was at enmity with the system of municipal government at Bonn; -and held very animated controversies with the physicians of the place -on the system of therapeutics then pursued, insisting strongly that all -diseases arose from bad blood, and that a vivisection with warm wine -would prove a remedy for everything. He lacked professional skill to -attempt an experiment in the medical reforms he advocated; besides, that -department would not admit of bungling with impunity. For municipal -reforms he failed in power, and the reward in fame or popular applause -that might follow successful operations in that limited sphere of action -was not deemed equivalent to the labor. But in the field of religion -there was ample room for all sorts of tentative processes without danger; -and, in addition to security, notoriety might be obtained by being -simply _outré_. He had settled upon religious reform, and his enthusiasm -nullified the cautionary suggestions of his reason, and reduced mountains -of difficulty to the insignificant magnitude of molehills; even Heuck -could be induced to adopt his views by cogent reasoning and much -persuasion. Enthusiasm is allied to madness--a splendid help, but a -dangerous guide. - -Giestfacher used his tongue, and in the course of a year had made twelve -or fourteen proselytes. Those who cannot enjoy the monotony of life and -the spells of _ennui_ that attack the best-regulated temperaments, fly -to novelty for relief. The fearful prospect of an unknown and nameless -grave and an oblivious future drives many restless spirits into -experiments in morals and in politics as well as in natural philosophy, -in the vain hope of rescuing their names from the “gulf of nothingness” -that awaits mediocrity. The new reformers, zealous men and bold, met -in Giestfacher’s house on Corpus Christi in 1251, the minutes of which -meeting are still extant; and from that record I learn there were present -Stein the wheelwright, Lullman the baker, Schwartz the scrivener, Heuck -the armorer, Giestfacher the cloth merchant, Braunn, another scrivener, -Hartzwein the vintner, Blum the advocate, Werner, another scrivener, -Reudlehuber, another scrivener, Andersen, a stationer, Esch the -architect, Dusch the monk, discarded by his brethren for violations of -discipline, and Wagner the potter. Blum was appointed to take an account -of the proceedings, and Giestfacher was made president of the society. - -“We are all agreed,” said Giestfacher, “that the Scriptures ought to be -given to the people. From these divine writings we learn a time shall -come when wars shall cease, and the Alemanni and the Frank and the Tartar -may eat from the same plate and drink out of the same cup in peace and -fraternity, and wear cloth caps instead of brass helmets, and plough the -fields with their spears instead of letting daylight through each other -therewith, and the shepherds shall tend their flocks with a crook and -not with a bow to keep off the enemy. How can that time come unless the -people be made acquainted with those promises? I believe we, who, like -the apostles, number fourteen, are divinely commissioned to change things -for the better, and initiate the great movements which will bring about -the millennium. Let us rise up to the dignity of our position. Let us -prove equal to the inspiration of the occasion. We are called together by -heaven for a new purpose. The time is approaching when universal light -will dispel the gloom, and peace succeed to all disturbance. Let us give -the Scriptures to the people. They are the words of God, that carry -healing on their wings. They are the dove that was sent out from the ark. -They are the pillar of light in the desert. They are the sword of Joshua, -the sling of David, the rod of Moses. Let us fourteen give them to the -people, and start out anew, like the apostles from Jerusalem, to overturn -the idols of the times and emancipate the nations. We have piled up heaps -of stones in every town and monuments of brass, and still men are not -changed. We see them still lying, warring, hoarding riches, and making -gods of their bellies--all of which is condemned by the word of God. What -will change all this? I say, let the piles of stone and the monuments of -brass slide, and give the Scriptures a chance. Let us give them to the -people, and the reign of brotherhood and peace will commence, wars shall -cease, nation will no longer rise up against nation, rebellion will erect -its horrid front no more. Men will cease hoarding riches and oppressing -the poor. There will be no more robbing rings in corporate towns, and men -in power will not blacken their character and imperil the safety of the -state by nepotism. The whole world will become pure. No scandals will -arise in the church, and there will be no blasphemy or false swearing, -and Christian brethren shall not conspire for each other’s ruin.” - -“We see,” remarked Heuck, “that those who have the Scriptures are no -better than other people. They too are given to lying, hoarding riches, -warring one against another, and making gods of their bellies. How is -that?” - -“Yes,” said Blum, “I know three scriveners of this town who boast of -having transcribed twenty Bibles each, and they get drunk thrice a week -and quarrel with their wives; and there’s Giebricht, the one-legged -soldier, who can repeat the Scriptures until you sleep listening to -him, says he killed nine men in battle and wounded twenty others. The -Scriptures did not make him very peaceful. The loss of a leg had a more -quieting effect on him than all his memorizing of the sacred books.” - -“We did not get together,” said Werner, “to discuss that phase of the -subject. It was well understood, and thereunto agreed a month ago, that -the spread of the Scriptures was desirable; and to this end we met, that -means wise and effective may be devised whereby we can supply every one -with the word of God, that all may search therein for the correct and -approved way of salvation.” - -“So be it,” said Dusch the monk. - -“Hear, hear!” said Schwartz. - -“Let us agree like brethren,” said Braunn. - -“We are subject to one spirit,” said Hartzwein the vintner, “and all -moved by the same inspiration. Discord is unseemly. We must not dispute -on the subject of drunkenness. Let us have the mature views of Brother -Giestfacher, and his plans. The end is already clear if the means be of -approved piety and really orthodox. In addition to the Scriptures, I -would rejoice very much to see prayer more generally practised. We ought -to do nothing without prayer. Let us first of all consult the Lord. What -says Brother Blum?” - -Blum rose and said it was a purely business meeting. He had no doubt -it ought to have been opened with prayer. It was an old and salutary -practice that came down from the days of the apostles, and Paul -recommended it. But as they were now in the midst of business, he thought -it would be as wise and as conformable with ancient Christian and saintly -practice to go on with their work, and rest satisfied with mental -ejaculation, as to inaugurate a formal prayer-meeting. - -Esch thought differently; he held that prayer was always in season. - -Reudlehuber meekly said that the Scriptures showed there was a time for -everything, whence it was plain that prayer might be out of place as well -as penitential tears on some occasions. It would not look well for a man -to rise up in the midst of a marriage feast and, beating his breast, cry -out _Mea culpa_. - -“We have too many prayers in the church,” said Giestfacher, “and not -enough of Scripture; that is the trouble with us. Brethren must rise -above the weaknesses of the mere pietist. Moses was no pietist; he was a -great big, leonine character. We must be broad and liberal in our views; -not given to fault-finding nor complaining. Pray whenever you feel like -it, and drink when you have a mind to. Noah got drunk. I’d rather be -the prodigal son, and indulge in a hearty natural appetite for awhile, -than be his cautious, speculating, avaricious brother, who had not soul -enough most likely to treat his acquaintances to a pint of wine once in -his lifetime. Great men get tipsy. Great nations are bibulous. We are -not here to make war on those who drink wine and cultivate the grape, nor -are we authorized in making war on weavers because Dives was damned for -wearing fine linen. It is our mission to spread the Scriptures. The world -wants light. He is a benefactor of mankind who puts two rays where there -was only one before.” - -“Let us hear your plans, Brother Giestfacher,” cried out a number of -voices simultaneously. - -In response, Brother Giestfacher stated that there were no plans -necessary. All that was to be done was to circulate the Scriptures. Let -us get one hundred thousand sheets of vellum to begin with, and set a -hundred scriveners to work transcribing copies of the Bible, and then -distribute these copies among the people. - -The plan was plain and simple and magnificent, Braunn thought, but there -were not ten thousand sheets of vellum in the town nor in the whole -district, and much of that would be required for civil uses; besides, the -number of sheep in the neighborhood had been so reduced by the recent war -that vellum would be scarce and costly for ten years to come. - -Werner lamented the irremediable condition of the world when the free -circulation of the word of God depended on the number of sheep, and the -number of sheep was regulated by war, and war by the ambition, jealousy, -or pride of princes. - -“It is painfully true,” said Heuck, “that the world stands in sad need -of reform, if souls are to be rescued from their spiritual perils only -by the means proposed in the magnificent sheep-skin scheme of Brother -Giestfacher.” It was horrible to think that the immortal part of man was -doomed to perish, to be snuffed out, as it were, in eternal darkness, -because soldiers had an unholy appetite for mutton. - -Braunn said the work could be started on three or four thousand hides, -and ere they were used up a new supply might arrive from some unexpected -quarter. - -Esch said that they ought to have faith; the Hand that fed the patriarch -in the desert would provide vellum if he was prayerfully besought for -assistance. _He_ would be willing to commence on one sheet, feeling -convinced there would be more than enough in the end. - -Blum did not take altogether so sanguine a view of things as Brother -Esch. He was especially dubious about that vellum supply; not that he -questioned the power of Providence at all, but it struck him that it -would be just as well and as easy for the society to prayerfully ask for -an ample supply of ready-made Bibles as to expect a miracle in prepared -sheep-skin; and he was still further persuaded that if the books were -absolutely necessary to one’s salvation, they would be miraculously -given. But he did not put the movement on that ground. It is very easy -for men, and particularly idiotic men, to convince themselves that God -will answer all their whims and caprices by the performance of a miracle. -We are going upon the theory that the work is good, just as it is good to -feed the hungry and clothe the naked. We expect to find favor in heaven -because we endeavor to do a work of charity according to our honest -impression. - -“How many persons,” inquired Heuck, “do you propose to supply with -complete copies of the Scriptures?” - -“Every one in the district,” replied Giestfacher. - -“Brother Dusch,” continued Heuck, “how many heads of families are there -in the district? Your abbot had the census taken a few month’s ago, while -you were yet in grace and favor at the monastery.” - -Brother Dusch said he heard there were twenty-two thousand from the -Drachenfels to within six miles of Cologne, but all of them could not -read. - -“We will send out,” said Giestfacher enthusiastically, “an army of -colporteurs, who will distribute and read at the same time.” - -“I perceive,” said Blum, “that this discussion will never stop. New -avenues of thought and new mountains of objection are coming to view -at every advance in the debate. Let us do something first, and talk -afterwards. To supply twenty-two thousand persons with expensive volumes -will require considerably more than mere resolves and enthusiasm. I -propose that we buy up all the vellum in the city to-day, and that we -all go security for the payment. I propose also that we employ Brothers -Braunn, Schwartz, Werner, and Reudlehuber to commence transcribing, and -that we all go security for their pay. Unless we begin somewhere, we can -never have anything done. What says Brother Giestfacher?” - -Giestfacher said it did not become men of action, reformers who proposed -to turn over the world and inaugurate a new era and a new life and a -new law, to stop at trifles or to consider petty difficulties. The -design that had been developed at that meeting contemplated a sweeping -change. Instead of having a few books, here and there, at every church, -cathedral, monastery, and market-place, learnedly and laboriously -expounded by saints of a thousand austerities and of penitential garb, -every house would be supplied, and there should be no more destitution in -the land. The prophecies and the gospels and the mysteries of revelation -would be on the lips of sucking babes, and the people who stood at the -street-corners and at the marts of trade, the tiller of the soil, the -pedler, the sailor, the old soldier, and the liberated prisoner, together -with the man who sold fish and the woman who sold buttermilk, would -stand up and preach the Gospel and display a mission, schoolboys would -discuss the contents of that book freely, and even the inmates of lunatic -asylums would expound it with luminous aptitude and startling fancy. The -proposition of Brother Blum met his entire approval. He would pledge -everything he had, and risk even life itself, to start the new principle, -so that the world might bask in sunshine and not in shadow. It was about -time that men had their intellects brightened up some. Even in the days -of the apostles those pious men did not do their whole duty. They labored -with much assiduity and conscientiousness, but they neglected to adopt -measures looking to the spread of the Scriptures. He had no doubt but -they fell a long way short of their mission, and were now enduring the -pangs of a peck of purgatorial coal for their remissness. There were -good men who perhaps found heaven without interesting themselves in the -multiplication of copies of the Bible. They were not called to that work; -but what was to be thought of those who had the call, the power, the -skill, and yet neglected to spread the word. He believed SS. Gregory -Nazianzen, Athanasius, Jerome, Chrysostom, Augustine, and others of those -early doctors of the church, had a fearful account to render for having -neglected the Scriptures. S. Paul, too, was not free from censure. It was -true he wrote a few things, but he took no thought of multiplying copies -of his epistles. - -“How many copies,” inquired Heuck, “do you think S. Paul ought to have -written of his letters before you would consider him blameless?” - -“He ought,” said Giestfacher, “to have written all the time instead of -making tents. ‘How many copies’ is a professional question which I will -leave the scriveners to answer. I may remark that it would evidently be -unprofitable for us to enter on a minute and detailed discussion on that -point here. It is our duty to supplement the shortcomings of those early -workers in the field, and finish what they failed to accomplish. They -were bound to give the new principle a fair start. The plan suggested was -the best, simplest, and clearest, and he hoped every one of the brethren -would give it a hearty and cordial support.” - -The principle of communism, or the right of communities to govern -themselves in certain affairs and to carry on free trade with certain -other communities, had been granted the previous century, and Bonn -was one of the towns that enjoyed the privilege; but the people still -respected religion and did no trafficking on holydays. Giestfacher could -not therefore purchase the vellum on Corpus Christi, but had to wait till -next day, at which time he could not conveniently find the other members -of the new Bible society, and, fearing that news of their project would -get abroad and raise the price of the article he wanted, he hastened to -the various places where it was kept for sale, and bought all of it up in -the course of two hours, paying his own money in part and giving his bond -for the balance. The parchment was delivered to the four scriveners, who -gathered their families about them, and all the assistants (journeymen) -that could be found in the town, and proceeded with the transcribing of -the Bible. At the next meeting each scrivener reported that he had about -half a book ready, that the work was going rapidly and smoothly forward, -and that the scribes were enthusiastic at the prospect of brisk business -and good pay. The report was deemed very encouraging. It went to show -that the society could have four Bibles every two weeks, or about one -hundred a year, and that in the course of two hundred and twenty years -every head of a family in the district could be provided with a Bible of -his own. The scriveners stated, moreover, that they had neglected their -profane business, for which they could have got cash, to proceed in the -sacred work, and as there were several people depending on them for means -of living, a little money would be absolutely necessary with the grace of -God. - -Giestfacher also stated that he spent all the money he had in part -payment for the parchment, and pledged his property for the balance. His -business was somewhat crippled already in consequence of the outlay, -and he expected to have part of the burden assumed by every one of the -society. - -Werner said he had fifteen transcribers working for him, and each one -agreed to let one-third of the market value of his work remain in the -hands of the society as a subscription to the good work, but the other -two-thirds would have to be paid weekly, as they could not live without -means. They were all poor, and depending solely on their skill in -transcribing for a living. - -The debate was long, earnest, eloquent, and more or less pious. - -Blum made a motion that the bishop of the diocese and the Pope be made -honorary members of the society. Giestfacher opposed this with eloquent -acrimony, saying it was a movement outside of all sorts of church -patronage; that it was designed to supersede churches and preaching; for -when every man had the Bible he would be a church unto himself, and would -not need any more teaching. He also had a resolution adopted pledging -each and every member to constitute himself a colporteur of the Bible, -and to read and peddle it in sun and rain; and it was finally settled -that a subscription should be taken up; that each member of the society -be constituted a collector, and proceed at once to every man who loved -the Lord and gloried in the Gospel to get his contribution. - -At the next meeting the brethren were all present except Dusch, who was -reported as an absconder with the funds he had collected, and was said to -be at that moment in Cologne, drunk perhaps. Four complete Bibles were -presented as the result of two weeks’ hard labor and pious effort and the -aggregate production of forty-five writers. The financial reports on the -whole were favorable; and the scriveners were provided with sufficient -means and encouragement to begin another set of four Bibles. Brother -Giestfacher was partially secured in his venture for the parchment, -while it was said that the article had doubled in price during the past -fortnight, and very little of it could be got from Cologne, as there was -a scarcity of it there also, coupled with an extraordinary demand. It -was also stated that the monks at the monastery had to erase the works -of Virgil in order to find material for making a copy of the homilies -of S. John Chrysostom which was wanted for the Bishop of Metz. In like -manner, it was decided to erase the histories of Labanius and Zozirnus, -as being cheaper than procuring original parchment on which to transcribe -a fine Greek copy of the whole Bible, to take the place of one destroyed -by the late war. The heavy purchase that Brother Giestfacher had made -created a panic in the vellum market that was already felt in the heart -of Burgundy. The scriveners’ business had also experienced a revulsion. -People of the world who wanted testamentary and legal documents, deeds, -contracts, and the like properly engrossed, were offering fabulous -sums to have the work done, as most of the professionals of that class -were now engaged by the society, and had no time to do any other sort -of writing. A debate sprung up as to the proper disposition to be made -of the four Bibles on hand, and also as to the manner of beginning and -conducting the distribution. In view of the demand for the written word, -and of the scarcity of copies and the high price of parchment, it was -suggested by Heuck to sell them, and divide the proceeds among the poor -and the cripples left after the late war. Five hundred dollars each could -be readily got for the books, he said, and it was extremely doubtful -whether those who would get them as gifts from the society would resist -the temptation of selling them to the first purchaser that came along. -In addition to this heavy reason in favor of his line of policy, Heuck -suggested the possibility of trouble arising when they should come to -grapple with the huge difficulties of actual distribution; to give one of -those volumes, he said, would be like giving an estate and making a man -wealthy for life. - -Giestfacher said it would be impracticable to make any private -distribution among the destitute for some time. The guilds of coopers, -tailors, shoemakers, armorers, fullers, tanners, masons, artificers, -and others should be first supplied; and in addition to the Bible kept -chained in the market-place for all who wished to read, he would have one -placed at the town-pump and one at the town-house, so that the thirsty -might also drink the waters of life, and those who were seeking justice -at the court might ascertain the law of God before going in. - -Blum said another collection would have to be raised to erect a shed over -the Bibles that were proposed to be placed at the town-pump and at the -town-house and to pay for suitable chains and clasps to secure them from -the depredations of the pilfering. - -Esch was of opinion that another subscription could not be successfully -taken up until their work had produced manifest fruit for good. The -people have much faith, but when they find salt mixed with their drink -instead of honey, credulity is turned into disgust. A Bible chained to -the town-pump will be a sad realization of their extravagant hopes. -Every man who subscribed five dollars expects to get a book worth five -hundred, an illuminated Bible fit for a cathedral church. He warned them -that they were getting into a labyrinth, and that they would have to -resort to prayer yet to carry them through in safety. Werner thought it -would be wisest to pursue a quiescent policy for some time, and to forego -the indulgence of their anxious desire for palpable results until they -should be in a condition to make an impression. He advocated the wisdom -of delay. They also serve, he said, who only stand and wait, and it might -prove an unwise proceeding to come out with their public exhibition just -then. In a few months, when thirty or forty Bibles would be on hand, a -larger number than could be found in any library in the world, they might -hope, by the show of so much labor, to create enthusiasm. - -“But still,” urged Heuck, “you will have the difficulty to contend -with--who is to get them?” - -“There will,” remarked Blum, “be a greater difficulty to contend with -about that time: the settlement of obligations for parchment and the pay -of the scriveners who are employed in transcribing. Our means at present, -even if we pay the scriveners but one-third their wages, will not suffice -to bring out twenty volumes. So we are just in this difficulty: in order -to do something, we must have means, and in order to get means, we must -do something. It is a sort of vicious circle projected from logic into -finance. It will take the keen-edged genius of Brother Giestfacher to cut -this knot.” - -“The work,” said Giestfacher, “in which we are engaged is of such merit -that it will stand of itself. I have no fears of ultimate triumph. If -you all fail, God and I will carry it on. Heaven is in it. I am in it. -It must succeed. I am a little oldish, I confess, but there is twenty -years of work in me still. I feel my foot sufficiently sure to tread the -perilous path of this adventure to the goal.” - -“Let us,” interposed Schwartz, “stop this profitless debate, and give -a cheer to Brother Giestfacher. He is the blood and the bone of this -movement. We are in with him. We are all in the same boat. If we have -discovered a pusillanimous simpleton among us, it is not too late to cast -him out. I feel my gorge and my strength rise together, and I swear to -you by S. Remigius, brethren, that I am prepared to sink or swim, and -whoever attempts to scuttle the ship shall himself perish first.” - -Two or three other brethren, feeling the peculiar inspiration of the -moment, rose up and, stamping their feet on the floor, proclaimed their -adherence to the principles of the society, and vowed to see it through -to the end. - -This meeting then adjourned. - -There is no minute of any subsequent meeting to be found among the -manuscripts that I have consulted, but I discovered a statement made by -Heuck, dated six months later, who, being called before the municipal -authorities to testify what he knew about certain transactions of a -number of men that had banded themselves together secretly for the -purpose of creating a panic in the vellum market, and of disturbing -the business of the scriveners, said he was one of fourteen citizens -interested in the promulgation of the Gospel free to the poor. That, -after five or six meetings, he left the society in company with two -others; that two of the members became obnoxious, and were expelled--the -one, Dusch, for embezzling money collected for Scripture-writing and -Scripture-diffusing purposes, the other, Werner, for having retained -one of their volumes, and disposed of it to the lord of Drachenfels -for four hundred dollars; that they did not pursue and prosecute these -delinquents for fear of bringing reproach on the project; and then he -went on to state: “I left the society voluntarily and in disgust. We had -fourteen Bibles on hand, but could not agree about their distribution. -They were too valuable to give away for nothing, and it was discovered -that they were all written in Latin, and not in the vernacular, and they -would prove of as little value to the great mass of people for whom -they were originally designed as if they had been written in Hebrew. -In addition to this I found, for I understand the language perfectly, -that no two of them were alike, and, in conjunction with scrivener -Schwartz, I minutely examined one taken at random from the pile, and -compared it with the volume at the Cathedral. We found fifteen hundred -discrepancies. In some places whole sentences were left out. In others, -words were made to express a different sense from the original. In -others, letters were omitted or put in redundantly, in such a way as to -change the meaning; and the grammatical structure was villanously bad. -Seeing that the volumes were of no use as a representation of the word -of God, and being conscientiously convinced that the books contained -poison for the people instead of medicine, I made a motion in meeting -to have them all burned. Schwartz opposed it on the ground that they -were innoxious anyhow, there being none of the common people capable -of understanding the language in which they were written, and, though -they were a failure as Bibles, the vellum might be again used; and as -the scriveners were not paid for their labor, they had a claim upon the -volumes. The scriveners got the books, to which, in my opinion, they had -no just claim, for the villanous, bad work they did on them deserved -censure and not pay. I have heard since that some of those scriveners -made wealth by selling the books to Englishmen for genuine and carefully -prepared transcripts from authorized texts. The president and founder of -the society, Giestfacher, is now in jail for debt, he having failed to -meet his obligations for the vellum he purchased when he took it into -his head to enlighten mankind--more especially that portion of it that -dwells on the Rhine adjacent to the city of Bonn--by distributing corrupt -copies of Latin Bibles to poor people who are not well able to read their -own language. The ‘good work’ still occupies the brains and energies of -three or four enthusiasts, who have already arrived at the conclusion -that the apostles were in league with hell to keep the people ignorant, -because they did not give every man a copy of the Bible. The founder sent -me a letter two days ago, in which he complains of being deserted by his -companions in his extremity. His creditors have seized on all his goods, -and there is a considerable sum yet unpaid. He blames the Pope and the -bishop in unmeasured terms for this; says it is a conspiracy to keep the -Bible from the people. He sees no prospect of being released unless the -members of the society come to his speedy relief. The principles, he -says, for which he suffers will yet triumph. The time will come when -Bibles will be multiplied by some cheap and easy process. Until then, -the common run of humanity must be satisfied to be damned, drawing what -little consolation they may from the expectation that their descendants -a few centuries hence will enjoy the slim privilege of reading Bibles -prepared with as little regard to accuracy as these were. I am sorry to -see such a noble intellect as Giestfacher undoubtedly possesses show -signs of aberration. The entire failure of his project was more than -he could bear. He had centred his hopes upon it. He indulged dreams of -fame and greatness arising out of the triumph of his idea. Esch has -become an atheist. He says the Christian’s God would not have given -a book to be the guide and dependence of man for salvation, and yet -allow nature, an inferior creation, to interpose insuperable barriers -to its promulgation. Every time a sheep-skin is destroyed, says Esch, -a community is damned. The dearness and scarcity of parchment keep the -world in ignorance. Braunn says the world cannot be saved except by a -special revelation to every individual, for there is hardly a copy of the -Bible without errors, so that whether every human creature got one or -not, they would be still unsafe. One of the common herd must learn Latin -and Greek and Hebrew well, and then spend a lifetime tracing up, through -all its changes, transcriptions, and corruptions of idiom, one chapter, -or at most one book, and die before he be fully assured of the soundness -of one text, a paragraph, a line, a word. In fact, says Braunn, there -can be no certainty about anything. Language may have had altogether a -different meaning twelve hundred years ago to what it has now. Braunn -and Schwartz and myself wanted to have a committee of five of our number -appointed to revise and correct the text of each book that was produced -by comparing it with such Greek and Hebrew copies as were represented of -sound and correct authority; but Giestfacher laughed at us, saying we -knew nothing of Greek or Hebrew; that we would have to hire some monks -to do the job for us, which would be going back again to the very places -and principles and practices against which we had revolted and protested. -Moreover, continued Giestfacher, we cannot tell whether the oldest, most -original copies that can be found are true in every particular. How can -we know from any sort of mere human testimony that this copy or that is -in accordance with what the prophets and apostles wrote. The whole Bible -may be wrong as far as our _knowledge_, as such, is able to testify. We -are reduced to _faith_ in this connection and must rest on that alone. - -“I thought, and so did Schwartz, that the faith of Giestfacher must be -peculiar when it could accept copies as good enough and true enough after -we had discovered hundreds of palpable and grievous errors in them. A -book of romance would do a person of Giestfacher’s temper as well as the -Bible--faith being capable of making up for all deficiencies. I saw that -an extravagance of credulity, called faith, on the part of Giestfacher, -led to monomania; and a predominance of irrational reason on the part of -Esch had led to utter negation. I did not covet either condition, and I -concluded to remain safe at anchor where I had been before, rather than -longer follow those adventurers in a wild career after a fancied good--a -mere phantom of their own creation. I lost twenty-five dollars by the -temporary madness. That cannot be recalled. I rejoice that I lost no -more, and I am grateful that the hallucination which lasted nearly a year -has passed away without any permanent injury.” - -The remainder of Heuck’s statement had partially faded from the parchment -by time and dampness, and could not be accurately made out. Sufficient -was left visible, however, to show that he expressed a desire to be held -excusable for whatever injuries to souls might result from the grave -errors that existed in the Bibles disseminated by the cupidity of the -scriveners with the guilty knowledge of such errors. - -I interested myself in rescuing from oblivion such parts of the record -of those curious mediæval transactions as served to show to the people -of later times what extraordinary mental and religious activity existed -in those ages, when it was foolishly and stupidly thought there were but -henchmen and slaves on the one side, and bloody mailed despots on the -other. The arrogance of more favored epochs has characterized those days -by the epithet of “dark.” Pride is apt to be blind. The characterization -is unjust. All the lights of science could not come in one blaze. The -people of those days looked back upon a period anterior to their own as -“dark,” and those looked still further backward upon greater obscurity, -as they thought. The universal boastfulness of man accounts for this -increasing obscurity as we reach back into antiquity. Philosophers and -poets and men of learning, thinking themselves, and wishing to have other -people think them, above personal egotism, adopted the method of praising -their age, and thus indirectly eulogizing, themselves; and as they could -not compare their times with the future of which they knew nothing, they -naturally fell into the unfilial crime of drawing disparaging comparisons -with their fathers. There is an inclination, too, in the imperfection -of human nature to belittle what is remote and magnify what is near at -hand. Even now, men as enthusiastic and conscientious and religious as -Heuck and Giestfacher and Schwartz find themselves surrounded by the same -difficulties, and as deeply at a loss to advance a valid reason for their -revolt and their protest. - - -EARLY PERSECUTIONS OF THE CHRISTIANS. - -In one of his bold Apologies[9] the great African writer Tertullian said -to the rulers of the Roman Empire that “it was one and the same thing for -the truth [of Christianity] to be announced to the world, and for the -world to hate and persecute it.” This persecution of the church began -on the very spot that was her birth-place; for soon after the ascension -of our Lord the wicked Jews tried by every means to crush her. “From -the days of the apostles,” wrote Tertullian in the IIId century, “the -synagogue has been a source of persecutions.” At first the church was -attacked by words only; but these were soon replaced by weapons, when -Stephen was stoned, the apostles were thrown into prison and scourged, -and all the East had risen in commotion against the Christians. The -Gentiles soon followed the example of the Jews, and those persecutions -which bore an official character throughout the Roman Empire, and lasted -for three centuries, are commonly called the Ten General Persecutions. -Besides these, there were partial persecutions at all times in some part -or other of the empire. Nero, whose name is synonymous with cruelty, was -the first emperor to begin a general persecution of the Christians; and -Tertullian made a strong point in his favor when he cried out to the -people (_Apol. v._), saying, “That our troubles began at such a source, -we glory; for whoever has studied his nature knows well that nothing -but what is good and great was ever condemned by Nero.” This persecution -began in the year 64, and lasted four years. Its pretext was the burning -of Rome, the work of the emperor himself, who ambitiously desired, when -he would have rebuilt the city and made it still more grand, to call -it by his own name; but the plan not succeeding, he tried to avert the -odium of the deed from his own person, and accused the Christians. Their -extermination was decreed. The pagan historian Tacitus has mentioned, -in his _Annals_ (xv. 44), some of the principal torments inflicted on -the Christians. He says that they were covered with the skins of wild -beasts and torn to pieces by savage hounds, were crucified, were burned -alive, and that some, being coated with resinous substances, were put up -in the imperial garden at night to serve as human torches. The _Roman -Martyrology_ makes a special commemoration, on the 24th of June, of these -martyrs for having all been disciples of the apostles and the firstlings -of the Christian flock which the church in Rome presented to the Lord. -In this persecution S. Peter was crucified with his head downwards; S. -Paul was beheaded; and among the other more illustrious victims we find -S. Mark the Evangelist, S. Thecla, the first martyr of her sex, SS. -Gervase and Protase at Milan, S. Vitalis at Ravenna, and S. Polycetus at -Saragossa in Spain. The number of the slain, and the hitherto unheard-of -cruelties practised upon them, moved to pity many of the heathen, and -the sight of so much fortitude for a principle of religion was the -means, through divine grace, of many conversions. After this, as after -every succeeding persecution, the great truth spoken by Tertullian was -exemplified: that the blood of the martyrs was the seed of Christians. - -By a law of the empire, which was not revoked until nearly three hundred -years afterwards, under Constantine, the profession of the Christian -religion was made a capital offence. This law, it is true, was not -enforced at all times, especially under benign or indifferent rulers; but -it hung continually suspended over the heads of the Christians like a -sword of Damocles. - -The second persecution was that of Domitian, from 94 to 96. Tertullian -calls him “a portion of Nero by his cruelty.” At first he only imposed -heavy fines upon the wealthy Christians; but, thirsting for blood, he -soon published more cruel edicts against them. Among his noblest victims -were his cousin-german, Flavius Clemens, a man of consular dignity; John -the Evangelist, who was thrown into a caldron of boiling oil (from which, -however, he miraculously escaped unhurt); Andrew the Apostle, Dionysius -the Areopagite, and Onesimus, S. Paul’s convert. Hegesippus, quoted by -Eusebius in his _Ecclesiastical History_, has recorded a very interesting -fact about the children of Jude, surnamed Thaddeus in the Gospel, -telling us that, having confessed the faith under this reign, they were -always honored in the church of Jerusalem, not alone as martyrs, but as -relatives of Jesus Christ according to the flesh. - -The third persecution was Trajan’s, from 97 to 116. In answer to a -letter from his friend Pliny the Younger, who had command in Asia Minor, -the emperor ordered that the Christians were not to be sought out, but -that, if accused, and they remained obstinate in their faith, they -were to be put to death. Under an appearance of mercy a large field -was opened for the cruelty and exactions of Roman officials, which -they were not slow to work. A single circumstance attests the severity -of the persecution. This was that the Tiberian governor of Palestine -wrote to the emperor complaining of the odious duty imposed upon him, -since the Christians were forthcoming in greater numbers than he could, -without tiring, have executed. The persecution was particularly severe -in the East. Simeon, bishop of Jerusalem, Ignatius of Antioch, and the -virgin Domitilla, who was related to three emperors, are among the more -illustrious martyrs of the period. - -Next came the persecution of Hadrian, lasting from 118 to about 129. We -have the authority of S. Jerome for saying that it was very violent. -This emperor was a coward and, perhaps as a consequence, intensely -superstitious. One of his particular grievances against the Christians -was that they professed a religion in which he had no share. Under him -perished, with countless others, Pope Alexander I. and his priests, -Eventius and Theodulus; Eustace, a celebrated general, with his wife and -little children; Symphorosa and her seven sons; Zoe, with her husband and -two children. - -The fifth was the persecution of Marcus Aurelius. Although he was by -nature well inclined, he was certainly the author of much innocent -bloodshed, which may be in part ascribed to the powerful influence -of the so-called philosophers whose company and tone he affected. The -persecution raged most severely among the Gauls; and elsewhere we find -the illustrious names of Justin the great Apologist, Polycarp, bishop of -Smyrna, and Felicitas and her seven children. - -Followed the persecution of Septimius Severus, which lasted from 200 -to 211, and was so extremely violent that many Christians believed -Antichrist had come. It reaped from the church such distinguished -persons as Pope Victor at Rome; Leonidas, father of the great Origen, at -Alexandria; Irenæus and companions at Lyons; Perpetua and Felicitas in -Mauritania. Egypt was particularly rich in holy martyrs. - -After this one came the persecution of Maximinus, from 235 to 237. It was -in the beginning more especially directed against the sacred ministers -of the church. Several popes were put to death; and among the inferior -clergy we find the deacon Ambrose, who was the bosom friend of Origen and -one of his principal assistants in his work on the Holy Scriptures. - -The persecution of Decius lasted from 249 to 251. The Christians, in -spite of all repressive measures, had steadily increased in numbers; but -this emperor thought to do what his predecessors had failed in, and was -hardly seated on the throne before he published most cruel edicts against -them. Among the more celebrated names of this persecution are those -of Popes Fabian and Cornelius; Saturninus, first bishop of Toulouse; -Babylas, bishop of Antioch; the famous Christopher in Lycia, about whom -there is a beautiful legend; and the noble virgin Agatha in Sicily. The -great scholar Origen was put to the torture during this persecution, but -escaped death. Like Maximinus, this emperor singled out the heads of -the various local churches, the most active and learned ministers, the -highest of both sexes in the social scale, aiming less at the death than -the apostasy of Christians, hoping in this way to destroy the faith; -whence S. Cyprian laments in one of his epistles that the Christians -suffer atrocious torments without the final consolation of martyrdom. -One effect of this persecution was of immense benefit to the church in -the East; for S. Paul, surnamed First Hermit, took refuge from the storm -in Upper Egypt, where he peopled by his example the region around Thebes -with those holy anchorites since called the Fathers of the Desert. - -The ninth persecution was that of Valerian, who, although at first -favorable to the Christians, became one of their greatest opposers at -the instigation of their sworn enemy, Marcian. At this date we find upon -the list of martyrs the eminent names of Popes Stephen and Sixtus II., -Lawrence the Roman deacon, and Cyprian, the great convert and bishop of -Carthage. - -The persecution of Diocletian was the last and the bloodiest of all. It -raged from 303 to 310. Maximian, the emperor’s colleague, had already -put to death many Christians, and among others, on the 22d of September, -286, Maurice and his Theban legion, before the persecution became -general throughout the Roman Empire. It began in this form at Nicomedia -on occasion of a fire that consumed a part of the imperial palace, and -which was maliciously ascribed to the Christians; and it is remarkable -that the two extreme persecutions of the early church should both have -begun with a false charge of incendiarism. Diocletian used to sit upon -his throne at Nicomedia, watching the death-pangs of his Christian -subjects who were being burned, not singly, but in great crowds. Many -officers and servants of his household perished, and, to distinguish -them from the rest, they were dropped into the sea with large stones -fastened about their necks. A special object of the persecutors was to -destroy the churches and tombs of earlier martyrs, to seize the vessels -used in the Holy Sacrifice, and to burn the liturgical books and the -Holy Scriptures. The _Roman Martyrology_ makes a particular mention on -the 2d of January of those who suffered death rather than deliver up -these books to the tyrant. Although innumerable copies of the Scriptures -perished, not a few were saved, and new copies multiplied either by favor -of the less stringent executors of the law, or because the privilege -was bought by the faithful at a great price. Some years ago the German -Biblical critic Tischendorf discovered on Mount Sinai a Greek codex of -extraordinary antiquity and only two removes from an original of Origen. -It is connected with one of the celebrated martyrs of this persecution, -and bears upon what we have just said of the Sacred Scriptures. In this -codex, at the end of the Book of Esther, there is a note attesting that -the copy was collated with a very ancient manuscript that had itself -been corrected by the hand of the blessed martyr Pamphilus, priest -of Cæsarea in Palestine, while in prison, assisted by Antoninus, his -fellow-prisoner, who read for him from a copy of the Hexapla of Origen, -which had been revised by that author himself. The touching spectacle of -these two men, both of whom gave their blood for the faith, occupied, -in the midst of the inconveniences, pain, and weariness of captivity, -in transcribing good copies of the Bible, is one of the many instances, -discovered in every age, showing the care that the church has had to -multiply and guard from error the holy written Word of God. - -Among the petty sources of annoyance during this persecution, was the -difficulty of procuring food, drink, or raiment that had not been offered -to idols; for the pagan priests had set up statues of their divinities -in all the market-places, hostelries, and shops, and at the private and -public fountains. They used also to go around city and country sprinkling -with superstitious lustral water the gardens, vineyards, orchards, and -fields, so as to put the Christians to the greatest straits to obtain -anything that had not been polluted in this manner. We learn from the -Acts of S. Theodotus, a Christian tradesman of Ancyra, the obstacles he -had to surmount at this time to procure pure bread and wine to be used -by the priests in the Mass. We can appreciate the intense severity of -this persecution in many ways; but one of the most singular proofs of -it is that pagans in Spain inscribed upon a marble monument, erected in -Diocletian’s honor, _that he had abolished the very name of Christian_. -This emperor had also the rare but unenviable privilege of giving his -name to a new chronological period, called by the pagans, in compliment -to his bloody zeal for their rites, the Era of Diocletian; but the -Christians called it the Era of the Martyrs. It began on the 29th of -August, 284, and was long in use in Egypt and Abyssinia. Some of the more -renowned victims of this persecution are Sebastian, an imperial officer; -Agnes, a Roman virgin; Lucy, a virgin of Syracuse, and the Forty Martyrs -of Sebaste. - -It may be interesting to note briefly the chief causes of so much cruel -bloodshed, even under princes of undoubted moderation in the general -government of affairs, as were Trajan, Marcus Aurelius, Antoninus the -Pious, and a few others. - -The most continual, if not the deepest, source of persecution were the -passions of the populace. Calumny of the subtlest and most popular kind, -and pressed at all times with patient effort, had so inflamed the minds -of the brutal lower classes that only a word or a sign was required to -set them upon the Christians. These were called disloyal to the empire, -unfriendly to the princes, of a foreign religion, people who refused to -fall into the ways of the majority, and enemies of the human race. From -the remains of ancient histories, from the Acts of martyrs, from pagan -inscriptions, and from other sources, more than fifty-seven different -opprobrious qualifications, applied to the Christians as a body, have -been counted up. But when particular calumnies became any way stale, the -Christians could always be accused as the cause of every calamity that -befell the state; so that, in the words of Tertullian (_Apol. xl._), “If -the Tiber exceeded its limits, if the Nile did not rise to irrigate the -fields, if the rain failed to fall, if the earth quaked, if famine or -pestilence scourged the land, at once the cry was raised, Christians to -the lions!” - -The next most constant source of trouble was the pernicious influence of -the Philosophers--a set of men who pretended to be seekers after wisdom, -and distinguished themselves from the vulgar by a certain style of dress. -Puffed up as they were with their own knowledge, nothing irritated -their pride so much as that men of the despised Christian class should -presume to dispute their doctrines and teach that profane philosophy -was naught, since man could not be made perfect by human wisdom, but -only by the testimony of Christ who was crucified. Among the Christians, -too, a special order of men whom we call Apologists, and among whom we -count Justin, Tertullian, Tatian, Arnobius, Minutius Felix, Origen, -Aristides, Quadratus, Athenagoras, and Miltiades the chief, exposed in -their eloquent writings the vanity, contradictions, and vices of their -opponents, succeeding sometimes in silencing false accusations, and even -in arresting the course of persecution. Their apologies and memorials -form one of the most instructive branches of early Christian literature, -and are a considerable compensation for the loss of so many Acts of -martyrs and other venerable documents destroyed by the pagans or which -have otherwise perished. - -The third great cause of persecution was found (to use a comparatively -modern word) in the Erastianism of the Roman Empire. The emperor was, by -right of the purple, high-pontiff, and no religion was recognized that -did not profess its existence and authority dependent upon the state. -Naturally, a religion whose followers would reply to every iniquitous -command, “We ought to obey God rather than men,” could expect no mercy, -but only continual war. - -Sometimes the Christians were put to death in the same manner as the -common malefactors, such as by decapitation, crucifixion, or scourging; -sometimes in the manner reserved for particular classes of criminals, as -being hurled down a precipice, drowned, devoured by wild beasts, left to -starve. But sometimes, also, the exquisite cruelty of the persecutors -delighted to feed upon the sufferings of its victims, and make dying as -long and painful as possible. Thus, there are innumerable examples of -Christians being flayed alive, the skin being neatly cut off in long -strips, and pepper or vinegar rubbed into the raw flesh; or slowly -crushed between two large stones; or having molten lead poured down the -throat. Some Christians were tied to stakes in the ground and gored to -death by wild bulls, or thinly smeared with honey and exposed under a -broiling sun to the insects which would be attracted; some were tied to -the tails of vicious horses and dragged to pieces some were sewed up -in sacks with vipers, scorpions, or other venomous things, and thrown -into the water; some had their members violently torn from the trunk of -the body; some were tortured by fire in ways almost unknown to the most -savage Indians of America; some were slowly scourged to death with whips -made of several bronze chainlets, at the extremity of each of which was -a jagged bullet; while jerking out of the teeth in slow succession; -cutting off the nose, ears, lips, and breasts; tearing of the flesh with -hot pincers; sticking sharp sticks up under the finger-nails; being held -suspended, head downward, over a smoking fire; stretching upon a rack, -and breaking upon the wheel, were some only of the commonest tortures -that preceded the final death-stroke by sword or lance. Many instruments -used in tormenting the martyrs have been found at different times, and -are now carefully preserved in collections of Christian antiquities; -and from these, from early-written descriptions, and from the rude -representations on the tombs of martyrs in the Catacombs, it is known -positively that over one hundred different modes of torture were used -upon the Christians. - -From the earliest period particular pains were taken by the pastors of -the church to have the remains of the martyrs collected and some account -of their sufferings consigned to letters; and Pope S. Clement, a disciple -of the Apostle Peter, instituted a college of notaries, one for each -of the seven ecclesiastical districts into which he had divided Rome, -with the special charge of collecting with diligence all the information -possible about the martyrs. They were not to pass over even the minutest -circumstances of their confession of faith and death. This attendance on -the last moments of the martyrs was often accompanied by great personal -risk, or at least a heavy expense in the way of buying the good-will of -venal officers; but it was a thing of the utmost importance, in view -of the church’s doctrine concerning the veneration and invocation of -saints, that nothing should be left undone which prudence would suggest -to leave it beyond a doubt that the martyrs had confessed the _true_ -faith, and had suffered death _for_ the faith. The pagans soon discovered -the value that was set upon such documents, and very many of them were -seized and destroyed. The fact that the Act of the martyrs were objects -of careful search is so well attested--as is also the other fact, that -an immense number perished--that it is a wonder and a grace of divine -Providence how any, however few comparatively, have come down to us. It -has been calculated that at least five million Christians--men, women, -and children--were put to death for the faith during the first three -centuries of the church. - -The French historian Ampère has very justly remarked that amidst the -moral decay of the Roman Empire, when all else was lust and despotism, -the Christians alone saved the dignity of human nature; and the Spaniard -Balmes, when treating of the progress of individuality under the -influence of Catholicity (_European Civilization_, ch. xxiii.), remarks -that it was the martyrs who first gave the great example of proclaiming -that “the individual should cease to acknowledge power when power exacts -from him what he believes to be contrary to his conscience.” The patience -of the martyrs rebuked the sensualism of the pagans; and their fearless -assertions that matters of conscience are beyond the jurisdiction of any -civil ruler proved them to be the best friends of human liberty; while -their constancy and number during three hundred years of persecution, -that only ceased with their triumph, is one of the solid arguments to -prove that the Catholic Church has a divine origin, and a sustaining -divinity within her. - - “A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchang’d, - Fed on the lawns, and in the forest rang’d; - Without unspotted, innocent within, - She fear’d no danger, for she knew no sin: - Yet had she oft been chas’d with horns and hounds, - And Scythian shafts, and many wingèd wounds - Aim’d at her heart; was often forc’d to fly, - And doom’d to death, tho’ fated not to die.” - - --DRYDEN. - - -THE UNREMEMBERED MOTHER. - - Unknown, beloved, thou whose shadow lies - Across the sunny threshold of my years; - Whom memory with never-resting eyes - Seeks thro’ the past, but cannot find for tears; - How bitter is the thought that I, thy child, - Remember not the touch, the look, the tone, - Which made my young life thrill--that I alone - Forget the face that o’er my cradle smil’d! - And yet I know that if a sudden light - Reveal’d thy living likeness, I should find - That my poor heart hath pictur’d thee aright. - So I will wait, nor think the lot unkind - That hides thee from me, till I know by sight - The perfect face thro’ love on earth divin’d. - - -DURATION. - -Time and duration are usually considered synonymous, as no duration is -perceived by us, except the duration of movement, or of such things as -are subject to movement; and such duration is time. But, rigorously -speaking, time and duration are not synonymous; for they are to one -another in the same relation as place and space. As no place is possible -without real absolute space, so no time is possible without real absolute -duration; and as place consists of intervals in space, so time consists -of intervals in duration. Yet there may be duration independently of -time, just as there may be space independent of places; and for this -reason the nature of duration must be determined apart from the nature -of time. In treating of this subject we shall have to answer a series of -questions altogether similar to those which we have answered in treating -of space and place. Hence we shall follow the same order and method in -our present treatise which we have followed in our articles on space, -with this difference, however: that, to avoid useless repetitions, we -will omit the development of some of those reasonings which the reader -himself can easily transfer from space to duration. - -Duration is commonly defined as “the permanence of a being in its -actuality”--_Permanentia rei in esse_. The duration of a being which -perseveres in existence without any intrinsic change is called “standing -duration”--_Duratio stans_. The duration of a being which is actually -subject to intrinsic mutations is called “flowing duration”--_Duratio -fluens_. - -Flowing duration evidently implies succession, and succession involves -time; for succession is a relation between something which follows -and something which precedes. On the other hand, time also involves -succession; whence it would seem that neither time nor succession can be -defined apart from one another, the definition of the latter presupposing -that of the former, and that of the former presupposing the notion of -the latter. Although we need not be anxious about this point (for time -and succession really involve one another, and therefore may well be -included under the same definition), we must observe that the notion -of succession, though ordinarily applied to duration, extends to other -things also whenever they follow one another in a certain order. Thus -the crust of the earth is formed by a succession of strata, the Alps by -a succession of mountains, the streets of the city by a succession of -houses, etc. Hence the notion of succession is more general than the -notion of time, and consequently there must be some means of defining it -independently of the consideration of time. - -Balmes explains succession, without mentioning time, in the following -manner: “There are things which exclude one another from the same -subject, and there are other things which do not exclude one another from -the same subject. The existence of those things which exclude one another -implies succession. Take a line _ABC_. A body placed in _A_ cannot pass -over to the place _B_ without ceasing to be in _A_, because the situation -_B_ excludes the situation _A_, and in a similar manner the situation -_C_ excludes the situation _B_. If, then, notwithstanding this mutual -exclusion, the three places are really occupied by the same body, there -is succession. This shows that succession is really nothing else than -_the existence of such things as exclude one another_. Hence succession -implies the existence of the thing that excludes, and the non-existence -of the things that are excluded. All variations involve some such -exclusion; hence all variations involve succession.… To perceive the -existence of things which exclude one another is to perceive succession -and time; to measure it is to measure time.” Thus far Balmes.[10] - -But, if the _flowing_ duration can be easily conceived as the existence -of such things as exclude one another, the case is very different with -regard to _standing_ duration. For, since we measure all duration by time -or by successive intervals, we can scarcely conceive that there may be -duration without succession. Even the word “permanence” which we employ -in the definition of duration, and which seems to exclude all notion of -change, is always associated in our thought with succession and time. -The difficulty we experience in forming a concept of standing duration -is as great at least as that which we find in conceiving absolute space -without formal extension and parts. In fact, formal extension is to -absolute space what formal succession is to absolute standing duration. -To get over this difficulty we shall have to show that there is a -duration altogether independent of contingent changes, as there is a -space altogether independent of existing bodies, and that the succession -which we observe in the duration of created things is not to be found in -the fundamental reason of its existence, as our imagination suggests, but -only in the changes themselves which we witness in created things. - -The following questions are to be answered: Is there any standing -duration? and if so, is it an objective reality, or a mere negation of -movement? Is standing duration anything created? What sort of reality -is it? Is it modified by the existence of creatures? What is a term of -duration? What is relative duration? What is an interval of duration, and -how is it measured? These questions are all parallel to those which we -have answered in our first and second articles on space, and they admit -of a similar solution. - -_First question._--“Is there any duration absolutely standing?” -Certainly. For if there is a being whose entity remains always the same -without any intrinsic change, its duration will be absolutely standing. -But there is such a being. For there is, as we have proved, an infinite -reality absolutely immovable and unchangeable--that is, absolute space. -Its permanence is therefore altogether exempt from succession; and -consequently its duration is absolutely standing. - -Again: As there is no movement in space without immovable space, so there -is no flowing in duration without standing duration. For as a thing -cannot change its ubication in space unless there be a field for real -ubications between the initial and the final term of the movement, so a -thing cannot change its mode of being (the _when_) in duration, unless -there be a field for real modes of being between the initial and the -final term of its duration. Now, this real field, owing to the fact that -it is, in both cases, prerequired for the possibility of the respective -changes, is something necessarily anterior to, and independent of, any of -such changes. Therefore, as the field of all local movements is anterior -to all movements and excludes movement from itself, so also the field of -all successive durations is anterior to all successivity and therefore -excludes succession. - -Although these two arguments suffice to establish our conclusion, what we -have to say concerning the next question will furnish additional evidence -in its support. - -_Second question._--“Is standing duration an objective reality or a mere -abstract conception?” We answer that standing duration is an objective -reality as much as absolute space. For, as movement cannot extend in -space, if space is nothing real, so movement cannot extend in duration, -if the field of its extension is nothing real. But we have just seen that -the field through which the duration of movement extends is standing -duration. Therefore standing duration is an objective reality. - -Secondly, a mere nothing, or a mere fiction, cannot be the foundation of -real relations. But standing duration is the foundation of all intervals -of real succession, which are real relations. Therefore standing duration -is not a fiction, but an objective reality. The major of this argument -is well known. The minor is proved thus: In all real relations the terms -must communicate with each other through one and the same reality; and -therefore the foundation of a real relation must reach by one and the -same reality the terms related. But the terms of successive duration -are _before_ and _after_. Therefore the foundation of their relation -must reach both _before_ and _after_ with one and the same reality, -and therefore it has neither _before_ nor _after_ in itself. Had it -_before_ and _after_ in itself, its _after_ would not be its _before_; -and thus the reality by which it would reach the terms of succession -would not be the same. It is therefore manifest that the foundation of -all real intervals of succession is a reality whose duration ranges above -succession. - -This proof may be presented more concisely as follows: Succession is a -relation between two terms, as _past_ and _present_. Its foundation must -therefore reach all the past as it reaches the present. But what reaches -the past as well as the present, is always present; for if it were -past, it would be no more, and thus it could not reach the past and the -present. Therefore the foundation of succession has no past, but only an -invariable present. Therefore there is a real standing duration, a real -field, over which successive duration extends. - -Thirdly, in all intervals of succession the _before_ is connected -with the _after_ through real duration. But this real duration has -in itself neither _before_ nor _after_. For if it had _before_ and -_after_, it would fall under the very genus of relation of which it is -the foundation; which is evidently impossible, because it would then be -the foundation of its own entity. It is therefore plain that the real -connection between the _before_ and the _after_ is made by a reality -which transcends all _before_ and all _after_, and which is nothing else -than absolute standing duration. - -Fourthly, if standing duration were not an objective reality, but a mere -fiction or a mere negation of movement, there would be no real length -of duration. For the terms of successive duration are indivisible, -and consequently they cannot give rise to any continuous quantity of -duration, unless something lies between them which affords a real ground -for continuous extension. That the terms of successive duration are -indivisible is evident, because the same term cannot be before itself nor -after itself, but is wholly confined to an indivisible instant. Now, that -according to which an interval of successive duration can be extended -from one of these terms to another, is nothing but absolute and standing -duration. For, if it were flowing, it would pass away with the passing -terms, and thus it would not lie between them, as is necessary in order -to supply a ground for the extension of the interval intercepted. In the -same manner, therefore, as there cannot be distance between two ubicated -points without real absolute space, there cannot be an interval between -two terms in succession without real absolute duration. - -A fifth proof of the same truth may be drawn from the reality of the -past. Historical facts are real facts, although they are all past. There -really was a man called Solomon, who really reigned in Jerusalem; there -really was a philosopher called Plato, whose sublime doctrines deserved -for him the surname of Divine; there really was a man called Attila, -surnamed the Scourge of God. These men existed in different intervals -of duration, and they are no more; but their past existence and their -distinct duration constitute three distinct facts, which are _real facts_ -even to the present day, and such will remain for ever. Now, how can -we admit that what has wholly ceased to exist in successive duration -is still a real and indelible fact, unless we admit that there is an -absolute duration which is, even now, as truly united with the past as it -is with the present, and to which the past is not past, but perpetually -present? If there is no such duration, then all the past must have been -obliterated and buried in absolute nothingness; for if the succession of -past things extended upon itself alone, without any distinct ground upon -which its flowing could be registered, none of past things could have -left behind a real mark of their existence. - -Against this conclusion some will object that the relation between -_before_ and _after_ may be explained by a mere negation of simultaneous -existence. But the objection is futile. For the intervals of successive -duration can be greater or less, whilst no negation can be greater or -less; which shows that the negation of simultaneous existence must not be -confounded with the intervals of succession. - -The following objection is more plausible. The duration of movement -suffices to fill up the whole interval of succession and to measure its -extent; and therefore the reality which connects the _before_ with the -_after_ is movement itself, not standing duration. To this we answer -that the duration of movement is essentially successive and relative; -and therefore it requires a real foundation in something standing and -absolute. In fact, although every movement formally extends and measures -its own duration, nevertheless it does not extend it upon itself, but -upon a field extrinsic to itself; and this field is permanently the -same. It is plain that the beginning and the end of movement cannot be -connected in mutual relation through movement alone, because movement is -always _in fieri_, and when it passes through one term of its duration -it loses the actuality it had in the preceding term; so that, when it -reaches its last term, it has nothing left of what it possessed in its -initial term or in any other subsequent term. This suffices to show that, -although the duration of the movement fills up the whole interval, yet, -owing to its very successivity, it cannot be assumed as the ground of the -relation intervening between its successive terms. - -_Third question._--“Is absolute and standing duration a created or -an uncreated reality?” This question is easily answered; for, in the -first place, standing duration is the duration of a being altogether -unchangeable; and nothing unchangeable is created. Hence standing -duration is an uncreated reality. On the other hand, all that is created -is changeable and constantly subject to movement; hence all created (that -is, contingent) duration implies succession. Therefore standing duration -is not to be found among created realities. Lastly, standing duration, -as involving in itself all conceivable past and all possible future, -is infinite, and, as forming the ground of all contingent actualities, -is nothing less than the formal possibility of infinite terms of real -successive duration. But such a possibility can be found in God alone. -Therefore the reality of standing duration is in God alone; and we need -not add that it must be uncreated. - -_Fourth question._--“What reality, then, is absolute standing duration?” -We answer that this duration is the infinite virtuality or extrinsic -terminability of God’s eternity. For nowhere but in God’s eternity can -we find the reason of the possibility of infinite terms and intervals of -duration. Of course, God’s eternity, considered absolutely _ad intra_, -is nothing else than the immobility of God’s existence; but its virtual -comprehension of all possible terms of successive duration constitutes -the absolute duration of God’s existence, inasmuch as the word “duration” -expresses a virtual extent corresponding to all possible contingent -duration; for God’s duration, though formally simultaneous, virtually -extends beyond all imaginable terms and intervals of contingent duration. -Hence standing duration is the duration of God’s eternity, the first and -fundamental ground of flowing duration, the infinite range through which -the duration of changeable things extend. In other words, the infinite -virtuality of God’s eternity, as equivalent to an infinite length of -time, is _duration_; and as excluding from itself all intrinsic change, -is _standing_ duration. This virtuality of God’s eternity is really -nothing else than its extrinsic terminability; for eternity is conceived -to correspond to all possible differences of time only inasmuch as it can -be compared with the contingent terms by which it can be extrinsically -terminated. - -Secondly, if nothing had been created, there would have been no extrinsic -terms capable of extending successive duration; but, since God would -have remained in his eternity, there would have remained the reality in -which all extrinsic terms of duration have their virtual being; and -thus there would have remained, eminently and without formal succession, -in God himself the duration of all the beings possible outside of God. -For he would certainly not have ceased to exist in all the instants of -duration in which creatures have existed; the only change would have -been this: that those instants, owing to a total absence of creatures, -would have lacked their formal denomination of _instants_, and their -formal successivity. Hence, if nothing had been created, there would have -remained infinite real duration without succession, simply because the -virtuality of God’s eternity would have remained in all its perfection. -It is therefore this virtuality that formally constitutes standing -duration. - -From this the reader will easily understand that in the concept of -standing duration two notions are involved, viz.: that of _eternity_, -as expressing the standing, and that of its _virtuality_, as connoting -virtual extent. In fact, God’s eternity, absolutely considered, is -simply the actuality of God’s substance, and, as such, does not connote -duration; for God’s substance is not said _to endure_, but simply -_to be_. The formal reason of duration is derived from the extrinsic -terminability of God’s eternity; for the word “duration” conveys the idea -of continuation, and continuation implies succession. Hence it is on -account of its extrinsic terminability to successive terms of duration -that God’s eternity is conceived as equivalent to infinite succession; -for what virtually contains in itself all possible terms and intervals of -succession virtually contains in itself all succession, and can co exist, -without intrinsic change, with all the changes of contingent duration. -Balmes, after defining succession as the existence of such things as -exclude one another, very properly remarks: “If there were a being which -neither excluded any other being nor were excluded by any of them, -that being would co-exist with all beings. Now, one such being exists, -viz.: God, and God alone. Hence theologians do but express a great and -profound truth when they say (though not all, perhaps, fully understand -what they say) that God is present to all times; that to him there is no -succession, no _before_ or _after_; that to him everything is present, is -_Now_.”[11] - -We conclude that standing duration is infinite, all-simultaneous, -independent of all contingent things, indivisible, immovable, formally -simple and unextended, but equivalent to infinite intervals of successive -duration, and virtually extending through infinite lengths. This duration -is absolute. - -_Fifth question._--“Does the creation of a contingent being in absolute -duration cause any intrinsic change in standing duration?” The answer -is not doubtful; for we have already seen that standing duration is -incapable of intrinsic modifications. Nevertheless, it will not be -superfluous to remark, for the better understanding of this answer, that -the “when” (the _quando_) of a contingent being has the same relation -to the virtuality of God’s eternity as has its “where” (the _ubi_) to -the virtuality of God’s immensity. For, as the “where” of every possible -creature is virtually precontained in absolute space, so is the “when” -of all creatures virtually precontained in absolute duration. Hence the -creation of any number of contingent beings in duration implies nothing -but the _extrinsic_ termination of absolute duration, which accordingly -remains altogether unaffected by the existence in it of any number of -extrinsic terms. The “when” of a contingent being, as contained in -absolute duration, is virtual; it does not become formal except in the -contingent being itself--that is, by extrinsic termination. Thus the -subject of the contingent “when” is not the virtuality of God’s eternity -any more than the subject of the contingent “where” is the virtuality of -God’s immensity. - -This shows that the formal “when” of a contingent being is a mere -relativity, or a _respectus_. The formal reason, or the foundation, -of this relativity is the reality through which the contingent being -communicates with absolute standing duration, viz.: the real instant -(_quando_) which is common to both, although not in the same manner; -for it is _virtual_ in standing duration, whilst it is _formal_ in the -extrinsic term. Hence a contingent being, inasmuch as it has existence in -standing duration, is nothing but a term related by its “when” to divine -eternity as existing in a more perfect manner in the same “when.” But, -since the contingent “when” of the creature exclusively belongs to the -creature itself, God’s standing duration receives nothing from it except -a relative extrinsic denomination. - -The relation resulting from the existence of a created term in standing -duration consists in this: that the created term by its formal “when” -really imitates the eminent mode of being of God himself in the same -“when.” This relation is called _simultaneousness_. - -Simultaneousness is often confounded with presence and with -co-existence. But these three notions, rigorously speaking, differ from -one another. _Presence_ refers to terms in space; _simultaneousness_ to -terms in duration; _co-existence_ to terms both present and simultaneous. -Thus presence and simultaneousness are the constituents of co-existence. -Presence is to be considered as the material constituent, because it -depends on the “where,” which belongs to the thing on account of its -matter or potency; simultaneousness must be considered as the formal -constituent, because it depends on the “when,” which belongs to the thing -on account of its act or of its resulting actuality. - -Before we proceed further, we must yet remark that in the same manner as -the infinite virtuality of divine immensity receives distinct extrinsic -denominations from the contingent terms existing in space, and is thus -said to imply _distinct virtualities_, so also the infinite virtuality -of God’s eternity can be said to imply distinct virtualities, owing to -the distinct denominations it receives from distinct terms of contingent -duration. It is for this reason that we can speak of virtualities of -eternity in the plural. Thus when we point out the first instant of any -movement as distinct from any following instant, we consider the flowing -of the contingent “when” from _before_ to _after_ as a passage from one -to another virtuality of standing duration. These virtualities, however, -are not distinct as to their absolute beings, but only as to their -extrinsic termination and denomination; and therefore they are really but -one infinite virtuality. As all that we have said of the virtualities -of absolute space in one of our past articles equally applies to the -virtualities of absolute duration, we need not dwell here any longer on -this point. - -_Sixth question._--“In what does the ‘when’ of a contingent being -precisely consist?” From the preceding considerations it is evident -that the “when” of a contingent being may be understood in two manners, -viz., either _objectively_ or _subjectively_. Objectively considered, -the “when” is nothing else than _a simple and indivisible term in -duration_ formally marked out in it by the actuality of the contingent -being. We say _a simple and indivisible term_, because the actuality -of the contingent being by which it is determined involves neither -past nor future, neither _before_ nor _after_, but only its present -existence, which, as such, is confined to an indivisible _Now_. Hence -we do not agree with those philosophers who confound the _quando_ with -the _tempus_--that is, the “when” with the extent of flowing duration. -We admit with these philosophers that the “when” of contingent things -extends through movement from _before_ to _after_, and draws, so to say, -a continuous line in duration; but we must remind them that the _before_ -and the _after_ are distinct modes of being in duration, and that every -term of duration designable between them is a distinct “when” independent -of every other “when,” either preceding or following; which shows that -the _tempus_ implies an uninterrupted series of distinct “whens,” and -therefore cannot be considered as synonymous with _quando_. - -If the “when” 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 contingent thing in duration_. This mode consists of a mere -relativity; for it results from the extrinsic termination of absolute -duration, as already explained. Hence the “when” 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 intervenes or lies between the one and the other. - -But, although it consists of a mere relativity, the “when” still admits -of being divided into _absolute_ and _relative_, according as it is -conceived absolutely as something real in nature, or compared with -some other “when”; for, as we have already explained when treating of -ubications, relative entities may be considered both as to what they are -in themselves, and as to what they are to one another. - -If the “when” is considered simply as a termination of standing duration, -without regard for anything else, it is called _absolute_, and is defined -as _the mode of being of a thing in absolute duration_. This absolute -“when” is an _essential mode_ of the contingent being no less than its -dependence from the first cause, and is altogether immutable so long -as the contingent being exists; for, on the one hand, the contingent -being cannot exist but within the domain of divine eternity, and, on the -other, it cannot have different modes of being with regard to it, as the -standing duration of eternity is all uniform in its infinite virtual -extension, and the contingent being, however much we may try to vary its -place in duration, must always be in the very middle of eternity. Hence -the absolute “when” is altogether unchangeable. - -If the “when” of a contingent being is compared with that of another -contingent being in order to ascertain their mutual relation, then the -“when” is called _relative_, and, as such, it may be defined as _the mode -of terminating a relation in duration_. This “when” is changeable, not -in its intrinsic entity, but in its relative formality; and it is only -under this formality that the “when” (_quando_) 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 _before_ and the _after_ of the same contingent being are considered -as two distinct relative terms, because the being to which they refer, -when existing in the _after_, excludes the _before_; though the absolute -“when” of one and the same being is one term only. But of this we shall -treat more fully in the sequel. - -_Seventh question._--“What is relative duration?” Here we meet again the -same difficulty which we have encountered in explaining relative space; -for in the same manner as relations in space are usually confounded -with space itself, so are the intervals in duration confounded with the -duration which is the ground of their extension. But, as the reasonings -by which we have established the precise notion of relative space can be -easily brought to bear on the present subject by the reader himself, we -think we must confine ourselves to a brief and clear statement of the -conclusions drawn from those reasonings, as applied to duration. - -Relative duration is _the duration through which any movement extends_; -that is, the duration through which the “when” of anything in movement -glides from _before_ to _after_, and by which the _before_ and the -_after_ are linked in mutual relation. Now, the duration through which -movement extends is not exactly the duration of the movement itself, but -the ground upon which the movement extends its own duration; because -movement has nothing actual but a flowing instant, and therefore it has -no duration within itself except by reference to an extrinsic ground -through which it successively extends. This ground, as we have already -shown, is standing duration. And therefore relative duration is nothing -else than _standing duration as extrinsically terminated by distinct -terms_, or, what amounts to the same terminated by one term which, owing -to any kind of movement, acquires distinct and opposite formalities. This -conclusion is based on the principle that the foundation of all relations -between _before_ and _after_ must be something absolute, having in itself -neither _before_ nor _after_, and therefore absolutely standing. This -principle is obviously true. The popular notion, on the contrary, that -relative duration is the duration of movement, is based on the assumption -that movement itself engenders duration--which assumption is false; -for we cannot even conceive movement without presupposing the absolute -duration upon which the movement has to trace the line of its flowing -existence. - -Thus relative duration is called relative, not because it is itself -related, but because it is the ground 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. In other terms, relative duration is absolute as to its -entity, and relative as to the extrinsic denomination derived from the -relations of which it is the formal reason. Duration, as absolute, may -be styled “the region of all possible _whens_,” just as absolute space is -styled “the region of all possible ubications”; and, as relative, it may -be styled “the region of all possible succession,” just as relative space -is styled “the region of all local movements.” Absolute standing duration -and absolute space are the ground of the _here_ and _now_ as statical -terms. Relative standing duration and relative space are the ground of -the _here_ and _now_ as gliding--that is, as dynamically considered. - -_Eighth question._--“What is an interval of duration?” It is a relation -existing between two opposite terms of succession--that is, between -_before_ and _after_. An interval of duration is commonly considered as a -continuous extension; yet it is primarily a simple relation by which the -extension of the flowing from _before_ to _after_ is formally determined. -Nevertheless, since the “when” cannot acquire the opposite formalities, -_before_ and _after_, without continuous movement, all interval of -duration implies movement, and therefore may be considered also as a -continuous quantity. Under this last aspect, the interval of duration is -nothing else than the duration of the movement from _before_ to _after_. - -We have already noticed that the duration of movement, or the interval -of duration, is not to be confounded with the duration through which the -movement extends. But as, in the popular language, the one as well as the -other is termed “relative duration,” we would suggest that the duration -through which the movement extends might be called _fundamental_ relative -duration, whilst the relation which constitutes an interval between -_before_ and _after_ might be called _resultant_ relative duration. - -The philosophical necessity of this distinction is obvious, first, -because the _standing_ duration, through which movement extends, must not -be confounded with the _flowing_ duration of movement; secondly, because -the relation and its foundation are not the same thing, and, as we have -explained at length when treating of relative space, to confound the one -with the other leads to Pantheism. Intervals of relation are not _parts_ -of absolute duration, though they are so conceived by many, but they are -mere relations, as we have stated. Absolute duration is all standing, -it has no parts, and it cannot be divided into parts. What is called an -interval _of_ duration should rather be called an interval _in_ duration; -for it is not a portion of standing duration, but an extrinsic result; -it is not a length of absolute duration, but the length of the movement -extending through that duration; it is not a divisible extension, but the -ground on which movement acquires its divisible extension from _before_ -to _after_. In the smallest conceivable interval of duration there is -God, with all his eternity. To affirm that intervals of duration are -distinct durations would be to cut God’s eternity to pieces by giving it -a distinct being in really distinct intervals. Hence it is necessary to -concede that, whilst the intervals are distinct, the duration on which -they have their foundation is one and the same. The only duration which -can be safely confounded with those intervals is the flowing duration of -the movement by which they are measured. This is the duration which can -be considered as a continuous quantity divisible into parts; and this is -the duration which we should style “_resultant_ relative duration,” to -avoid all danger of error or equivocation. - -The objections which can be made against this manner of viewing things do -not much differ from those which we have solved in our second article on -space; and therefore we do not think it necessary to make a new answer -to them. The reader himself will be able to see what the objections are, -and how they can be solved, by simply substituting the words “eternity,” -“duration,” etc., for the words “immensity,” “space,” etc., in the -article referred to. - -Yet a special objection can be made against the preceding doctrine about -the duration of movement, independently of those which regard relations -in space. It may be presented under this form. “The foundation of the -relation between _before_ and _after_ is nothing else than movement -itself. It is therefore unnecessary and unphilosophical to trace the -duration of movement to the virtuality of God’s eternity as its extrinsic -foundation.” The antecedent of this argument may be proved thus: “That -thing is the foundation of the relation which gives to its terms their -relative being--that is, in our case, their opposite formalities, -_before_ and _after_. But movement alone gives to the _when_ these -opposite formalities. Therefore movement alone is the foundation of -successive duration.” - -We answer that the antecedent of the first argument is absolutely false. -As to the syllogism which comes next, we concede the major, but we deny -the minor. For it is plain that movement cannot give to the absolute -_when_ the relative formalities _before_ and _after_, except by flowing -through absolute duration, without which it is impossible for the -movement to have its successive duration. And surely, if the movement has -no duration but that which it borrows from the absolute duration through -which it extends, the foundation of its duration from _before_ to _after_ -can be nothing else than the same absolute duration through which the -movement acquires its _before_ and _after_. Now, this absolute duration -is the virtuality of God’s eternity, as we have proved. It is therefore -both philosophical and necessary to trace the duration of movement to -the virtuality of God’s eternity, as its extrinsic foundation. That -movement is also necessary to constitute the relation between _before_ -and _after_, we fully admit; for there cannot be _before_ and _after_ -without movement. But it does not follow from this that movement is -the _foundation_ of the relation; it merely follows that movement is -a _condition_ necessary to give to the absolute _when_ two distinct -actualities, according to which it may be compared with itself on the -ground of standing duration. For, as every relation demands two opposite -terms, the same absolute _when_ must acquire two opposite formalities, -that it may be related to itself. - -The only other objection which may perhaps be made against our -conclusions is the following: The foundation of a real relation is that -reality through which the terms related communicate with one another. -Now, evidently, the _before_ and the _after_, which are the terms of -the relation in question, communicate with one another through the same -absolute _when_; for they are the same absolute _when_ under two opposite -formalities. Hence it follows that the foundation of the relation -between _before_ and _after_ is nothing else than the absolute _when_ of -a moving being. - -To this we answer that the foundation of the relation is not all reality -through which the terms related communicate with one another, but only -that reality by the common termination of which they become formally -related to one another. Hence, since the _before_ and the _after_ do -not receive their relative formalities from the absolute _when_, it -is idle to pretend that the absolute _when_ is the foundation of the -interval of duration. The _before_ and the _after_ communicate with the -same absolute _when_ not as a formal, but as a material, cause of their -existence--that is, inasmuch as the same _when_ is the subject, not the -reason, of both formalities. The only relation to which the absolute -_when_ can give a foundation is one of identity with itself in all the -extent of its flowing duration. But such a relation presupposes, instead -of constituting, an interval in duration. And therefore it is manifest -that the absolute _when_ is not the foundation of the relation between -_before_ and _after_. - -Having thus answered the questions proposed, and given the solution of -the few difficulties objected, we must now say a few words about the -_division_ and _measurement_ of relative duration, whether fundamental or -resultant. - -Fundamental or standing duration is divided into _real_ and _imaginary_. -This division cannot regard the entity of standing duration, which is -unquestionably real, as we have proved. It regards the reality or the -unreality of the extrinsic terms conceived as having a relation in -duration. The true notion of real, contrasted with imaginary, duration, -is the following: Standing duration 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, standing duration is not really -terminated and does not found real relations, but both the terminations -and the relations are simply a figment of our imagination. Thus standing -duration, as containing none but imaginary relations, may justly be -called “imaginary,” though in an absolute sense it is intrinsically real. -Accordingly, the _indefinite_ duration which we imagine when we carry -our thought beyond the creation of the world, and which is also called -“imaginary,” is not absolute but relative duration, and is not imaginary -in itself, but only as to its denomination of relative, because, in the -absence of all real terms, there can be none but imaginary relations. - -It is therefore unphilosophical to confound imaginary and indefinite -duration with absolute and infinite duration. This latter is not an -object of imagination, but of the intellect alone. Imagination cannot -conceive duration, except in connection with some movement from _before_ -to _after_; hence absolute and infinite duration, which has no _before_ -and no _after_, is altogether beyond the reach of imagination. Indeed, -our intellectual conception of infinite standing duration is always -accompanied in our minds by a representation of indefinite time; but -this depends, as we have stated in speaking of space, on the well-known -connection of our imaginative and intellectual operations, inasmuch -as our imagination strives to follow the intellect, and to represent -after its own manner what the intellect conceives in a totally different -manner. It was by confounding the objective notion of duration with our -subjective manner of imagining it that Kant came to the conclusion that -duration was nothing but a subjective form or a subjective condition, -under which all intuitions are possible in us. This conclusion is -evidently false; but its refutation, to be successful, must be based on -the objectivity of absolute standing duration, without which, as we have -shown, there can be no field for real and objective succession. - -Resultant relative duration--that is, an interval of flowing -duration--admits of the same division into _real_ and _imaginary_. It -is real when a real continuous flowing connects the _before_ with the -_after_; in all other suppositions it will be imaginary. It may be -remarked that the “real continuous flowing” may be either intrinsic or -extrinsic. Thus, if God had created nothing but a simple angel, there -would have been no other flowing duration than a continuous succession -of intellectual operations connecting the _before_ with the _after_ in -the angel himself, and thus his duration would have been measured by a -series of intrinsic changes. It is evident that in this case one absolute -_when_ suffices to extend the interval of duration; for by its gliding -from _before_ to _after_ it acquires opposite formalities through which -it can be relatively opposed to itself as the subject and the term of -the relation. If, on the contrary, we consider the interval of duration -between two distinct beings--say Cæsar and Napoleon--then the real -continuous flowing by which such an interval is measured is extrinsic to -the terms compared; for the _when_ of Cæsar is distinct from, and does -not reach, that of Napoleon; which shows that their respective _whens_ -have no intrinsic connection, and that the succession comprised between -those _whens_ must have consisted of a series of changes extrinsic to -the terms compared. It may seem difficult to conceive how an interval of -continuous succession can result between two terms of which the one does -not attain to the other; for, as a line in space must be drawn by the -movement of a single point, so it seems that a length in duration must be -extended by the flowing of a single _when_ from _before_ to _after_. The -truth is that the interval between the _whens_ of two distinct beings is -not obtained by comparing the _when_ of the one with that of the other, -but by resorting to the _when_ of some other being which has extended its -continuous succession from the one to the other. Thus, when Cæsar died, -the earth was revolving on its axis, and it continued to revolve without -interruption up to the existence of Napoleon, thus extending the duration -of its movement from a _when_ corresponding to Cæsar’s death to a _when_ -corresponding to Napoleon’s birth; and this duration, wholly extrinsic to -Cæsar and Napoleon, measures the interval between them. - -As all intervals of duration extend from _before_ to _after_, there -can be no interval between co-existent beings, as is evident. In the -same manner as two beings whose ubications coincide cannot be distant -in space, so two beings whose _whens_ are simultaneous cannot form an -interval of duration. - -All real intervals of duration regard the past; for in the past alone -can we find a real _before_ and a real _after_. The present gives no -interval, as we have just stated, but only simultaneousness. The future -is real only potentially--that is, it will be real, but it is not yet. -What has never been, and never will be, is merely imaginary. To this -last class belong all the intervals of duration corresponding to those -conditional events which did not happen, owing to the non-fulfilment of -the conditions on which their reality depended. - -As to the measurement of flowing duration a few words will suffice. The -_when_ considered absolutely is incapable of measuring an interval of -duration, for the reason that the _when_ is unextended, and therefore -unproportionate to the mensuration of a continuous interval; for the -measure must be of the same kind with the thing to be measured. Just -as a continuous line cannot be made up of unextended points, so cannot -a continuous interval be made up of indivisible instants; hence, as a -line is divisible only into smaller and smaller lines, by which it can -be measured, so also an interval of duration is divisible only into -smaller and smaller intervals, and is measured by the same. These smaller -intervals, being continuous, are themselves divisible and mensurable by -other intervals of less duration, and these other intervals are again -divisible and mensurable; so that, from the nature of the thing, it is -impossible to reach an absolute measure of duration, and we must rest -satisfied with a relative one, just as in the case of a line and of any -other continuous quantity. The smallest unit or measure of duration -commonly used is the second, or sixtieth part of a minute. - -But, since continuous quantities are divisible _in infinitum_, it may be -asked, what prevents us from considering a finite interval of duration -as containing an infinite multitude of infinitesimal units of duration? -If nothing prevents us, then in the infinitesimal unit we shall have -the true and absolute measure of duration. We answer that nothing -prevents such a conception; but the mensuration of a finite interval by -infinitesimal units would never supply us the means of determining the -relative lengths of two intervals of duration. For, if every interval is -a sum of infinite terms, and is so represented, how can we decide which -of those intervals is the greater, since we cannot count the infinite? - -Mathematicians, in all dynamical questions, express the conditions of the -movement in terms of infinitesimal quantities, and consider every actual -instant which connects the _before_ with the _after_ as an infinitesimal -interval of duration in the same manner as they consider every shifting -ubication as an infinitesimal interval of space. But when they pass from -infinitesimal to finite quantities by integration between determinate -limits, they do not express the finite intervals in infinitesimal terms, -but in terms of a finite unit, viz., a second of time; and this shows -that, even in high mathematics, the infinitesimal is not taken as the -measure of the finite. - -Since infinitesimals are considered as evanescent quantities, the -question may be asked whether they are still conceivable as quantities. -We have no intention of discussing here the philosophical grounds of -infinitesimal calculus, as we may have hereafter a better opportunity -of examining such an interesting subject; but, so far as infinitesimals -of duration are concerned, we answer that they are still quantities, -though they bear no comparison with finite duration. What mathematicians -call an infinitesimal of time is nothing else rigorously than the -flowing of an actual “when” from _before_ to _after_. The “when” as -such is no quantity, but its flowing is. However narrow the compass -within which it may be reduced, the flowing implies a relation between -_before_ and _after_; hence every instant of successive duration, -inasmuch as it actually links its immediate _before_ with its immediate -_after_, partakes of the nature of successive duration, and therefore -of continuous quantity. Nor does it matter that infinitesimals are -called _evanescent_ quantities. They indeed vanish, as compared with -finite quantities; but the very fact of their vanishing proves that they -are still something when they are in the act of vanishing. Sir Isaac -Newton, after saying in his _Principia_ that he intends to reduce the -demonstration of a series of propositions to the first and last sums and -ratios of nascent and evanescent quantities, propounds and solves this -very difficulty as follows: “Perhaps it may be objected that there is no -ultimate proportion of evanescent quantities; because the proportion, -before the quantities have vanished, is not the ultimate, and, when they -are vanished, is none. But by the same argument it may be alleged that -a body arriving at a certain place, and there stopping, has no ultimate -velocity; because the velocity, before the body comes to the place, is -not its ultimate velocity; when it has arrived, is none. But the answer -is easy; for by the ultimate velocity is meant that with which the body -is moved, neither _before_ it arrives at its last place and the motion -ceases, nor _after_, but at the _very instant_ it arrives; that is, -the velocity with which the body arrives at its last place, and with -which the motion ceases. And in like manner, by the ultimate ratio of -evanescent quantities is to be understood the ratio of the quantities, -not before they vanish, not afterwards, but with which they vanish. In -like manner, the first ratio of nascent quantities is that with which -they begin to be.” From this answer, which is so clear and so deep, it -is manifest that infinitesimals are real quantities. Whence we infer -that every instant of duration which actually flows from _before_ to -_after_ marks out a real infinitesimal interval of duration that might -serve as a unit of measure for the mensuration of all finite intervals -of succession, were it not that we cannot reckon up to infinity. -Nevertheless, it does not follow that an infinitesimal duration is an -absolute unit of duration; for it is still continuous, even in its -infinite smallness; and accordingly it is still divisible and mensurable -by other units of a lower standard. Thus it is clear that the measurement -of flowing duration, and indeed of all other continuous quantity, cannot -be made except by some arbitrary and conventional unit. - - -THE STARS. - - As I gaze in silent wonder - On the countless stars of night, - Looking down in mystic stillness - With their soft and magic light - - Seem they from my eyes retreating - With their vast and bright array, - Till they into endless distance - Almost seem to fade away. - - And my thoughts are carried with them - To their far-off realms of light; - Yet they seem retreating ever, - Ever into endless night. - - Whither leads that silent army, - With its noiseless tread and slow? - And those glittering bands, who are they? - Thus my thoughts essay to know. - - But my heart the secret telleth - That to thee, my God, they guide; - That they are thy gleaming watchmen, - Guarding round thy palace wide. - - Then, when shall those gates be opened - To receive my yearning soul, - Where its home shall be for ever, - While the countless ages roll? - - Thou alone, O God! canst know it: - Till then doth my spirit pine. - Father! keep thy child from falling, - Till for ever I am thine. - - -WILLIAM TELL AND ALTORF. - -Brunnen, the “fort of Schwytz,” standing at that angle of the lake of -Lucerne where it turns abruptly towards the very heart of the Alps, -has always been a central halting-place for travellers; but since the -erection of its large hotel the attraction has greatly increased. We -found the Waldstätterhof full to overflowing, and rejoiced that, as -usual, we had wisely ordered our rooms beforehand. Our surprise was -great, as we threaded the mazes of the _table-d’hôte_ room, to see Herr -H---- come forward and greet us cordially. We expected, it is true, -to meet him here, but not until the eve of the feast at Einsiedeln, -whither he had promised to accompany us. An unforeseen event, however, -had brought him up the lake sooner, and he therefore came on to Brunnen, -in the hope of finding us. A few minutes sufficed to make him quit his -place at the centre table and join us at a small one, where supper had -been prepared for our party, and allow us to begin a description of our -wanderings since we parted from him on the quay at Lucerne. Yes, “begin” -is the proper word; for before long the harmony was marred by George, -who, with his usual impetuosity, and in spite of Caroline’s warning -frowns and Anna’s and my appealing looks, betrayed our disappointment at -having missed the Hermitage at Ranft, and the reproaches we had heaped on -Herr H----’s head for having mismanaged the programme in that particular. -The cheery little man, whose eyes had just begun to glisten with -delight, grew troubled. - -“I am _so_ sorry!” he exclaimed. “But the ladies were not so enthusiastic -about Blessed Nicholas when I saw them. And as for you, Mr. George, I -never could have dreamt you would have cared for the Hermit.” - -“Oh! but _he_ is a real historical character, you see, about whom there -can be no doubt--very unlike your sun-god, your mythical hero, William -Tell!” replied George. - -“Take care! take care! young gentleman,” said Herr H----, laughing. -“Remember you are now in Tell’s territory, and he may make you rue the -consequences of deriding him! Don’t imagine, either, that your modern -historical critics have left even Blessed Nicholas alone! Oh! dear, no.” - -“But he is vouched for by documents,” retorted George.“No one can doubt -them.” - -“Your critics of this age would turn and twist and doubt anything,” said -Herr H----. “They cannot deny his existence nor the main features of his -life; yet some have gone so far as to pretend to doubt the most authentic -fact in it--his presence at the Diet of Stanz--saying that _probably_ he -never went there, but only wrote a letter to the deputies. So much for -their criticism and researches! After that specimen you need not wonder -that I have no respect for them. But I am in an unusually patriotic -mood to-day; for I have just come from a meeting at Beckenried, on -the opposite shore, in Unterwalden. It was that which brought me here -before my appointment with you. It was a meeting of one of our Catholic -societies in these cantons, which assembled to protest against the -revision of the constitution contemplated next spring. Before separating -it was suggested that they should call a larger one at the Rütli, to -evoke the memories of the past and conform themselves to the pattern of -our forefathers.” - -“Why do you so much object to a revision?” inquired Mr. C----. “Surely -reform must sometimes be necessary.” - -“Sometimes, of course, but not at present, my dear sir. ‘Revision’ -nowadays simply means radicalism and the suppression of our religion and -our religious rights and privileges. It is a word which, for that reason -alone, is at all times distasteful to these cantons. Moreover, it savors -too much of French ideas and doctrines, thoroughly antagonistic to all -our principles and feelings. Everything French is loathed in these parts, -especially in Unterwalden, in spite of--or I should perhaps rather say in -consequence of--all they suffered from that nation in 1798.” - -“I can understand that,” said Mr. C----, “with the memory of the massacre -in the church at Stanz always in their minds.” - -“Well, yes; but that was only one act in the tragedy. The desolation they -caused in that part of the country was fearful. Above all, their total -want of religion at that period can never be forgotten.” - -“As for myself,” remarked Mr. C----, “though not a Catholic, I confess -that I should much rather rely on the upright instincts of this pious -population than on the crooked teachings of our modern philosophers. I -have always noticed in every great political crisis that the instincts of -the pure and simple-minded have something of an inspiration about them; -they go straight to the true principles where a Macchiavelli is often at -fault.” Herr H---- completely agreed with him, and the conversation soon -became a deep and serious discussion on the tendencies of modern politics -in general, so that it was late that evening before our party separated. - -The first sound that fell upon my ear next morning was the splashing of -a steamer hard by. It had been so dark upon our arrival the night before -that we had not altogether realized the close proximity of the hotel to -the lake, and it was an unexpected pleasure to find my balcony almost -directly over the water, like the stern gallery of a ship of war. A -small steamer certainly was approaching from the upper end of the lake, -with a time-honored old diligence in the bows and a few travellers, -tired-looking and dust-stained, scattered on the deck, very unlike the -brilliant throngs that pass to and fro during the late hours of the -day. But this early morning performance was one of real business, and -the magical words “Post” and “St. Gothard,” which stood out in large -letters on the yellow panels of the diligence, told at once of more than -mere pleasure-seeking. What joy or grief, happiness or despair, might -not this old-fashioned vehicle be at this moment conveying to unknown -thousands! It was an abrupt transition, too, to be thus brought from -pastoral Sarnen and Sachslen into immediate contact with the mighty Alps. -Of their grandeur, however, nothing could be seen; for, without rain -or wind, a thick cloud lay low upon the lake, more like a large flat -ceiling than aught else. Yet, for us, it had its own peculiar interest, -being nothing more nor less than the great, heavy, soft mass which we -had noticed hanging over the lake every morning when looking down from -Kaltbad, whilst we, revelling in sunshine and brightness above, were -pitying the poor inhabitants along the shore beneath. There was a kind -of superiority, therefore, in knowing what it meant, and in feeling -confident that it would not last long. And, as we expected, it did clear -away whilst we sat at our little breakfast-table in the window, revealing -in all its magnificence the glorious view from this point up the Bay of -Uri, which we have elsewhere described. Huge mountains seemed to rise -vertically up out of the green waters; verdant patches were dotted here -and there on their rugged sides; and, overtopping all, shone the glacier -of the Urirothstock, more dazzlingly white and transparent than we had -ever yet beheld it. - -“Now, ladies!” exclaimed Herr H----, “I hope you have your Schiller -ready; for the Rütli is yonder, though you will see it better by and by.” - -“Why, I thought you disapproved of Schiller,” retorted the irrepressibly -argumentative George. - -“To a certain degree, no doubt,” replied Herr H----. “But nothing can -be finer than his _William Tell_ as a whole. My quarrel with it is that -the real William Tell would have fared much better were it not for this -play, and especially for the opera. They have both made the subject so -common--so _banale_, as the French say--that the world has grown tired -of it, and for this reason alone is predisposed to reject our hero. -Besides, the real history of the Revolution is so fine that I prefer it -in its simplicity. Schiller is certainly true to its spirit, but details -are frequently different. For instance, the taking of the Castle of the -Rossberg, which you passed on the lake of Alpnach: Schiller has converted -that into a most sensational scene, whereas the true story is far more -characteristic. That was the place where a young girl admitted her -betrothed and his twelve Confederate friends by a rope-ladder at night, -which enabled them to seize the castle and imprison the garrison “without -shedding a drop of blood or injuring the property of the Habsburgs,” in -exact conformity with their oath on the Rütli. You will often read of -the loves of Jägeli and Ameli in Swiss poetry. They are great favorites, -and, in my opinion, far more beautiful than the fictitious romance -of Rudenz and Bertha. And so in many other cases. But every one does -not object to Schiller as I do; for in 1859, when his centenary was -celebrated in Germany, the Swiss held a festival here on the Rütli, -and subsequently erected a tablet on that large natural pyramidal rock -you see at the corner opposite. It is called the Wytenstein, and you -can read the large gilt words with a glass. It is laconic enough, too; -see: ‘To Frederick Schiller--The Singer of Tell--The Urcantone.’ The -original cantons! Miss Caroline! let me congratulate you on being at last -in the ‘Urschweiz’--the cradle of Switzerland,” continued Herr H----, -as we sauntered out on the quay, pointing at the same time to some bad -frescos of Swen and Suiter on a warehouse close by. Stauffacher, Fürst, -and Van der Halden also figured on the walls--the presiding geniuses -of this region. “Brunnen is in no way to be despised, I assure you, -ladies; you are treading on venerated soil. This is the very spot that -witnessed the foundation of the Confederacy, where the oath was taken -by the representatives of Uri, Schwytz, and Unterwalden the day after -the battle of Morgarten. They swore ‘to die, each for all and all for -each’--the oath which made Switzerland renowned, and gave the name of -‘Ridsgenossen,’ or ‘oath-participators,’ to its inhabitants. The document -is still kept in the archives at Schwytz, with another dated August 1, -1291. Aloys von Reding raised his standard against the French here in -1798; and he was quite right in beginning his resistance to them at -Brunnen. It is full of memories to us Swiss, and is a most central point, -as you may see, between all these cantons. The increase in the hotels -tells what a favorite region it also is with tourists.” - -On this point Mr. and Mrs. C----’s astonishment was unbounded. They -had passed a fortnight at Brunnen in 1861, at a small inn with scanty -accommodation, now replaced by the large and comfortable Waldstätterhof, -situated in one of the most lovely spots imaginable, at the angle of -the lake, one side fronting the Bay of Uri and the other looking up -towards Mount Pilatus. The _pension_ of Seelisberg existed on the heights -opposite even then--only, however, as a small house, instead of the -present extensive establishment, with its pretty woods and walks; but -Axenstein and the second large hotel now building near it, with the -splendid road leading up to them, had not been thought of. The only -communication by land between Schwytz and Fluelen, in those days, was -a mule-path along the hills, precipitous and dangerous in many parts. -The now famed Axenstrasse was not undertaken until 1862; and is said to -have been suggested by the French war in Italy. With the old Swiss dread -of the French still at heart, the Federal government took alarm at that -first military undertaking on the part of Napoleon III., and, seeing -the evil of having no communication between these cantons in case of -attack, at once took the matter seriously in hand. This great engineering -achievement was opened to the public in 1868. It looked most inviting -to-day, and we quickly decided to make use of it by driving along it to -Fluelen, and thence to Altorf, returning in the evening by the steamer. -Some were anxious to visit the Rütli; but Mr. and Mrs. C---- had been -there before, and knew that it was more than an hour’s expedition -by boat, so that the two excursions on the same day would be quite -impossible; consequently, we chose the longer one. - -It was just ten o’clock when we started; Mrs. C----, Caroline, Herr -H----, and myself in one carriage, with George on the box, the others -following us in a second vehicle. We had not proceeded far when Herr -H---- made us halt to look at the Rütli, on the shore right opposite. We -distinctly saw that it was a small meadow, formed by earth fallen from -above on a ledge of rock under the precipitous heights of Seelisberg, -and now enclosed by some fine chestnut and walnut trees. Truly, it was -a spot fitted for the famous scene. So unapproachable is it, except by -water, that even that most enterprising race--Swiss hotel-keepers--have -hitherto failed to destroy it. Some years ago, however, it narrowly -escaped this fate; for Herr Müller, of Seelisberg, is said to have been -on the point of building a _pension_ on the great meadow. But no sooner -did this become known than a national subscription was at once raised, -the government purchased it, and now it has become inalienable national -property for ever. - -“You may well be proud of your country, Herr H----,” exclaimed Mr. -C---- from the other carriage. “I always look on that tiny spot with -deep reverence as the true cradle of freedom. Look at it well, George! -It witnessed that wonderful oath by which these mountaineers bound -themselves ‘to be faithful to each other, just and merciful to their -oppressors’--the only known example of men--and these men peasants, -too--binding themselves, in the excitement of revolt, not to take revenge -on their oppressors.” - -“Quite sublime!” ejaculated George. - -“Well, it has borne good fruit,” returned Herr H---- in gleeful tones; -“for here we are still free! Except on the one occasion of the French in -’98, no foreign troops have ever invaded this part of Switzerland since -those days. Yes, there are three springs at the Rütli, supposed to have -jutted forth where the three heroes stood; but I do not pledge my word -for that,” he answered smilingly to Caroline, “nor for the legend which -says that their spirits sleep in the rocky vale under Seelisberg, ready -to come forth and lead the people in moments of danger.” - -“I hope their slumbers may never be disturbed,” she replied; “but I wish -some one would prevent these cattle from frightening the horses,” as a -large drove swept past our carriages, making our steeds nervous. Splendid -animals they were, with beautiful heads, straight backs, light limbs, and -of a grayish mouse color. - -“All of the celebrated Schwytz breed,” said Herr H----. “This part of -the country is renowned for its cattle. Each of these probably cost from -five to six hundred francs. The Italians take great advantage of this new -road, and come in numbers to buy them at this season, when the cattle -are returning from the mountains. These are going across the St. Gothard -to Lombardy. Those of Einsiedeln are still considered the best. Do you -remember, Miss Caroline, that the first mention of German authority in -this land was occasioned by a dispute between the shepherds of Schwytz -and the abbots of Einsiedeln about their pasturage--the emperor having -given a grant of land to the abbey, while the Schwytzers had never heard -of his existence even, and refused to obey his majesty’s orders?” - -“Ah! what historical animals: that quite reconciles me to them,” she -answered, as we drove on again amongst a group that seemed very uneasy -under their new masters, whose sweet language George averred had no power -over them. - -Who can describe the exquisite beauty of our drive?--winding in and -out, sometimes through a tunnel; at others along the edge of the high -precipice from which a low parapet alone separated us; at another passing -through the village of Sisikon, which years ago suffered severely from a -fragment of rock fallen from the Frohnalp above. Time flew rapidly, and -one hour and a half had glided by, without our perceiving it, when we -drew up before the beautiful little inn of “Tell’s Platte.” - -“But there is no Platform here,” cried George. “We are hundreds of feet -above the lake. The critics are right, Herr H----, decidedly right! I -knew it from the beginning. How can you deny it?” - -“Wait, my young friend! Don’t be so impatient. Just come into the inn -first--I should like you to see the lovely view from it; and then we can -look for the Platform.” Saying which, he led us upstairs, on through the -_salon_ to its balcony on the first floor. This is one of the smaller -inns of that olden type which boast the enthusiastic attachment of -regular customers, and display with pride that old institution--the -“strangers’ book”--which has completely vanished from the monster hotels. -It lay open on the table as we passed, and every one instinctively -stopped to examine it. - -“The dear old books!” exclaimed Mrs. C----. “How they used to amuse me in -Switzerland! I have missed them so much this time. Their running fire of -notes, their polyglot verses--a sort of album and scrap-book combined, -full, too, of praise or abuse of the last hotel, as the humor might be.” - -“Yes,” said Mr. C----, “I shall never forget the preface to one--an -imprecation on whoever might be tempted to let his pen go beyond bounds. -I learned it by rote: - - “May the mountain spirits disturb his slumbers; - May his limbs be weary, and his feet sore; - May the innkeepers give him tough mutton and - Sour wine, and charge him for it as though he were - Lord Sir John, M.P.!” - -“How very amusing!--a perfect gem in its way,” cried Anna. “Lord Sir -John, M.P., must have been the model of large-pursed Britons in his -time.” Here, however, everything seemed to be _couleur de rose_. The -book’s only fault was its monotony of praise. Two sisters keep the hotel, -and “nowhere,” said its devoted friends, “could one find better fare, -better attendance, and greater happiness than at Tell’s Platform.” The -testimony of a young couple confessedly on their bridal tour had no -weight. We know how, at that moment, a barren rock transforms itself into -a paradise for them; but three maiden ladies had passed six weeks of -unalloyed enjoyment here once upon a time, and had returned often since; -English clergymen and their families found no words of praise too strong; -while German students and professors indulged in rhapsodical language not -to be equalled out of fatherland. - -Duchesses, princesses, and Lords Sir John, M.P., were alone wanting -amongst the present guests. “But they come,” said Herr H----, “by the -mid-day steamers, dine and rest here awhile, and return in the evenings -to the larger hotels in other places.” - -And standing on the balcony of the _salon_, facing all the grand -mountains, with the green lake beneath, it truly seemed a spot made for -brides and bridegrooms, for love and friendship. So absorbed were we in -admiration of the enchanting view that we did not at first notice two -little maidens sitting at the far end. They were pretty children, of nine -and thirteen, daughters of an English family stopping here, and their -countenances brightened as they heard our exclamation of delight; for -Tell’s Platte was to them a paradise. Like true Britons, however, they -said nothing until George and Caroline commenced disputing about the -scenery. Comment then was irresistible. “No,” said the youngest, “that -is the Isenthal,” pointing to a valley beneath the hills opposite; “and -that the Urirothstock, with its glacier above, and the Gütschen. Those -straight walls of rock below are the Teufel’s-Münster.” - -“Don’t you remember where Schiller says: - - ‘The blast, rebounding from the Devil’s Minster, - Has driven them back on the great Axenberg’? - -That is it, and this here is the Axenberg,” said Emily, the elder girl. - -“But I see no Platform here,” remarked George with mischief in his eye, -as he quickly detected the young girl’s faith in the hero. - -“It would be impossible to see it,” she rejoined, “as it is three hundred -feet below this house.” - -“But we can show you the way, if you will come,” continued the younger -child, taking George’s hand, who, partly from surprise and partly -amusement, allowed himself to be led like a lamb across the road and -through the garden to the pathway winding down the cliff, followed by us, -under guidance of the elder sister, Emily. - -“Yes,” the children answered, “they had spent the last two years in -France and Germany.” And certainly they spoke both languages like -natives. Emily was even translating _William Tell_ into English blank -verse. “Heigho!” sighed Mr. C----, “for this precocious age.” But the -lake of the Forest Cantons was dearer to them than all else. They had -climbed one thousand feet up the side of the Frohnalpstock that very -morning with their father; knew every peak and valley, far and near, -with all their legends and histories; even the _ranz des vaches_ and -the differences between them--the shepherds’ calls to the cows and the -goats. Annie, our smaller friend, entertained George with all their -varieties, as she tripped daintily along, like a little fairy, with -her tiny alpenstock. Very different was she from continental children, -who rarely, if ever, take interest in either pastoral or literary -matters. She knew the way to the platform well; for did she not go up -and down it many times a day? A difficult descent it was, too--almost -perpendicular--notwithstanding the well-kept pathway; but not dangerous -until we reached the bottom, when each one in turn had to jump on to a -jutting piece of rock, in order to get round the corner into the chapel. -Most truly it stands on a small ledge, with no inch of room for aught but -the small building raised over it. The water close up to the shore is -said to be eight hundred feet deep, and it made one shudder to hear Herr -H----’s story of an artist who a few years ago fell into the lake while -sketching on the cliffs above. Poor man! forgetful of the precipice, he -had thoughtlessly stepped back a few steps to look at his painting, fell -over, and was never seen again. His easel and painting alone remained to -give pathetic warning to other rash spirits. - -The chapel, open on the side next the water, is covered with faded -frescos of Tell’s history, which our little friends quaintly described; -and it contains, besides, an altar and a small pulpit. Here Mass is said -once a year on the Friday after the Ascension, when all the people of -the neighborhood come hither, and from their boats, grouped outside, -hear Mass and the sermon preached to them from the railing in front. -This was the feast which my Weggis guide so much desired to see. It is -unique in every particular, and Herr H---- was eloquent on the beauty and -impressiveness of the scene, at which he had once been present, and which -it was easy to understand amidst these magnificent surroundings. Nor is -it a common gathering of peasants, but a solemn celebration, to which the -authorities of Uri come in state with the standard of Uri--the renowned -Uri ox--floating at the bows. As may be supposed, the sermon is always -national, touching on all those points of faith, honor, and dignity which -constitute true patriotism. Mr. C---- had Murray’s guide-book in his -hand, and would not allow us to say another word until he read aloud Sir -James Macintosh’s remarks on this portion of the lake, which there occur -as follows: - - “The combination of what is grandest in nature with whatever is - pure and sublime in human conduct affected me in this passage - (along the lake) more powerfully than any scene which I had - ever seen. Perhaps neither Greece nor Rome would have had such - power over me. They are dead. The present inhabitants are a - new race, who regard with little or no feeling the memorials - of former ages. This is, perhaps, the only place on the globe - where deeds of pure virtue, ancient enough to be venerable, - are consecrated by the religion of the people, and continue - to command interest and reverence. No local superstition so - beautiful and so moral anywhere exists. The inhabitants of - Thermopylæ or Marathon know no more of these famous spots than - that they are so many square feet of earth. England is too - extensive a country to make Runnymede an object of national - affection. In countries of industry and wealth the stream of - events sweeps away these old remembrances. The solitude of - the Alps is a sanctuary destined for the monuments of ancient - virtue; Grütli and Tell’s chapel are as much reverenced by - the Alpine peasants as Mecca by a devout Mussulman; and the - deputies of the three ancient cantons met, so late as the year - 1715, to renew their allegiance and their oaths of eternal - union.” - -“All very well,” said George, “if there really had been a Tell; but -this seems to me a body without a soul. Why, this very chapel is in the -Italian style, and never could have been founded by the one hundred and -twenty contemporaries who are said to have known Tell and to have been -present at its consecration.” - -“I never heard that any one insisted on this being the original -building,” said Herr H----. “It is probably an improvement on it; -but it was not the fashion in those times--for people were not then -incredulous--to put up tablets recording changes and renovations, -as nowadays at Kaltbad and Klösterle, for instance. But speaking -dispassionately, Mr. George, it seems to me quite impossible that the -introduction of any legend from Denmark or elsewhere could have taken -such strong hold of a people like these mountaineers without some -solid foundation, especially here, where every inhabitant is known to -the other, and the same families have lived on in the same spots for -centuries. Why is it not just as likely that the same sort of event -should have occurred in more than one place? And as to its not being -mentioned in the local documents, that is not conclusive either; for we -all know how careless in these respects were the men of the middle ages, -above all in a rude mountain canton of this kind. Transmission by word of -mouth and by religious celebrations is much more in character with those -times. I go heart and hand with your own Buckle, who places so much -reliance on local traditions. The main argument used against the truth -of the story is, you know, that it was first related in detail by an old -chronicler called Ægidius Tschudi, a couple of hundred years after the -event. But I see nothing singular in that; for most probably he merely -committed to writing, with all the freshness of simplicity, the story -which, for the previous two hundred years, had been in the hearts and -on the lips of the peasants of this region. No invention of any writer -could have founded chapels or have become ingrained in the hearts of the -locality itself in the manner this story has done. It was never doubted -until the end of the last century, when a Prof. Freudenberger, of Bern, -wrote a pamphlet entitled _William Tell: a Danish Fable_.” - -“Yes,” broke in little Emily, latest translator of Schiller, and who had -been listening attentively to our discussion, “and the people of the -forest cantons were so indignant that the authorities of Uri had the -pamphlet burned by the common hangman, and then they solemnly proclaimed -its author an outlaw.” - -“I told you, Mr. George, that you were on dangerous ground here,” said -Herr H----, laughing. - -“I must make him kiss this earth before he leaves,” said Mrs. C----, “as -I read lately of a mother making her little son do when passing here -early in this century, regarding it as a spot sacred to liberty. She -little thought a sceptic like you would so soon follow.” - -“Well! I am _almost_ converted,” he answered, smiling, “but I wish Miss -Emily would tell us the story of Tell’s jumping on shore here,” trying to -draw out the enthusiastic little prodigy. - -“Oh! don’t you remember that magnificent passage in Schiller where, -after the scene of shooting at the apple, Gessler asked Tell why he put -the second arrow into his quiver, and then, promising to spare his life -if he revealed its object, evades his promise the instant he hears that -it was destined to kill him if Tell had struck his son instead of the -apple? He then ordered him to be bound and taken on board his vessel at -Fluelen. The boat had no sooner left Fluelen than one of those sudden -storms sprang up so common hereabouts. There was one two days ago. Annie -and I tried to come down here, but it was impossible--the wind and waves -were so high we could not venture, so we sat on the pathway and read out -Schiller. Oh! he is a great genius. He never was in Switzerland. Yes! -just fancy that; and yet he describes everything to perfection. Well! -Tell was as good a pilot as a marksman, and Gessler, in his fright, again -promised to take off his fetters if he would steer the vessel safely. He -did, but steered them straight towards this ledge of rock, sprang out -upon it, climbed up the cliff, and, rushing through the country, arrived -at the Hohle-Gasse near Küssnacht before the tyrant had reached it.” - -“Schiller decidedly has his merit, it must be confessed, when he can get -such ardent admirers as these pretty children,” said Herr H---- when we -bade farewell to our dear little friends. - -“Yes,” answered the incorrigible George from the box seat, “poetry, -poetry!--an excellent mode of transmitting traditions, making them -indelible on young minds; but I am so far converted, Herr H----,” -continued he, laughing, “that I am sorry the doubts were ever raised -about the Tell history. It is in wonderful keeping with the place and -people, and it will be a great pity if _they_ give it up. ‘Se non è vero, -è ben trovato,’[12] at least.” - -Hence onwards to Fluelen is the finest portion of the Axenstrasse, and -the opening views of the valley of the Reuss and the Bristenstock, -through the arches of the galleries or tunnels, every minute increased -in beauty. Several of us got out the better to enjoy them, sending the -carriages on ahead. The Schwytz cattle had quite escaped our memories, -when suddenly a bell sounded round a sharp angle of the road and a large -drove instantly followed. - -A panic seized us ladies. The cliff rose vertically on the inner side, -without allowing us the possibility of a clamber, and in our fright, -before the gentlemen could prevent us, we leaped over a low railing, -which there served as a parapet, on to a ledge of rock, a few yards -square, rising straight up from the lake hundreds of feet below. All -recollection of their historical interest vanished from our minds; for, -as the cattle danced along, they looked as scared and wild as ourselves, -and it was not until they had passed without noticing us, and that their -dark-eyed masters had spoken some soft Italian words to us, that we fully -realized the extent of our imprudence. Had any one of these animals -jumped up over the railing, as we afterwards heard they have sometimes -done, who can say what might not have happened? Fortunately, no harm -ensued beyond a flutter of nerves, which betrayed itself by Anna’s -turning round to a set of handsome goats that soon followed the cattle, -crying out to them in her own peculiar German: “Nix kommen! nix kommen!” - -Fluelen has nothing to show beyond the picturesqueness of a village -situated in such scenery and a collection of lumbering diligences and -countless carriages, awaiting the hourly arrival of the steamers from -Lucerne. The knell of these old diligences, however, has tolled, for the -St. Gothard Railway tunnel has been commenced near Arnsty, and though -it may require years to finish it, its “opening day” will surely come. -Half an hour’s drive up the lovely valley brought us to Altorf, at the -foot of the Grünwald, which, in accord with its name, is clothed with a -virgin forest, now called the “Bann forest,” because so useful is it in -protecting the town from avalanches and landslips that the Uri government -never permits it to be touched. Altorf, like so many of the capitals in -these forest cantons, has a small population, 2,700 inhabitants only, -but it has many good houses, for it was burnt down in 1799 and rebuilt -in a better manner. Tell’s story forms its chief interest, and certainly -did so in our eyes. We rushed at once to the square, where one fountain -is said to mark the spot where Tell took aim, and another that upon -which his boy stood. Tradition says that the latter one replaced the -lime-tree against which the son leant, portions of which existed until -1567. A paltry plaster statue of the hero is in the same square, but the -most remarkable relic of antiquity is an old tower close by, which Herr -H---- assured us is proved by documents to have been built before 1307, -the date of Tell’s history. Had the young friends we left at “Tell’s -Platform” accompanied us hither, Emily might have quoted Schiller to -us at length. But George, having recently bought a Tauchnitz edition -of Freeman’s _Growth of the English Constitution_, which opens with a -fine description of the annual elections of this canton, he earnestly -pleaded a prolongation of our drive to the spot where this takes place, -three miles further inland. Accordingly, after ordering dinner to be -ready on our return at a hotel which was filled with Tell pictures, and -an excellent one of the festival at the Platform, we left the town and -proceeded up the valley. Soon we crossed a stream, the same, Herr H---- -told us, in which Tell is said to have been drowned while endeavoring to -save a child who had fallen into it. He also pointed out to us Bürglen, -his home, and an old tower believed to have been his house, attached to -which there is now a small ivy-clad chapel. It stands at the opening -of the Schächen valley, celebrated to this day for its fine race of -men--likewise corresponding in this respect with the old tradition. -But more modern interest attaches to this valley, for it was along its -craggy sides and precipices that Suwarow’s army made its way across the -Kinzig-Kulm to the Muotta. The whole of this region was the scene of -fearful fighting--first between the French and the Austrians, who were -assisted by the natives of Uri, in 1799, and then, a month later, between -the Russians coming up from Lombardy and the French. - -“That was the age of real fighting,” said Herr H----, “hand-to-hand -fighting, without _mitrailleuses_ or long ranges. But the misery it -brought this quarter was not recovered from for years after. Altorf -was burnt down at that time, and everything laid waste. The memory of -the trouble lingers about here even yet. What wonder! Certainly, in -all Europe no more difficult fighting ground could have been found. In -the end, the French General Lecourbe was all but cut off, for he had -destroyed every boat on the lake; in those days a most serious matter, -as neither steamers nor Axenstrasse existed. When he therefore wished to -pursue the Russians, who by going up this Schächen valley intended to -join their own corps, supposed to be at Zürich, he too was obliged to -make a bold manœuvre. And then it was that he led his army by torchlight -along the dangerous mule-path on the Axenberg! Sad and dreadful times -they were for these poor cantons.” - -Herr H---- showed us Attinghausen, the birth-place of Walter Fürst, and -the ruins of a castle near, which is the locality of a fine scene in -Schiller, but the last owner of which died in 1357, and is known to have -been buried in his helmet and spurs. Shortly after, about three miles -from Altorf, we reached the noted field, and George, opening Freeman, -read us the following passage aloud: - - “Year by year, on certain spots among the dales and the - mountain-sides of Switzerland, the traveller who is daring - enough to wander out of beaten tracks and to make his journey - at unusual seasons, may look on a sight such as no other corner - of the earth can any longer set before him. He may there gaze - and feel, what none can feel but those who have seen with their - own eyes, what none can feel in its fulness more than once in a - lifetime--the thrill of looking for the first time face to face - on freedom in its purest and most ancient form. He is there in - a land where the oldest institutions of our race--institutions - which may be traced up to the earliest times of which history - or legend gives us any glimmering--still live on in their - primeval freshness. He is in a land where an immemorial - freedom, a freedom only less eternal than the rocks that guard - it, puts to shame the boasted antiquity of kingly dynasties, - which, by its side, seem but as innovations of yesterday. - There, year by year, on some bright morning of the springtide, - the sovereign people, not entrusting its rights to a few of - its own number, but discharging them itself in the majesty of - its corporate person, meets, in the open market-place or in - the green meadow at the mountain’s foot, to frame the laws - to which it yields obedience as its own work, to choose the - rulers whom it can afford to greet with reverence as drawing - their commission from itself. Such a sight there are but few - Englishmen who have seen; to be among these few I reckon among - the highest privileges of my life. Let me ask you to follow me - in spirit to the very home and birth-place of freedom, to the - land where we need not myth and fable to add aught to the fresh - and gladdening feeling with which we for the first time tread - the soil and drink in the air of the immemorial democracy of - Uri. It is one of the opening days of May; it is the morning - of Sunday; for men there deem that the better the day the - better the deed; they deem that the Creator cannot be more - truly honored than in using in his fear and in his presence the - highest of the gifts which he has bestowed on man. But deem not - that, because the day of Christian worship is chosen for the - great yearly assembly of a Christian commonwealth, the more - directly sacred duties of the day are forgotten. Before we, - in our luxurious island, have lifted ourselves from our beds, - the men of the mountains, Catholics and Protestants alike, - have already paid the morning’s worship in God’s temple. They - have heard the Mass of the priest or they have listened to the - sermon of the pastor, before some of us have awakened to the - fact that the morn of the holy day has come. And when I saw - men thronging the crowded church, or kneeling, for want of - space within, on the bare ground beside the open door, when I - saw them marching thence to do the highest duties of men and - citizens, I could hardly forbear thinking of the saying of - Holy Writ, that ‘where the spirit of the Lord is, there is - liberty.’ From the market-place of Altorf, the little capital - of the canton, the procession makes its way to the place of - meeting at Bözlingen. First marches the little army of the - canton, an army whose weapons never can be used save to drive - back an invader from their land. Over their heads floats the - banner, the bull’s-head of Uri, the ensign which led men to - victory on the fields of Sempach and Morgarten. And before - them all, on the shoulders of men clad in a garb of ages past, - are borne the famous horns, the spoils of the wild bull of - ancient days, the very horns whose blast struck such dread into - the fearless heart of Charles of Burgundy. Then, with their - lictors before them, come the magistrates of the commonwealth - on horseback, the chief-magistrate, the Landamman, with his - sword by his side. The people follow the chiefs whom they have - chosen to the place of meeting, a circle in a green meadow, - with a pine forest rising above their heads, and a mighty spur - of the mountain range facing them on the other side of the - valley. The multitude of freemen take their seats around the - chief ruler of the commonwealth, whose term of office comes - that day to an end. The assembly opens; a short space is given - to prayer--silent prayer offered up by each man in the temple - of God’s own rearing. Then comes the business of the day. If - changes in the law are demanded, they are then laid before the - vote of the assembly, in which each citizen of full age has an - equal vote and an equal right of speech. The yearly magistrates - have now discharged all their duties; their term of office is - at an end; the trust that has been placed in their hands falls - back into the hands of those by whom it was given--into the - hands of the sovereign people. The chief of the commonwealth, - now such no longer, leaves his seat of office, and takes his - place as a simple citizen in the ranks of his fellows. It - rests with the free-will of the assembly to call him back to - his chair of office, or to set another there in his stead. - Men who have neither looked into the history of the past, nor - yet troubled themselves to learn what happens year by year - in their own age, are fond of declaiming against the caprice - and ingratitude of the people, and of telling us that under a - democratic government neither men nor measures can remain for - an hour unchanged. The witness alike of the present and of the - past is an answer to baseless theories like these. The spirit - which made democratic Athens year by year bestow her highest - offices on the patrician Pericles and the reactionary Phocion, - still lives in the democracies of Switzerland, alike in the - Landesgemeinde of Uri and in the Federal Assembly at Bern. - The ministers of kings, whether despotic or constitutional, - may vainly envy the sure tenure of office which falls to - the lot of those who are chosen to rule by the voice of the - people. Alike in the whole confederation and in the single - canton, re-election is the rule; the rejection of the outgoing - magistrate is the rare exception. The Landamman of Uri, whom - his countrymen have raised to the seat of honor, and who has - done nothing to lose their confidence, need not fear that when - he has gone to the place of meeting in the pomp of office, his - place in the march homeward will be transferred to another - against his will.” - -The grand forms of the Windgälle, the Bristenstock, and the other -mighty mountains, surrounded us as we stood in deep silence on this -high green meadow, profoundly impressed by this eloquent tribute to a -devout and liberty-loving people, all the more remarkable as coming from -a Protestant writer. There was little to add to it, for Herr H----’s -experience could only confirm it in every point. Dinner had to be got -through rapidly on our return to Altorf, as we wished to catch the -steamer leaving Fluelen at five o’clock. Like all these vessels, it -touched at the landing-place beside Tell’s Platform, whence our young -friends of the morning, who had been watching for our return, waved us a -greeting. Thence we sat on deck, tracing Lecourbe’s mule-path march of -torch-light memory along the Axenberg precipices, and finally reached -the Waldstätterhof at Brunnen in time to see the sun sink behind Mont -Pilatus, and leave the varied outlines clearly defined against a deep-red -sky. - - -S. PHILIP’S HOME.[13] - - O Mary, Mother Mary! our tears are flowing fast, - For mighty Rome, S. Philip’s home, is desolate and waste: - There are wild beasts in her palaces, far fiercer and more bold - Than those that licked the martyrs’ feet in heathen days of old. - - O Mary, Mother Mary! that dear city was thine own, - And brightly once a thousand lamps before thine altars shone; - At the corners of the streets thy Child’s sweet face and thine - Charmed evil out of many hearts and darkness out of mine. - - By Peter’s cross and Paul’s sharp sword, dear Mother Mary, pray! - By the dungeon deep where thy S. Luke in weary durance lay; - And by the church thou know’st so well, beside the Latin Gate, - For love of John, dear Mother, stay the hapless city’s fate. - - For the exiled Pontiffs sake, our Father and our Lord, - O Mother! bid the angel sheathe his keen avenging sword; - For the Vicar of thy Son, poor exile though he be, - Is busied with thy honor _now_ by that sweet southern sea. - - Oh! by the joy thou hadst in Rome, when every street and square - Burned with the fire of holy love that Philip kindled there, - And by that throbbing heart of his, which thou didst keep at Rome, - Let not the spoiler waste dear Father Philip’s Home! - - Oh! by the dread basilicas, the pilgrim’s gates to heaven, - By all the shrines and relics God to Christian Rome hath given, - By the countless Ave Marias that have rung from out its towers, - By Peter’s threshold, Mother! save this pilgrim land of ours. - - By all the words of peace and power that from S. Peter’s chair - Have stilled the angry world so oft, this glorious city spare! - By the lowliness of Him whose gentle-hearted sway - A thousand lands are blessing now, dear Mother Mary, pray. - - By the pageants bright, whose golden light hath flashed through - street and square, - And by the long processions that have borne thy Jesus there; - By the glories of the saints; by the honors that were thine; - By all the worship God hath got from many a blazing shrine; - - By all heroic deeds of saints that Rome hath ever seen; - By all the times her multitudes have crowned thee for their queen; - By all the glory God hath gained from out that wondrous place, - O Mary, Mother Mary! pray thy strongest prayer for grace. - - O Mary, Mother Mary! thou wilt pray for Philip’s Home, - Thou wilt turn the heart of him who turned S. Peter back to Rome. - Oh! thou wilt pray thy prayer, and the battle will be won, - And the Saviour’s sinless Mother save the city of her Son. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - THE TROUBLES OF OUR CATHOLIC FOREFATHERS, RELATED BY - THEMSELVES. Second Series. Edited by John Morris, S. J. - London: Burns & Oates. 1875. (New York: Sold by The Catholic - Publication Society.) - -Whilst our ears are deafened and our feelings shocked by the calumnies -and lying vituperation heaped upon all that is most worthy of love -and veneration upon earth by the Satanic societies which the Popes -have smitten with repeated excommunications, it is consoling to be -supplied--by limners, too, who are themselves no mean exemplars of the -noble development which the Church can give to virtue when it follows -her counsels--with lifelike portraits of Christian athletes in times -gone by. We do not know how soon our courage, patience, and charity may -be put to a similar test. Multitudes of our fellow-Catholics are already -subjected to every suffering but the martyrdom of death; and this seed of -the Church our enemies, more wily than the sanguinary heretics of the age -of Elizabeth, seem to be unwilling to sow. But they will not long be able -to restrain their passion. The word of persecution has gone forth; and so -bitter is the hatred of the very name of Christ, that before very long -nothing but the blood of Christians will satiate its instincts. - -The persecution of the Church in England in the time of Elizabeth -resembled the persecution which is now raging against it, in the -political complexion given to it. But there were far stronger grounds for -it then than now. The superior claims of Mary to the throne, her virtues, -and her surpassing beauty, were a just subject of jealousy and uneasiness -to Elizabeth, and she might very naturally suppose that her Catholic -subjects were not likely to regard with any fondness the usurpation of an -illegitimate daughter of her apostate and tyrannical father. - -In the present persecutions there is no political pretext, but one is -made under cover of which to extirpate from among mankind the religion -and very name of Christ. - -This volume is the second of a series which promises to supply us with a -whole gallery of Christian heroes, which we of this age of worldliness, -cowardice, and self-seeking will do well to study attentively. As is -often the case, it is to the untiring zeal of the Society of Jesus we -owe so interesting as well as edifying a work. Father Morris, formerly -Secretary to Cardinal Wiseman, but who joined the Society after the death -of that eminent prelate, is its author, and he appears to us to have -executed his task with rare judgment. By allowing his characters to speak -in great part for themselves, the biographies and relations he presents -us with have a dramatic interest which is greatly increased by the quaint -and nervous style of the time in which they express themselves. We feel, -too, that it is the very innermost soul and mind of the individual that -is being revealed to us; and certainly in most of them the revelation -is so beautiful that we should possibly have ascribed something of -this to the partiality of a panegyrist, or to his descriptive skill, -if the picture had been sketched by the pen of any other biographer -than themselves. It is, indeed, the mean opinion they evidently have -of themselves, and the naïve and modest manner in which they relate -incidents evoking heroic virtue, their absolute unconsciousness of aught -more than the most ordinary qualities, which fascinate us. It bears -an impress of genuineness impossible to any description by the most -impartial of historians. They express a beauty which could no more be -communicated in any other way than can the odor of the flower or the -music of the streams be conveyed by any touch, how ever magic, of the -painter. - -The present volume of the series contains the “Life of Father William -Weston, S.J.,” and “The Fall of Anthony Tyrrell,” by Father Persons; for -“our wish is,” says Father Morris, “to learn not only what was done by -the strong and brave, but also by the weak and cowardly.” - -We are much struck in this history with the resemblance between those -times and the present in the unsparing calumny of which the purest and -the holiest men were made the victims. - -For confirmation of these remarks, we refer the reader to the book -itself. But we cannot refrain from quoting, in spite of its length, the -following incident related by Father Weston. It is a remarkable example -of the salutary effect of the Sacrament of Penance: - -“For there lay in a certain heretical house a Catholic who, with the -consent of his keeper, had come to London for the completion of some -urgent business. He had been committed to a prison in the country, a -good way out of London. He was seized, however, and overpowered by a -long sickness which brought him near to death. The woman who nursed -him, being a Catholic, had diligently searched the whole city through -to find a priest, but in vain. She then sent word to me of the peril of -that person, and entreated me, if it could be contrived, to come to his -assistance, as he was almost giving up the ghost. I went to him when the -little piece of gold obtained for me the liberty to do so. I explained -that I was a priest, for I was dressed like a layman, and that I had come -to hear his confession. ‘If that is the reason why you have come, it -is in vain,’ he said; ‘the time for it is passed away.’ I said to him: -‘What! are you not a Catholic? If you are, you know what you have to do. -This hour, which seems to be your last, has been given you that by making -a good and sincere confession you may, while there is time, wash away -the stains of your past life, whatever they are.’ He answered: ‘I tell -you that you have come too late: that time has gone by. The judgment is -decided; the sentence has been pronounced; I am condemned, and given up -to the enemy. I cannot hope for pardon.’ ‘That is false,’ I answered, -‘and it is a most fearful error to imagine that a man still in life can -assert that he is already deprived of God’s goodness and abandoned by -his grace, in such a way that even when he desires and implores mercy it -should be denied him. Since your faith teaches you that God is infinitely -merciful, you are to believe with all certitude that there is no bond -so straitly fastened but the grace of God can unloose it, no obstacle -but grace has power to surmount it.’ ‘But do you not see,’ he asked me, -‘how full of evil spirits this place is where we are? There is no corner -or crevice in the walls where there are not more than a thousand of the -most dark and frightful demons, who, with their fierce faces, horrid -looks, and atrocious words threaten perpetually that they are just going -to carry me into the abyss of misery. Why, even my very body and entrails -are filled with these hateful guests, who are lacerating my body and -torturing my soul with such dreadful cruelty and anguish that it seems -as if I were not so much on the point merely of going there, as that -I am already devoted and made over to the flames and agonies of hell. -Wherefore, it is clear that God has abandoned me for ever, and has cast -me away from all hope of pardon.’ - -“When I had listened in trembling to all these things, and to much more -of a similar kind, and saw at the same time that death was coming fast -upon him, and that he would not admit of any advice or persuasion, I -began to think within myself, in silence and anxiety, what would be -the wisest course to choose. There entered into my mind, through the -inspiration, doubtless, of God, the following most useful plan and -method of dealing with him: ‘Well, then,’ I said, ‘if you are going to -be lost, I do not require a confession from you; nevertheless, recollect -yourself just for a moment, and, with a quiet mind, answer me, in a few -words, either yes or no to the questions that I put to you; I ask for -nothing else, and put upon you no other burden.’ Then I began to question -him, and to follow the order of the Commandments. First, whether he had -denied his faith. ‘See,’ I said, ‘do not worry yourself; say just those -simple words, yes or no.’ As soon as he had finished either affirming or -denying anything, I proceeded through four or five Commandments--whether -he had killed any one, stolen anything, etc. When he had answered with -tolerable calmness, I said to him, ‘What are the devils doing now? What -do you feel or suffer from them?’ He replied: ‘They are quieter with -me; they do not seem to be so furious as they were before.’ ‘Lift up -your soul to God,’ I said, ‘and let us go on to the rest.’ In the same -fashion and order I continued to question him about other things. Then -I enquired again, saying, ‘How is it now?’ He replied; ‘Within I am not -tormented. The devils stand at a distance; they throw stones; they make -dreadful faces at me, and threaten me horribly. I do not think that I -shall escape.’ Going forward as before, I allured and encouraged the man -by degrees, till every moment he became more reasonable, and at last made -an entire confession of all his sins, after which I gave him absolution, -and asked him what he was suffering from his cruel and harassing enemies. -‘Nothing,’ he said; ‘they have all vanished. There is not a trace of -them, thanks be to God.’ Then I went away, after strengthening him by -a few words, and encouraging him beforehand against temptations which -might return. I promised, at the same time, that I would be with him -on the morrow, and meant to bring the most Sacred Body of Christ with -me, and warned him to prepare himself diligently for the receiving of -so excellent a banquet. The whole following night he passed without -molestation from the enemy, and on the next day he received with great -tranquillity of mind the most Holy Sacrament, after which, at an interval -of a few hours without disturbance, he breathed forth his soul, and -quietly gave it up to God. Before he died, I asked the man what cause -had driven him into such desperation of mind. He answered me thus: ‘I -was detained in prison many years for the Catholic faith. Nevertheless, -I did not cease to sin, and to conceal my sins from my confessor, being -persuaded by the devil that pardon must be sought for from God, rather -by penances and severity of life, than by confession. Hence I either -neglected my confessions altogether, or else made insincere ones; and so -I fell into that melancholy of mind and that state of tribulation which -has been my punishment.’” - - LIGHT LEADING UNTO LIGHT: A Series of Sonnets and Poems. By - John Charles Earle, B.A. London: Burns & Oates. 1875. - -Mr. Earle has undoubtedly a facility in writing sonnets; and a good -sonnet has been well called “a whole poem in itself.” It is also, we -think, peculiarly suitable for didactic poetry. The present sonnets are -in advance, we consider, of those we first saw from Mr. Earle’s pen. But -we still observe faults, both of diction and of verse, which he should -have learnt to avoid. His model seems to be Wordsworth--the greatest -sonneteer in our language; but, like him, he has too much of the prosaic -and the artificial. - -We wish we could bestow unqualified praise upon the ideas throughout -these sonnets. And were there nothing for criticism but what may be -called poetic subtleties--such as the German notion of an “ether body,” -developed during life, and hatched at death, for our intermediate -state of being--we should have no quarrel with Mr. Earle. But when we -meet two sonnets (XLVIII. and XLIX.) headed “Matter Non-Existent,” and -“Matter Non-Substantial,” we have a philosophical error serious in its -consequences, and are not surprised to find the two following sonnets -teach Pantheism. In Sonnet XLVIII. the author’s excellent intention is to -refute materialism: - - “‘Thought is,’ you say, ‘a function of the brain, - And matter all that we can ever know; - - … - - “‘From it we came; to it at last we go, - And all beyond it is a phantom vain,’ etc. - - … - - “I answer: ‘Matter is _a form of mind_, - _So far as it is aught_. It has no base, - Save in the self-existent.’” - -Sonnet L. is headed, “As the Soul in the Body, so is God in the -Universe.” Surely, this is the old “Anima Mundi” theory! Then, in Sonnet -LI., the poet says of nature, and addressing God: - - “She cannot live detached from thee. Her heart - Is beating with thy pulse. _I cannot tell_ - _How far she is or is not of thee part_; - How far in her thou dost or dost not dwell; - That _thou her only base and substance art_, - This--this at least--I know and feel full well.” - -Now, of course, Mr. Earle is unconscious that this is rank Pantheism. -He has a way of explaining it to himself which makes it sound perfectly -orthodox. But we do call such a blunder inexcusable in a Catholic writer -of Mr. Earle’s pretensions. The title of his volume, “Light leading unto -Light,” has little to do with the contents, as far as we can see; and, -certainly, there are passages which would more fitly be headed “Darkness -leading unto Darkness.” - -We are sorry to have had to make these strictures. The great bulk of the -sonnets, together with the remaining poems, are very pleasant reading, -and cannot fail to do good. - - FIRST ANNUAL REPORT OF THE REV. THEODORE NOETHEN, FIRST - CATHOLIC CHAPLAIN OF THE ALBANY PENITENTIARY, TO THE - INSPECTORS. April 6, 1875. Albany: J. Munsell. 1875. - - THIRTEEN SERMONS PREACHED IN THE ALBANY COUNTY PENITENTIARY. By - the Rev. Theodore Noethen. Published under the auspices of the - Society of S. Vincent de Paul. Albany: Van Benthuysen Printing - House. 1875. - -We are glad to see Father Noethen’s familiar hand thus charitably and -characteristically engaged. These are the first documents of the kind -we have observed under the improving state of things in this country, -in which the priest of the Church is seen occupied in one of his most -important duties--reclaiming the erring; and in doing this the means -which he employs will doubtless be found more efficacious than any the -state has at its command. Did the state fully appreciate its highest -interest as well as duty, it would afford the Church every facility, -not only in reclaiming such of her children as have fallen into the -temptations by which they are surrounded, but also in the use of those -preventive measures involved in parish schools, which would save -multitudes from penitentiaries and houses of correction. Our over-zealous -Protestant friends throw every obstacle in the way of the adequate moral -and religious training of the class most exposed to the temptations -arising from poverty and lack of employment, and then blame the Church -for the result. We heartily welcome these signs of a better time coming. - - AN EXPOSITION OF THE EPISTLES OF S. PAUL AND OF THE CATHOLIC - EPISTLES; consisting of an Introduction to each Epistle, an - Analysis of each Chapter, a Paraphrase of the Sacred Text, - and a Commentary, embracing Notes, Critical, Explanatory, and - Dogmatical, interspersed with Moral Reflections. By the Rt. - Rev. John MacEvilly, D.D., Bishop of Galway. Third edition, - enlarged. Dublin: W. B. Kelly. 1875. (New York: Sold by The - Catholic Publication Society.) - -After quoting this full, descriptive title-page, it will suffice to say -that the notes which form the commentary have in the present edition -been considerably enlarged. The work was originally published under the -approbation of the Holy Father, the late Cardinals Barnabo and Wiseman, -and the present venerable Archbishop of Tuam. - - -BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS RECEIVED. - - From Scribner, Armstrong & Co., New York: Personal - Reminiscences. By O’Keefe, Kelly, and Taylor. Edited by R. H. - Stoddard (Bric-à-Brac Series, No. VIII) - - From the Author: An Address on Woman’s Work in the Church - before the Presbytery of New Albany. By Geo. C. Heckman, D.D. - Paper, 8vo, pp. 28. - - From Wm. Dennis, G.W.S.: Journal of Proceedings of the Ninth - Annual Session of the Grand Lodge of Nova Scotia. Paper, 8vo, - pp. 73. - - From the Author: The Battle of Life: An Address. By D. S. Troy, - Montgomery, Alabama. Paper, 8vo, pp. 14. - - From Ginn Brothers, Boston: Latin Composition: An Elementary - Guide to Writing in Latin. Part I.--Constructions. By J. H. - Allen and J. B. Greenough. 12mo, pp. vi., 117. - - - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XXII., No. 128.--NOVEMBER, 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. - - -FREEMASONRY.[14] - -The saints have all, whilst yet in the flesh, foretastes of heavenly -bliss. But in these the closing days of time all the elect have a -presentiment of coming judgment. And that presentiment is strong in -proportion to their faith; stronger still in proportion to their charity. -Let our readers be assured at the outset. We are not about to imitate the -irreverence of the Scotch Presbyterian minister who, some few years ago, -pretended that he had discovered in the prophetic visions of S. John the -year in which will come to pass that event of stupendous awfulness, of -which He, before whom all mankind will then be judged, said: “Of that day -or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but the -Father only.” - -One fearful catastrophe, however, to befall mankind before the general -judgment is insisted on so often and with such solemn emphasis by the -Holy Spirit that the love of God seems to be, as it were, trembling -for his redeemed creature, and longing to reveal to him more than is -consistent with his own designs in the trial of his faith. For it must -be remembered that faith is a merit, and the absolutely indispensable -condition of our receiving the benefits of the divine atonement. Although -the gift of God, it is the part we ourselves, by co-operating with the -gift, contribute towards our own salvation. And what we are required -to believe is so beautiful and ennobling to the moral sense, and so -satisfying to the reason, that, supported as it is by the historical -evidence of the divinity of Christ and of his church, no one can refuse -to believe but those who deliberately choose darkness rather than light, -sin rather than virtue, Satan rather than God. - -Yet so formidable was to be that last trial of the faith of Christians, -so crucial that conclusive test of their charity, which was to “deceive, -if it were possible, even the very elect,”[15] that the Spirit of Love, -yearning for the safety of his regenerate ones, and compassionating the -weakness of human nature, revealed its marks and signs in the fullest -and most circumstantial detail; so that, warned of the danger, and -recognizing it when it arrived, they might pass through it unhurt, whilst -those who succumbed to it might be without excuse before the divine -justice. It is the yearning of the heart of Christ towards his children, -whom he foresees will fail by thousands in that decisive trial, which -prompts the ejaculation that sounds almost like a lament over his own -inability to put any pressure on their free-will: “When the Son of man -cometh, will he find faith on the earth?” It is his anxiety, as it were, -about the fate of his elect amidst the seductions of that appalling -apostasy, which urged him, after he had indicated the signs that would -accompany it, to be on the perpetual, sleepless lookout for them. “Be -ever on the alert. Lo! I have foretold you all.”[16] - -“Be ever on the alert, watch and pray. For you do not know when the time -may be.”[17] - -“Watch, then, lest when he (the head of the family) shall have come on a -sudden, you be found sleeping.”[18] - -“Moreover, what I say to you I _say to all_: Watch!”[19] - -Throughout all the ages that have elapsed since those words of solemn -import fell from the lips of Jesus Christ it has been the plain duty -of all Christians--nay, of all to whose knowledge they were brought--to -narrowly scrutinize events, to keep their attention fixed upon them, -watching for the signs he foretold, lest they should appear unheeded, -and they be seduced from the faith; or be the cause, through their -indifference, of others being carried away in the great misleading. - -But who now can be insensible to the predicted portents? So notorious -are they, and so exactly do they answer to the description of them -handed down to us from the beginning, that they rudely arouse us from -sleep; that they force our attention, however indifferent to them we may -be, however dull our faith or cold our charity. And when we see a vast -organization advancing its forces in one united movement throughout the -entire globe in an avowed attack, as insidious as it is formidable, upon -altars, thrones, social order, Christianity, Christ, and God himself, -where is the heart that can be insensible to the touching evidence of -loving solicitude which urged Him whom surging multitudes of his false -creatures were deliberately to reject in favor of a fouler being than -Barabbas, to iterate so often the warning admonition, “Be ever on the -watch”? - -To study, therefore, the signs of the times, cannot be without profit to -all, but especially to us who have but scant respect for the spirit of -the age, who are not sufficiently enlightened by it to look upon Christ -as nothing more than a remarkable man, the sublime morality he taught and -set an example of as a nuisance, and his church as the enemy of mankind, -to be extirpated from their midst, because it forbids their enjoying the -illumination of the dagger-guarded secrets of the craft of Freemasonry. - -To fix the date of the _Dies iræ_ is completely out of our power. It is -irreverent, if not blasphemous, to attempt it. It is of the counsels -of God that it should come with the swiftness of “lightning” and the -unexpectedness of “a thief in the night”; and that expressly that we -may be ever on the watch. But the signs of its approach are given to us -in order to help those who do not abandon “watching” in indifference, -to escape the great delusion--the imposition of Antichrist--which is to -immediately precede it. It is these signs we propose to study in the -following pages. - -The predictions of Christ himself on this subject are far more obscure -than those subsequently given to us by his apostles. But this has always -been God’s way of revelation to his creature. To Moses alone, in the -mount, he revealed the moral law and that wondrous theocratic polity -which remained even after the perversity of his people had given it a -monarchical form; and Moses communicated it to the people. To the people -Christ spoke in parables, “and without a parable spake he not unto them. -But when he was alone with them, he explained all to his disciples.”[20] -“To you,” he said, “it is given to have known the mystery of the kingdom -of God; but to those without everything is a parable.”[21] The apostles -themselves, who were to declare the revelation, in order to increase -the merit of their faith, were not fully illuminated before the coming -down of the Holy Spirit. “You do not know this parable?” he said; “and -how are you going to understand all parables?”[22] To their utterances, -therefore, it is we shall confine ourselves, as shedding as much light -as it has seemed good to the Holy Ghost to disclose to us upon the -profounder and more oracular predictions of God himself in the flesh. - -Besides SS. Peter, Paul, and John, S. Jude is the only other apostle, we -believe, who has bequeathed to the church predictions of the terrible -apostasy of Antichrist which is to consummate the trial of the faith of -the saints under the very shadow of the coming judgment. We will take -them in the order in which they occur. The first is in a letter of S. -Paul to the church at Thessalonica, where, exhorting them not to “be -terrified as if the day of the Lord were at hand,” he assures them that -it will not come “before there shall have first happened an apostasy, and -the man of sin shall have been revealed, the son of perdition--he who -opposes himself to, and raises himself above, all that is called God, or -that is held in honor, so that he may sit in the temple of God, showing -himself as if he were God.… And you know what now is hindering his -being revealed in his own time. For the mystery of iniquity is already -working; only so that he who is now keeping it in check will keep it in -check until he be moved out of its way. And then will the lawless one be -revealed, whom the Lord Jesus will slay with the breath of his mouth, -and destroy with the illumination of his coming; whose coming is after -the manner of working of Satan, with all strength and symbols, and lying -absurdities, and in every enticement of iniquity in those who perish; -for the reason that they did not receive the love of the truth that they -might be saved. So God will send them the working of error, that they -may believe falsehood; that all may be judged who have not believed the -truth, but have consented to iniquity.”[23] - -In a letter to Timothy, Bishop of Ephesus, S. Paul writes: “Now, the -Spirit says expressly that, in the last times, some shall apostatize -from the faith, giving heed to spirits of error and to doctrines of -demons, speaking falsehood in hypocrisy, and having their own conscience -seared.”[24] - -In a second letter to the same bishop he writes: “Know this, moreover: -that in the last days there will be a pressure of perilous times; men -will be self-lovers, covetous, lifted up, proud, blasphemous, disobedient -to parents, ungrateful, malicious, without affection, discontented, -calumniators, incontinent, hard, unamiable, traitors, froward, fearful, -and lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God, having indeed a form of -piety, but denying its power.”[25] S. Peter writes that “there will come -in the last days mockers in deception, walking according to their own -lusts.”[26] - -S. Jude describes them as “mockers, walking in impieties according to -their own desires. These are they who separate themselves--animals, not -having the Spirit.”[27] - -It would seem from the expressions of S. John-who of all the apostles -appears to have had most pre-eminently the gift of prophecy--as well as -from the manner in which the last days of Jerusalem and the last days -of the world appear to be mingled together in the fore-announcement -of Christ, that powerful manifestations of Antichrist were to precede -both events; although the apostasy was to be far more extensive and -destructive before the latter. “Little children,” writes the favorite -apostle, “it is the last time; and as you have heard that Antichrist -comes, so now many have become Antichrists; whence we know that it is the -last time.… He is Antichrist who denies the Father and the Son.”[28] - -“Every spirit who abolishes Jesus is not of God. And he is Antichrist -about whom we have heard that he is coming, and is even now in the -world.”[29] - -We believe that these are the only passages wherein the Holy Ghost has -vouchsafed to give us distinct and definite information as to the marks -and evidences by which we are to know that there is amongst us that -Antichrist whose disastrous although short-lived triumph is to precede -by only a short space the end of time and the eternal enfranchisement of -good from evil. - -The prophetic utterances on this subject in the revelations of S. John -are veiled in such exceedingly obscure imagery that we do not propose to -attempt any investigation of their meaning in this article. It is our -object to influence the minds of such Protestants as believe in God the -Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and of Catholics whose faith is so dull -and whose charity is so cold that they can listen to the blasphemies of -Antichrist without emotion. - -We may remark here, however, that if we succeed in supplying solid -reasons for believing that Antichrist is already amongst us, and that -his dismal career of desolating victory has already begun, the duty of -studying those utterances of the Holy Ghost, so darkly veiled that the -faith of those who stand firm may have more merit in the trial of that -great tribulation, will have assumed a position of importance impossible -to be overrated. That they are to be understood, the Holy Ghost himself -implies. He intimates that their meaning is accessible to the spiritually -minded, and would even seem to make dulness of apprehension of it a -reproach, a lack of spiritual discernment. “If any one has the ear, let -him hear,”[30] he writes. And again: “This is wisdom. Let him who has -understanding reckon the number of the beast.”[31] - -It is not necessary to the object we have in view that we should identify -“the beast” of the Apocalypse, seven-headed and having ten horns crowned -with diadems, with Antichrist. The question we propose to answer is -simply, “Are there under our eyes at this moment evidences of a present -Antichrist, or of his being close at hand?” In other words, “Is what is -called ‘the spirit of the age’ the spirit of Antichrist?” - -For us, that we may be on our guard against his wiles, and armed to the -teeth to fight against him to the death, it is comparatively unimportant -whether we decide him to be actually amongst us or only just about to -appear. His marks and characteristics, his badges or decorations--these -are all we require. - -If the Antichrist of the prophecies is a single, separate impersonation -of the demoniac attributes described by the Holy Ghost--if, in short, he -is an individual man, then he has not yet been revealed. In that case, -our identification of Antichrist will only have exposed that temper and -spirit with which “the red dragon”--“the devil”--“Satan”--“the ancient -serpent”--has possessed such vast multitudes of the human race throughout -the entire globe as to afford ground for calling it “the spirit of the -age,” and which is to culminate in some terrible personal embodiment--a -typical personage, as men speak. But if the prophecies do not designate -an individual man, but only the impersonation of a multitude of -individuals organized into a unity and animated with the same spirit, -then we think we shall be able to point the finger of horror and loathing -at the very Antichrist at present amongst us, and in the midst of -victory, as decisively and as clearly as the prophet of penance pointed -the finger of adoring love towards the Lamb of God. - -We incline, and strongly, to the latter view. We must withhold our -reasons, partly because, as we have said, our object is equally subserved -by either view; but more because to do so would leave us too little space -for treating the main subject. We will content ourselves with stating -that those reasons are founded on the internal evidence supplied by the -several predictions; and also on our aversion to admit the possibility of -a more depraved _individual_ impersonation of evil than that unhappy man -whom God in human flesh pronounced a devil! - -Whether, however, Antichrist be or not an individual man, one thing is -certain: that if we can point out an immense army of men, co-extensive -with the globe, highly organized, animated with the same spirit, and -acting with as much unity of purpose as if their movements were directed -by one head, who exhibit precisely those marks and characteristics -described in the predictions of Antichrist, we may expect even on the -supposition that they are to have a visible head, an individual leader, -who has yet to make his appearance; and that they are his hosts, who have -already achieved a great part of his victories. - -What is first noticeable is that the stigma which is to be deeply branded -on the front of the Antichristian manifestation which is to precede the -close of time is “_Apostasy_”. - -The day of the Lord will not come, “nisi venerit discessio primum; -Spiritus dicit quia in novissimis temporibus quidam a fide discedunt.” - -There can be no need of dwelling on this. It is sufficiently obvious -that the great apostasy inaugurated by Luther was the first outbreak of -Antichristian victory. The success of that movement assured the spirit -of error of a career of victory. He was lurking in the fold, watching -for his opportunity, and snatching away stray souls, as S. John tells -us, in the time of the apostles. For a millennium and a half has he -been preparing his manifestation. He inspired Julian, he inspired the -Arians, he inspired all the heresies against which the definitions -of the faith were decreed. But when he had seduced men away from the -church, whole nations at a time, “dominationem contemnentes” (2 S. Peter -ii. 10), and captivated them to the irrational opinion that there is -no higher authority for the obligatory dogmas of the Christian Church -than the conviction of every individual, _solvere Jesum_, and then God, -was merely a matter of time. What human passion had begun human reason -would complete. The life of faith could not be annihilated at a blow. -It has taken three centuries for the sap of charity to wither away in -the cut-off branches. But sooner or later the green wood could not but -become dry; and reason, void of charity, would be forced to acknowledge -that if the Bible has no definite meaning other than what appears to be -its meaning to every individual, practically it has no definite meaning -at all; that God cannot have revealed any truth at all, if we have no -means of ascertaining what it is beyond our own private opinions; that -a book the text of which admits of as many interpretations as there are -sects cannot, without an authoritative living expositor, reveal truths -which it is necessary to believe in order to escape eternal punishment. -The claim of the Catholic Church to this authority having been pronounced -an usurpation, the progress, although slow, was sure and easy towards -pronouncing Christianity itself an usurpation. God himself cannot survive -Christianity. And we have now literally “progressed” to so triumphant -a manifestation of Antichrist that the work of persecution of God’s -Church has set in with a vengeance, and men hear on all sides of them the -existence of God denied without horror, even without surprise. - -The first mark of a present Antichrist we propose to signalize is that -distinctly assigned to him by S. Paul--ὁ ἄνομος. This epithet is but -feebly rendered by the Latin _ille iniquus_, or the English “that wicked -one.” “The lawless one” better conveys the force of the Greek. For the -root νόμος includes in its meaning not only enacted law of all kinds, but -whatever has become, as it were, a law by custom; or a law of nature, as -it were, by the universal observance of mankind. - -The first marked sequel of the apostasy, the first outbreak of success -of Antichrist in the political order, was the first French Revolution, -during which a harlot was placed for worship upon the altar of Notre Dame. - -That fearful outbreak may have sat for its portrait to S. Peter in -the following description of the members of the Antichrist of the -“last times”: “Who walk after the flesh in the lust of concupiscence, -and despise authority; … irrational beasts, following only their own -brute impulses, made only to be caught and slain; … having eyes full -of adultery and of ceaseless sin; … speaking proud things of vanity, -enticing, through the desires of the luxury of the flesh, those who by -degrees go away from the truth, who become habituated to error; promising -them liberty, whereas they themselves are the slaves of corruption” (2 -Pet. ii. 10, 12, 14, 18, 19). - -That saturnalia of lawlessness, which Freemason writers have ever since -dared to approve, was the work of the “craft” of Freemasonry, to whose -organization and plan of action does indeed, in an especial sense, -apply S. Paul’s designation of τὸ μυστήριον τῆς ανομίας “the mystery -of lawlessness.” Mirabeau, Sieyès, Grégoire, Robespierre, Condorcet, -Fauchet, Guillotine, Bonneville, Volney, “Philippe Egalité,” etc., had -all been initiated into the higher grades. - -Louis Blanc, himself a Freemason, writes thus: “It is necessary to -conduct the reader to the opening of the subterranean mine laid at that -time beneath thrones and altars by revolutionists, differing greatly, -both in their theory and their practice, from the Encyclopedists. An -association had been formed of men of every land, every religion, and -every class, bound together by mysterious signs agreed upon amongst -themselves, pledged by a solemn oath to observe inviolable secrecy as to -the existence of this hidden bond, and tested by proofs of a terrible -description.… Thus we find Freemasonry to have been widely diffused -immediately before the outbreak of the Revolution. Spreading over the -whole face of Europe, it poisoned the thinking minds of Germany, and -secretly stirred up rebellion in France, showing itself everywhere in the -light of an association resting upon principles diametrically opposed -to those which govern civil society.… The ordinances of Freemasonry did -indeed make great outward display of obedience to law, of respect to the -outward forms and usages of profane society, and of reverence towards -rulers; at their banquets the Masons did indeed drink the health of kings -in the days of monarchy, and of presidents in the time of republics, -such prudent circumspection being indispensable on the part of an -association which threatened the existence of the very governments under -whose eyes it was compelled to work, and whose suspicion it had already -aroused. This, nevertheless, did not suffice to counteract the radically -revolutionary influence continually exercised by the craft, even while it -professed nothing but peaceful intentions.”[32] - -In the work from which the above and the greater part of our materials in -this article are borrowed, we read as follows: “It was precisely these -revolutionary designs of the secret society which induced its Provincial -Grand Master, the Prussian Minister Count von Haugwitz, to leave it. In -the memorial presented by him to the Congress of Monarchs at Verona, -in 1830, he bids the rulers of Europe to be on their guard against the -hydra. ‘I feel at this moment firmly persuaded,’ writes the ex-grand -master, ‘that the French Revolution, which had its first commencement -in 1788, and broke out soon after, attended with all the horrors of -regicide, existed heaven knows how long before, having been planned, -and having had the way prepared for it, by associations and secret -oaths.’”[33] - -And the following: - -“After the events of February, 1848, the ‘craft’ sang songs of triumph -at the open success of its secret endeavors. A Belgian brother, Van der -Heym, spoke thus: ‘On the day following the revolution of February a -whole nation rose as one man, overturned the throne, and wrote over the -frontal of the royal palace the words Liberty, Fraternity, Equality, all -the citizens having adopted as their own this fundamental principle of -Freemasonry. The combatants had not to battle long before the victory -over their oppressors was gained--that freedom won which for centuries -had formed the theme of Masonic discourses. We, the apostles of -fraternity, aid the foundation-stone of the Republic.’”[34] - -And another master of the Freemasons, one Peigné, said about the same -time: “In our glorious Revolution of 1792 the Lodge of the Nine Sisters -gave to the world such men as Garat, Brissot, Bailly, Camille Desmoulins, -Condorcet, Champfort, Petion; the Lodge of the Iron Mouth gave to it -Fauchet, Goupil de Prefeln, Sieyès; the Lodge of Candor, Custine, the two -Lameths, and Lafayette.” - -The horrors of that Revolution occasioned a temporary reaction and -checked the triumphs of the Freemasons. But well they know how to repair -their broken fortunes, bide their time, and reappear with renewed force. - -Barruel, who was an eye-witness of the events of the period, and also -himself intimately acquainted with many Freemasons in Paris, relates that -the brethren, considering that the time had come when they were free to -publish the secret they had sworn to keep, shouted aloud: “At last our -goal is reached; from this day France will be one vast lodge, and all -Frenchmen Freemasons.” - -A strong reaction of disgust and terror at the satanic orgies of -Freemasonry in the ascendant, moderated for a while this shout of -triumph. But in the disasters inflicted on France by the conquering -Germans, the “craft” thought to find a recurring opportunity. If the -Communist attempt at Paris in 1871 was not originally planned by the -Freemasons, they openly and officially joined it. “A procession composed -of at least five thousand persons, in which members of all the grades -took part, wearing their insignia, and in which one hundred and fifty -lodges of France were represented, wended its way to the town hall of -Paris. Maillet, bearing the red flag as a token of universal peace, -headed the band, and openly proclaimed, in a speech which met with -the approval of all present, that the new Commune was the antitype of -Solomon’s temple and the corner-stone of the social fabric about to be -raised by the efforts of the craft. The negotiations carried on with the -government of Versailles on behalf of the socialists, and the way in -which they planted the banners of the craft on the walls of the capital, -accompanying this action with a threat of instantly joining the ranks of -the combatants if a single shot were fired at one of those banners (of -which a graphic account appeared in the _Figaro_ at the time), was all -of a piece with the sentiments they expressed” (_The Secret Warfare of -Freemasonry_, p. 172). - -_Figaro_ closed its account of these strange events with the following -reflections: “But when posterity shall be informed that in the middle -of the XIXth century, in the midst of an unbelieving generation, which -openly denied God and his Christ, under the very guns of an enemy in -possession of all the French fortresses, hostilities were all at once -suspended, and the course of a portentous and calamitous civil war -interrupted because, forsooth, Brother Thirifoque, accompanied by two -Knights Kadosch, went to offer to M. Thiers’ acceptance the golden mallet -of supreme command (in the craft)--when, I say, this story is told to -those who come after us, it will sound in their ears as a nursery tale, -utterly unworthy of credence.”[35] - -In _Révélations d’un Franc-maçon au lit de mort, pièce authentique, -publicé, par_ M. de Hallet (Courtrai, 1826, p. 10), we find the -following: “We must restore man to his primeval rights, no longer -recognizing rank and dignity--two things the mere sight of which offends -the eye of man and wounds his self-love. Obedience is a mere chimera, and -has no place in the wise plans of Providence.” - -In the _Astræa, Taschenbuch für Freimaurer_, von Bruder Sydow (1845), an -orator thus speaks: “That which is destined to destruction must in the -course of things be destroyed; and if human powers resist this law, at -the behest of fate, a stronger power will appear upon the scene to carry -out the eternal decrees of Providence. The Reformation of the church, -as well as the French Revolution, proves the existence of this law.… -Revolution is a crisis necessary to development.” - -The _Révélations_ says: “The poison must be neutralized by means of its -antidote, revolution must succeed to obedience, vengeance follow upon -effeminacy, power must grapple with power, and the reign of superstition -yield before that of the one true natural religion.” - -Barruel, who had been a master Mason, states that the oath administered -to him was: “My brother, are you prepared to execute every command you -may receive from the Grand Master, even should contrary orders be laid on -you by king or emperor, or any other ruler whatever?” - -“The grade of Kadosch”--the thirtieth grade--writes Barruel (p. 222), -“is the soul of Freemasonry, and the final object of its plots is the -reintroduction of absolute liberty and equality through the destruction -of all royalty and the abrogation of all religious worship.” - -“Socialism, Freemasonry, and communism have, after all, a common origin” -(The _Latomia_--an organ of the craft--vol. xii. p. 237). - -_Le Libertaire_, a Masonic journal published in this city, had the -following in 1858: “The _Libertaire_ knows no country but that which is -common to all. He is a sworn foe to restraints of every kind. He hates -the boundaries of countries; he hates the boundaries of fields, houses, -workshops; he hates the boundaries of family.” - -Is it within the power of the human mind to conceive of any possible -individual or spiritual incarnation more deeply, vividly, and distinctly -branded with the note-mark or sign of Antichrist, given to us by the -Holy Spirit some two thousand years ago, by which we might recognize him -when he appeared--“the lawless one,” “spurning authority”--ὁ ἄνομος, qui -contemnunt dominationem? - -And when we add to this, the one special and most wicked and lawless -characteristic of the “craft”--its portentous mystery--to our thinking, -they must willingly, and of set purpose, close their eyes who fail -to detect in it the very Antichrist whom the apostle declares shall -be manifested in the last days, after the apostasy, and whom he -designates by the epithet τὸ μυστήριον τῆς ἀνομίας--“the mystery of -lawlessness”--which he tells us had even then, at the very cradle of -the church, begun to put in movement its long conspiracy against the -salvation of mankind: τὸ γὰρ μυστηριον ἢδη ενεργεῖται τῆς ἀνομίας--“for -the mystery of lawlessness is even now already working.” - -No sooner was Christ born than his infant life was sought; no sooner -did he begin to teach than “the ancient serpent” sought his ruin; just -before the triumph of his resurrection the enemy of mankind seemed to -have finally and completely triumphed in his crucifixion; no sooner had -his church, brought to life by his resurrection, begun her work of saving -mankind than the devil was at work with his “mystery of lawlessness” -for her destruction. All along it is Antichrist dogging the steps of -Christ; before the second coming of Christ there is to be the second -coming of Antichrist; before the final triumph over evil and revelation -of the sons of God, Antichrist is to have that his last open and avowed -manifestation--ἀποκάλυψις--and success, which the craft of Freemasonry is -already so far on the road to compassing. - -Whether or no he is to receive a serious check before that terrific -triumph over all but the few remaining elect we know not. But so -unmistakable is his present manifestation that it is woe to those who -blink their eyes and follow in his wake! Woe to those whose judicial -blindness causes them to “believe a lie”! Woe to those who are caught -napping! - -The next of the indications given us by the Holy Spirit of the Antichrist -is his _modus operandi_--his method--the way in which he will effect -his purposes, “whose coming is according to the way of working of -Satan”--_cujus est adventus secundum operationem Satanæ_. - -The beast with seven heads and ten horns crowned with diadems described -in the Apocalypse is, we are there told, fully commissioned with his -own power by the red dragon, whom we are distinctly informed is the old -serpent, who is called the devil (διάβολος, or slanderer), “Satan, who -deceives the whole world.” - -Now, Satan is designated as “the prince of darkness” in opposition to -Christ, “who is the true light, enlightening every one that cometh -into the world”; he is the father of those who “hate the light because -their deeds are evil.” When he would destroy Christ, “night was his -hour and the power of darkness.” But in taking a survey of the craft of -Freemasonry, what first seizes our attention? Is it not the profound -darkness in which all its operations are veiled? Those terrible oaths of -secrecy, made under the assured menace of assassination, attended with -all that sanguinary gibberish, the lie involved in which is not known -until the “seared conscience” is already in the chains of hell--surely, -if anything is, these are “secundum operationem Satanæ.” - -In the _Vienna Freemason’s Journal_, MSS. for circulation in the craft, -second year of issue, No. 1, p. 66, is the following: “We wander amidst -our adversaries, shrouded in threefold darkness. Their passions serve as -wires, whereby, unknown to themselves, we set them in motion and compel -them unwittingly to work in union with us.” - -In a work written in High-German, the authorship of which is ascribed -to a Prof. Hoffman of Vienna, the contents of which are supported by -documentary evidence, and of which a Dutch translation was published in -Amsterdam in 1792, which was reprinted at the Hague in 1826, the method -of working of this “mystery of lawlessness” is thus summed up: - -“2. To effect this, a literary association must be formed to promote the -circulation of our writings, and suppress, as far as possible, those of -our opponents. - -“3. For this end we must contrive to have in our pay the publishers of -the leading literary journals of the day, in order that they may turn -into ridicule and heap contempt on everything written in a contrary -interest to our own. - -“4. ‘He that is not with us is against us.’ Therefore we may persecute, -calumniate, and tread down such an one without scruple; individuals like -this are noxious insects which one shakes from the blossoming tree and -crushes beneath one’s foot. - -“5. Very few can bear to be made to look ridiculous; let ridicule, -therefore, be the weapon employed against persons who, though by no means -devoid of sense, show themselves hostile to our schemes. - -“6. In order the more quickly to attain our end, the middle classes of -society must be thoroughly imbued with our principles; the lower orders -and the mass of the population are of little importance, as they may -easily be moulded to our will. The middle classes are the principal -supporters of the government; to gain them we must work on their -passions, and, above all, bring up the rising generation in our ideas, as -in a few years they will be in their turn masters of the situation. - -“7. License in morals will be the best means of enabling us to provide -ourselves with patrons at court--persons who are nevertheless totally -ignorant of the importance of our cause. It will suffice for our purpose -if we make them absolutely indifferent to the Christian religion. They -are for the most part careless enough without us. - -“8. If our aims are to be pursued with vigor, it is of absolute necessity -to regard as enemies of enlightenment and of philosophy all those who -cling in any way to religious or civil prejudices, and exhibit this -attachment in their writings. They must be viewed as beings whose -influence is highly prejudicial to the human race, and a great obstacle -to its well-being and progress. On this account it becomes the duty of -each one of us to impede their action in all matters of consequence, -and to seize the first suitable opportunity which may present itself of -putting them entirely _hors du combat_. - -“9. We must ever be on the watch to make all changes in the state serve -our own ends; political parties, cabals, brotherhoods, and unions--in -short, everything that affords an opportunity of creating disturbances -must be an instrument in our hands. For it is only on the ruins of -society as it exists at present that we can hope to erect a solid -structure on the natural system, and ensure to the worshippers of nature -the free exercise of their rights.” - -If this method of working, _operatio_, is not _secundum adventum Satanæ_, -we should be glad to know what is. Herein we find every feature of -Antichrist and his hosts which the Holy Ghost has drawn for our warning. -They are heaped together in such hideous combination throughout this -summary as scarcely to need particularizing. Our readers may not, -however, be unwilling that we should single them out one by one as they -appear more or less prominently in the several paragraphs; premising that -throughout one characteristic reigns and prevails, and, indeed, lends -its color to all the rest, that special attribute of “the father of -lies”--falsehood! - -We will take the paragraphs in order, and photograph their most prominent -Antichristian features. - -_The first._--Spurning authority. Giving ear to spirits of error and -doctrines of demons. - -Speaking lies in hypocrisy, having a conscience seared. - -Blasphemers. - -Mockers, walking according to their own desires; animals, not having the -Spirit. - -Mockers in deception, walking according to their own lusts. - -_The second and third._--Lovers of themselves, lawless, proud, malicious, -traitors, froward, discourteous, fearful, mockers in deception. - -_The fourth._--Calumniators, cruel, traitors. - -_The fifth._--Mockers in deception. - -_The sixth._--Traitors, without affection, without peace. - -_The seventh._--Traitors, walking in impieties, walking according to -their own lusts, incontinent. - -_The eighth._--Having their conscience seared, without peace, cruel. - -_The ninth._--Spurning authority, traitors, lawless, without peace. - -It must be borne in mind, moreover, that these are not merely -repulsive infirmities of individuals, but the essential and inevitable -characteristics deliberately adopted by the craft of Freemasons, and -which it cannot be without, if they are the brand which the finger of -God has marked upon the loathsome brow of the Antichrist of “the last -time.”[36] - -In illustration of the former of these we quote the words of Brother -Gotthold Salomon, D.Ph., preacher at the new Synagogue at Hamburg, member -of the lodge entitled “The Dawn in the East,” in Frankfort-on-Main, who -thus writes in his _Stimmen aus Osten_, MSS. for the brethren: “Why is -there not a trace of anything appertaining to the Christian Church to be -found in the whole ritual of Freemasonry? Why is not the name of Jesus -once mentioned, either in the oath administered, or in the prayers on the -opening of the lodges, or at the Masonic banquets? Why do Masons reckon -time, not from the birth of Christ, but from the creation of the world, -as do the Jews? Why does not Freemasonry make use of a single Christian -symbol? Why have we the compasses, the triangle, the hydrometer, -instead of the cross and other emblems of the Passion? Why have wisdom, -beauty, and strength superseded the Christian triad of faith, hope, and -charity?”[37] - -Brother Jochmus Müller, president of the late German-Catholic Church at -Berlin, says in his _Kirchenreform_ (vol. iii. p. 228): “We have more in -common with a free-thinking, honest paganism than with a narrow-minded -Christianity.”[38] - -In the Waarscherwing (vol. xi. Nos. 2 and 8) we find the following: - -“The laws of the Mosaic and Christian religions are the contemptible -inventions of petty minds bent on deceiving others; they are the most -extravagant aberrations of the human intellect. - -“The selfishness of priests and the despotism of the great have for -centuries upheld this system (Christianity), since it enabled them to -rule mankind with a rod of iron by means _of its rigid code of morality_, -and to confirm their power over weak minds by means of certain oracular -utterances, in reality the product of their own invention, but palmed off -on the world as the words of revelation.”[39] - -In a review of Kirchenlehre and Ketzerglaube by Dr. A. Drechsler in -vol. iv. of the _Latomia_, we find: “The last efforts made to uphold -ecclesiastical Christianity occasioned its complete expulsion from the -realm of reason; for they proved but too plainly that all negotiations -for peace must result in failure. Human reason became aware of the -irreconcilable enmity existing between its own teachings and the dogmas -of the church.” - -At a congress of Masons held at a villa near Locarno, in the district -of Novara, preparatory to a socialistic demonstration to be held in the -Colosseum at Rome, in answer to the sapient question, “What new form of -worship is to supersede Catholicism?” the equally sapient answer was -returned, “Communist principles with a new religious ideal.” - -From a document published, the author of _Secret Warfare of Freemasonry_ -tells us,[40] by the Orient of Brussels, “to the greater glory of the -Supreme Architect of the world, in the year of _true light_ 5838” (1838), -we quote the following: - -“1. That at the head of every document issued by the brethren, in an -individual or corporate capacity, should stand a profession of faith -in our lawgiver Jesus, the son of Mary Amram (the Josue of the Old -Testament), the invariable formula to be employed being, ‘To the glory of -the Great Architect of the Universe,’ … to expose and oppose the errors -of pope and priest, who commence everything in the name of their Trinity. - -… - -“3. That in remembrance of the Last Supper or Christian love-feast -of Jesus, the Son of Mary Amram, an account of which is given in the -Arabic traditions and in the Koran, a solemn festival should be held, -accompanied by a distribution of bread, in commemoration of an ancient -custom observed by the slaves of eating bread together, and of their -deliverance by means of the liberator (Josue). The distribution is to -be accompanied by these memorable words: ‘This is the bread of misery -and oppression which our fathers were forced to eat under the Pharaos, -the priests of Juda; whosoever hungers, let him come and eat; this is -the Paschal sacrifice; come unto us, all you who are oppressed; yet this -one year more in Babylon, and the next year shall see us free men!’ -This instructive, and at the same time commemorative, supper of the -Rosicrucians is the counterpart of the Supper of the Papists.” - -Dr. Dupuy, indeed, informs us of the corrupt portion of the Order of -Templars, that “Receptores dicebant illis quos recipiebant, Christum -non esse verum Deum, et ipsum fuisse falsum, non fuisse passum pro -redemptione humani generis, sed pro sceleribus suis”--“They who received -said to those whom they received that Christ was not really God; that he -was himself false, and did not suffer for the redemption of the human -race, but for his own crimes.” - -In harmony with all this was the offensively blasphemous utterance of Mr. -Frothingham at the Masonic hall in this city some weeks ago, at which the -New York _Tablet_ expressed a just indignation--an indignation which must -have been shared by all who believe, in any way or form, in Jesus Christ, -Redeemer of the world: “Tom Paine has keyed my moral being up to a higher -note than the Jesus of Nazareth.” - -The argument we have advanced seems to us to be convincing enough as it -stands. Could we have taken a historical survey of the μυστήριον τῆς -ανομίας in the two hemispheres from the “apostasy” up to the present -time, but especially during the last fifteen years, it would have -acquired the force of a logical demonstration. The limits to which we -are necessarily restrained in a monthly periodical put this completely -out of our power. Whoever he may be who has intelligently appreciated -the political events of the latter period will be able to supply the -deficiency for himself. Merely hinting, therefore, at the impossibility -of getting anti-Freemason appreciations of contemporary events before -the public--well known to all whose position has invited them to that -duty--as an illustration of the plan of action laid down in the second -clause of the above summary; at the recent unconcealed advocacy of the -“craft” by the New York _Herald_, and the more cautious conversion of -the London Times,[41] of that in the third; at the ribaldry of the press -under Freemason influence directed against the bishops, clergy, and -prominent laymen, as well as against the Pope; the nicknames they are -for ever coining, such as “clericals,” “ultramontanes,” “retrogrades,” -“reactionists”; their blasphemous travesties of the solemnities of -religion in theatres and places of public resort, and so on, of that -in the fourth and fifth; at the world-wide effort to induce states to -exclude religious influences from the education of youth, of that of -the sixth; at Victor Emanuel, the Prince of Wales, etc., of that of the -seventh; at the assassination of Count Rossi at the beginning of the -present Pope’s reign, the quite recent assassination of the President of -Ecuador, the repeated attempts at assassination of Napoleon III., the -deposition of so many sovereigns, even of the Pope himself--so far as -it was in their power to depose him--of that of the eighth; and at the -whole area of Europe strewn with the wreck of revolution, of that of the -ninth; we pass on to the last two marks of Antichrist with which we brand -the Freemason confraternity--_Qui solvit Jesum_ (Who abolishes Christ) -and _Qui adversatur et extollitur supra omne quod dicitur Deus, aut quod -colitur, ita ut in templo Dei sedeat ostendens se tanquam sit Deus_ (Who -opposes himself to, and raises himself above, all that is called God, or -is worshipped, so that he may sit in the temple of God, making himself -out to be, as it were, God). - -Barruel, who was completely versed in Freemasonry, and who had been -himself a Mason, states (p. 222) that “the grade of Kadosch is the soul -of Freemasonry, and the final object of its plots is the reintroduction -of absolute liberty and equality through the destruction of all royalty -and the abrogation of all religious worship.” And he backs this statement -by a tragic incident in the history of a friend of his, who, because he -was a Rosicrucian, fancied himself to be “in possession of the entire -secret of Freemasonry.” It is too long to admit of our quoting it. -The reader anxious for information we refer to _The Secret Warfare of -Freemasonry_ (pp. 142-144). - -_Le Libertaire_, a New York paper, in the interests of Freemasonry, about -the year 1858 had the following: “As far as religion is concerned, the -_Libertaire_ has none at all; he protests against every creed; he is an -atheist and materialist, openly denying the existence of God and of the -soul.” - -In 1793 belief in God was a crime prohibited in France under pain of -death. - -Those of our readers who have some acquaintance with modern philosophy -we need here only remind of the _natura naturans_ and _natura naturata_ -of Spinoza, born a Jew, but expelled from the synagogue for his advocacy -of these principles of Freemasonry: “The desire to find truth is a noble -impulse, the search after it a sacred avocation; and ample field for this -is offered by both the mysterious rites peculiar to the craft and those -of the Goddess Isis, adored in our temples as the wisest and fairest of -deities.”--_Vienna Freemason’s Journal_ (3d year, No. 4, p. 78 et seq.) - -In the _Rappel_, a French organ of Freemasonry, was the following passage -a few weeks ago: “God is nothing but a creation of the human mind. In a -word, God is the ideal. If I am accused of being an atheist, I should -reply I prefer to be an atheist, and have of God an idea worthy of him, -to being a spiritualist and make of God a being impossible and absurd.” - -In short, the craft is so far advanced in its course of triumph as to -have at length succeeded in familiarizing the public ear with the denial -of the existence of a God; so that it is now admitted as one amongst the -“open questions” of philosophy. - -Our illustration of the crowning indications of the satanic mark of -Antichrist afforded by the Freemasons--the sitting in the temple of God, -so as to make himself out to be, as it were, God--will be short but -decisive. - -The well-known passage in the last work of the late Dr. Strauss, to the -effect that any worship paid to a supposed divine being is an outrage on -_the dignity of human nature_, goes far enough, we should have thought, -in this direction; but they go beyond even this. - -A Dutch Mason, N. J. Mouthan, in a work entitled _Naa een werknur -in’t Middenvertrek Losse Bladzijde; Zaarboekje voor Nederlandsche -Vrijmetselaren_ (5872, p. 187 et seq.), says: “The spirit which animates -us is an eternal spirit; it knows no division of time or individual -existence. A sacred unity pervades the wide firmament of heaven; it is -our one calling, our one duty, our one God. Yes, we are God! We ourselves -are God!” - -In the Freemasons’ periodical “for circulation amongst the brethren” -(Altenberg, 1823, vol. i., No. 1) is the following: “The idea of religion -indirectly includes all men as men; but in order to comprehend this -aright, a certain degree of education is necessary, and unfortunately -the overweening egoism of the educated classes prevents their taking -in so sublime a conception of mankind. For this reason our temples -consecrated to the _worship of humanity_ can as yet be opened only to a -few.[42] We should, indeed, expose ourselves to a charge of idolatry, -were we to attempt to personify the moral idea of humanity in the way -in which divinity is usually personified.… On this account, therefore, -it is advisable not to reveal the cultus of humanity to the eyes of the -uninitiated, until at length the time shall come when, from east to west, -this lofty conception of humanity shall find a place in every breast, -this worship shall alone prevail, and all mankind shall be gathered into -one fold and one family.” - -The principles of this united family, “seated in the temple of God,” -the Masonic philosopher Helvetius expounds to us; from whom we learn -that “whatever is beneficial to all in general may be called virtue; -what is prejudicial, vice and sin. Here the voice of interest has -alone to speak.… Passions are only the intensified expression of -self-interest in the individual; witness the Dutch people, who, when -hatred and revenge urged them to action, achieved great triumphs, and -made their country a powerful and glorious name. And as sensual love is -universally acknowledged to afford happiness, purity must be condemned -as pernicious, the marriage bond done away with, and children declared -to be the property of the state.”[43] The father of such a “one fold and -one family” no one not himself signed with the “mark of the beast” could -hesitate to point out. The consummation above anticipated we are bid to -expect. Nor is it now far off. They who are not “deceived” have, however, -the consoling assurance that _our_ Lord will “slay him with the spirit of -his mouth, and destroy him with the illumination of his coming.” - - -SIR THOMAS MORE. - -_A HISTORICAL ROMANCE._ - -FROM THE FRENCH OF THE PRINCESSE DE CRAON. - -II. - -“You understand, M. de Soria,” said Wolsey to one of his secretaries, in -whom he placed the greatest confidence. “As soon as you see him, present -yourself before him, give the usual password, and then conduct him -through the subterranean passage that leads to the banks of the Thames. -Bring him here by the secret stairway. He will be dressed in a cloak and -suit of brown clothes, wearing a black felt hat tied round with a red -ribbon.” - -“My lord, you may feel perfectly satisfied,” replied the secretary with a -self-sufficient air, “that all your orders will be punctually executed. -But he cannot possibly arrive for an hour yet; I will vouch for that, my -lord.” - -“Go, however, sir,” replied the minister, impatiently; “I fear being -taken by surprise. Have less confidence in your own calculations, sir, -and be more prompt in your actions.” And saying this he made a sign for -him to go at once. - -The door had scarcely closed on Soria, when the cardinal, who sat writing -in silence, heard in the court of the chancellor’s palace an unusual -noise. For some time he continued his work; but the tumult increasing, -and hearing loud bursts of laughter, he arose, opened the window and went -out on a high balcony, whence he had a view of all that was passing in -the principal court. - -There a crowd of servants had assembled, and formed a circle around an -old woman who was apparently the object of their ridicule. Her large felt -hat, around which was tied a band of red ribbon, had fallen to the ground -leaving uncovered, not the head of an old woman, as they had supposed, -but one thickly covered with short hair, black and curling. - -On seeing this head-dress the crowd redoubled their cries, and one of -them advancing suddenly, raised the mask concealing the features. What -was their surprise to find under that disguise a great rubicund face, -the nose and cheeks of which were reddened with the glow that wine -and strong drink alone produce, and giving sufficient evidence of the -sex to which it belonged. The man, seeing he was discovered, defended -himself with vigor, and, dealing sharp blows with his feet and hands, -endeavored to escape from his tormentors; but he was unable to resist -their superior numbers. They threw themselves upon him, tearing off his -brown cloak, and one of his blue cotton petticoats. The wretched creature -cried out vociferously, loudly threatening them with the indignation of -the cardinal; but the valets heard nothing, vain were all his efforts -to escape them. Nevertheless, being exceedingly robust, he at length -succeeded in overthrowing two of his antagonists, and then, dashing -across the courtyard, he sprang quickly into the second court, where, -finding a ladder placed at the window of a granary, he clambered up with -all the dexterity of a frightened cat, and hid himself under a quantity -of straw which had been stored there. In the meantime, the cardinal had -recognized from his elevated position on the balcony the red ribbon that -announced the messenger for whom he awaited with so much anxiety. Greatly -enraged at the scene before him, and forgetting his dignity, he hurried -from the balcony, rushing through the apartments that led from his own -room (in which were seated the numerous secretaries of state, engaged -in the work of the government). Without addressing a word to them, he -descended the stairs so rapidly that in another instant he stood in the -midst of his servants, who were stupefied at finding themselves in the -presence of their master, all out of breath, bareheaded, and almost -suffocated with indignation. He commanded them in the most emphatic terms -to get out of his sight, which they did without waiting for a repetition -of the order. From every direction the pages and secretaries had -assembled, among them being M. de Soria, who was in great trepidation, -fearing some accident had happened to the individual whom he had been -instructed to introduce with such great secrecy into the palace. His -fears were more than realized on seeing the cardinal, who cast on him -a glance of intense anger, and in a loud voice exclaimed: “Go, sir, to -the assistance of this unfortunate man who is being subjected to such -outrages in my own house. Not a few of those who have attempted to drive -him off shall themselves be sent away!” Then the cardinal, giving an -authoritative signal, those around him understood that their presence was -no longer desired, and immediately ascended the stairs and returned to -their work. - -Wolsey himself quickly followed them; and M. de Soria, greatly confused, -in a short time appeared and ushered into the minister’s cabinet the -messenger, who was still suffering from the effects of the contest in -which he had been compelled to engage. - -“Your letters! your letters!” said Wolsey eagerly, as soon as they were -alone. “All is right, Wilson. I am satisfied. I see that you are no -coward, and all that you have just now suffered will be turned to your -advantage. Nevertheless, it is quite fortunate that I came to your rescue -when I did, for I really do not know what those knaves might have done to -you.” - -“They would have thrown me into the water, I believe, like a dog,” said -Wilson, laughing. “Oh! that was nothing though. I have been through worse -than that in my life. All I was afraid of was, that they might discover -the package of letters and the money.” - -As he said this, the courier proceeded to unfasten the buckles of an -undervest, made of chamois leather, that he wore closely strapped around -his body. After he had taken off the vest he unfastened a number of bands -of woollen cloth which were crossed on his breast. In each one of these -bands was folded a great number of letters, of different forms and sizes. -Then he unstrapped from his waist and laid on the table a belt that -contained quite a large sum of money in gold coin, that Francis I. had -sent to the minister. The avarice of Wolsey was so well understood by -the different princes and sovereigns of Europe that they were accustomed -to send him valuable presents, or to confer on him rich annuities, -whenever they wished to gain him over to their interests. Wolsey had for -a long time been engaged in a correspondence with France. He carried -it on with the utmost secrecy, for he well understood if discovered by -Henry he would never be pardoned. His apprehensions were still greater, -now that he was endeavoring to direct the influence of his political -schemes, and that of the paid agents whom he had at the different courts -of Europe, towards bringing about a reconciliation between the Emperor -Charles V. and the King of France; hoping by such an alliance to prevent -the marriage of the king with Anne Boleyn, and thus to destroy the hopes -of that ambitious family. He saw with intense satisfaction his intrigues -succeeding far beyond his most sanguine expectations. - -Francis I. anxiously entreated him to use his influence with the King of -England, in order to dispose him favorably toward the treaty of peace -which he was determined to make with Charles V. “I assure you,” he wrote, -“that I have so great a desire to see my children, held so long now as -hostages, that I would without hesitation willingly give the half of my -kingdom to ensure that happiness. If you will aid me in removing the -obstacles that Henry may interpose to the accomplishment of this purpose, -you may count on my gratitude. The place of meeting is already arranged; -we have chosen the city of Cambrai; and I have felt great pleasure in the -assurance that you prefer, above all other places, that the conference -should be held in that city.” Charmed with his success, the cardinal sent -immediately in quest of Cromwell, whom he found every day becoming more -and more indispensable to him, and to whom he wished to communicate the -happiness he experienced in receiving this joyful intelligence; but, at -the same time, closely concealing the manner in which he had obtained the -information. - - * * * * * - -On a terrace of Windsor Castle a tent had been erected of heavy Persian -cloth interwoven with silk and gold. Voluminous curtains of royal purple, -artistically looped on each side with heavy silk cords, descended in -innumerable folds of most graceful drapery. Rare flowers embalmed the -air in every direction with exquisite perfumes, which penetrated into an -apartment of the royal palace, through the open windows of which were -seen the richness and elegance of the interior. - -In this apartment were seated three persons apparently engaged in an -animated conversation. - -“So there is yet another difficulty!” cried a young girl, a charming and -beautiful blonde, who seemed at this moment in an extremely impatient and -excited mood. “But what say you?” she added presently, addressing herself -with vivacity to a gentleman seated immediately in front of her; “speak -now, Sir Cromwell; say, what would you do in this desperate situation? Is -there no way in which we can prevent this treaty from being concluded?” - -“Well truly, madam,” he replied, “it will be useless to attempt it. The -Duchess of Angoulême has at this moment, perhaps, already arrived at -Cambrai, for the purpose of signing the treaty; and we cannot reasonably -hope that the Archduchess Margaret, who accompanies her, will not agree -with her on every point, since the preliminaries have already been -secretly concluded between the Emperor and the King of France.” - -“Well, my dear Cromwell,” she replied, in a familiar and angry tone, -“what shall we do then?” - -“If I have any counsel to give you, madam,” answered Cromwell, with an -air of importance, “it is to begin by preventing the king from consenting -to the departure of Cardinal Wolsey; because his greatest desire now -is to be sent as envoy to the congress at Cambrai, and you may be well -assured, if he wishes to go there, it is certainly not with the intention -of being useful to you, but, on the contrary, to injure you.” - -“Do you think so?” replied Lady Anne. “Then I shall most certainly -endeavor to prevent him from making his appearance there. But has he told -you nothing about the letter I wrote him the other day?” - -“Excuse me, madam,” replied Cromwell, “he has shown me the letter; in -fact, he conceals nothing from me.” - -“Well! and did it not give him pleasure? It seemed to me it ought to -please him, for I made protestations of friendship sufficient to reassure -him, and remove all apprehensions he may have felt that I would injure -him in the estimation of the king.” - -“He has said nothing to me on the subject,” replied Cromwell, “but I -remarked that he read the letter over several times, and when he handed -it to me it was with a very ominous shake of the head. Understanding so -well his every gesture and thought, I comprehended perfectly he was but -little convinced of what you had written, and that he has no confidence -in it. Moreover, madam, it is necessary that you should know that Wolsey -has been most active in his endeavors to forward the divorce so long as -he believed the king would espouse a princess of the house of France; but -since he knows it is _you_ he has chosen, his mind is entirely changed, -and he tries in every possible manner to retard the decision and render -success impossible.” - -“It is clear as day, my dear sister!” exclaimed Lord Rochford, earnestly -interrupting Cromwell. “You know nothing about the affairs you are -trying to manage; therefore you will never be able to rid yourself of -this imperious minister. I have already told you that all your efforts -to flatter or appease him will be in vain. He believes you fear him, and -he likes you no better on that account. What Cromwell says is but too -true, and is verified by the fact that nothing advances in this affair. -Every day some new formalities are introduced, or advantages claimed, -or they wait for new instructions and powers. They tell us constantly -that Campeggio is inflexible; that nothing will induce him to deviate -from his instructions and the usages of the court of Rome. But whom -has he chosen--with whom has he conferred? Is it not Wolsey? And he -has certainly prevented us from obtaining anything but what he himself -designed to accomplish.” - -“You are right, brother!” cried Anne Boleyn, with a sudden gesture of -displeasure. “It is necessary to have this haughty and jealous minister -removed. Henceforth all my efforts shall be directed to this end. It may, -perhaps, be less difficult than we suppose. The king has been violently -opposed to this treaty, which Wolsey has so earnestly labored to bring -about--or at least the king suspects him of it--and he told me yesterday -that it was vain for the king of France to address him as ‘his good -brother and perpetual ally,’ for he regarded as enemies all who presumed -to oppose his will. ‘Because,’ he added, ‘I understand very well, -beforehand, what their terms will be. Once become the ally of Charles V., -Francis will use all his efforts to prevent the repudiation of his aunt; -but nothing under heaven shall divert me from my purpose. I will resist -all the counsels he may give me!’” - -“He is much disappointed,” said Lord Rochford, “that the Pope should have -been raised, as it were, from the dead. His death would have greatly -lessened these difficulties; for he holds firmly to his opinions. I am -much deceived, or the commission of legates will pass all their time, and -a very long time too, without coming to any decision.” - -As Lord Rochford made this remark, his wife, the sister-in-law of Anne -Boleyn, entered the apartment, accompanied by the young wife of Lord -Dacre. Now, as Lady Rochford belonged entirely to the queen’s adherents, -and Lady Anne was very much in fear of her, the tone of conversation was -immediately changed, becoming at once general and indifferent. - -“The Bishop of Rochester has returned to London,” carelessly remarked -Anne Boleyn, as she stooped to pick up a little embroidered glove. - -“Yes, madam,” replied Cromwell. “I have seen him, and I find him looking -quite old and feeble.” - -“Ah! I am truly sorry to hear it,” replied Lady Anne; “the king is very -much attached to him. I have often heard him say he regarded him as the -most learned and remarkable man in England, and that he congratulated -himself on possessing in his kingdom a prelate so wise, virtuous, and -accomplished.” - -“What would you wish, madam?” replied Cromwell, who never could suffer -any one to be eulogized in his presence; “all these old men should give -place to us--it is but just; they have had their time.” - -“Ah! Sir Cromwell,” replied Lady Boleyn, smiling, “you have no desire, -I am sure, to be made bishop; therefore, the place he will leave vacant -will not be the one for you.” - -“You have decided that question very hastily, madam. Who knows? I may one -day, perhaps, be a curate. It has been predicted of me.” - -“Oh! that would indeed be a very strange sight,” she replied, laughing -aloud. “You certainly have neither the turn nor the taste for the office. -How would you ever manage to leave off the habit of frequenting our -drawing-rooms? Truly we could not afford to lose you, and would certainly -get up a general revolt, opposing your ordination, rather than be -deprived of your invaluable society.” - -“You are very kind, madam,” said Cromwell; “but I should perhaps not -be so ridiculous as you imagine. I should wear a grave and severe -countenance and an air of the greatest austerity.” - -“Oh! I understand you now,” she replied; “you would not be converted; -you would only become a hypocrite!” - -“I have a horror of hypocrites!” said Cromwell scornfully. - -“I wonder what you are, then?” thought Lady Rochford. - -“And I also,” replied Lady Anne. “I have a perfect detestation of -hypocrites; it is better to be bad out and out!” - -“Is it true there has been a riot in the city?” asked Lady Rochford. - -“Yes, madam,” replied Cromwell; “but it was suppressed on the spot. It -was only a hundred wool-spinners, carders, and drapers, who declared they -were no longer able to live since the market of the Netherlands has been -closed, and that they would soon starve if their old communications were -not re-established. The most mutinous were arrested, the others were -frightened and quickly dispersed.” - -“Oh!” said Lord Rochford, “there is nothing to fear from such a rabble -as that; they are too much afraid of their necks. Let them clamor, and -let us give ourselves no uneasiness on the subject. I met Sir Thomas More -this morning going to the king with a petition which they had addressed -to him yesterday.” - -“Why was he charged with the commission?” asked young Lady Dacre. - -“In virtue of his office as sheriff of the city,” replied Cromwell. - -“He constitutes, then, part of our city council?” she replied. “He is a -man I have the greatest desire to know; they say such marvellous things -of him, and I find his poetry full of charming and noble thoughts.” - -“I see,” replied Cromwell, “you have not read the spirited satire just -written by Germain de Brie? It points out the perfectly prodigious -faults of More’s productions. It is certainly an _anti-Morus_!” - -“I am inclined to think your opinion is prompted by a spirit of jealousy, -Sir Cromwell,” answered Lady Rochford, sharply. “Read, madam,” she -continued, addressing young Lady Sophia Dacre, “his _History of Richard -III._; I suppose Sir Cromwell will, at least, accord some merit to that -work?” - -“Entirely too light, and superficial indeed, madam,” said Cromwell; -“the author has confined himself wholly to a recital of the crimes -which conducted the prince to the throne. The style of that history is -very negligent, but, at the same time, very far above that of his other -works, and particularly of his _Utopia_, which is a work so extravagant, -a political system so impracticable, that I regard the book simply as -a wonderful fable, agreeable enough to listen to, but at which one is -obliged to laugh afterwards when thinking of the absurdities it contains.” - -“Your judgment is as invidious as it is false!” exclaimed Lady Rochford, -who always expressed her opinions bluntly, and without dissimulation. “If -it is true,” she continued, “that this philosophical dream can never be -realized, yet it is nevertheless impossible not to admire the wise and -virtuous maxims it contains. Above all others there is one I have found -so just, and so beautifully conceived, I could wish every young girl -capable of teaching it to her future husband. ‘How can it be supposed,’ -says the author, ‘that any man of honor and refinement could resolve -to abandon a virtuous woman, who had been the companion of his bosom, -and in whose society he had passed so many days of happiness; only -because time, at whose touch all things fade, had laid his destroying -hand upon the lovely features of that gentle wife, once so cherished and -adored? Because age, which has been the first and most incurable of all -the infirmities she has been compelled to drag after her, had forcibly -despoiled her of the charming freshness of her youth? Has that husband -not enjoyed the flower of her beauty and garnered in the most beautiful -days of her life, and will he forsake his wife now because she has become -feeble, delicate, and suffering? Shall he become inconstant and perjured -at the very moment when her sad condition demands of him a thousand -sacrifices, and claims a return to the faithful devotion and vows of -his early youth? Ah! into such a depth of unworthiness and degradation -we will not presume it possible for any man to descend! It was thus the -people of the Utopian Isle reasoned, declaring it would be the height of -injustice and barbarity to abandon one whom we had loved and cherished, -and who had been so devoted to us, at the moment when suffering and -affliction demanded of us renewed sympathy and a generous increase of -our tenderest care and consolations!’[44] And now, my dear sister,” she -added, fixing her eyes steadfastly on Lady Boleyn, “what do you think -of that passage? Are you not forcibly struck by the truth and justice -of the sentiment? Let me advise you when you marry to be well satisfied -beforehand that your husband entertains the same opinions.” - -As she heard these last words the beautiful face of Anne Boleyn became -suddenly suffused with a deep crimson, and for some moments not a word -was uttered by any one around her. They understood perfectly well that -Lady Rochford’s remarks were intended to condemn in the most pointed -manner the king’s conduct towards the queen, whose failing health was -entirely attributable to the mortification and suffering she endured on -account of her husband’s ingratitude and ill-treatment. - -In the meantime, the silence becoming every moment more and more -embarrassing, Anne Boleyn, forcibly assuming an air of gayety, declared -her sister was disposed to look very far into the future; “but,” she -added, “happily, my dear sister, neither you nor I are in a condition to -demand all those tender cares due to age and infirmity.” - -“Come, ladies, let us go,” said Cromwell in a jesting tone, hoping to -render himself agreeable to Lady Anne by relieving the embarrassment the -conversation had caused her. “I am unable to express my admiration for -Lady Rochford. She understands too well the practice of the Utopian laws -not to wish for the position of Dean of the Doctors of the University of -Oxford.” - -“You are very complimentary and jocose, sir,” replied Lady Rochford; -“and if you wish it, I will introduce you to one who will be personally -necessary if you should ever aspire to fill a position in that kingdom. -You must know, however, that their wise law-giver, Utopia, while he -accorded to each one liberty of conscience, confined that liberty within -legitimate and righteous bounds, in order to prevent the promulgation -of the pernicious doctrines of pretended philosophers, who endeavor -to debase the dignity of our exalted human nature; he also severely -condemned every opinion tending to degenerate into pure materialism, -or, what is more deplorable still, veritable atheism. The Utopians were -taught to believe in the reality of a future state, and in future rewards -and punishments. They detested and denounced all who presumed to deny -these truths, and, far from admitting them to the rank of citizens, they -refused even to class among men those who debased themselves to the -abject condition of vile animals. ‘What,’ they asked, ‘can be done with -a creature devoid of principle and without faith, whose only restraint -is fear of punishment, who without that fear would violate every law -and trample under foot those wise rules and regulations which alone -constitute the bulwark of social order and happiness? What confidence -can be reposed in an individual purely sensual, living without morals -and without hope, recognizing no obligation but to himself alone; who -limits his happiness to the present moment; whose God is his body; whose -law, his own pleasures and passions, in the gratification of which he -is at all times ready to proceed to the extremity of crime, provided he -can find means of escaping the vigilant eye of justice, and be a villain -with impunity? Such infamous characters are of course excluded from all -participation in municipal affairs, and all positions of honor and public -trust; they are veritable automatons, abandoned to the “error of their -ways,” wretched, wandering “cumberers of the earth” on which they live!’ -You perceive, Sir Cromwell,” continued Lady Rochford ironically, “that -my profound knowledge and retentive memory may prove very useful to you, -should you ever arrive at the Utopian Isle, for you must be convinced -that your own opinions would meet with very little favor in that country.” - -Cromwell, humiliated to the last degree, vainly endeavored to reply -with his usual audacity and spirit. Finding all efforts to recover his -self-possession impossible, he stammered forth a few incoherent words, -and hastily took his leave. - -The desire of winning the approbation of Anne Boleyn at the expense -of her sister-in-law had caused him to commit a great blunder, and -he received nothing in return to remove the caustic arrows from his -humiliated and deeply wounded spirit. Extremely brilliant and animated in -conversation, Lady Rochford was accustomed to “having the laugh entirely -on her own side,” which, knowing so very well, Anne had pretended not -to understand the conversation, although the remarks had been so very -piquant. - -As soon as he had retired Cromwell became the subject of conversation, -and Anne timidly, and with no little hesitation, ventured to remonstrate -with her sister-in-law, expressing her regret that the conversation -should have been made so personal, as she liked Cromwell very much. - -“And that is just what you are wrong in doing,” replied Lady Rochford; -“for he is a deceitful and dangerous man! He pretends to be extremely -devoted to you, but it is only because he believes he can make you -useful to himself; and he is full of avarice and ambition. This you -will discover when it is perhaps too late, and I advise you to reflect -seriously on the subject. It is so cruel to be mistaken in the choice of -a friend that, truly, the surer and better way would seem to be, to form -no friendships at all! There are so few, so very few, whose affections -are pure and disinterested, that they scarcely ever withstand the ordeal -of misfortune, or the loss of those extraneous advantages with which they -found us surrounded.” - -“You speak like a book, my dear sister,” cried Lady Boleyn, laughing -aloud; “just like a book that has been sent me from France, with such -beautiful silver clasps.” - -Saying this, she ran to fetch the book, which she had opened that evening -in the middle, not having sufficient curiosity to examine the title or -inquire the name of the author of the volume. She opened it naturally -at the same place, and read what follows, which was, as far as could be -discovered, the fragment of a letter: - -“You ask me for the definition of a friend! In reply, I am compelled to -declare that the term has become so vague and so obscure, it has been -used in so many senses, and applied to so many persons, I shall first -be obliged to give you a description of what is called a friend in -the world--a title equivalent, in my estimation, to the most complete -indifference, intermingled at the same time with no insignificant degree -of envy and jealousy. For instance, I hear M. de Clèves speaking of his -friend M. Joyeuse, and he remarks simply: ‘I know more about him than -anybody else; I have been his most intimate friend for a great many -years; he is meanly avaricious--I have reproached him for it a hundred -times.’ A little further on, and I hear the great Prof. de Chaumont -exclaim, ‘Valentino d’Alsinois is a most charming woman; everybody is -devoted to her. But this popularity cannot last long--she is full of -vanity; intolerably conceited and silly; it really amuses me!’ I go -on still further, and meet a friend who takes me enthusiastically by -both hands: ‘Oh! I expected a visit from you yesterday, and was quite -in despair that you did not come! You know how delighted I always am to -see you, and how highly I appreciate your visits!’ But I happen to have -very keen eyes, and an ear extremely acute and delicate; and I distinctly -heard her whisper to her friend as I approached them, ‘How fortunate -I have been to escape this visit!’ What a change! I did not think it -could last long. Well, with friends like these you will find the world -crowded; they will obstruct, so to speak, every hour of your life; but it -is rare indeed to encounter one who is true and loyal, a friend of the -heart! A man truly virtuous: and sincerely religious is alone capable -of comprehending and loving with pure and exalted friendship. A man of -the world, on the contrary, accustomed to refer everything to himself, -and consulting his own desires, becomes his own idol, and on the altar -of _self_ offers up the only sincere worship of which his sordid soul is -capable. And you will find he will always end by sacrificing to his own -interests and passions the dearest interests of the being who confided in -his friendship. - -“But with the sincere and earnest friend, love and gratitude are -necessities of his nature; they constitute the unbroken chain which links -all pure and reasonable friendship. He will assist his friend in all -emergencies, for he has assumed in a manner even his responsibilities. -He will never flatter; his counsel and advice, on the contrary, may be -severely administered, because it is impossible to be happy without -being virtuous, and the happiness of his friend is as dear to him as his -own. He is ready to sacrifice his own interests to those of his friend, -and none would dare attack his friend’s reputation in his presence; -for they know he will defend and sustain him under all circumstances, -sympathizing in his misfortunes, mingling tears with his tears--in a -word, that it is another self whom they would presume to attack. - -“Death itself cannot dissolve the ties of such an affection--the soul, -nearer to God, will continue to implore unceasingly for him the divine -benediction. Oh! what joy, what happiness, to participate in a friendship -so pure and exalted! He who can claim one such friend possesses a source -of unbounded joy, and an inexhaustible consolation of which cruel -adversity can never deprive him. If prosperity dazzles him with its -dangerous splendor, if sorrow pierce him with her dart, if melancholy -annihilate the life of his soul, then ever near him abides this friend, -like a precious gift which God alone had power to bestow!” - - * * * * * - -Queen Catherine was walking in that portion of the vast grounds of -Greenwich called the Queen’s Garden, which in happier days had often been -her favorite retreat. Jets of limpid water (conveyed by means of pipes -through the grounds) burst in every direction, and then fell in silvery -showers among the lovely parterres of flowers, and covered the green -velvet turf with a glittering veil of diamond-like spray. On the bosom of -the murmuring waters floated myriads of leaves and flowers, flung with -gentle hand by the wooing breeze, while thousands of gold fishes sported -amid their crystal depths. The eye of the stranger was at once arrested -and ravished by these marvels of nature and art, admiring the power and -riches thus united; but the queen, with slow and painful steps, only -sought this solitude for liberty there to indulge her tears in silence -and oblivion. - -At no great distance Mary, full of joy, engaged in the sportive plays of -the ladies of the queen. A golden insect or a brilliant butterfly was the -only conquest to which she aspired. Gaily flitting from place to place, -with step so light that her little feet scarcely impressed the delicate -white sand covering the walks, her shouts of expectation and happiness -were still powerless to rejoice the maternal heart. - -Catherine hastily withdrew from the scene. Fatigued and worn with -suffering, she regarded with painful indifference all that surrounded her. - -In the meantime one of the gardeners advanced towards her and presented a -bouquet. - -“Give it,” said she, “to one of my ladies.” And she turned away; but the -gardener would not withdraw. “The queen does not recognize me,” he said -at length in a low voice. - -“Ah! More,” exclaimed Catherine, greatly agitated. “Friend always -faithful! But why expose yourself thus to serve me? Go on. I will -follow!” And Catherine continued her walk until she reached a wide and -extended avenue planted with venerable old lindens. - -“More,” she exclaimed, trembling with fear, yet still indulging a slight -hope, “what have you to tell me? Speak, oh! speak quickly! I fear we may -be observed; every step of mine is watched.” - -“Madam,” cried More, “a general peace has been concluded. The emperor’s -difficulty with the Holy See is ended; he consents to surrender all the -conquered territory originally belonging to the Ecclesiastical States. -He binds himself to re-establish the dominion of the Medici in Florence; -he abandons Sforza, leaving the Pope absolute master of the destiny -of that prince and the sovereignty of the Milanese. Urged on by these -concessions, the two princesses cut short their negotiations, and the -treaty between France and Austria was concluded immediately. Your appeal -and protestation have been despatched, and conveyed safely out of the -kingdom. The messenger to whom they were entrusted was most rigorously -searched, but the papers were so securely and adroitly concealed they -were not discovered. They were carried to Antwerp by Peter Gilles, the -‘friend of my heart,’ and from thence he despatched them to Rome. Hope, -therefore hope; let us all hope!” - -“Ah! More,” replied the queen, who had listened with deep anxiety, “would -that I were able to acknowledge your services as I appreciate them. -Your friendship has been my only consolation. But I know not why it is, -hope every day grows more and more faint in my heart. And so utterly -insensible to joy have I become that it seems now I am incapable of aught -but suffering, and that for me I fear greater sorrow is to be added.” - -“What do you say, madam?” replied More. “How sadly discouraging and -painful to your servants to hear such reflections from you at the very -moment when everything becomes favorable to your cause. The emperor will -use his influence at the court of Rome, and Francis, between the two -allies, will at least be forced to remain neutral.” - -“What were the conditions of the Treaty of Cambrai?” asked the queen. - -“They were very hard and exacting,” replied More. “The king of France -entirely renounces his pretensions to Burgundy and Italy; thus nine years -of war, the battle of Pavia, and a humiliating captivity, become of no -avail. He sacrifices all, even his allies. Fearing to add to these harsh -conditions the reconciliation of their interests, he abandoned to the -mercy of the emperor, without the slightest stipulation, the Venetians, -the Florentines, the Duke of Ferrara, and the Neapolitan barons who were -attached to his arms.” - -“What a cruel error!” exclaimed the queen. “The prince has surely -forgotten that even in political and state affairs, he who once -sacrifices his friends cannot hope to recall them ever again to his -support. It is very evident that he has not more prudent nor wise -counsellors in his cabinet than skilful and accomplished generals in the -field. Who now among them all can be compared with Pescaire, Anthony de -Lêve, or the Prince of Orange?” - -“He might have had them, madam, if his own negligence and the wickedness -of his courtiers had not alienated and driven them away. The Constable -of Bourbon, Moran, and Doria would have powerfully counterbalanced the -talents and influence of the chiefs you have just named, had the king of -France engaged them in his own cause, instead of having to encounter them -in the ranks of his enemies. His undaunted courage and personal valor, -however, have alone caused the unequal and hopeless contest to be so long -continued.” - -“And what does your king say of these affairs?” asked the queen, -anxiously. - -“Alas! madam, he seems but little satisfied,” responded More, hesitating. - -“That is just as I suspected,” replied the queen. “Yes, it is because -he foresees new obstacles to the unjust divorce he is prosecuting with -so much ardor. O More!” she continued, bursting into tears, “what have -I done to merit such cruel treatment? When I look back on the happy -years of my youth, the years when he loved me so tenderly; when I recall -the devoted and affectionate demonstrations of those days, and compare -them with the actual rudeness and severity of the present, my bleeding -heart is crushed by this sorrow! What have I done, More, to lose thus so -suddenly and entirely my husband’s affection? It is true, the freshness -of my early youth has faded, but was it to such ephemeral advantages -alone I owed his devotion? Can a marriage be contracted by a man with -the intention of dissolving it as soon as the personal attractions, the -youthful charms, of his wife have faded? Oh! it seems to me it should be -just the contrary, and that the hour of affliction should only call forth -deeper proofs of affection. No, More, no! neither you nor any other of my -friends will be able to accomplish anything for me. I feel that my life -is rapidly ebbing away; that my spirit is crushed and broken for ever. -For admitting, even, that Henry will not be successful in his attempt -to sever the sacred bonds of our union, what happiness could I ever -hope to enjoy near one to whom I had become an object of aversion--who -would behold in me only an invincible obstacle to his will and the -gratification of his criminal and disorderly passions?” - -“Alas! madam,” replied More, “we are all grieved at the contemplation of -the great affliction by which you are overwhelmed, and how much do we -wish the expression of our sympathy and devotion had power to relieve -you. But remember the Princess of Wales--you will surely never cease to -defend her rights.” - -“Never, never!” exclaimed the queen passionately. “That is the sole -inducement I have once more to arouse myself--it sustains my courage -and animates my resolution, when health and spirits both fail. O More! -could you but know all that passes in the depths of my soul; could -you but realize, for one moment, the anguish and agony, the deep -interior humiliation, into which I am plunged! Oh! fatal and for ever -unfortunate day when I left my country and the royal house of my father! -Why was I not born in obscurity? Would not my life then have passed -quietly and without regret? Far from the tumult of the world and the -éclat of thrones, I should have been extremely happy. Now I am dying -broken-hearted and unknown.” - -“Is it really yourself, madam,” answered More, “who thus gives way to -such weakness? Truly, it is unworthy of your rank, and still more of -your virtues. When adversity overtakes us, we should summon all our -courage and resolution. You are our queen, and you should remember your -daughter is born sovereign of this realm, beneath whose soil our buried -forefathers sleep. No, no! Heaven will never permit the blood of such -a race to be sullied by that of an ambitious and degraded woman. That -noble race will triumph, be assured of it; and in that triumph the honor -of our country will shine forth with renewed glory and splendor. I -swear it by my head, and hope it in my heart!” As he said these words, -footsteps were heard, and Catherine perceived the king coming towards -them. She turned instantly pale, but, remaining calm in the dangerous -crisis, made a sign for More to withdraw. The king immediately approached -her, and, observing with heartless indifference the traces of recent -tears on her cheek, exclaimed: - -“Always in tears!” Then, assuming a playful manner, he continued: “Come, -Kate, you must confess that you are always singularly sad and depressed, -and the walls of a convent would suit you much better than this beautiful -garden. You have in your hand a fine bouquet; I see at least you still -love flowers.” - -“I do indeed,” replied the queen, with a deep sigh. - -“Well,” said Henry, “I do not mean to reproach you, but it would be -advisable not to hold those roses so close to your cheek; the contrast -might be unfavorable--is it not so, my old Kate? Have you seen the -falcons just sent me from Scotland? They are of a very rare species, and -trained to perfection. I am going out now to try them.” - -“I wish your majesty a pleasant morning,” answered the queen. - -“Adieu, Kate,” he continued, proceeding on his way, and giving in the -exuberance of his spirits a flourish with his trumpet. Very soon the -notes of the hunting-horns announced his arrival in the outer courtyard. -He found there assembled a crowd of lords and pages, followed by -falconers, carrying the new birds on their wrists. These birds were -fettered, and wore on their heads little leathern hoods, which were to -be removed at the moment they mounted in the air in search of their -accustomed prey. - -In a very short time the party rode off, and Catherine thoughtfully -entered the palace, thinking it was a long time since the king had shown -himself so indulgent and gracious towards her. - - * * * * * - -“Are you well assured of the truth of these statements?” said the king, -returning Cromwell a letter he had just read. “No! I will not believe -it,” he cried, stamping his foot violently on the richly-tessellated -floor of his cabinet. “I certainly hoped to have gained the legate over.” - -“But your majesty may no longer indulge in this illusion,” replied -Cromwell, who stood before the king in an attitude the most humble and -servile possible to assume. “You are furnished with incontrovertible -proof; Campeggio, in order to escape your imperious commands, urges the -Pope to evoke the trial to his own tribunal. Of this there is no doubt, -for this copy of his letter I received from the hand of his confidential -secretary.” - -“You are very adroit, sir,” replied the king, haughtily. “Later, I will -consider the manner of rewarding you. But I declare to you your patron -is on the brink of ruin. I shall never pardon him for permitting that -protest and appeal of the queen to reach Rome.” - -“That was truly an unfortunate affair,” replied Cromwell; “but it was -perhaps not the fault of my lord, Cardinal Wolsey.” - -“Whose fault was it then?” demanded Henry in the imperious tone he used -to disconcert this spy whenever his reports displeased him. - -“The queen has friends,” replied Cromwell, whilst on his thin, colorless -lips hovered a false and treacherous smile, worthy of the wicked instinct -that prompted and directed all his suspicions, and made him foresee the -surest plan of injuring those whom he envied or destroying those whose -reputation he intended to attack. - -“And who are they?” demanded the king, his ill-humor increasing with the -reflection. “Why do you not name them, sir?” - -“Well, for instance, Sir Thomas More, whom your Majesty loads with favors -and distinctions, the Bishop of Rochester, the Duke of Norfolk, and the.…” - -“You will soon accuse my entire court, and each one of my servants in -particular,” cried the king; “and in order still more to exasperate and -astound me, you have taken particular pains to select and name those whom -I most esteem, and who have always given me the sincerest proofs of their -devoted affection. Go!” he suddenly cried in a furious tone; and he fell -into one of those wild transports of rage that frequently attacked him -when his will clashed against obstacles which he foresaw he could neither -surmount nor destroy. He often passed entire days absorbed in these moods -of violence, shut up in his own apartments, suffering none to speak to or -approach him nor on any account to attempt to divert him. - -Abashed and alarmed, Cromwell hastily withdrew, stammering the most -humble apologies, none of which, however, reached the ear of Henry -VIII., who, on returning to his chamber, raving in a demoniacal manner, -exclaimed: - -“Vile slaves! you shall be taught to know and to respect my power. I will -make you sorely repent the hour you have dared to oppose me!” - -Just as he had uttered this threatening exclamation, Cardinal Wolsey -appeared. He could not have chosen a more inauspicious moment. The -instant he beheld him, the king, glaring on him with flashing eyes, cried -out: - -“Traitor! what has brought you here? Do you know the ambassadors of -Charles and Ferdinand, fortified by the queen’s appeal and protest, have -overthrown all I had accomplished at Rome with so much precaution and -difficulty? Why have you not foreseen these contingencies, and known that -the Pope would prove inflexible? Why have you not advised me against -undertaking an almost impossible thing, which will sully the honor of my -name and obscure for all time the glory of my reign.” - -“Stop, sire,” replied Wolsey; “I do not deserve these cruel reproaches. -You can readily recall how earnestly I endeavored to dissuade you from -your purpose, but all my efforts were vain.” - -“It is false!” cried the king, giving vent to his rage in the most -shocking and violent expressions he could command, to inflict upon his -minister. “And now,” he continued, “remember well, if you fail to extort -from your legate such a decision as I require, you shall speedily be -taught what it is to deride my commands.” - - * * * * * - -The sun had scarcely risen above the horizon when already Cardinal -Campeggio (whose age and infirmities had not changed the long habits of -an austere and laborious life) was silently kneeling in the midst of the -choir of the palace chapel. - -The velvet cushions of his _prie-dieu_ protected him from the cold marble -of the sacred pavement, while the rays of the rising sun, descending in -luminous jets through the arches of the antique windows, fell on the head -of the venerable old man, giving him the appearance of being surrounded -by a halo of celestial light. His eyes were cast down, and he seemed to -be entirely absorbed in pious and profound meditation. - -Other thoughts, however, intruded on his agitated mind, and filled him -with anxious apprehension. “The hour rapidly approaches,” he mentally -exclaimed--“the hour when it will be essential to come to a decision. I -have still hoped to receive a reply--it has not yet arrived. I alone am -made responsible, and doubtless the wrath of the king will burst upon my -head. His vengeance will be terrible. More than once already he has taken -occasion to manifest it. What cruel incertitude! What dreadful suspense! -Yet what shall be done? Speak! O my conscience!” he exclaimed, “let me -listen, and be guided by thy voice alone!” - -“Despise the power of the king who demands of thee an injustice,” -immediately replied that faithful monitor whose stern and inflexible -voice will be summoned to testify against us at the last judgment. -“Sayest thou, thou art afraid? Then thou hast forgotten that the last -even of those gray hairs still remaining to thee cannot fall without the -permission of him who created the universe. Know that the anger of man -is but as a vain report--a sound that vanishes in space; and that God -permits thee not to hesitate for one instant, O judge! when the cause of -the feeble and the innocent claims all the strength of thy protection.” - -Irrevocably decided, Campeggio continued his prayer, and waited without -further apprehension the decisive moment, so rapidly approaching. - -In the meantime, another cardinal, Wolsey, in great anguish of mind, -contemplated with terror the approaching day when he would be compelled -to decide the fate of the queen. Weary after passing a sleepless night, -spent in reflecting on the punishment threatening him if the will of the -king was not accomplished, he had scarcely closed his eyes when a troop -of valets entered the chamber to assist at his toilet. They brought his -richest vestments, with all the insignia of his elevated rank. Wolsey -regarded them with a feeling of terror. And when they presented him the -ivory rod which the high-chancellor is alone empowered to carry, he -seized it with convulsive eagerness, grasping it in his hand, as though -he feared they would tear it from him; and with that fear the reflection -overshadowed his soul that yesterday he had made a last effort to -ascertain and influence the decision of the legate, without being able to -succeed! - -Followed by his pages and gentlemen, and still harassed by these -misgivings, he arrived at Blackfriars, where the court awaited him. The -assembly of cardinals arose deferentially as he entered, though all -remarked with astonishment the pallor of his countenance and his extreme -embarrassment of manner, so invariably composed and assured. A portion of -this visible restraint was communicated to the assembly, on learning that -the king himself had arrived, and was resolved to sit in the adjoining -apartment, where he could see and hear the entire proceedings. - -Dr. Bell, his advocate, after a long preamble, began a discourse, -and during its delivery hurried exclamations and hasty comments were -constantly indulged in by the excited assembly, so different in their -hopes, desires, and opinions. - -“O Rochester,” cried More, invested with the grand official robes of the -king’s exchequer, “do you think this man will succeed with his arguments -in carrying the crown by storm?” - -“No, no,” replied Rochester, “and especially as he wishes to place it -upon such a head.” - -“But listen, listen!” exclaimed More, “he declares the brief of -dispensation to have been a fraud.” - -“Ah! what notorious bad faith!” murmured the bishop. - -“What answer can they make to that?” said Viscount Rochford, in another -part of the hall, addressing the lords belonging to Anne Boleyn’s party. -“It is certainly encouraging; we cannot doubt of our success now.” - -But at length the arguments, principally dictated by Henry himself, were -closed; his advocate demanding, in the most haughty and authoritative -manner, that a decision should at once be rendered, and that it should -be as favorable as it was prompt. The king during this time, in a state -of great excitement, paced to and fro before the entrance of the hall, -the door being left open by every one in passing, as if he were afraid -to close it behind him. He surveyed from time to time, with a glance -of stern, penetrating scrutiny, the assembly before him, each member -of which tried to conceal his true sentiments--some because they were -secretly attached to the queen, others through fear that the cause of -Anne Boleyn might ultimately triumph. When the advocate had finished -his discourse, each one sat in breathless suspense anxiously waiting -the queen’s reply; but not recognizing the authority or legality of the -tribunal, she had refused to accept counsel, and no one consequently -appeared to defend her. Profound silence reigned throughout the assembly, -and all eyes were turned toward Campeggio, who arose and stood ready to -speak. The venerable old man, calm and dignified, in a mild but firm and -decided tone began: - -“You ask, or rather you demand,” he said, “that we pronounce a decision -which it would be impossible for us in justice to render.” Here, on -seeing the king turn abruptly around and confront him, he paused, looking -steadily at him. “Knowing that the defendant hath challenged this -court, and refused to recognize in our persons loyal and disinterested -judges, I have considered it my duty, in order to avoid error, to submit -every part of the proceedings of this council to the tribunal of the -Sovereign Pontiff; and we shall be compelled to await his decision before -rendering judgment or proceeding further. For myself individually, I will -furthermore affirm, that I am here to render justice--strict, entire, and -impartial justice, and no earthly power can induce me to deviate from -the course I have adopted or the resolutions I have taken; and I boldly -declare that I am too old, too feeble, and too ill to desire the favor -or fear the resentment of any living being.” Here he sat down, visibly -agitated. - -Had a thunderbolt fallen in the midst of the assembly, the tumult and -astonishment could not have been greater. Anger, joy, fear, hope--all -hearts were agitated by the most contradictory emotions; while nothing -was heard but the deep murmur of voices, the noise of unintelligible -words, as they crossed and clashed in an endless diversity of tones. -The Duke of Suffolk, brother-in-law of the king, cried out, beating his -fists violently on the table before him, with the gross impetuosity of an -upstart soldier, that the old adage had again been verified; “Never did -a cardinal do any good in England.” And with flashing eyes and furious -gestures he pointed to Cardinal Wolsey. The cardinal at once comprehended -his danger, but found it impossible not to resent the insult. He arose, -pale with anger, and with forced calmness replied that the duke, of -all living men, had the least cause to depreciate cardinals. For, -notwithstanding he had himself been a very insignificant cardinal, yet, -if he had not held the office, the Duke of Suffolk would not this day -actually carry his head on big shoulders. “And you would not now,” he -added, “be here to exhibit the ostentatious disdain you have manifested -toward those who have never given you cause of offence. If you were, my -lord, an ambassador of the king to some foreign power, you would surely -not venture to decide important questions without first consulting your -sovereign. We also are commissioners, and we have no power to pronounce -judgment, without first consulting those from whom we derive our -authority; we can do neither more nor less than our commissions permit. -Calm yourself, then, my lord, and no more address, in this insulting -manner, your best friend. You very well know all I have done for you, -and you must also acknowledge that on no occasion have I ever referred to -your obligations before.” - -But the Duke of Suffolk heard nothing of the last words uttered by -Wolsey. Exasperated beyond measure, he abruptly turned his back on the -cardinal and went to join the king in the next apartment. He found the -latter in the act of retiring, being no longer able to restrain his wrath -within bounds; and as his courtiers entered and stood regarding him with -a look of hesitation he went out, commanding them in a fierce tone and -with an imperious gesture to follow him immediately. - -Meanwhile, in the council chamber the utmost confusion prevailed. “God be -praised!” cried Sir Thomas More, who in the simplicity of his heart and -the excess of his joy was incapable of dissimulation or concealment. “God -be praised! Our queen is still queen; and may she ever triumph thus over -all her enemies!” - -Ensconced in the deep embrasure of a window stood Cromwell, a silent -observer of the scene; not permitting a word to escape him, but gathering -up every sentence with keen avidity, and cherishing it in his envious -and malicious memory. He found himself, nevertheless, in a precarious -and embarrassing situation. Foreseeing the downfall and disgrace of -Wolsey, he had sought to make friends by betraying his benefactor. But -the king treated him with indignant scorn, Viscount Rochford with supreme -contempt, and he strongly suspected he had prejudiced his sister, Anne -Boleyn, also against him. - -Anxious and alarmed, he at once determined to begin weaving a new web of -intrigue, and instantly cast about him to discover what hope remained, or -what results the future might possibly bring forth from the discord and -difficulties reigning in the present. - -When selfish, corrupt creatures like Cromwell find themselves surrounded -by great and important events, they at once assume to become identified -with the dearest interests of the community in which they live, without -however in reality being in the slightest degree affected, unless through -their own interests--seeking always themselves, and themselves alone. -Thus this heartless man, this shameful leprosy of the social body that -had nurtured him, regarding the whole world entirely with reference to -his own selfish designs, coolly speculated upon his premeditated crimes, -revolving in his mind a thousand projects of aggrandizement, which he -ultimately succeeded in bringing to a culpable but thoroughly successful -termination. - - * * * * * - -The night had already come, yet all were in a state of commotion in the -household of the French ambassador, in consequence of William du Bellay, -his brother, having at a late hour received a few hasty lines from the -bishop, written in the midst of the assembly at Blackfriars, commanding -him to hold himself in readiness to depart. - -The young envoy, at once obeying orders, assumed his travelling costume, -and had scarcely more than attended to the last instructions of his -brother when the latter made his appearance. - -“Well, brother,” he exclaimed on entering the chamber, “all is over. -Are you ready to set out?” he continued, hurriedly surveying his -brother’s travelling attire. “The king is furiously enraged--first -against the legate, then against Wolsey. But Campeggio has displayed an -extraordinary degree of firmness and courage. After he had refused to -pronounce the decision, and just as the king was retiring, the expected -courier arrived with instructions from Rome. The queen’s protestation -has been received, and the Pope, dissolving the council, revokes the -commissioners’ authority, and requires the case to be brought before his -own tribunal. The adherents of Catherine, as you may suppose, are wild -with delight--the people throng the streets, shouting ‘Long live the -queen!’ Our gracious king, Francis I., will be in despair.” - -“Well,” replied William, “I am satisfied, for I am in favor of the -queen. And now, between ourselves, my dear brother, laying all diplomacy -aside--for we are alone, and these walls have no ears--I know as well as -you that it matters not to our king whether the wife of Henry VIII. be -named Anne or Catherine. - -“And yet, after all, it may be the name of this new Helen will become the -signal for war,” replied the bishop. “You forget that in marrying Anne -Boleyn Henry will be compelled to seek an alliance with France, in order -to resist the opposition of the Emperor Charles V.; and as for ourselves, -we have use for the five thousand crowns he has promised to assist us -in paying the ransom of the children of France. This family quarrel -can be arranged so entirely to our advantage that it would really be a -misfortune should it come to a sudden termination. I hope, however, such -may not be the result.” - -“You are right, brother,” said Du Bellay, laughing. “I see I have too -much heart to make a skilful diplomatist. I have already let myself -become ensnared, you perceive, and drawn over to the cause of this Queen -Catherine. But it is nevertheless a veritable fact, while families -are engaged in disputing among themselves, they generally leave their -neighbors in peace. It would seem, however, the king must have become -a madman or a fool, thus to ignore kindred, allies, fortune, and -kingdom--all for this Lady Anne.” - -“Yes, much more than a madman,” replied his brother, phlegmatically; -“after he has married her, he will be cured of his insanity. But -come, now, let us leave Lady Anne and her affairs. You must know that -immediately after the adjournment of the cardinals, the king sent for -me. I found him terribly excited, walking rapidly up and down the great -hall formerly used as a chapter-room by the monks. Wolsey alone was with -him, standing near the abbot’s great arm-chair, and wearing an air of -consternation. The instant he saw me approaching, he cried out, ‘Come, -come, my lord, the king wishes to have your advice on the subject we are -now discussing.’ And I at once perceived my presence was a great relief -to him. - -“The king spoke immediately, while his eyes flashed fire. ‘M. du Bellay,’ -he exclaimed, ‘Campeggio shall be punished!--yes, punished! Parliament -shall bring him to trial! I will never submit to defeat in this matter. I -will show the Pope that he has underrated both my will and my power.’ - -“‘Sire,’ I answered, ‘after mature reflection, it seems to me it would be -a mistaken policy in your majesty to resort to such violent measures. -Nothing has yet been decided, and the case is by no means hopeless; -the wisest course would therefore be to restrain all manifestation of -displeasure toward Campeggio. What advantage could you possibly gain by -insulting or ill-treating an old man whom you have invited into your -kingdom, or how could you then expect to obtain a favorable decision from -the Holy See?’ - -“Delighted to hear me express such opinions, Wolsey eagerly caught at -my words, declaring he agreed with me entirely. He also advised that -the doctors of the French and German universities should be consulted, -opinions favorable to the divorce obtained from them, and afterwards this -high authority brought to bear upon the decision of the court of Rome. - -“‘What do you think of that?’ demanded the king of me. ‘As for His -Eminence Monseigneur Wolsey,’ he added, in a tone of cruel contempt, -his counsels have already led me into so many difficulties, or proved -so worthless, I shall not trouble him for any further advice.’ And he -abruptly turned his back on the cardinal. - -“A tear rolled slowly down Wolsey’s hollow cheek, but he made no reply. I -at once assured the king that I thought, on the contrary, the cardinal’s -advice was most excellent, and doubted not our king, and his honored -mother, Madame Louise, might be induced to use their influence in order -to secure him the suffrages of the University of Paris. Whereupon he -appeared very much pleased with me, and bowed me out in the most gracious -manner imaginable. - -“Report all these things faithfully to your master; tell him I fear the -downfall of Wolsey is inevitable; he is equally disliked by the queen’s -adherents and those of Anne Boleyn, and I have every reason for believing -he will never again be reinstated in the king’s favor. You will also say -to him he need not be astonished that I so often send him despatches -by express, as Cardinal Wolsey informs me confidentially that the Duke -of Suffolk has his emissaries bribed to open all packages of letters -sent by post, and that one addressed to me has been miscarried; which -circumstance troubles me very much.” - -“I will also inform my master,” replied William, “that the Picardy routes -are so badly managed, the gentlemen and couriers he sends are constantly -detained and kept a considerable time on the journey. I have complained -recently to the authorities themselves, who assure me that their salaries -are not paid, and consequently they are unable to keep the routes in -better condition.” - - * * * * * - -The sun descended toward the horizon. Sir Thomas More, seated on a -terrace of his mansion at Chelsea, sought temporary quiet and repose -from the oppressive burdens of a life every hour of which was devoted to -the service of his king and country. His young children formed a joyous -group around him, their flaxen heads crowned with blades of wheat and -wild flowers they had gathered in the fields, for it was the golden -time of harvest. Margaret, assisted by William Roper, directed their -games, and was now trying to teach them a Scotch dance, marking the -wild, fantastical rhythm with the notes of her sweet, melodious voice. -Sir Thomas himself had joined in their play, when suddenly the king -made his appearance. He had many times already honored them with such -visits since Sir Thomas became a member of the council, having apparently -conceived a great affection for him, and every day seeming to become more -and more pleased with his conversation. - -“I know not why it is,” he would often say, “but when I have been for -any length of time in conversation with More I experience a singular -tranquillity of soul, and indeed feel almost happy. His presence has the -magical effect of lulling my cares to sleep and calming my anxieties.” - -On seeing the king, More immediately advanced with great deference to -receive him, while the children at once left off their sports. - -“Why, what is this?” he exclaimed; “I did not come to interrupt your -amusements, but on the contrary to enjoy them with you.” But the -wild mirth and _abandon_ of the children had fled at the approach of -royalty, and, in spite of these kind assurances, they withdrew in rapid -succession, too glad to recover their liberty, and their father was thus -left alone with the king. - -“Who is the young man I see here?” inquired the sovereign. - -“He is the affianced husband of my daughter, sire; his name is William -Roper,” answered More. - -“What! is she affianced already?” said the king. - -“Yes, sire; the family of Roper has for many years been united to ours -by the sincerest ties of friendship, and, strengthening these by ties of -blood, we hope greatly to increase our mutual happiness.” - -“That is so,” replied the king. “And they will doubtless be happy. -In your families you preserve liberty of choice, while we princes, -born to thrones, sacrifice our interior happiness to those political -combinations demanded by the interests of our subjects.” - -“But,” replied Sir Thomas--who understood at once the king’s intention -was to introduce the subject of his divorce, a topic he especially -wished to avoid--“I believe that happiness depends on ourselves, on our -dispositions, and the manner in which we conduct our affairs, a great -deal more than on circumstances, or the social position in which we -chance to be born. There are some who, possessing every advantage in -life, are still unable to enjoy it. We would suppose them to be perfectly -happy, and they really should be so; but true happiness consists alone -in tranquillity of soul, which is attained by always doing good to -others, and suffering with patient submission the trials and afflictions -with which life is inevitably beset. Such, it seems to me, is the -circumscribed circle in which man is confined; it is well with him so -long as he accommodates himself to its legitimate limits, but all is lost -the moment he endeavors to venture beyond it.” - -“I am every day more entirely convinced that this figure of the circle is -a painful reality,” replied the king, with ill-concealed impatience. “I -have always hoped to find happiness in the pursuit of pleasure--in the -gratification of every desire--and believed it might thus be attained, -but never yet have I been able to grasp it.” - -“Which means, your majesty expected to pass through the world without -trials--a thing utterly impossible,” added More, smiling. - -“It is that which makes me despair, my dear Thomas. Reflecting on the -bitter disappointments I have experienced, I am often almost transported -with rage. No, More, you can never understand me. You are always equally -calm and joyous. Your desires are so happily directed that you can feel -well assured of a peaceful, quiet future awaiting you.” - -“Your majesty is entirely mistaken,” replied More, “if you believe I -have never entertained other desires than those I have been able to -accomplish. The only secret I possess, in that respect, is, I compel my -inclinations to obey _me_, instead of making my will subservient to them. -Nevertheless, they oftentimes rebel and contend bitterly for supremacy, -but then, it is only necessary to command silence, and not be disturbed -by their cries and lamentations. Ultimately, they become like refractory -children, who, constantly punished and severely beaten, at last are made -to tremble at the very thought of the chastisement, and no longer dare to -revolt.” - -“This explanation of your system of self-government is very ingenious,” -replied the king; “and hearing you speak in this quiet manner one would -be induced to believe it were the easiest thing imaginable to accomplish, -rather than the most difficult. Ah!” he continued with a deep sigh, “I -understand but too well _how_ difficult.” - -“It is true,” replied More with earnest simplicity, “and I would not deny -that, far from being agreeable, it is often, on the contrary, exceedingly -painful and difficult for a man to impose these violent restraints -upon his inclinations. But if he who hesitates on all occasions in the -practice of virtue to do this necessary violence to himself and remain -faithful to the requirements of duty, would reflect but for a single -instant, he will find that although at first he may escape suffering and -privation by voluntarily abandoning himself to his passions, yet, later, -he will inevitably be made to endure a far more bitter humiliation in the -torturing reproaches of conscience; the shame he will suffer in the loss -of self-respect and the respect of others; and, in the inevitable course -of events, he will at last discover that his passions have carried him -far beyond the power of self-control or reformation!” - -“Let us banish these reflections, my dear More,” exclaimed the king in a -petulant tone, passing his hand across his forehead; “they distress me, -and I prefer a change of subject.” Saying this he arose, and, putting his -arm around Sir Thomas’ neck, they walked on together toward the extremity -of the garden, which terminated in an extensive and beautiful terrace, at -the foot of which flowed the waters of the Thames. - -The view was an extended one, and the king amused himself watching the -rapid movements of the little boats, filled with fishermen, rowing in -every direction, drawing in the nets, which had been spread to dry on the -reeds covering the banks of the river. Quantities of water-lilies, blue -flowers, floating on their large brilliant green leaves, intermingled -with the dark bending heads of the reeds, presenting to the distant -observer the appearance of a beautiful variegated carpet of flowers. -“What a charming scene!” said the king, gazing at the prospect, and -pointing to a boat just approaching the opposite side of the river to -land a troop of young villagers, who with their bright steel sickles in -hand were returning from the harvest fields. - -“And the graceful spire of your Chelsea belfry, gleaming in the distance -through the light silvery clouds, completes this charming landscape,” he -added. - -“Would it were possible to transport this view to the end of one of my -drives in St. James’ Park,” continued the king. - -“Will it be very soon completed?” asked Sir Thomas, at a loss what to say -to his royal visitor. - -“I hope so,” replied Henry languidly, “but these architects are so -very slow. Before going to Grafton, I gave them numerous orders on the -subject.” - -“Your majesty has been quite pleased with your journey, I believe,” -replied Sir Thomas, instantly reflecting what he should say next. - -“I should have been extremely well pleased,” he answered, with a sudden -impatience of manner, “had Wolsey not persisted so obstinately in -following me. I have been much too indulgent,” he continued sharply, -“infinitely too indulgent towards him, and am now well convinced of the -mistake I have made in retaining the slightest affection for a man who -has so miserably deceived me. What would you think, More,” he continued, -his manner suddenly changing, “if I appointed you in his place as lord -chancellor?” And, turning towards Sir Thomas, he gazed fixedly in his -eyes, as if to read the inmost emotions of his soul. - -“What would I think?” answered More, calmly--then adding with a careless -smile, “I should think your majesty had done a very wrong thing, and made -a very bad choice.” - -“Well, I believe I could not possibly make a better,” said the king, -emphasizing the last words. “But I have not come here to discuss business -matters; rather, on the contrary, to get rid of them. Come, then, -entertain me with something more agreeable.” But the words designedly -(though with seeming unconcern) uttered by the king cast a sudden gloom -over the spirit of Sir Thomas he vainly endeavored to dispel. - -“Sire, your majesty is greatly mistaken in entertaining such an idea,” he -said, stammering and confused; for, with his sincere and truthful nature, -More under all circumstances resolutely looked to the end of everything -in which he suspected the least dissimulation. - -The king whirled round on his heel, pretending not to hear him. “This -is a beautiful rose,” he said, stooping down, “a very beautiful -variety--come from the seed, no doubt? Are you a gardener? I am very fond -of flowers. Oh! my garden will be superb.” - -“Sire,” said More, still pursuing his subject. - -“I must have a cutting of that rose--do you hear me, More?” As he ran on -in this manner, to prevent Sir Thomas from speaking, the silvery notes of -a bell were heard, filling the air with a sweet and prolonged vibrating -sound. - -“What bell is that?” asked the king. - -“The bell of our chapel, sire,” replied More, “summoning us to evening -prayers, which we usually prefer saying all together. But to-day, your -majesty having honored us with a visit, there will be no obligation to -answer the call.” - -“By all means,” replied Henry. “Let me interfere with nothing. It is -almost night: come. We will return, and I will join in your devotions.” - -Sir Thomas conducted him through the shrubbery towards the chapel, a -venerable structure in the Anglo-Saxon style of architecture. A thick -undergrowth of briers, brambles, and wild shrubbery was matted and -interlaced around the foundation of the building; running vines clambered -over the heavy arches of the antique windows, and fell back in waving -garlands upon the climbing branches from which they had sprung. The -walls, of rough unhewn stone, were thickly covered with moss and ivy, -giving the little structure an appearance of such antiquity that the most -scrupulous antiquarian would have unhesitatingly referred its foundation -to the time of King Athelstan or his brother Edmund. The interior was -adorned with extreme care and taste. A bronze lamp, suspended before -the altar, illuminated a statue of the Holy Virgin placed above it. The -children of Sir Thomas, with the servants of his household, were ranged -in respectful silence behind the arm-chair of his aged father. Margaret -knelt beside him with her prayer-book, waiting to begin the devotions. - -The touching voice of this young girl as she slowly repeated the sublime -words--“Our Father who art in heaven”--those words which men may so -joyfully pronounce, which teach us the exalted dignity of our being, the -grandeur of our origin and destiny--those sublime words penetrated the -soul of the king with a profound and singular emotion. - -“What a happy family!” he exclaimed, mentally. “Nothing disturbs their -harmony; day after day passes without leaving a regret behind it. Why can -I not join in this sweet prayer--why, O my soul, hast thou banished and -forgotten it?” He turned from the contemplation of these youthful heads -bowed before the Mother of God, and a wave of bitter remorse swept once -again over his hardened, hypocritical soul. - -After the king had returned to his royal palace and the evening repast -was ended, William Roper approached Sir Thomas and said: - -“You must consider yourself most fortunate, my dear father, in enjoying -so intimately the favor of his majesty--why, even Cardinal Wolsey cannot -boast of being honored with such a degree of friendship and familiarity.” - -With a sad smile More, taking the young man’s hand, replied: - -“Know, my son, I can never be elated by it. If this head, around which he -passed his royal arm so affectionately this evening, could in falling pay -the price of but one single inch of French territory, he would, without a -moment’s hesitation, deliver it up to the executioner.” - - * * * * * - -“What acknowledgments do I not owe you, madam,” said Sir Thomas Cheney to -Lady Anne Boleyn, “for the services you have rendered me. But dare I hope -for a full pardon from the king?” - -“Feel perfectly secure on that point,” replied Lady Anne. “He is -convinced that Wolsey had you banished from court because of your -disagreement with Cardinal Campeggio, and he considers you now one of his -most faithful adherents.” - -“And I hope, madam, to have the happiness of proving to you that I am -none the less faithfully your servant,” replied Sir Thomas Cheney. - -“You must admit now,” said Lady Anne, addressing her father and brother, -the Earl of Wiltshire and the Viscount Rochford, who were both present, -“that I succeed in doing what I undertake.” - -“You succeed in what you undertake,” replied her father humorously, “but -you are a long time in deciding what to do. For instance, Cardinal Wolsey -finds himself to-day occupying a position in which he has no right to be.” - -“Ah! well, he will not remain in it very long,” replied Anne Boleyn, -petulantly. “This morning the king told me the ladies would attend the -chase to see the new falcons the king of France has sent him by Monsieur -de Sansac. I will talk to him, and insist on his having nothing more to -do with this horrid cardinal, or I shall at once quit the court. But,” -she added, pausing suddenly with an expression of extreme embarrassment, -“how should I answer were he to demand what his eminence Monseigneur -Wolsey had ever done to _me_?” - -“Here, sister, here is your answer,” replied Viscount Rochford, taking a -large manuscript book from his father’s portfolio. “Take it and read for -yourself; you will find here all you would need for a reply.” - -“That great book!” cried Anne, strongly opposed to this new commission, -and pouting like a spoilt child. Taking the book, she read--skipping a -great deal, however--a minutely detailed statement, formally accusing -Wolsey of having engaged in a secret correspondence with France, and with -the most adroit malice misrepresenting every act of his administration as -well as of his private life. - -“What! can all this be true?” cried Anne Boleyn, closing the book. - -“Certainly true,” replied Rochford. “And furthermore, you should know, -the cardinal, in order to reward Campeggio for the good services he has -rendered _you_, has persuaded the king to send him home loaded with rich -presents, to conciliate the Pope, he says, by his filial submission and -pious dispositions, and incline him to a favorable decision. That is the -way he manages,” continued Rochford, shrugging his shoulders, “and keeps -you in the most humiliating position ever occupied by a woman.” - -Hearing her brother speak thus, the beautiful face of Anne Boleyn became -instantly suffused with a deep crimson. - -“Oh! that odious man,” she cried passionately. “I shall no longer submit -to it. It is to insult me he makes such gracious acknowledgments to that -old cardinal. I will complain to the king. Oh! how annoying all this is, -though,” and she turned the book over and over in her white hands. - -“But see, it is time to start,” she added, pointing to a great clock -standing in one corner of the apartment. “Good-by; I must go!” And -Anne, attired in an elegant riding-habit, abruptly turning to a mirror, -proceeded to adjust her black velvet riding-cap, when, observing a small -plume in her hat that was not arranged to her taste, she exclaimed, -violently stamping her little foot: - -“How many contradictions shall I meet this day? I cannot endure it! All -those horrid affairs to think of, to talk about and explain; all your -recommendations to follow in the midst of a delightful hunting party; and -then, after all, this hat which so provokes me! No; I can never fix it.” -And she hurried away to find a woman skilled in the arts of the toilet. -But after making her sew and rip out again, bend the plume and straighten -it, place it forward and then back, she did not succeed in fixing it to -suit the fancy of Anne Boleyn, who, seeing the time flying rapidly, ended -by cutting off the plume with the scissors, throwing it angrily on the -floor and stamping it, putting the offending cap on her head without a -plume; then mounting her horse she rode off, accompanied by Sir Thomas -Cheney, who escorted her, knowing she was to join the king on the road. - -“How impulsive and thoughtless your sister is,” said Earl Wiltshire to -his son, after Anne had left them, looking gloomily at the plume, still -lying on the floor where she had thrown it. “She wants to be queen! Do -you understand how much is comprised in that word? Well, she would accept -a crown and fix it on her head with the same eager interest that she -would order a new bonnet from her milliner. Yet I firmly believe, before -accepting it, she would have to be well assured by her mirror that it was -becoming to her style of beauty.” - -“I cannot comprehend her,” responded Rochford. “Her good sense and -judgment sometimes astonish me; then suddenly a ball, a dress, a new -fashion has sufficed to make her forget the most important matter that -might be under discussion. I am oftentimes led to wonder whence comes -this singular mixture of frivolity and good sense in women. Is it a -peculiarity of their nature or the result of education?” - -“It is entirely the fault of education, my son, and not of their -weakness. From infancy they are taught to look upon ribbons, laces, -frivolities, and fashions as the most precious and desirable things. In -fact, they attach to these miserable trifles the same value that young -men place on a brilliant armor or the success of a glorious action.” - -“It may be so,” replied Rochford, “but I think they are generally found -as incompetent for business as incapable of managing affairs of state.” - -“While very young, perhaps not,” answered Wiltshire; “proud and -impulsive, they are neither capable of nor inclined to dissimulation; but -later in life they develop a subtle ingenuity and an extreme degree of -penetration, that enable them to succeed most admirably.” - -“Ah! well, if the truth might be frankly expressed, I greatly fear that -all this will turn out badly. Should we not succeed in espousing my -sister to the king, she will be irretrievably compromised; and then you -will deeply regret having broken off her marriage with Lord Percy.” - -“You talk like an idiot,” replied the Earl of Wiltshire. “Your sister -shall reign, or I perish. Why should my house not give a queen to the -throne of England? Would it not be far better if our kings should select -wives from the nobility of their country instead of marrying foreign -princesses--strangers alike to the manners and customs as well as to the -interests of the people over whom they are destined to reign?” - -“You would probably be right,” replied Viscount Rochford, “if the king -were not already married; but the clergy will always oppose this second -marriage. They do not dare to express themselves openly because they fear -the king, but in the end they will certainly preserve the nation in this -sentiment. I fear that Anne will yet be very unhappy, and I am truly -sorry now she cannot be made Countess of Northumberland.” - -“Hold your tongue, my son,” cried Wiltshire, frantic with rage; “will you -repeat these things to your sister, and renew her imaginary regrets also? -As to these churchmen over whom you make so great an ado,” he continued -with a menacing gesture, “I hope soon we shall be able to relieve them -of the fortunes with which they are encumbered, and compel them to -disgorge in our favor. You say that women are weak and fickle! If so, you -certainly resemble them in both respects--the least difficulty frightens -you into changing your opinions, and you hesitate in the midst of an -undertaking that has been planned with the greatest ability, and which, -without you, I confidently believe I shall be able to accomplish.” - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -IS SHE CATHOLIC? - -The claim put forth by the Episcopal Church--or, to use her full and -legal title, The Protestant Episcopal Church of the United Slates -of America--of being the Holy Catholic Church--Holy, Catholic, and -Apostolic--and the acceptance of her theory by a small portion of the -Christian world, makes her and her theory, for a little time, worthy our -attention. - -She is accustomed to use the formula, “I believe in the Holy Catholic -Church.” It is but natural to infer that she considers herself to be at -least an integral part of that church. We have examined the question, and -thus present our convictions as to her status. - -We note, in the first place, that her bishops possess no power. They are -bishops but in name. There is not one of them, no matter how eminent he -may be, who can say to a clergyman in his diocese: “Here is an important -parish vacant; occupy it.” He would be met with the polite remark from -some member of the parish, “We are very much obliged to you, bishop, but -you have nothing to say about it. Mr. M. is the warden.” - -Mr. M., the warden, may be, and in many instances is, a man who cares so -little about the church that he has never yet been baptized, much less is -he a communicant. He and his brother vestrymen, whether baptized or not, -may, if the bishop claims an authority by virtue of his office, meet him -at the church door, and tell him he cannot come in unless he will pledge -himself to do as they wish; and the bishop may write a note of protest, -and leave it behind him for them to tear up, as was done in Chicago with -Bishop Whitehouse. Some local regulations have occasionally varied the -above, but in the majority of parishes the authority is vested as we have -stated. - -The bishop’s power of appointing extends to none but feeble missionary -stations; and even these put on, at their earliest convenience, the airs -of full-grown parishes. - -We note an instance where a bishop wrote to a lady in a remote missionary -station, and asked regarding some funds which had been placed in her -hands by parties interested in the growth of the church in that place. -It had been specified that the money was to be used for whatever purpose -was deemed most necessary. The bishop requested that the money be paid to -the missionary toward his salary. The lady declined on the ground that -she did not like the missionary. Another request in courteous language, -as was befitting a bishop. He also stated his intention of visiting the -place shortly in his official character. - -The lady’s reply equalled his own in courteous phraseology; but the -money was refused and the bishop informed that he “need not trouble -himself about making a visitation, as there was no class to be confirmed; -besides, the church had been closed for repairs, and would not be open -for some months, at least not until a new minister was settled.” - -To the bishop’s positive knowledge, no repairs were needed; but he deemed -it wise to stay away, and no further steps were taken. - -With the clergy in his diocese the case is not very different. - -If a presbyter of any diocese chooses for any reason to go from one -parish to another for the purpose of taking up a permanent abode, he can -do so with or without consulting his bishop. In fact, the bishop has -nothing to do with it. Should the presbyter desire to remove to another -diocese, it is requisite that he obtain letters dimissory from the -bishop, and the bishop is obliged to give them. So also is the bishop in -the diocese to which he goes obliged to receive them, unless they contain -grave criminal charges. - -There is, in reality, but one thing the bishop of the Protestant -Episcopal Church can do, and that is make an appointment once in three -years to confirm. So insignificant is his power in any other direction -that certain persons, ill-natured or otherwise, have fastened upon him, -whether deserved or undeserved, the name of “confirming machine.” Certain -it is that, were the power of confirming in any degree vested in the -“priests” of the church, the office of bishop might easily be dispensed -with. He would appear only as the ornamental portion of a few occasional -services. For he cannot authoritatively visit any parish, vacant or -otherwise, except on a confirmation tour; and should this be too frequent -in the estimation of the vestry, the doors of the church could be shut -against him on any plea the vestry should choose to advance. - -2. He cannot increase the number of his clergy, except as parishes choose. - -3. He cannot prevent a man fixing himself in the diocese if a -congregation choose to “call” him, no matter how worthy or unworthy the -man may be. - -4. He cannot call a clergyman into his diocese, though every parish were -empty. - -5. He cannot officiate in any church without invitation. - -6. He has no church of his own, except as he officiates as rector; and -unless invited to some place, he is forced, although a bishop, to sit in -the congregation as a layman, if he do not stay at home. - -And, lastly, he cannot on any account visit a parish unless the vestry of -that parish is willing. - -We sum up: That so far as the bishops of the Protestant Episcopal -Church of the United States of America are concerned, they are simply -figure-heads, ornaments possessing the minimum of authority--in point of -fact, no authority at all. - -Their own convention addresses are a virtual confession of the condition -of affairs as above laid down. To every one who has ever heard an -Episcopal bishop’s address, as delivered before the annual convention -of clergymen and laymen, the following sample will not appear as in the -least overdrawn: - -July 10.--Visited the parish of S. John, Oakdale, and confirmed three. - -July 17.--Visited the parish of Longwood, and preached and confirmed one. - -July 24.--Visited S. Paul’s, and preached and confirmed two in the -forenoon. Preached also in the afternoon. - -This is a very large and thriving parish. - -July 26.--At Montrose I visited and confirmed one at the evening service. - -July 29.--Took a private conveyance to Hillstown, and preached in the -evening; confirmed one. The rector of this parish is very energetic. - -Aug. 2.--Attended the burial of a dear friend. - -Aug. 7.--Attended the consecration of S. Mark’s Church in Hyde Park. It -is hoped that the difficulties in this parish are settled. The Rev. John -Waters has resigned and gone to Omaha. Mr. William Steuben is the senior -warden. May the Lord prosper him and his estimable lady! - -[To continue the list would cause a tear, and we do not wish to weep.] - -The address each year of a Protestant Episcopal bishop is thoroughly -exemplified in the foregoing specimen. It is the same endless list of -_enteuthen exelauneis_, varied only by the number of _parasangas_. To the -lazy grammar-boy it is a most fascinating chapter of ancient history when -he reaches the _enteuthen_ section in the _Anabasis_. There is an immense -list of them, and the lesson for that day is easy. When the first phrase -is mastered, he knows all the rest, except the occasional figures. - -We once saw a reporter for a prominent Daily making a short-hand report -of an address before an illustrious diocesan gathering. Having had -some experience in the matter, he came to the meeting with his tablets -prepared. They were as follows: - - VISITED AT AND CONFIRMED. - - _______________ _____ _________ - - _______________ _____ _________ - - _______________ _____ _________ - -Three-quarters of the address was thus prepared beforehand, it only -being necessary to leave the lines sufficiently far apart to permit the -insertion of occasional notes. - -By his extra care he was enabled to present the most complete report of -any paper in the city. - -The specimen we have given is a fair average. In future generations, when -a classical student is given a bishop’s address to read, his labor for -that day will be easy. - -Almost any bishop’s address will substantiate the statements we have -made. We refer to them freely, without wasting time in selection. - -We begin a new paragraph: The system of the Protestant Episcopal Church -is eminently congregational. - -If a parish chooses to “call” a given man, he is “called.” - -Should the bishop “interfere” and recommend him, the recommendation, -without an exception that has ever come to our knowledge, militates -against the proposed “call.” - -Should a parish desire to get rid of a pastor, it does so with or -without the consent of the bishop, as happens, in the estimation of the -wardens, to be most convenient. The officers may consult the bishop, -and, if he agree with them, well and good. The words of the diocesan are -quoted from Dan to Beersheba, and the pastor is made to feel the lack of -sympathy--“Even his bishop is against him,” is whispered by young and old. - -If the bishop does not agree with them, they do not consult him again. -They proceed to accomplish what they desire as if he had no existence, -and--they always succeed. - -There is a farcical canon of the Protestant Episcopal Church which says, -if a parish dismiss its rector without concurrence, it shall not be -admitted into convention until it has apologized. - -It is a very easy thing for the wardens and vestrymen to address the -convention, after they have accomplished their ends, with “Your honorable -body thinks we have done wrong, and--we are sorry for it,” or something -else equally ambiguous and absurd. The officers of the parish and the -laymen of the congregation have done what they wished, and are content. -As the convention is composed principally of laymen, the sympathy is -naturally with the laymen’s side of the question. The rector is hurriedly -passed over, his clerical brethren looking helplessly on. - -To get a new parish the dismissed rector must “candidate”--a feature of -clerical life most revolting to any man with a spark of manhood in him. - -We note, in the next place, an utter want of unity in the Protestant -Episcopal Church. - -There are High-Church and Low-Church bookstores, where the publications -of the one are discarded by the other. There are High-Church and -Low-Church seminaries, where a man, to graduate from the one, will be -looked upon inimically, at least with suspicion, by the other. There -is a High-Church “Society for the Increase of the Ministry,” where the -principal thing accomplished is the maintenance of the secretary of the -said society in a large brick house in a fashionable city, while he -claims to support a few students on two meals a day; and a Low-Church -Evangelical Society, where they require the beneficiary to subscribe to -certain articles of Low-Churchism before they will receive him. - -The one society is thoroughly hostile to the other, and, in point of -fact, the latter was created in opposition to the former. - -There is but one thing in common between the two, and that is -cold-shoulderism. - -There are High-Church and Low-Church newspapers, in which the epithets -used by the one toward the other do not indicate even _respect_. - -Some of the “church’s” ministers would no more enter a “denominational” -place of worship than they would put their hand in the fire. Others will -fraternize with everything and everybody, and when Sunday comes will -close their eyes--sometimes they roll them upward--and pray publicly: -“From heresy and schism good Lord deliver us.” - -It may be necessary that there should be wranglings and bickerings within -her fold, in order to constitute her the church militant; but we cannot -forgive hypocrisy. - -With some of her ministers the grand object of existence seems to be to -prove “Popery” an emanation from hell. With others the effort is equally -great to prove the Episcopal Church as a “co-ordinate” branch with the -Roman Church, and entitled to the same consideration as is paid by the -devotees of Rome to its hierarchy. In both instances--viz., High Church -and Low Church--history records failure. - -We notice next the relation which the Protestant Episcopal Church holds -to the Church of England. - -The English Church evidently regards the Protestant Episcopal Church of -the United States of America as a weaker sister, and not to be admitted -to doubtful disputations. She is courteous toward her, and accepts -her present of a gold alms-basin from an unrobed representative with -a certain amount of ceremony. She invites her bishops to the Lambeth -Conference, and they pay their own fare across the Atlantic; but they -confer about nothing. It is true the Protestant Episcopal Church approved -the action of the English Church in condemning Colenso; but this was a -safe thing for the English Church to present. It would have been hardly -complimentary to have their guests go home without doing something, -especially as they were not to be invited into Westminster Abbey, and -were to have nothing to do with the coming Bible revision. - -The bishops of the Protestant Episcopal Church of the United States of -America were invited to the English conference very much as country -cousins are invited to tea, and that was all. - -By way of asserting her right to a recognition as an equal with -the Church of England, she--the Protestant Episcopal Church of the -United States of America--has established, or rather individuals have -established and the act has received the sanction of the General -Convention, certain rival congregations in a few foreign cities where -the English service was already established. If she be of the same -Catholic mould as the Church of England, why does she thus in a foreign -city attempt to maintain an opposition service? The variations in the -Prayer-Book are no answer to the question. If the English Church be Holy, -Catholic, and Apostolic, and the Protestant Episcopal Church be Holy, -Catholic, and Apostolic, the two are therefore one; for they both claim -that there is but one Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic church. - -She is in this case unmistakably uncatholic, or else the English Church -is. In either case she falls to the ground. - -Our attention is directed again to the many laws enacted against her -bishops as compared with the laws enacted against the other members of -the church. If Mosheim were to be restored to the flesh, and were to -write the history of the Episcopal Church, and used as an authority -the Digest of Canons, as he has been accustomed in his _Ecclesiastical -History_ to use ecclesiastical documents generally, he would style the -bishops of the Protestant Episcopal Church a set of criminals of the -deepest dye, and the priests and deacons not much better. The laity would -be regarded as all that could be desired in lofty integrity and spotless -morality. For why? A glance at their vade-mecum of law--the Digest of -Canons--shows an immense bulk of its space to be devoted “to the trial of -a bishop.” The laity go scot-free. - -We question the propriety, as well as the Catholicity, of covering the -higher clergy with laws till they are helpless, while the laity revel in -a freedom that amounts, when they choose, to mob-license; but it is done, -and the Episcopal Church is degraded to a level lower than any of the -denominations around her. - -With other bodies who call themselves Christian there is a certain amount -of consistency. Their rulers are from among their own members. With the -church under consideration, her rulers, in many cases, are any unbaptized -heathen who may choose to work themselves into a temporary favor with the -pew-holders. It is not necessary that they should even have ever attended -church. We note an instance where the chief man of a small parish was a -druggist, and kept in the rear of his drug-store a low drinking-room; -and this man was elected treasurer year after year by a handful of -interested parties, and, when elected, he managed all the finances of the -parish according to his own notions of propriety. It was his habit to go -to the church near the close of the sermon, and go away immediately after -the collection. - -We note another instance where a warden visited the rector of his parish, -and threatened, with a polite oath, to give him something hotter than -a section of the day of judgment if he did not ask his (the warden’s) -advice a little more on parish matters. The parish grew so warm that at -the end of three weeks the rector was candidating for another. - -We note another instance where a warden was so overjoyed at having -settled a rector according to his own liking that, on the arrival of the -new incumbent, he not only did not go to hear him preach, but stayed at -home with certain friends, and enjoyed, to use his own expression, a -“dooced big drunk.” Out of consideration for the feelings of his family -we use the word “dooced” instead of his stronger expression. - -The rector of this happily-ruled parish was imprudent enough to incur -the displeasure of his warden after a few months of arduous labor. He -received a note while sitting at the bedside of his sick wife, saying -that after the following Sunday his services would be dispensed with; -that if he attempted to stay, the church would be closed for repairs. - -We are well acquainted with a parish where a congregation wished to -displace both the senior and junior wardens. These two gentlemen had -been shrewd enough to foresee the event. They succeeded, by calculating -management, in having vested in themselves the right of selling pews. -When Easter Monday came, they sold for a dollar a pew to loafers on the -streets, and swarmed the election with men who never had entered the -place before. The laws of the parish were such that there was no redress. -As a matter of course, the rector was soon candidating. - -During the earliest portion of the official life of one of the oldest and -most eminent bishops, he was called on to officiate at the institution of -a Low-Church rector. At the morning service the bishop took occasion to -congratulate the congregation on the assumed fact that they had now “an -altar, a priest, and a sacrifice,” and went on to enlarge on that idea. -In the evening of the same day the instituted minister, in addressing -the congregation, said: “My brethren, so help me God! if the doctrines -you heard this morning are the doctrines of the Protestant Episcopal -Church, then I am no Protestant Episcopalian; but they are not such”--and -essayed substantiating the assertion. All that came of the affair was the -publication, on the part of each, of their respective discourses. On the -supposition of the bishop’s having any foundation for his ecclesiastical -character and for the doctrines he taught, would that have been the end -of the matter? - -Can it be that the Episcopal Church is Catholic? Is it possible that she -is part of the grand structure portrayed by prophets and sung in the -matchless words of inspiration as that against which the gates of hell -shall not prevail? Rather, we are forced to class her as a “sister” among -the very “heretics” from whom in her litany she prays, “Good Lord deliver -us.” - - -ARE YOU MY WIFE? - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” “PIUS VI.,” -ETC. - -CHAPTER X. - -ALARMING SYMPTOMS. - -November had come, and was gathering up the last tints and blossoms -of autumn. One by one the garden lights were being put out; the tall -archangel lilies drooped their snow and gold cups languidly; the jasmine, -that only the other day twinkled its silver stars amidst the purple bells -of the clematis, now trailed wearily down the trellis of the porch; the -hardy geraniums made a stand for it yet, but their petals dropped off at -every puff of wind, and powdered the gravel with a scarlet ring round -their six big red pots that flanked the walk from the gate to the cottage -door; the red roses held out like a forlorn hope, defying the approach of -the conqueror, and staying to say a last good-by to sweet Mother Summer, -ere she passed away. - -It was too chilly to sit out of doors late of afternoons now, and night -fell quickly. M. de la Bourbonais had collapsed into his brown den; but -the window stood open, and let the faint incense of the garden steal in -to him, as he bent over his desk with his shaded lamp beside him. - -Franceline had found it cold, and had slipt away, without saying why, -to her own room upstairs. She was sitting on the floor with her hands -in her lap, and her head pressed against the latticed window, watching -the scarlet geraniums as they shivered in the evening breeze and dropped -into their moist autumn tomb. A large crystal moon was rising above the -woods beyond the river, and a few stars were coming out. She counted -them, and listened to the wood-pigeon cooing in the park, and to the -solitary note of an owl that answered from some distant grove. But the -voices of wood and field were not to her now what they once had been. -There was something in her that responded to them still, but not in the -old way; she had drifted somewhere beyond their reach; she was hearkening -for other voices, since one had touched her with a power these had never -possessed, and whose echoing sweetness had converted the sounds that had -till then been her only music into a blank and aching silence. Other -pulses had been stirred, other chords struck within her, so strong and -deep, and unlike the old childish ones, that these had become to her what -the memory of the joys of childhood are to the full-grown man--a sweet -shadow that lingers when the substance has fled; part of a life that has -been lived, that can never be quickened again, but is enshrined in memory. - -She was very pale, almost like a shadow herself, as she sat there in the -silver gloom. Mothers who met her in her walks about the neighborhood -looked wistfully after the gentle young face, and said with a sigh: -“What a pity! And so young too!” Yet Franceline was not ill; not even -ailing; she never complained even of fatigue, and when her father -tapped the pale cheek and asked how his _Clair-de-lune_ was, she would -answer brightly that she had never been better in her life, and as she -had no cough, he believed her. A cough was Raymond’s single diagnosis of -disease and death; he had a vague but deep-seated belief that nobody, -no young person certainly, ever died a natural death without this fatal -premonitory symptom. And yet he could not help following Franceline with -an anxious eye as he saw her walking listlessly about the garden, or -sitting with a book in her hand that she let drop every now and then to -look dreamily out of the window, and only resumed with an evident effort. -Sometimes she would go and lean her arms on the rail at the end of the -garden, and stand there for an hour together gazing at the familiar -landscape as if she were discovering some new feature in it, or straining -her eyes to see some distant object. He could not lay his finger on any -particular symptom that justified anxiety, and still he was anxious; a -change of some sort had come over the child; she grew more and more like -her mother, and it was not until Armengarde was several years older than -Franceline that the disease which had been germinating in her system from -childhood developed itself and proved fatal. - -M. de la Bourbonais never alluded to Franceline’s refusal of Sir Ponsonby -Anwyll, but he had not forgotten it. In his dreamy mind he cogitated on -the possibility of the offer being renewed, and her accepting it. As to -Clide de Winton, he had quite ceased to think of him, and never for an -instant coupled him in his thoughts with Franceline. It did not strike -him as significant that Sir Simon had avoided mentioning the young man -since his return. After the conversation that Clide had once been the -subject of between them, this reticence was natural enough. The failure -of his wild, affectionate scheme placed him in a somewhat ridiculous -position towards Raymond, and it was no wonder that he shrank from -alluding to it. - -Sir Ponsonby had left Rydal immediately after the eventful ride we know -of. He could not remain in Franceline’s neighborhood without seeing her, -and he had sense enough to feel that he would injure rather than serve -his cause by forcing his society on her after what had passed. This -is as good as admitting that he did not look upon his cause as lost. -What man in love for the first time would give up after one refusal, if -his love was worth the name? Ponsonby was not one of the faint-hearted -tribe. He combined real modesty as to his own worth and pretensions -with unbounded faith in the power of his love and its ultimate success. -The infallibility of hope and perseverance was an essential part of his -lover’s creed. He did not apply the tenet with any special sense of its -fitness to Franceline in particular. He was no analyzer of character; -he did not discriminate nicely between the wants and attributes of one -woman and another; he blended them all in a theoretical worship, and -included all womankind in his notions as to how they were individually -to be wooed and won. He would let them have their own way, allow them -unlimited pin-money, cover them with trinkets, and gratify all their -little whims. If a girl were ever so beautiful and ever so good, no man -could do more for her than this; and any man who was able and willing to -do it, ought to be able to win her. Ponsonby took heart, and trusted to -his uniform good luck not to miss the prize he had set his heart on. He -would rejoin his regiment for the present, and see what a month’s absence -would do for him. He had one certain ground of hope: Franceline did not -dislike him, and, as far as he could learn or guess, she cared for no one -else. Sir Simon was his ally, and would keep a sharp lookout for him, and -keep the little spark alive--if spark there were--by singing his praises -judiciously in the ear of the cruel fair one. - -She, meanwhile, went on in her usual quiet routine, tending the sick, -teaching some little children, and working with her father, who grew -daily more enamored of her tender and intelligent co-operation. Lady -Anwyll called soon after Ponsonby’s departure, and was just as kind and -unconstrained as if nothing had happened. She did not press Franceline to -go and stay at Rydal, but hoped she would ride over there occasionally -with Sir Simon to lunch. Her duties as secretary to Raymond made the -sacrifice of a whole afternoon repugnant to her; but she did go once, -just to show the old lady that she retained the same kind feeling -towards her as before anything had occurred to make a break in their -intimacy. It was delightful when she came home to find that her father -had been utterly at sea without her, mooning about in a helpless way -amongst the notes and papers that under her management had passed from -confusion and chaos into order and sequence. While everything was in -confusion he could find his way through the maze, but he had no key to -this new order of things. Franceline declared she must never leave -him so long again; he had put everything topsy-turvy, he was not to be -trusted. The discovery of his dependence on her in a sphere where she -had till lately been as useless to him as Angélique or Miss Merrywig -was a source of infinite enjoyment to her, and she threw herself into -her daily task with an energy that lightened the labor immensely to her -father, without, as far as Franceline could say, fatiguing herself. But -fatigue for being unconscious is sometimes none the less real. It may be -that this sustained application was straining a system already severely -tried by mental pressure. She was one day writing away as usual, while -Raymond, with a bookful of notes in his hand, stood on the hearth-rug -dictating. Suddenly she was seized with a fit of coughing, and, putting -her handkerchief quickly to her mouth, she drew it away stained with -crimson. She stifled a cry of terror that rose to her lips, and hurried -out of the room. Her father had seen nothing, but her abrupt departure -startled him; he hastened after her, and found her in the kitchen holding -the handkerchief up to Angélique, who was looking at the fatal stain with -a face rather stupefied than terrified. - -“My God, have pity upon me! My child! My child!” he cried, clasping -his hands and abandoning himself to his distress with the impassioned -demonstrativeness of a Frenchman. - -Woman, it is said truly, is more courageous at bearing physical pain -than man; it is true also that she has more self-command in controlling -the expression of mental pain. Her instinct is surer too in guiding -her how to save others from suffering; let her be ever so untutored, -she will prove herself shrewder than the cleverest man on occasions -like the present. Angélique’s womanly instinct told her at once that it -was essential not to frighten Franceline: that the nervous shock would -infallibly aggravate the evil, wherever the cause lay, and that the best -thing to do now was to soothe and allay her fears. - -“Bless me! what is there to make a row about?” she cried with an angry -chuckle, crushing the handkerchief in her fingers and darting a look on -her master which, if eyes could knock down, must have laid him prostrate -on the spot; “the child has an indigestion and has thrown up a mouthful -of bread from her stomach. Hein!” - -“How do you know it is from the stomach and not from the lungs?” he -asked, already reassured by her confidence, and still more by her -incivility. - -“How do I know? Am I a fool? Would it be that color if it was from the -lungs? I say it is from the stomach, and it is a good business. But we -must not have too much of it. It would weaken the child; we must stop it.” - -“I will run for the doctor at once!” exclaimed M. de la Bourbonais, still -trembling and excited. “Or stay!--no!--I will fly to the Court and they -will despatch a man on horseback!” He was hurrying away when Angélique -literally shouted at him: - -“Wilt thou be quiet with thy doctor and thy man on horseback! I tell thee -it is from the stomach; I know what I am about. I want neither man nor -horse. It is from the stomach! Dost thou take me for a fool at this time -of my life?” - -Raymond stood still like a chidden child while the old servant poured -this volley at him. Franceline stared at her aghast. In her angry -excitement the grenadier had broken through not only all barriers of -rank, but all the common rules of civility--she who was such a strict -observer of both that they seemed a very part of herself. This ought to -have opened their eyes, if nothing else did; but Franceline was only -bewildered, Raymond was cowed and perplexed. - -“If thou art indeed quite sure,” he said, falling into the familiar “thee -and thou” by which she addressed him, and which on her deferential lips -sounded so outrageous and unnatural--“if thou art indeed certain I will -be satisfied; but, my good Angélique, would it not be a wise precaution -to have a medical man?--only just, as thou sayest well, to prevent its -going too far.” - -“Well, well, if Monsieur le Comte wishes, let it be; let the doctor come; -for me, I care not for him; they are an ignorant lot, pulling long faces -to make long bills; but if it pleases Monsieur le Comte, let him have one -to see the child.” She nodded her flaps at him, as if to say, “Be off -then at once and leave us in peace!” - -He was leaving the room, when, turning round suddenly, he came close -up to Franceline. “Dost thou feel a pain, my child?” he said, peering -anxiously into her face. - -“No, father, not the least pain. I am sure Angélique is right; I feel -nothing here,” putting her hand to her chest. - -“God is good! God is good!” muttered the father half audibly, and, -stroking her cheek gently, he went. - -“Let not Monsieur le Comte go rushing off himself; let him send one of -those thirty-six lackeys at the Court!” cried Angélique, calling after -him through the kitchen window. - -In her heart and soul Angélique was terrified. She had thrown out quite -at random, with the instinct of desperation, that confident assurance as -to the color of the stain. Her first impulse was to save Franceline from -the shock, but it had fallen full upon herself. This accident sounded -like the first stroke of the death-knell. No one would have supposed it -to look at her. She set her arms akimbo and laughed till she shook at her -own impudence to M. le Comte, and how meekly M. le Comte had borne it, -and how scared his face was, and what a joke the business was altogether. -To see him stand there wringing his hands, and making such a wailing -about nothing! But when Franceline was going to answer and reproach her -old _bonne_ with this inopportune mirth, she laid her hand on the young -girl’s mouth and bade her peremptorily be silent. - -“If you go talking and scolding, child, there is no knowing what mischief -you may do. Come and lie down, and keep perfectly quiet.” - -Franceline obeyed willingly enough. She was weak and tired, and glad to -be alone awhile. - -Angélique placed a cold, wet cloth on her chest, and made her some cold -lemonade to drink. It was making a fuss about nothing, to be sure; but -it would please M. le Comte. He was never happier than when people were -making a fuss over his _Clair-de-lune_. - -It was not long before the count returned, accompanied by Sir Simon. -Angélique saw at a glance that the baronet understood how things were. He -talked very big about his confidence that Angélique was right; that it -was an accident of no serious import whatever; but he exchanged a furtive -glance with the old woman that sufficiently belied all this confident -talk. He was for going up to see Franceline with M. de la Bourbonais, -but Angélique would not allow this. M. le Comte might go, if he liked, -provided he did not make her speak; but nobody else must go; the room -was too small, and it would excite the child to see people about her. So -Raymond went up alone. As soon as his back was turned, Angélique threw up -her hands with a gesture too significant for any words. Sir Simon closed -the door gently. - -“I am not duped any more than you,” he said. “It is sure to be very -serious, even if it is not fatal. Tell me what you really think.” - -“I saw her mother go through it all. It began like this. Only Madame -la Comtesse had a cough; the petite has never had one. That is the -only thing that gives me a bit of hope; the petite has never coughed. -O Monsieur Simon! it is terrible. It will kill us all three; I know it -will.” - -“Tut, tut! don’t give up in this way, Angélique,” said the baronet -kindly, and turning aside; “that will mend nothing; it is the very worst -thing you could do. I agree with you that it is very serious; not so -much the accident itself, perhaps--we know nothing about that yet--but -on account of the hereditary taint in the constitution. However, there -has been no cough undermining it so far, and with care--I promise you she -shall have the best--there is every reason to hope the child will weather -it. At her age one weathers everything,” he added, cheerfully. “Come -now, don’t despond; a great deal depends on your keeping a cheerful -countenance.” - -“I know it, monsieur, and I will do my best. But I hear steps! Could it -be the doctor already? For goodness’ sake run out and meet him, and tell -him, as he hopes to save us all, not to let Monsieur le Comte know there -is any danger! It is all up with us if he does. Monsieur le Comte could -no more hide it than a baby could hide a pin in its clothes.” - -She opened the door and almost pushed Sir Simon out, in her terror lest -the doctor should walk in without being warned. - -Sir Simon met him at the back of the cottage. A few words were exchanged, -and they came in together. Raymond met them on the stairs. The medical -man preferred seeing his patient alone; the nurse might be present, but -he could have no one else. In a very few minutes he came down, and a -glance at his face set the father’s heart almost completely at rest. - -“Dear me, Sir Simon, you would never do for a sick nurse. You prepared me -for a very dangerous case by your message; it is a mere trifle; hardly -worth the hard ride I’ve had to perform in twenty minutes.” - -“Then there is nothing amiss with the lungs?” - -“Would you like to sound them yourself, count? Pray do! It will be -more satisfactory to you.” And he handed his stethoscope to M. de la -Bourbonais--not mockingly, but quite gravely and kindly. - -That provincial doctor missed his vocation. He ought to have been a -diplomatist. - -Instead of the proffered stethoscope, M. de la Bourbonais grasped his -hand. His heart was too full for speech. The reaction of security -after the brief interval of agony and suspense unnerved him. He sat -down without speaking, and wiped the great drops from his forehead. The -medical man addressed himself to Sir Simon and Angélique. There was -nothing whatever to be alarmed at; but there was occasion for care and -certain preventive measures. The young lady must have perfect rest and -quiet; there must be no talking for some time; no excitement of any sort. -He gave sundry directions about diet, etc., and wrote a prescription -which was to be sent to the chemist at once. M. de la Bourbonais -accompanied him to the door with a lightened heart, and bade him _au -revoir_ with a warm pressure of the hand. - -“Now, let me hear the truth,” said Sir Simon, as soon as they entered the -park. - -“You have heard the truth--though only in a negative form. If you -noticed, we did not commit ourselves to any opinion of the case; we only -prescribed for it. This was the only way in which we could honestly -follow your instructions,” observed the doctor, who always used the royal -“we” of authorship when speaking professionally. - -“You showed great tact and prudence; but there is no need for either now. -Tell me exactly what you think.” - -“It will be more to the purpose to tell you what we know,” rejoined the -medical man. “There is a blood-vessel broken; not a large one, happily, -and if the hemorrhage does not increase and continue, it may prove of no -really serious consequence. But then we must remember the question of -inheritance. That is what makes a symptom in itself trifling assume a -grave--we refrain from saying fatal--character.” - -“You are convinced that this is but the beginning of the end--am I to -understand that?” asked Sir Simon. He was used to the doctor’s pompous -way, and knew him to be both clever and conscientious, at least towards -his patients. - -“It would be precipitating an opinion to say so much. We are on the -whole inclined to take a more sanguine view. We consider the hitherto -unimpaired health of the patient, and her extreme youth, fair grounds for -hope. But great care must be taken; all excitement must be avoided.” - -“You may count on your orders being strictly carried out,” said Sir Simon. - -They walked on a few yards without further speech. Sir Simon was busy -with anxious and affectionate thoughts. - -“I should fancy a warm climate would be the best cure for a case of this -kind,” he observed, answering his own reflections, rather than speaking -to his companion. - -“No doubt, no doubt,” assented Dr. Blink, “if the patient was in a -position to authorize her medical attendant in ordering such a measure.” - -“Monsieur de la Bourbonais is in that position,” replied Sir Simon, -quietly. - -“Ah! I am glad to know it. I may act on the information one of these -days. The young lady could not bear the fatigue of a journey to the south -just now; the general health is a good deal below par; the nervous system -wants toning; it is unstrung.” - -Sir Simon made no comment--not at least in words--but it set his mind -on painful conjecture. Perhaps the electric chain passed from him to -his companion, for the latter said irrelevantly but with a significant -expression, as he turned his glance full upon Sir Simon: - -“We medical men are trusted with many secrets--secrets of the heart as -well as of the body. We ask you frankly, as a friend of our patient, is -there any moral cause at work--any disappointed affection that may have -preyed on the mind and fostered the inherited germs of disease?” - -“I cannot answer that question,” replied the baronet after a moment’s -hesitation. - -“You cannot, or you will not? Excuse my pertinacity; it is professional -and necessary.” - -Sir Simon hesitated again before he answered. - -“I cannot even give a decided answer to that. I had some time ago feared -there existed something of the sort, but of late those apprehensions had -entirely disappeared. If you had put the question to me yesterday, I -should have said emphatically there is nothing to fear on that score; the -child is perfectly happy and quite heart-whole.” - -“And to-day you are not prepared to say as much,” persisted Dr. Blink. -“Something has occurred to modify this change of opinion?” - -“Nothing, except the accident that you know of and your question now. -These suggest to me that I may have been right in the first instance.” - -“Is it in your power or within the power of circumstances to set the -wrong right--to remove the cause of anxiety--assuming that it actually -exists?” - -“No, it is not; nothing can remove it.” - -“And she is aware of this?” - -“I fear not.” - -“Say rather that you hope not. In such cases hope is the best physician; -let nothing be done, as far as you can prevent it, to destroy this hope -in the patient’s mind; I would even venture to urge that you should do -anything in your power to feed and stimulate it.” - -“That is impossible; quite impossible,” said Sir Simon emphatically. The -doctor’s words fell on him like a sting, and this very feeling increased -to conviction what had, at the beginning of the conversation, been only a -vague misgiving. - - * * * * * - -Franceline rallied quickly, and with her returning strength Sir Simon’s -fears were allayed. He had not been able to follow the doctor’s advice -as to keeping alive any soothing delusions that might exist in her mind, -but he succeeded, by dint of continually dinning it into his ears that -there was no danger, in convincing her father that there was not; and the -cheerfulness and security that radiated from him acted beneficially on -her, and proved of great help to the medical treatment. And was Dr. Blink -right in his surmise that a moral cause had been at work and contributed -to the bursting of the blood-vessel? If Franceline had been asked she -would have denied it; if any one had said to her that the accident had -been brought on by mental suffering, or insinuated that she was still -at heart pining for a lost love, she would have answered with proud -sincerity: “It is false; I am not pining. I have ceased to think of Clide -de Winton; I have ceased to love him.” - -But which of us can answer truly for our own hearts? We do not want to -idealize Franceline. We wish to describe her as she was, the good with -the evil; the struggle and the victory as they alternated in her life; -her heart fluctuating, but never consciously disloyal. There must be -flaws in every picture taken from life. Perfection is not to be found in -nature, except when seen through a poet’s eyes. Perhaps it was true that -Franceline had ceased to love Clide. When our will is firmly set upon -self-conquest we are apt to fancy it achieved. But conquest does not of -necessity bring joy, or even peace. Nothing is so terrible as a victory, -except a defeat, was a great captain’s cry on surveying the bloody field -of yesterday’s battle. The frantic effort, the bleeding trophies may -inflict a death-wound on the conqueror as fatal, in one sense, as defeat. -We see the “good fight” every day leading to such issues. Brave souls -fight and carry the day, and then go to reap their laurels where “beyond -these voices there is peace.” Franceline had gained a victory, but there -was no rejoicing in the triumph. Her heart plained still of its wounds; -if she did not hear it, it was because she would not; it still bemoaned -its hard fate, its broken cup of happiness. - -She rose up from this illness, however, happier than she had been for -months. It was difficult to believe that the period which had worked such -changes to her inward life counted only a few months; it seemed like -years, like a lifetime, since she had first met Clide de Winton. She -resumed her calmly busy little life as before the break had come that -suspended its active routine. By Dr. Blink’s desire the teaching class -was suppressed, and the necessity of guarding against cold prevented her -doing much amongst the sick; but this extra leisure in one way enabled -her to increase her work in another; she devoted it to writing with her -father; this never tired her, she affirmed--it only interested and amused -her. - -The advisability of a trip to some southern spot in France or Italy had -been suggested by Dr. Blink; but the proposal was rejected by his patient -in such a strenuous and excited manner that he forebore to press it. -He noticed also an expression of sudden pain on M. de la Bourbonais’ -countenance, accompanied by an involuntary deep-drawn sigh, that led him -to believe there must be pecuniary impediments in the way of the scheme, -notwithstanding Sir Simon’s assurance to the contrary. The _émigré_ -was universally looked upon as a poor man. Who else would live as he -did? Still Sir Simon must have known what he was saying. However, as it -happened, the cold weather, which was now setting in pretty sharp, was -by no means favorable to travelling, so the doctor consented willingly -enough to abide by the patient’s circumstances and wishes. A long journey -in winter is always a high price for an invalid to pay for the benefit of -a warm climate. - -In the first days of December, Sir Simon took flight from Dullerton to -Nice. Lady Rebecca was spending the winter at Cannes, and as Mr. Simpson -reported that “her ladyship’s health had declined visibly within the -last month,” it was natural that her dutiful step-son should desire to -be within call in case of any painful eventuality. If the climate of the -sunny Mediterranean town happened to be a very congenial winter residence -to him, so much the better. It is only fair that a man should have some -compensation for doing his duty. - -The day before he started Sir Simon came down to The Lilies. - -“Raymond,” he said, “you have sustained a loss lately; you must be in -want of money; now is the time to prove yourself a Christian, and let -others do unto you as you would do unto them. You offered me money once -when I did not want it; I offer it to you now that you do.” And he -pressed a bundle of notes into the count’s hands. - -But Raymond crushed them back into his. “Mon cher Simon! I do not thank -you. That would be ungrateful; it would look as if I were surprised, -whereas I have long since come to take brotherly kindness as a matter of -course from you. But in truth I do not want this money; I give you my -word I don’t!” - -“If you pledge your word, I must believe you, I suppose,” returned the -baronet; “but promise me one thing--if you should want it, you will let -me know?” - -“I promise you I will.” - -Sir Simon with a sigh, which Raymond took for reluctance, but which was -really one of relief, replaced the notes in his waistcoat pocket. “I had -better leave you a blank check all the same,” he said; “you might happen -to want it, and not be able to get a letter to me at once. There is no -knowing where the vagabond spirit may lead me, once I am on the move. -Give me a pen.” And he seated himself at the desk. - -Raymond protested; but it was no use, Sir Simon would have his own way; -he wrote the blank check and saw it locked up in the count’s private -drawer. M. de la Bourbonais argued from this reckless committal of his -signature that the baronet’s finances were in a flourishing condition, -and was greatly rejoiced. Alas! if the truth were known, they had never -been in a sorrier plight. He had offered the bank-notes in all sincerity, -but if Raymond had accepted it, Sir Simon would have been at his wit’s -end to find the ready money for his journey. But he kept this dark, and -rather led his friend to suppose him flush of money; it was the only -chance of getting him to accept his generosity. - -“Mind you keep me constantly informed how Franceline gets on,” were his -parting words; and M. de la Bourbonais promised. - -She got on in pretty much the same way for some time. Languid and pale, -but not suffering; and she had no cough, and no return of the symptoms -that had alarmed them all so much. Angélique watched her as a cat watches -a mouse, but even her practised eye could detect no definite cause for -anxiety. - -One morning, about a fortnight after Sir Simon’s departure, Franceline -was alone in the little sitting-room--her father had gone to do some -shopping for her in the town, as it was too cold for her to venture -out--when Sir Ponsonby Anwyll called. The moment she saw him she flushed -up, partly with surprise, partly with pleasure. A casual observer would -have concluded this to be a good sign for the visitor; a male friend -would have unhesitatingly pronounced him a lucky dog. Ponsonby himself -felt slightly elated. - -“I heard you were ill,” he said, “and as I am at home on leave for a -few days, I could not resist coming to inquire for you. You are not -displeased with me for coming?” - -“No, indeed; it is very kind of you. I am glad to see you,” Franceline -replied with bright, grateful eyes. - -Hope bounded up high in Ponsonby. - -“They told me you had been very ill. I hope it is not true. You don’t -look it,” he said anxiously. - -“I have been frightening them a little more than it was worth; but I am -quite well now. How is Lady Anwyll?” - -“Thank you, she’s just as usual; in very good health and a tremendous -bustle. You know I always put the house topsy-turvy when I come down. Not -that I mean to do it; it seems to come of itself as a natural consequence -of my being there,” he explained, laughing. “Is M. de la Bourbonais quite -well?” - -“Quite well. He will be in presently; he is only gone to make a few -purchases for me.” - -“How anxious he must have been while you were ill!” - -“Dear papa! yes he was.” - -“Do you ride much now?” - -“Not at all. I am forbidden to take any violent exercise for the present.” - -All obvious subjects being now exhausted, there ensued a pause. Ponsonby -was the first to break it. - -“Have you forgiven me, Franceline?” he said, looking at her tenderly, and -with a sort of sheepish timidity. - -“Indeed I have; forgiven and forgotten,” she replied; and then blushing -very red, and correcting herself quickly: “I mean there was nothing to -forgive.” - -“That’s not the sort of forgiveness I want,” said Ponsonby, growing -courageous in proportion as she grew embarrassed. “Franceline, why can -you not like me a little? I love you so much; no one will ever love you -better, or as well!” - -She shook her head, but said nothing, only rose and went to the window. -He followed her. - -“You are angry with me again!” he exclaimed, and was going to break out -in entreaties to be forgiven; when stooping forward he caught sight of -her face. It was streaming with tears! - -“There, the very mention of it sets you crying! Why do you hate me so?” - -“I do not hate you. I never hated you! I wish with all my heart I could -love you! But I cannot, I cannot! And you would not have me marry you if -I did not love you? It would be false and selfish to accept your love, -with all it would bring me, and give so little in return?” She turned her -dark eyes on him, still full of tears, but unabashed and innocent, as if -he had been a brother asking her to do something unreasonable. - -“So little!” he cried, and seizing her hand he pressed it to his lips; -“if you knew how thankful I would be for that little! What am I but an -awkward lout at best! But I will make you happy, Franceline; I swear to -you I will! And your father too. I will be as good as a son to him.” - -She made no answer but the same negative movement of her head. She looked -out over the winter fields with a dreamy expression, as if she only half -heard him, while her hand lay passively in his. - -“Say you will be my wife! Accept me, Franceline!” pleaded the young man, -and he passed his arm around her. - -The action roused her; she snatched away her hand and started from -him. It was not aversion or antipathy, it was terror that dictated the -movement. Something within her cried out and forbade her to listen. She -could no more control the sudden recoil than she could control the tears -that gushed out afresh, this time with loud sobs that shook her from head -to foot. - -“Good heavens! what have I done?” exclaimed Ponsonby, helpless and -dismayed. “Shall I go away? shall I leave you?” - -“Oh! it is nothing. It is over now,” said Franceline, her agitation -quieted instantaneously by the sight of his. She dashed the tears from -her cheeks impatiently; she was vexed with herself for giving way so -before him. “Sit down; you are trembling all over,” said the young man; -and he gently forced her into a chair. “I am sorry I said anything; I -will never mention the subject again without your permission. Shall I go -away?” - -“It would be very ungracious to say ‘yes,’” she replied, trying to smile -through the tears that hung like raindrops on her long lashes; “but you -see how weak and foolish I am.” - -“My poor darling! I will go and leave you. I have been too much for you. -Only tell me, may I come soon again--just to ask how you are?” - -She hesitated. To say yes would be tacitly to accept him; yet it was -odious to turn him off like this without a word of kindly explanation to -soften the pang. Ponsonby could not read these thoughts, so he construed -her hesitation according to the immemorial logic of lovers. - -“Well, never mind answering now,” he said; “I won’t bother you any more -to-day. You will present my respects to the count, and say how sorry I -was not to see him.” - -He held out his hand for good-by. - -“You will meet him on the road, I dare say,” said Franceline, extending -hers. “You will not tell him how I have misbehaved to you?” - -The shy smile that accompanied the request emboldened Ponsonby to raise -the soft, white hand to his lips. Then turning away he overturned a -little wicker flower-stand, happily with no injury to the sturdy green -plant, but with considerable damage to the dignity of his exit. - -Perhaps you will say that Mlle. de la Bourbonais behaved like a flirt in -parting with a discarded lover in this fashion. It is easy for you to say -so. It is not so easy for a woman with a heart to inflict unmitigated -pain on a man who loves her, and whose love she at least requites with -gratitude, esteem, and sisterly regard. - -Sir Ponsonby met the count on the road; he made sure of the encounter by -walking his horse up and down the green lane which commanded the road -from Dullerton to The Lilies. What passed between them remained the -secret of themselves and the winter thrush that perched on the brown -hedge close by and sang out lustily to the trees and fields while they -conversed. - -M. de la Bourbonais made no comment on his daughter’s tear-stained cheeks -when he came home; but taking her face between his hands, as he was fond -of doing, he gave one wistful look, kissed it, and let it go. - -“How long you have been away, petit père! Shall we go to our writing -now?” she inquired cheerfully. - -“Art thou not tired, my child?” - -“Tired! What have I done to tire me?” - -She sat down at his desk, and nothing was said of Sir Ponsonby Anwyll’s -visit. - - * * * * * - -The excitement of that day’s interview told, nevertheless, on Franceline. -It left her nervous, and weaker than she had been since her recovery. -These symptoms escaped her father’s notice, and they would have escaped -Angélique’s, owing to Franceline’s strenuous efforts to conceal them, if -a slight cough had not come to put her on the _qui vive_ more than ever. -It was very slight indeed, only attacking her in the morning when she -awoke, and quite ceasing by the time she was dressed and down-stairs. -Franceline’s room was at one end of the cottage; Angélique slept next to -her; and at the other end, with the stairs intervening, was the count’s -room. He was thus out of ear-shot of the sound, which, however rare and -seemingly unimportant, would have filled him with alarm. Franceline -treated it as a trifle not worth mentioning; but when her old _bonne_ -insisted on taking her discreetly to Dr. Blink and having his opinion -about it, she gave in to humor her. The doctor once more applied his -stethoscope, and then, smiling that grim, satisfied smile of his that was -so reassuring to patients till they had seen it practised on others and -found out it was a fallacy, remarked: - -“We are glad to be able to assure you again that there is nothing to -be frightened at; no mischief that cannot be forestalled by care, and -docility to our instructions,” he added emphatically. “We must order you -some tonics, and you must take them regularly. How is the appetite?” -turning to Angélique, who stood by devouring the oracle’s words and -watching every line of his features with a shrewd, almost vicious -expression of mistrust on her brown face. - -“Ah! the appetite. She will not be eating many; she will be wanting -dainty plates which I cannot make,” explained the Frenchwoman, sticking -pertinaciously to the future tense, as usual when she spoke English. - -“Invalids are liable to those caprices of the palate,” remarked Dr. Blink -blandly; “but Miss Franceline will be brave and overcome them. Dainty -dishes are not always the most nourishing, and nourishment is necessary -for her; it is essential.” - -“That is what I will be telling mamselle,” assented Angélique; “but she -will not be believing me. I will be telling her every day the strength is -in the bouillon; but she will be making a grimace and saying ‘Pshaw!’” - -The last word was uttered with a grimace so expressive that Franceline -burst out laughing, and the pompous little doctor joined in it in spite -of his dignity. She promised to do her best to obey him and overcome -her dislike to the bouillon, Angélique’s native panacea, and to other -substantial food. - -But she found it very hard to keep the promise. It required something -savory to tempt her weak appetite. Angélique saw she was doing her -best, and never pressed the poor child needlessly; but she would groan -over the plate as she removed it, sometimes untouched. “I used to think -myself a ‘blue ribbon’ until now,” she said once to Franceline, with an -impatient sigh; “but I am at the end of my talent; I can do nothing to -please mamselle.” And then she would long for Sir Simon to come home. -It happened unluckily that the professed artist who presided over the -kitchen at the Court was taking a holiday during his master’s absence. -Angélique would have scorned to invoke the skill of the subaltern who -replaced him, but she had a profound admiration for the _chef_ himself, -and, though an Englishman, she bowed unreservedly to his superior -talents. The belief was current that Sir Simon would spend the Christmas -at Dullerton; he always did when not at too great a distance at that -time. It was the right thing for an English gentleman to do, and his -bitterest foe would not accuse the baronet of failing to act up to that -standard. - -This year, however, it was not possible. The weather was glorious at Nice -and it was anything but that at Dullerton, and the long journey in the -cold was not attractive. He wrote home desiring the usual festivities -to be arranged according to the old custom of the place; coals and -clothing were to be distributed _ad libitum_; the fatted calf was to be -killed for the tenantry, and everybody was enjoined to eat, drink, and -be merry in spite of the host’s absence. They conscientiously followed -these hospitable injunctions, but it was a grievous disappointment that -Sir Simon was not in their midst to stimulate the conviviality by his -kindly and genial presence. Pretty presents came to The Lilies, but they -did not bring strength to Franceline. She grew more transparent, more -fragile-looking, as the days went on. Angélique held private conferences -with Miss Merrywig, and that lady suggested that any of the large houses -in the neighborhood would be only too delighted to be of any use in -sending jellies flavored with good strong wine. There was nothing so -nourishing for an invalid; Miss Merrywig would speak to one where there -was a capital cook. But Angélique would not hear of it. No, no! Much as -she longed for the jelly she dared not get it in this way. M. le Comte -would never forgive her. “He will be so proud, M. le Comte! He will be a -Scotchman! He will not be confessing even to me that he wants nothing. -But Monsieur Simon will be coming; he will be coming soon, and then he -will be making little plates for mamselle every day.” Meantime she and -Franceline did their best to hide from Raymond this particular reason -for desiring their friend’s return. But he noticed that she ate next to -nothing, and that she often signed to Angélique to remove her plate on -which the food remained untasted. Once he could not forbear exclaiming: -“Ah! if we were in Paris I could get some _friandise_ to tempt thee!” - -In the middle of January one morning a letter came from Sir Simon, -bearing the London postmark. - -He had been obliged to come to England on pressing business of a -harassing nature. - -“Is Sir Simon coming home, petit père?” inquired Franceline eagerly, as -her father opened the letter. - -“Yes; but only for a day. He will be here after to-morrow, and fly away -to Nice the next day.” - -“How tiresome of him! But it is better to see him for a day than not at -all. Does he say what hour he arrives? We will go and meet him.” - -“It will be too late for thee to be out, my child. He comes by the late -afternoon train, just in time to dress for dinner and receive us all. He -has invited several friends in the neighborhood to dine.” - -“What a funny idea! And he is only coming for the day?” - -“Only for the day.” - -Raymond’s eyebrows closed like a horseshoe over his meditative eyes -as he folded the baronet’s letter and laid it aside. There was more -in it than he communicated to Franceline. It was the old story; money -tight, bills falling due, and no means of meeting them. Lady Rebecca -had taken a fresh start, thanks to an Italian quack who had been up -from Naples and worked wonders with some diabolical elixir--diabolical -beyond a doubt, for nothing but the black-art could explain the sudden -and extraordinary rally; she was all but dead when the quack arrived--so -Mr. Simpson heard from one of her ladyship’s attendants. Simpson himself -was terribly put out by the news; it overturned all his immediate plans; -he saw no possibility of any longer avoiding extremities. Extremities -meant that the principal creditor, a Jew who had lent a sum of thirty -thousand pounds on Sir Simon’s life-interest in Dullerton, at the rate -of twenty per cent, was now determined to wait no longer for his arrears -of twenty per cent, but turn the baronet out of possession and sell his -life-interest in the estate. This sword of Damocles had been hanging over -his debtor’s head for the last ten years. It was to meet this usurious -interest periodically that Sir Simon was driven to such close quarters. -He had up to this time contrived to answer the demand--Heaven and Mr. -Simpson alone knew at what sacrifices. But now he had come to a point -beyond which even he declared he could not possibly carry his client. He -had tried to negotiate post-obit bills on Lady Rebecca’s fifty thousand -pounds, but the Jews were too sharp for that. Lady Rebecca was sole -master of her fifty thousand pounds, and might leave it to whom she -liked. She had made her will bequeathing it to her step-son, and _he_ -was morally as certain of ultimately possessing the money as if it were -entailed; but moral security is no security at all to a money-lender. -The money was _not_ entailed; Lady Rebecca might take it into her head -to alter her will; she might leave it to a quack doctor, or to some -clever sycophant of an attendant. There is no saying what an old lady of -seventy-five may not do with fifty thousand pounds. Sir Simon pshawed -and pooh-poohed contemptuously when Simpson enumerated these arguments -against the negotiation of the much-needed P. O. bills; but it was no -use. Israel was inexorable. And now one particular member of the tribe -called Moses to witness that if he were not paid his “twenty per shent” -on the first of February, he would seize upon the life-interest of -Dullerton Court and make its present owner a bankrupt. He could sell -nothing, either in the house or on the estate; the plate and pictures and -furniture were entailed. If this were not the case, things need not have -come to this with Sir Simon. Two of those Raphaels in the great gallery -would have paid the Jew principal and interest together; but not a spoon -or a hearth-brush in the Court could be touched; everything belonged to -the heir. No mention has hitherto been made of that important person, -because he in no way concerns this story, except by the fact of his -existence. He was a distant kinsman of the present baronet, who had never -seen him. He was in diplomacy, and so lived always abroad. People are -said to dislike their heirs. - -If Sir Simon disliked any human being, it was his. He did not dislike -Lady Rebecca; he was only out of patience with her; she certainly was -an aggravating old woman--living on to no purpose, that he could see, -except to frustrate and harass him. Yet he had kindly thoughts of her; -he had only cold aversion towards the man who was waiting for his own -death to come and rule in his stead. He had never spoken of him to M. de -la Bourbonais except to inform him that he existed, and that he stood -in his way on many occasions. In the letter of this morning he spoke of -him once more. The letter was a long one, and calmer than any previous -effusion of the kind that Raymond remembered. There was very little -vituperation of the duns, or even of the chief scoundrel who was about -to tear away the veil that had hitherto concealed the sores and flaws -in the popular landlord’s life. This was what he felt most deeply in -it all; the disgrace of being shown up as a sham--a man who had lived -like a prince while he had been in reality a beggar, in debt up to his -ears, and who was now about to be made a bankrupt. Raymond had never -before understood the real nature of his friend’s embarrassment; he -was shocked and distressed more than he could express. It was not the -moment to judge him; to remember the reckless extravagance, the criminal -want of prudence, of conscience, that had brought him to this pass. He -only thought of the friend of his youth, the kind, faithful, delightful -companion who had never failed in friendship, whatever his other sins -may have been. And now he was ruined, disgraced before the world, going -to be driven forth from his ancestral home branded as a life-long sham. -Raymond could have wept for pity. Then it occurred to him with a strange -pang that he was to dine with Sir Simon the next day; the head cook had -been telegraphed for to prepare the dinner; there was to be a jovial -gathering of friends to “cheer him up.” What a mystery it was, this -craving for being cheered up, as if the process were a substantial remedy -that in some way helped to pay debts, or postpone payment! The count was -too sad at heart to smile. He rose from the breakfast-table with a sigh, -and was leaving the room when Franceline linked her hands on his arm, and -said, looking up with an anxious face: - -“It is a long letter, petit père; is there any bad news?” - -“There is hardly any news at all,” he replied evasively. In truth there -was not. - -“Then why do you look so sad?” - -“Why dost thou look so pale?” was the reply. And he smiled tenderly and -sighed again as he kissed her forehead. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -ÆSCHYLUS. - - A sea-cliff carved into a bas-relief! - Art, rough from Nature’s hand; by brooding Nature - Wrought out in spasms to shapes of Titan stature; - Emblems of Fate, and Change, Revenge, and Grief, - And Death, and Life; in giant hieroglyph - Confronting still with thunder-blasted frieze - All stress of years, and winds, and wasting seas-- - The stranger nears it in his western skiff, - And hides his eyes. Few, few shall dare, great Bard, - Thy watery portals! Entering, fewer yet - Shall pierce thy music’s meaning, deep and hard! - But these shall owe to thee an endless debt; - The Eleusinian caverns they shall tread - That wind beneath man’s heart; and wisdom learn with dread. - - AUBREY DE VERE. - - -A PRECURSOR OF MARCO POLO. - -The merchants and missionaries who were the first travellers and -ambassadors of Christian times little thought, absorbed as they were in -the object of their quest, how large a share of interest in the eyes -of posterity would centre in the quaint observations, descriptions, -and drawings which they were able incidentally to gather or make. -Marco Polo’s name, and even those of his father and uncle, Niccolo and -Matteo Polo, are well known, and are associated with all that barbaric -magnificence the memory of which had a great share in keeping alive -the perseverance of subsequent explorers. It was fitting that traders -in jewels should reach the more civilized and splendid Tartars, and -no doubt their store of rich presents, and their garments of ample -dimensions as well as fine texture, would prove a passport through -tribes so passionately acquisitive as the Tartars seem to have been. -Nomads are not always simple-minded or unambitious. The Franciscan whose -travels come just between the expedition of the elder Polo and the more -famous Marco--Friar William Rubruquis--did not have the good-luck to -see the wonders his successor described; but he mentions repeatedly -that his entertainers made reiterated and minute inquiries as to the -abundance of flocks and herds in the country he came from, and that they -wondered--rather contemptuously--at the presents of sweet wine, dried -fruits, and delicate cakes which were all he had to offer their great -princes. - -Rubruquis was traveller, missionary, and ambassador, but in the two -pursuits denoted by the last-mentioned titles his success was but small. -As a traveller, however, he was hardy, persevering, and observant. Though -not bred a horseman, he often rode thirty leagues a day, and half the -time at full gallop, he says. His companions, monks like himself, could -not stand the fatigue, and both, at different intervals, parted company -from him. But Rubruquis was young and strong, though, as he himself says, -corpulent and heavy; and, above all, he was enterprising. He was not -more than five-and-twenty when he started on his quest of the Christian -monarch whom all the rulers of Europe firmly believed in, and whose name -has come down to us as Prester John. - -Born in 1230, he devoted himself early to the church, and during the -Fourth Crusade went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. His real name was -Ruysbroek, but, according to the unpatriotic fashion of the times, he -Latinized it into Rubruquis. S. Louis, King of France, eager for the -Christian alliance which the supposed Prester John would be able to enter -into with him, had once already sent an embassy of monks to seek him; but -they had failed to perform a sixth part of the journey set down for them, -and had heard no tidings of a monarch answering to the description. The -king, nothing daunted, determined to send another embassy on a voyage -of discovery Vague news of a Christian Tartar chief, by name Sartach, -had come to him; probably the toleration extended by the Tartars to -Christians--a contrast to the behavior of most Saracenic chiefs--led to -this obstinate belief in a remote Christian empire of the East. - -William de Rubruquis, Bartholomew of Cremona, and a companion named -Andrew, all Franciscan friars, were chosen for this new expedition. -On the 7th of May, 1253 (says his narrative, though it has since been -calculated that, as S. Louis was a captive at the time, the date 1255 is -more likely to be correct), the travellers, having crossed the Black Sea -from Constantinople, landed at Soldaia, near Cherson. The king, somewhat -unwisely as it proved, had told his envoy to represent himself as a -private individual travelling on his own account. But the Tartars were -acute and jealous of foreigners; they knew that travelling entailed too -much fatigue and danger to be undertaken simply for pleasure, and they -had small regard for any stranger, unless the representative of a prince. -They guessed his mission, and taxed him with it, till he was obliged to -acknowledge that he was the bearer of letters from the Christian King of -France to the mighty khan, Sartach. But though the people do not seem to -have taken him for a private person, they were puzzled by the poverty of -his dress and the scantiness of the presents he offered them. Even small -dignitaries expected to be royally propitiated. He explained his vow of -poverty to them, but this did not impress the Tartars as favorably as he -wished. Still, he met with nothing but civility and hospitality. - -Rubruquis says that Soldaia was a great mart for furs, which the -Russians exchanged with the merchants of Constantinople for silks, -cotton, spices, etc. The third day after his departure he met a wandering -tribe, “among whom being entered,” he says, “methought I was come into a -new world.” - -He goes on to describe their houses on wheels, no despicable or narrow -habitations, even according to modern ideas: - -“Their houses, in which they sleep, they raise upon a round foundation of -wickers artificially wrought and compacted together, the roof consisting -of wickers also meeting above in one little roundel, out of which there -rises upwards a neck like a chimney, which they cover with white felt; -and often they lay mortar or white earth upon the felt with the powder -of bones, that it may shine and look white; sometimes, also, they cover -their houses with black felt. This cupola … they adorn with a variety -of pictures. Before the door they hang a felt curiously painted over; -for they spend all their colored felt in painting vines, trees, birds, -and beasts thereupon. These houses they make so large that they contain -thirty feet in breadth; for, measuring once the breadth between the -wheel-ruts, … I found it to be twenty feet over, and when the house was -upon the cart it stretched over the wheels on each side five feet at -least. I told two-and-twenty oxen in one draught, drawing an house upon a -cart, and eleven more on the other side. (Two rows, one in front of the -other, we suppose.) … A fellow stood in the door of the house, driving -the oxen.” - -Sometimes a woman drove, or walked at the head of the leaders to guide -them. “One woman will guide twenty or thirty carts at once; for their -country is very flat, and they fasten the carts with camels or oxen one -behind another. A girl sits in the foremost cart, driving the oxen, and -all the rest of themselves follow at a like pace. When they come to a -place which is a bad passage, they loose them, and guide them one by -one.…” - -The baggage was so arranged as to be taken through the smaller rivers -of Asia without being injured or wetted. It consisted of square chests -of wicker-work, with a hollow lid or cover of the same, “covered with -black felt, rubbed over with tallow or sheep’s milk to keep the rain from -soaking through, which they also adorn with painting or white feathers.” -These were placed on carts with very high wheels, and drawn by camels -instead of oxen. The encampment was like a large village, well defended -by palisades formed of the carts off which the houses had been taken, -and which were drawn up in two compact lines, one in front and one in -the rear of the dwellings, “as it were between two walls,” says our -traveller. A rich Tartar commonly had one hundred, or even two hundred, -such cart-houses. Each house had several small houses belonging to it, -placed behind it, serving as closets, store-rooms, and sleeping chambers, -and often as many as two hundred chests and their necessary carts. This -made immense numbers of camels and oxen for draught necessary; and, -besides, there were the animals for food and milk, and the horses for the -men. They had cow’s milk and mare’s milk, two species of food which they -used very differently, and even made of social and religious importance. -Only the men were allowed to milk the mares, while the women attended to -the cows; and any interchange of these offices would have been deemed, -in a man, unpardonable effeminacy, and in a woman indelicacy. At the door -of the houses stood two tutelary deities, monsters of both sexes. The -cow’s milk served for the food of women and children, while the mare’s -milk was made into a fermented liquor called cosmos. This was supposed -to make a heathen of the man who drank it; for the Nestorian Christians -found among them, “who keep their own laws very strictly, will not drink -thereof; they account themselves no Christians after they have once drunk -of it; and their priests reconcile them to the church as if they had -renounced the Christian faith.” - -This cosmos was made thus: The milk was poured into a large skin bag, -and the bag beaten with a wooden club until the milk began to ferment -and turn sour. The bag was then shaken and cudgelled again until most of -it turned to butter; after which the liquid was supposed to be fit for -drinking. Rubruquis evidently liked it; says it was exhilarating to the -spirits, and even intoxicating to weak heads; pungent to the taste, “like -raspberry wine,” but left a flavor on the palate “like almond-milk.” -Cara-cosmos, a rarer quality of the same, and reserved for the chiefs -only, was produced by prolonging the beating of the bag until the -coagulated portions subsided to the bottom. These drinks were received as -tribute or taxes. Baatu, a chief with sixteen wives, received the produce -of three thousand mares daily, besides a quantity of common cosmos, a -bowl of which almost always stood on the threshold of every rich man’s -house. The Tartars often drank of it to excess, and their banquets were -relieved by music. - -At these feasts, in which both sexes participated, the guests clapped -their hands and danced to the music, the men before their host, the -women before his principal wife. The host always drank first. The moment -he put his lips to the bowl of cosmos, his cup-bearer cried aloud -“Ha!” and the musicians struck up. This almost sounds like a mediæval -Twelfth-night banquet, when all the guests rose and shouted, “The king -drinks!” and then drained their goblets in imitation of the monarch of -the night. The Tartars respectfully waited till the lord of the feast -had finished his draught, when the cup-bearer again cried “Ha!” and the -music ceased. After a pause, the guests, male and female, drank round in -turns, each one to the sound of music, with a pause and silence before -the next person took up the cup. This fashion of drinking continued -unchanged for many centuries, and later travellers, amid the increased -pomp of the court of the Tartar emperors of China, found it still in -force--music, cries, pauses, and all. We have also seen, not many years -ago, on the occasion of the marriage of the late young emperor of China, -illustrations of the wedding procession, representing immensely wide -carts, drawn by eleven oxen abreast, laden with costly state furniture; -and if we take away the pomp and gilding, the picture is not unlike that -of the Tartar camp-carts seen by our traveller. Rubruquis hints that the -Tartars were not a temperate people; they drank much and not cleanly, -and the way of “inviting” a person to drink was to seize his ears and -pull them forcibly. The sweet wine, of which the monk had a small supply, -pleased them very well, but they thought him not lavish enough in his -hospitality; for once, on his offering the master of the house one flagon -of this wine, the man gravely drained it and asked for another, saying -that “a man does not go into a house with one foot.” In return, however, -they did not give him much to eat; but perhaps he suffered hunger rather -from his prejudice to the meat they ate than from their niggardliness -in giving. He at last learned to eat horse-flesh, but was disgusted at -his friends’ eating the bodies of animals that had died of disease. The -Tartars were honest enough, and, never even took things by force; but -they begged for everything that took their fancy as unblushingly as some -of Paul Du Chaillu’s negroes in Africa. It surprised them to be refused -anything--knives, gloves, purses, etc.--and, when gratified, never -thought it necessary to thank their guests. - -After a while Rubruquis met the carts of Zagatai, one of the chieftains, -to whom he brought a letter from the Emperor of Constantinople. Here -the Tartars asked “what we had in our carts--whether it were gold, or -silver, or rich garments”; and both Zagatai and his interpreter were -haughtily discontented at finding that at least some garment of value -was not forthcoming. This is not wonderful, considering the wealth of -their own great khans, of whom a later one, Kooblai, so celebrated in -Marco Polo’s travels, gave his twelve lords, twelve times in the year, -robes of gold-colored silk, embroidered with gold and precious stones. -Zagatai, however, received the ambassador graciously. “He sat on his -bed,”[45] says Rubruquis, “holding a musical instrument in his hand, -and his wife sat by him, who, in my opinion, had cut and pared her nose -between the eyes, that she might seem to be more flat-nosed; for she had -left herself no nose at all in that place, having anointed the very scar -with black ointment, as she also did her eyebrows, which sight seemed to -me most ugly.… I besought him that he would accept this small gift at our -hands, excusing myself that I was a monk, and that it was against our -profession to possess gold, silver, or precious garments, and therefore -that I had not any such thing to give him, unless he would receive some -part of our victuals instead of a blessing.” The Tartars were always -eager to receive a blessing over and above any present. He was constantly -asked to make over them the sign of the cross; but it is to be feared -that they looked upon it as a charm, and of charms they couldn’t have -too many. From Zagatai, Rubruquis went to Sartach, who said he had no -power of treating with him, and sent him on to his father-in-law, Baatu, -the patriarch with sixteen wives and several hundred houses. Losing -his ox-wagons and baggage on the way--for the independent tribes did -not scruple to exact tribute from a traveller, even if he was a friend -of their neighbors--he never lost his courage and his determination -to sow the seeds of truth in Tartary. He did not know the language at -first, and only learnt it very imperfectly at the last. Here and there -a captive Christian, mostly Hungarians, or a Tartar who had learnt the -rudiments of Christianity during an invasion of his tribe into Europe, -acted as interpreter. All were uniformly kind to him. One of them, -who understood Latin and psalmody, was in great request at all the -funerals of his neighborhood; but the “Christianity” of the natives was -but a shred of Nestorianism worked into a web of paganism, so that, the -farther he advanced, the farther the great, powerful, united Christian -community headed by Prester John seemed to recede. The people took kindly -to Christian usages, and had some respect for the forms and ceremonies -which the monk and his companions endeavored to keep up; but when it -came to doctrine and morality, they grew impatient and unresponsive. One -of Rubruquis’ interpreters often refused to do his office. “And thus,” -says the traveller, “it caused me great chagrin when I wished to address -to them a few words of edification; for he would say to me, ‘You shall -not make me preach to-day; I understand nothing of all you tell me.’ … -And then he spoke the truth; for afterwards, as I began to understand a -little of their tongue, I perceived that when I told him one thing he -repeated another, just according to his fancy. Therefore, seeing it was -no use to talk or preach, I held my tongue.” - -Hard riding was not the only thing that distressed the ambassador of -the King of France. His companions gave him meat that was less than -half-cooked, and sometimes positively raw. Then the cold began to be -severe, and still there were at least four months’ travel before him. -The Tartars were kind to him in their rough way, and gave him some of -their thick sheepskins and hide shoes. He had insisted on journeying most -of the time in his Franciscan sandals, and, full of ardor for his rule, -had constantly refused gifts of costly garments. This the Tartars never -quite understood, but they respected the principle which caused him to -make so many sacrifices for the sake and furtherance of his religion. -Wherever he passed, he and his companions endeared themselves to the -inhabitants by many little services (doubtless also by cures wrought -by simple remedies), and generally by their gentle, unselfish conduct -towards all men. Rubruquis observed everything minutely as he passed. The -manners and customs of the people interested him, and perhaps he did not -consider them quite such barbarians as we of later days are apt to do. -When we read the accounts of domestic life among the majority of people -in mediæval times, and see that refinement of manner was less thought of -than costliness of apparel and wealth of plate and cattle, the difference -between such manners and those of the Tartars is not appreciable. Few in -those days were learned, and learning it is that has always made the real -difference between a gentleman and a boor. The marauding chieftains of -feudal times were only romantic and titled highwaymen after all. So were -the wandering Tartars. The difference that has since sprung up between -the descendants of the marauding barons and those of the Tartar chiefs is -mainly one of race. The former are of an enterprising, improving race, -the latter of a stagnant one; and while the European nations that then -trembled before the invading hordes of Jengis-Khan have now developed -into intellectual superiority over every other race in the world, the -Tartar is still, socially and intellectually, on the same old level, and -his political advantages have vanished with his rude warlike superiority -before the diplomacy and the military organization of his former victims. - -Rubruquis noticed that among the superstitions common in Tartary was a -belief that it was unlucky for a visitor to touch the threshold of a -Tartar’s door. Modern travellers assert the same of the Chinese. Whenever -our envoy paid a visit, he deferred to this belief by carefully stepping -across the threshold of the house or tent, without letting any part of -his person or dress come in contact with it. Their dress, on festive -occasions, was rich; for they traded with China, Persia, and other -southern and eastern countries for “stuffs of silk, cloths of gold, and -cotton cloths, which they wear in time of summer; but out of Russia, -Bulgaria, Hungaria, and out of Chersis (all which are northern regions -and full of woods), … the inhabitants bring them rich and costly skins -and furs of divers sorts, which I never saw in our countries, wherewithal -they are clad in winter.” The rough sheepskin coats had their place also -in their toilet, and a material made of two-thirds wool and one-third -horsehair furnished them with caps, saddle-cloths, and felt for covering -their wagons. - -The women’s dress was distinguished from the men’s simply by its greater -length, and they often rode, like the men, astride their horses, their -faces protected by a white veil, crossing the nose just below the eyes -and descending to the breast. Immense size and flat noses were the great -desiderata among them. Marriage was a mere bargain, and daughters were -generally sold to the highest bidder. Though expert hunters, the Tartars -were scarcely what we should call sportsmen. They hunted on the _battue_ -system, spreading themselves in a wide circle, and gradually contracting -this as they drove the game before them, until the unfortunate animals -being penned in in a small space, they were easily shot down by -wholesale. Hawking was also in vogue among the Tartars, and was reduced -as much to a science as in Europe. They strenuously punished great crimes -with death, as, for instance, murder, theft, adultery, and even minor -offences against chastity. This, however, was less the consequence of a -regard for virtue _per se_ than of a vivid perception of the rights of -property. No code but the Jewish and the Christian ever protected the -honor of women for its own sake. In mourning for the dead it is strange -that violent howling and lamentation, even on the part of those not -personally concerned, should be a form common to almost all nations, not -only of different religions, but of various and widely-separated races. -The Tartars, as well as the Celts, practised it. Rubruquis mentions that -they made various monuments over the graves of their dead, sometimes mere -mounds or barrows of earth, or towers of brick and even of stone--though -no stone was to be found near the spot--and sometimes large open spaces, -paved with stone, with four large stones placed upright at the corners, -always facing the four cardinal points. - -It was during winter that the envoy arrived at the court or encampment of -Mandchu-Khan. He says that it was at the distance of twenty days’ journey -from Cataya, or Cathay (China), but it is difficult to say exactly where -that was. Here Rubruquis found a number of Nestorian priests peacefully -living under the khan’s protection, and among them one who had only -arrived a month before the Franciscan friar, and said he had come, in -consequence of a vision, to convert the khan and his people. He was an -Armenian from the Holy Land. Our missionary describes him thus in his -terse, direct way, which has this advantage over the long-winded and -minute descriptions of our day, that we seem to see the man before us: -“He was a monk, somewhat black and lean, clad with a rough hair-coat -to the knees, having over it a black cloak of bristles, furred with -spotted skins, girt with iron under his hair-cloth.” Mandchu-Khan was -tolerant and liberal, and rather well disposed than otherwise to the -Christian religion. His favorite wife, whom he had lately lost, had -been a Christian, and so was his first secretary, but both Nestorian -Christians. The khan, or his servants--who doubtless expected to be -propitiated with the usual gifts if they could only succeed in wearying -out the patience of the new-comers--made the envoy wait nine days for -an audience. The Tartars thought it strange that a king’s ambassador -should come to court bare-foot; but a boy, a Hungarian captive, again -gave the required and often-repeated explanation. Before entering the -large hall, whose entrance was closed by curtains of gayly-painted felt, -the monks were searched, to see if they carried any concealed arms; and -then the procession formed, the Christian missionaries entering the -khan’s presence singing the hymn _A Solis ortus cardine_. The khan, -like the lesser chieftains Rubruquis had already met, was seated on a -“bed” or divan, dressed “in a spotted skin or fur, bright and shining.” -The multitudinous bowings and prostrations in use at the Chinese court -were very likely exacted, though the envoy says in general terms that -“he had to bend the knee.” Such simplicity is, however, very far from -the ceremonious Oriental ideal of homage, and it was not then, as it -is now, esteemed an honor to receive Frankish envoys in the Frankish -manner. Mandchu first offered his guests a drink of fermented milk, of -which they partook sparingly, not to offend him; but the interpreter -soon made himself unfit for his office by his indulgence in his favorite -beverage. Rubruquis stated his mission with modest simplicity. In his -quality of ambassador he might have resented the delay in receiving -him; he might have complained of the familiarity and want of respect -with which he had been often treated, and of the advantage taken of -his gentleness and ignorance of the language to plunder him; but he -was more than a king’s messenger. He was intent upon preaching the -“good tidings” to the Tartars, and only used human means to compass a -divine end. He acknowledged that he had no rich presents nor temporal -goods to offer, but only spiritual benefits to impart. His practice -certainly did not belie his theory. The people never disbelieved him, -nor suspected him of being a political emissary. But still, he was -unsuccessful. He soon perceived that his interpreter was blundering, and -says: “I easily found he was drunk, and Mandchu-Khan himself was drunk -also, as I thought.” All he could obtain was leave to remain in the -country during the cold season. Inquiries met him on all sides as to the -wealth and state of Europe; but of religion, beyond the few forms that -pleased their eye, the people did not seem to think. They looked down -with lofty indifference on the faith of those various adventurers whom -their sovereign kindly sheltered, and ranked the Christian priests they -already knew in the same category with conjurers and quack doctors. The -Christianity of these Nestorians was even more imperfect than that of -the Abyssinians at the time of the late English invasion of the unlucky -King Theodore’s dominions. Rubruquis was horrified to find in these -priests mere superstitious mountebanks. They mingled Tartar rites with -corrupt ceremonies of the Catholic Church, and practised all manner of -deceptions, mixing rhubarb with holy water as a medicinal drink, and -carrying to the bedside of the sick lances and swords half-drawn from -their sheaths along with the crucifix. Upon these grounds they pretended -to the power of working miracles and curing the sick by spiritual means -alone. The Franciscan zealously tried to reform these abuses and to -convert the Nestorians before he undertook to preach to the Tartars; but -here again he was unsuccessful. The self-interest of these debased men -was in question, and truth was little to them in comparison with the -comfort and consideration they enjoyed as leeches. - -A curious scene occurred while at this encampment of the khan. There -were many Mahometans in the country, and the sovereign, with impartial -tolerance, protected them and their commerce as he did the person and -property of other refugees. They, the Christians, and some representative -Tartars were all assembled one day, by order of Mandchu, to discuss in -public the merits of their respective faiths. But even on this occasion -no bitterness was evinced, and the meeting, though it turned out useless -in a spiritual sense, ended in a friendly banquet. Rubruquis did -his best to improve this opportunity of teaching the truth; but the -hour of successful evangelization had not yet struck, and much of the -indifference of the Tartars is to be attributed to the culpable practices -of the Nestorians, whose behavior was enough to discredit the religion -they pretended to profess. But if the missionary, notwithstanding all -his zeal, was unable to convert the heathens, he at least comforted and -strengthened many captive Christians. We have already mentioned a few of -these, and in Mandchu’s camp he met with another, a woman from Metz in -Lorraine, who had been taken prisoner in Hungary, and been carried back -into their own country by the invaders. She had at first suffered many -hardships, but ended by marrying a young Russian, a captive like herself, -who was skilful in the art of building wooden houses. The Tartars prized -this kind of knowledge, and were kind to the young couple, who were now -leading a tolerably comfortable life, and had a family of three children. -To fancy their joy at seeing a genuine Christian missionary is almost -out of our power in these days of swift communication, when nothing is -any longer a marvel; but if we could put ourselves in their place, we -might paint a wonderful picture of thankfulness, surprise, and simple, -rock-like faith. The latter part of Lent was spent in travelling, as the -khan broke up his encampment, and went on across a chain of mountains to -a great city, Karakorum, or Karakûm, on the river Orchon. Every vestige -of such a city has disappeared centuries ago, but Marco Polo mentions it -and describes its streets, situation, defences, etc. He arrived there -nearly twenty years later, and noticed that it was surrounded by a strong -rampart of earth, there being no good supply of stone in those parts. - -The passage of the Changai Mountains was a terrible undertaking; the -cold was intense and the weather stormy, and the khan, with his usual -bland eclecticism, begged Rubruquis to “pray to God in his own fashion” -for milder weather, chiefly for the sake of the cattle. On Palm Sunday -the envoy blessed the willow-boughs he saw on his way, though he says -there were no buds on them yet; but they were near the city now, and -the weather had become more promising. Rubruquis had his eyes wide open -as he came to the first organized city of the Tartars, as Marco Polo -affirms this to have been. It had scarcely been built twenty years when -our monk visited it, and owed its origin to the son and successor of -Jengis-Khan. “There were two grand streets in it,” says Rubruquis, “one -of the Saracens, where the fairs are kept (held), and many merchants -resort thither, and one other street of the Cathayans (Chinese), who are -all artificers.” Many of the latter were captives, or at least subjects, -of the khan; for the Tartars had already conquered the greater part of -Northern China. The khan lived in a castle or palace outside the earthen -rampart. In Karakorum, again, the monk found many Christians, Armenian, -Georgian, Hungarian, and even of Western European origin. Among others -he mentions an Englishman--whom he calls Basilicus, and who had been -born in Hungary--and a few Germans. But the most important personage of -foreign birth was a French goldsmith, William Bouchier, whose wife was -a Hungarian, but of Mahometan parentage. This Benvenuto Cellini of the -East was rich and liberal, an excellent interpreter, thoroughly at home -in the Tartar dialects, a skilful artist, and in high favor at court. He -had just finished a masterpiece of mechanism and beauty which Rubruquis -thus minutely describes: “In the khan’s palace, because it was unseemly -to carry about bottles of milk and other drinks there, Master William -made him a great silver tree, at the root whereof were four silver -lions, having each one pipe, through which flowed pure cow’s milk; and -four other pipes were conveyed within the body of the tree unto the top -thereof, and the tops spread back again downwards, and upon every one -of them was a golden serpent, whose tails twined about the body of the -tree. And one of these pipes ran with wine, another with cara-cosmos, -another with _ball_--a drink made of honey--and another with a drink made -of rice. Between the pipes, at the top of the tree, he made an angel -holding a trumpet, and under the tree a hollow vault, wherein a man -might be hid; and a pipe ascended from this vault through the tree to -the angel. He first made bellows, but they gave not wind enough. Without -the palace walls there was a chamber wherein the several drinks were -brought; and there were servants there ready to pour them out when they -heard the angel sounding his trumpet. And the boughs of the tree were of -silver, and the leaves and the fruit. When, therefore, they want drink, -the master-butler crieth to the angel that he sound the trumpet. Then -he hearing (who is hid in the vault), bloweth the pipe, which goeth to -the angel, and the angel sets his trumpet to his mouth, and the trumpet -soundeth very shrill. Then the servants which are in the chamber hearing, -each of them poureth forth his drink into its proper pipe, and all the -pipes pour them forth from above, and they are received below in vessels -prepared for that purpose.” - -This elaborate piece of plate makes one think rather of the XVIth -century banquets of the Medici and the Este than of feastings given -by a nomad Tartar in the wilds of Central Asia. The goldsmith was not -unknown to fame even in Europe, where he was called William of Paris. -Several old chroniclers speak of him, and his brother Roger was well -known as a goldsmith “living upon the great bridge at Paris.” This clever -artist very nearly fell a victim to the quackery of a Nestorian monk, -whereupon Rubruquis significantly comments thus: “He entreated him to -proceed either as an apostle doing miracles indeed, by virtue of prayer, -or to administer his potion as a physician, according to the art of -medicine.” Besides the Tartars and their Christian captives, Rubruquis -had opportunities of observing the numerous Chinese, or Cathayans, as -they were called, who have been mentioned as the artificers of the town. -There were also knots of Siberians, Kamtchatkans, and even inhabitants -of the islands between the extremities of Asia and America, where at -times the sea was frozen over. Rubruquis picked up a good deal of -miscellaneous information, chiefly about the Chinese. He mentions their -paper currency--a fact which Marco Polo subsequently verified--and their -mode of writing; _i.e._, with small paint-brushes, and each character or -figure signifying a whole word. The standard of value of the Russians, -he says, consisted in spotted furs--a currency which still exists in the -remoter parts of Siberia. - -It was not without good reason, no doubt, that the monk-envoy made up -his mind to leave the country he had hoped either to evangelize or to -find already as orthodox as his own, and ruled by a great Christian -potentate. Such perseverance as he showed throughout his journey was not -likely to be daunted by slight obstacles; but finding the object of his -mission as far from attainment as when he first entered Tartary, he at -last reluctantly left the field. Only one European besides himself had -ventured so far--Friar Bartholomew of Cremona; but even he shrank before -a renewal of the hardships of mountain and desert travel, and chose -rather to stay behind with Master William, the hospitable goldsmith, till -some more convenient opportunity should present itself of returning to -his own country. Rubruquis accordingly started alone, with a servant, -an interpreter, and a guide; but though he had asked for leave to go -on Whitsunday, the permission was delayed till the festival of S. John -Baptist, the 24th of June. The khan made him a few trifling presents, and -gave him a complimentary letter to the King of France; but no definite -results were obtained. The homeward journey was long and tedious, and -the only provision made for the sustenance of the party was a permission -from the khan to take a sheep “once in four days, wherever they could -find it.” Sometimes they had nothing to eat for three days together, and -only a little cosmos to drink, and more than once, having missed the -stations of the wandering tribes whom they had reckoned on meeting, even -the supply of cosmos was exhausted. About two months after his departure -from Karakorum, Rubruquis met Sartach, the great chief who had sheltered -him for some time on his way to the river Don. Some belongings of the -mission having been left in Sartach’s care, the envoy asked him to return -them, but was told they were in charge of Baatu, Rubruquis’ other friend -and protector. Sartach was on his way to join Mandchu-Khan, and was of -course surrounded by the two hundred houses and innumerable chests which -belonged to the establishment of a Tartar patriarch. If this was not -exactly civilization, it was companionship, and the envoy must have been -glad of a meeting which replenished his exhausted stores and suggested -domestic comfort and abundance. More rough travelling on horseback, more -experiences of hunger and cold (for the autumn was already coming on), -more fording of rivers, and the monk found himself at Baatu’s court. It -was the 16th of September--a year after he had left the chieftain to push -on to the court of the Grand-Khan. Here he was joyfully and courteously -received, and recovered nearly all his property; but as the Tartars had -concluded that the whole embassy must have perished long ago, they had -allowed some Nestorian priest, a wanderer under the protection now of -Sartach, now of Baatu and other khans, to appropriate various Psalters, -books, and ecclesiastical vestments. Three young men, Europeans, whom -Rubruquis had left behind, had nearly been reduced to bondage under the -same pretext, but they had not suffered personal ill-treatment. The kind -offices of some influential Armenians had staved off the evil day, and -the timely arrival of the long-missing envoy secured them their freedom. -Rubruquis now joined Baatu’s court, which was journeying westward to a -town called Sarai, on the eastern bank of the Volga; but the progress -of the encumbered Tartars was so slow that he left them after a month’s -companionship, and pushed on with his party, till he reached Sarai on -the feast of All Saints. After this the country was almost an unbroken -desert; but our traveller once more fell in with one of his Tartar -friends, a son of Sartach, who was out upon a hawking expedition, and -gave him a guard to protect him from various fierce Mahometan tribes that -infested the neighborhood. - -Here ended his travels in Tartary proper; but his hardships were far -from ended yet. Through Armenia and the territories of Turkish and -Koordish princes he journeyed slowly and uncomfortably, in dread of the -violence of his own guides and guards, as well as of the insults of the -populations whose country he traversed. He says these delays “arose in -part from the difficulty of procuring horses, but chiefly because the -guide chose to stop, often for three days together, in one place, for his -own business; and, though much dissatisfied, I durst not complain, as he -might have slain me and those with me, or sold us all for slaves, and -there was none to hinder it.” - -Journeying across Asia Minor and over Mount Taurus, he took ship at last -for Cyprus. Here he learnt that S. Louis, who had been in the Holy Land -at the time of his departure, had gone back to France. He would very much -have wished to deliver his letters and presents of silk pelisses and -furs to the king in person; but this was not granted him. The provincial -of his order, whom he met at Cyprus, desired him to write his account -and send his gifts to the king; and as in those days there was creeping -in among the monks a habit of restless wandering, his superior, who was, -it seems, a reformer and strict disciplinarian, tried the obedience -and humility of the famous traveller by sending him to his convent at -Acre, whence, by the king’s order, he had started. Rubruquis stood the -test, but could not forbear imploring the king, by writing, to use his -influence with the provincial to allow him a short stay in France and -one audience of his royal master. Little is known of the great traveller -and pioneer after this; and whether he ever got leave to see the king -is doubtful. He fell back into obscurity, and it is presumed that Marco -Polo did not even know of his previous travels over the same ground as -the Polos explored. No record of his embassy remained but the Latin -letter addressed to S. Louis, and even in France his fame was unknown -for many centuries. It was not till after the invention of printing that -his adventures became fairly known to the literary world, although Roger -Bacon, one of his own order, had given a spirited abstract of his travels -in one of his works. This, too, was in Latin, and after a time became -a sealed book to the vulgar; so that it was not at least till the year -1600 that the old traveller’s name was again known. Hakluyt’s _Collection -of Voyages and Travels_ contains an English translation of Rubruquis’ -letter, and twenty-five years later Purchas reproduced it _in toto_ from -a copy found in a college library at Cambridge. Bergeron, a French -priest, put it into French, not from the original, but from Purchas’ -English version. Since then Rubruquis has taken his place among the few -famous voyagers of olden times; but from the vagueness of his language, -the lack of geographical science in his day, and perhaps also the -mistakes of careless copyists, it is not easy to trace his course upon -the map. One fact, however, he ascertained and insisted upon, which a -geographical society, had it existed in his time, would have been glad to -register, together with an honorable mention of the discoverer--_i.e._, -the nature of the great lake called the Caspian Sea. The old Greeks had -correctly called it an _inland_ sea, but an idea had since prevailed that -it possessed some communication with the Northern Ocean. Rubruquis proved -the contrary, but no attention was paid to his single assertion, and -books of geography, compiled at home from ancient maps and MSS., without -a reference, however distant, to the _facts_ recorded by adventurous -men who had seen foreign shores with their eyes, calmly continued to -propagate the old error. - - -A PARAPHRASE, FROM THE GREEK. - -Οὐκ ἔθανες, Πρώτη, κ. τ. λ.--_Greek Anthology._ - - Protê, thou didst not die, - But thou didst fly, - When we saw thee no more, to a sunnier clime; - In the isles of the blest, - In the golden west, - Where thy spirit let loose springs joyous and light - O’er the verdurous floor, - That is strewn evermore - With blossoms that fade not, nor droop from their prime. - Thou hast made thee a home - Where no sorrow shall come, - No cloud overshadow thy noon of delight; - Cold or heat shall not vex thee, - Nor sickness perplex thee, - Nor hunger, nor thirst; no touch of regret - For the things thou hast cherished, - The forms that have perished, - For lover or kindred, thy fancy shall fret; - But thy joy hath no stain, - Thy remembrance no pain, - And the heights that we guess at thy sunshine makes plain. - - -THE LAW OF GOD AND THE REGULATIONS OF SOCIETY. - -SUMMARY CONSIDERATIONS ON LAW. - -FROM THE FRENCH OF THE COMTE DE BREDA. - - “There are laws for the society of ants and of bees; how could - any one suppose that there are none for human society, and that - it is left to the chance of inventing them?”--_De Bonald._ - - -I.--THE MODERN STATE. - -Never before was liberty so much talked about; never before was the very -idea of it so utterly lost. Tyrants have been destroyed, it is said. This -is a false assertion it may be (or rather, is it not certain?) that it -has become more difficult for a sovereign to govern tyrannically, but -tyranny is not dead--quite the contrary. - -All unlimited power is, of its own nature, tyrannical. Now, it is such -a power that the modern state desires to wield. The state is held up -to us as the supreme arbiter of good and evil; and, if we believe its -defenders, it cannot err, its laws being in every case, and at all times, -binding. - -People have banished God from the government of human society; but they -have made to themselves a new god, despotic and blind, without hearing -and without voice, whose power knows how to reach its slaves as well -in the temple as in the public places, as well in the palace as in the -humblest cot. - -What is there, indeed, more divine than not to do wrong? God -alone, speaking to the human conscience, either directly or by his -representatives, is the infallible judge of good and evil. No human power -whatsoever can declare all that emanates from it to be necessarily right -without usurping the place of God, and declaring itself the sovereign -master of the soul as well as of the body. The last refuge of the slaves -of antiquity--the human conscience--would no longer exist for the people -of modern times, if it were true that every law is binding from the -mere fact of its promulgation. Hence the modern state, but lately so -boastful, has begun to waver and to doubt its own powers. It encounters -two principal obstacles, as unlike in their form as in their origin. - -On one hand it beholds Catholics, sustained by their knowledge of law, -its origin and its essence, resisting passively, and preparing themselves -to submit to persecutions without even shrinking. On the other it -meets, in these our days, the most formidable insurrections. There are -multitudes, blind as the state representatives--but excusable, inasmuch -as their rebellion is against an authority which owes its sway only to -caprice or theory--who reply thus to power: “We are as good as you; you -have no right over us other than that of brute force; we will endeavor to -oppose you with a strength equal to yours; and when we shall have gained -the victory, we will make new laws and new constitutions, wherein all -that you call lawful shall be called unlawful, and all that you consider -crime shall be deemed virtue.” - -If it were true that law could spring only from the human will, these -madmen would be reasonable in the extreme. Thus the state is powerless -against them. It drags on an uncertain existence, constantly threatened -with the most terrible social wars, and enjoying a momentary peace only -on condition of never laying down arms. Modern armies are standing ones; -the modern police have become veritable armies, and they sleep neither -day nor night. At this price do our states exist, trade, grow rich, and -become satisfied with themselves. - -These constant commotions are not alone the vengeance of the living -God disowned and outraged; they are also the inevitable consequence of -that extremity of pride and folly which has induced human assemblies to -believe that it belongs to them to decide finally between right and wrong. - -In truth, “if God is not the author of law, there is no law really -binding.” We may, for the love of God, obey existing powers, even though -they be illegitimate; but this submission has its limits. It must cease -the moment that the human law prescribes anything contrary to the law -of God. As for people without faith, we would in vain seek for a motive -powerful enough to induce them to submit to anything displeasing to them. - - -II.--MODERN LIBERTY. - -The people of our generation consider themselves more free, more -unrestrained, than those who have gone before them. It is not to our -generation, however, that the glory accrues of having first thrown -off the yoke. Our moderns themselves acknowledge that they have had -predecessors, and they agree with us in declaring that “the new spirit” -made its appearance in the world about the XVIth century.[46] - -In truth, the only yoke which has been cast off since then is that of -God, which seemed too heavy. All at once thought pronounced itself freed -from the shackles of ecclesiastical authority; but, at the outset, it -was far from intended to deny the idea of a divine right superior to all -human right. - -Despite the historical falsehoods which have found utterance in our day, -it was chiefly princes who propagated Protestantism; and, most often, -they attained their end only by violence. When successful, they added to -their temporal title a religious one; they made themselves bishops or -popes, and thus became all the more powerful over their subjects. There -was no longer any refuge from the abuse of power of the rulers of this -world; for it was the interest of these despots to call themselves the -representatives of God. By means of this title they secularized dioceses, -convents, the goods of the church, and even the ministers of their new -religion. This term was then used to express in polite language an idea -of spoliation and of hypocritical and uncurbed tyranny. - -The moderns have gone farther: they have attempted to secularize law -itself. This time, again, the word hides a thought which, if it were -openly expressed, would shock; the law has become atheistical, and not -all the opposition which the harshness of this statement has aroused can -prevent it from still expressing a truth. The inexorable logic of facts -leads directly from the Reformation to the Revolution. Princes themselves -sowed the seeds of revolt which will yet despoil them of their power and -their thrones; while as for the people, they have gained nothing. They -are constantly tyrannized over; but their real masters are unknown, and -their only resource against the encroachments or the abuse of power is an -appeal to arms. - -It is not, then, true that liberty finds greater space in the modern -world than in the ancient Christian world. To prove this, I need but a -single fact which has direct relation with my subject. - -While Europe was still enveloped in “the darkness of the Middle Ages,” -Catholic theologians freely taught, from all their chairs, that “an -unjust law is no law”--“Lex injusta non est lex.” Now, are there, at the -present day, many pulpits from which this principle, the safeguard of all -liberty and of all independence, the protector of all rights, and the -defence of the helpless, might be proclaimed with impunity? Do we not -see the prohibitions, the lawsuits, the _appels comme d’abus_ which the -boldness of such a maxim would call forth? - -Human governments have changed in form, but their tyranny has not ceased -to grow; and the free men of the olden society have become the slaves in -a new order of things--they have even reached a point at which they know -not even in what liberty consists. - - -III.--DIVINE ORIGIN OF LAW. - -I know, and I hear beforehand, the response which the doctors of modern -rights will here give me “Yes,” say they, “it is very true that the -Catholic Church has always claimed the right of judging laws and of -refusing obedience to such as displeased her; but in this is precisely -the worst abuse. That which would domineer over human reason, the -sovereign of the world, is tyranny _par excellence_; this, in truth, is -the special mark of Catholicity, and it is this which has ever made it -the religion of the ignorant and the cowardly.” - -Is, then, the maxim I have just recalled the invention of Catholic -theologians? Is it true that the teachers of the ultramontane doctrine -alone have contended that the intrinsic worth of a law must be sought -beyond and above them, beyond and above the human power which proclaims -it? Not only has this elementary principle not been devised by our -theologians, but even the pagan philosophers themselves had reached it. -Cicero but summed up the teaching universally received by philosophers -worthy of the name, when he said that the science of law should not be -sought in the edicts of the pretor, nor even in the laws of the twelve -tables; and that the most profound philosophy alone could aid in judging -laws and teaching us their value.[47] - -This is not to degrade reason, which this same Cicero has defined, or -rather described, in admirable language. He found therein something -grand, something sublime; he declared that it is more fit to command than -to obey; that it values little what is merely human; that it is gifted -with a peculiar elevation which nothing daunts, which yields to no one, -and which is unconquerable.[48] - -But remark, it is only with regard to human powers and allurements that -reason shows itself so exalted and haughty. It requires something greater -than man to make it submit; and it _obeys_ only God or his delegates. -“Stranger,” said Plato to Clinias the Cretan, “whom do you consider the -first author of your laws? _Is it a god? Is it a man?_” - -“Stranger,” replied Clinias, “it is a god; we could not rightly accord -this title to any other.”[49] - -So, also, tradition tells us that Minos went, every ninth day, to consult -Jupiter, his father, whose replies he committed to writing. Lycurgus -wished to have his laws confirmed by the Delphian Apollo, and this god -replied that he would dictate them himself. At Rome the nymph Egeria -played the same _rôle_ with Numa. Everywhere is felt the necessity -of seeking above man the title in virtue of which he may command his -fellow-men. - -If we turn now from the fabulous traditions of the ancient world, we -still find an absolute truth proclaimed by its sages; one that affirms -the existence of an eternal law--_quiddam æternum_--which was called the -natural law, and which serves as a criterion whereby to judge the worth -of the laws promulgated by man. - -Cicero declares it absurd to consider right everything set down in the -constitutions or the laws.[50] And he is careful to add that neither is -public opinion any more competent to determine the right.[51] - -The sovereign law, therefore--that which no human law may violate without -the penalty of becoming void--has God himself for its author. - -The laws of states may be unjust and abominable, and, by consequence, -bind no one. There is, on the other hand, a natural law, the source and -measure of other laws, originating before all ages, before any law had -been written or any city built.[52] - -This doctrine, to support which I have designedly cited only pagan -authors, is also that of Catholic theologians; for example, S. Thomas and -Suarez. But the philosophical school of the last century has so perverted -the meaning of the term _nature--law of nature_, that certain Catholic -authors (M. de Bonald, for instance) have scrupled to use the consecrated -term. It is necessary, then, to explain its true sense. - - -IV.--NATURAL LAW ACCORDING TO PAGAN PHILOSOPHERS. - -The nature of a being is that which constitutes its fitness to attain its -end. The idea, therefore, which a person has of the nature of man, by -consequence determines that which he will have of his end, and hence of -the rule which should govern his actions. - -The materialists, for example, who deny the immortality of the soul, and -whose horizon is bounded by the limits of the present life, are able -to teach only a purely epicurean or utilitarian morality. They cannot -consistently plead a motive higher than an immediate, or at least a -proximate, well-being; for, what is more uncertain than the duration of -our life? In the strikingly anti-philosophic language of the XVIIIth -century, _the state of nature_ was a hypothetical state, at once innocent -and barbarous, anterior to all society. It is to society that this theory -attributes the disorders of man and the loss of certain primitive and -inalienable rights which the sect of pseudo-philosophers boasted of -having regained, and by the conquest whereof the corrupted and doting -France of 1789 was prostrated. - -The philosophers of antiquity, on the contrary, notwithstanding their -numerous errors, and despite the polytheism which they exteriorly -professed, had arrived at so profound a knowledge of man and his nature -that the fathers and doctors of the church have often spoken of the -discoveries of their intellect as a kind of _natural revelation_ made to -them by God.[53] - -We have already heard Cicero say that the natural law is eternal, and -superior to all human laws. I shall continue to quote him, because of -his clearness, and because he admirably sums up the teaching of the -philosophers who preceded him.[54] - -The sound philosophy which should guide us--according to him, the science -of law--teaches us that it is far more sublime to submit to the divine -mind, to the all-powerful God, than to the emperors and mighty ones of -this earth; for it is a kind of partnership between God and man. Right -reason (_ratio recta_) is the same for the one and the other; and law -being nothing else than right reason, it may be said that one same law -links us with the gods. Now, the common law is also the common right, and -when people have a common right they belong, in some manner, to the same -country. We must, then, consider this world as a country common to the -gods and to men. Man is, in truth, like to God. And for what end has God -created and gifted man like to himself? That he may arrive at justice. - -Human society is bound by one same right, and law is the same for all. -This law is the just motive (the right reason, _ratio recta_) of all -precepts and prohibitions; he who is ignorant of it, whether written -or not, knows not justice. If uprightness consisted in submission to -the written laws and constitutions of nations, and if, as some pretend, -utility could be the measure of good, he who expected to profit thereby -would be justified in neglecting or violating the laws. - -This remark is peculiarly applicable to the present time. It is precisely -utility and the increase of wealth or of comforts--in a word, material -interests--which the greater number of modern legislators have had -chiefly in view; the result is that society scarcely has the right to -feel indignant against those who may deem it to their advantage to -disturb it. Religion, say they, has nothing in common with politics; the -state, inasmuch as it is a state, need not trouble itself about God; the -things of this world should be regulated with regard to this world, and -without reference to the supernatural. Suppose it so; but then, in virtue -of what authority will you impose your laws? There is no human power -able to bend or to conquer one human will which does not acknowledge -it.[55] - -The basis of right is the natural love of our fellow-beings which nature -has planted within us. Nature also commands us to honor God. It is not -fear which renders worship necessary; it is the bond which exists between -God and man. If popular or royal decrees could determine right, a whim -of the multitude might render lawful theft, adultery, or forgery. If it -be true that a proclamation dictated by fools can change the order of -nature, why may not evil become, one day, good? But the sages teach that -the human mind did not invent law; it has its birth-place in the bosom -of God, and is co-eternal with him; it is nothing else than the unerring -reason of Jupiter himself; it is reflected in the mind of the wise man; -it can never be repealed. - -This “right reason which comes to us from the gods” (_recta et a numine -deorum tracta ratio_) is what is usually termed the _natural_ law; and -the beautiful language of Cicero recalls this magnificent verse of the -IVth Psalm: “Quis ostendit nobis bona? Signatum est super nos lumen -vultus tui, Domine.” - - -V.--INFLUENCE OF PANTHEISM ON MODERN LAW. - -Pagan teaching, how elevated soever it may be, is always incomplete; and -this is evident even from the words of Cicero. - -Since law comes from God, it is very clear that it will be known more -or less correctly according as our idea of God is more or less correct. -This it is that gives so great a superiority, first, to the law of Moses, -before the coming of Jesus Christ, and to all Christian legislation -since. - -The Jews had not merely a vague knowledge of the precepts of the divine -law. This law, in its principal provisions, had been directly revealed to -them. Christians have something better still, since the Eternal Word was -made man, and the Word is precisely “the true light which enlighteneth -every man coming into this world.”[56] The philosophers of antiquity saw -this light from afar off; we have _beheld_ that of which they merely -affirmed the existence; the Jews contemplated it as through a veil, and -awaited its coming. IT was made flesh; it brought us life; “it shone in -the darkness, but the darkness did not comprehend it.”[57] - -It is not the fault of the Word or of his manifestation, says S. Thomas -on this subject, if there are minds who see not this light. There is -here, not darkness, but closed eyes.[58] - -It is God himself, therefore, whom man refuses to acknowledge when he -rejects the fundamental law, which alone deserves the name of law. Human -pride and insolence go beyond forgetfulness or simple negation when they -have the audacity to put a human law in the place of and above the divine -law; which last crime is nothing less than the deification of man. This -philosophic consequence of the secularization of the law was inevitable, -and is openly displayed in modern doctrines. Atheists, properly so -called, are rare; but the present generation is infected with Pantheism. -Now, Pantheism proclaims, without disguise and without shame, the -divinity of man. - -Let us add that this error is the only foundation upon which man may -logically rest to defend modern rights. It produces, with regard to -constitutions and laws, two principal effects, which it suffices but to -indicate, that every honest mind may at once recognize their existence -and their lamentable consequences. - -Pantheism, firstly, destroys individualities, or, as the Germans -call them, _subjectivities_; it sweeps them away, and causes them to -disappear in the Great Whole. Do we not likewise see personality, simple -or associated--that is to say, individual liberty, associations, and -corporations--little by little reduced to annihilation by the modern idea -of the state? Does not modern theory make also of the state another grand -whole, beside which nothing private can exist? - -To reach this result, they represent the state as expressing the -aggregate of all the particular wills, and they seek, in a pretended -“general will,” the supreme and infallible source of law. But even were -this will as general as theory desires, it would not be the less human, -or, by consequence, the less subject to error. Whence comes it, then, -that they make it the sovereign arbiter of good and evil, of truth and -falsehood, of justice and injustice? The Pantheists reply that “God is in -man and in the world; that he is one and the same thing with the world; -that he is identical with the nature of things, and consequently subject -to change.” The general will, the expression of the universal conscience, -is then a manifestation of the divine will; and this would allow it to -change without ever erring. - -This answers all, in truth; but it may lead us too far. If, as says -Hegel, God is subjective--that is to say, if He is in man, or, more -exactly still, if He is man himself and the substance of nature--neither -right, nor law, nor justice could remain objective. In other words, if -man is God, there is no longer any possible distinction between good and -evil. And this conclusion has been drawn by the learned German socialist, -Lassalle. He denies the notion of an immutable right; he is unwilling -that we should any longer speak of the family, property, justice, etc., -in absolute terms. According to him, these are but abstract and unreal -generalities. There have been, on all these subjects, Greek, Roman, -German, etc., ideas; but these are only historical recollections. Ideas -change, some even disappear; and if, some day, the universal conscience -should decide that the idea of proprietorship has had its day, then -would commence a new era in history, during which there could be no -longer either property or proprietors without incurring the guilt of -injustice.[59] From the stand-point of Pantheism, this reasoning is -irrefutable; and, on the other hand, we have just seen that Pantheism -alone could justify the modern theory of the general will, the supreme -arbiter of law. - - -VI.--HAS THE GENERAL WILL RULED SINCE 1789? - -I have just quoted a socialist whose works, though little known in -France, are of extreme importance. Ferdinand Lassalle, a Jew by birth, -by nationality a Prussian, is possessed of extensive knowledge, critical -genius of the highest order, and unsparing logic. We have seen him draw -the theoretical consequences of Pantheism applied to law; and it will -not be without interest to know how he judges the practical results -of the modern theory of rights, as shown in the French Revolution. -The socialists have a special authority for speaking of “immortal -principles”; for they admit them without hesitation, and their teaching -proved that they comprehend them wonderfully. - -The _Declaration of the Rights of Man_ is the most authentic summing -up of these famous principles; and it is therein that the modern -theory of law will be found most clearly stated. “Law,” says Art. -6, “is the expression of the general will. Every citizen has the -right of co-operating in its formation, either personally or by his -representatives.” - -It would seem, from this solemn proclamation, that since then, or at -least in the first fervor of this “glorious” revolution, the majority -of the “sovereign people” should have been called to “form the laws.” -This has been said; it has even been supported at the mouth of the -cannon--for, as has been wittily remarked by M. de Maistre, “the masters -of these poor people have had recourse even to artillery while deriding -them. They said to them: ‘You think you do not will this law; but, be -assured, you do will it. If you dare to refuse it, we will pour upon you -a shower of shot, to punish you for not willing what you do will.’ And it -was done.”[60] - -What then took place, and how did it happen that the general will, -which had undertaken to make fundamental and irrevocable laws, should -have accepted, in the first five years of its freedom, three different -constitutions and a _régime_ like that of the Reign of Terror? - -Lassalle replies that it is not at all the people who made the -revolution, and that the general will was not even asked to manifest -itself. He recalls the famous pamphlet of Sieyès, and corrects its -title. It is not true, says he, that the _Tiers État_ was then nothing; -the increase of personal property has, since then, brought about a -_révolution économique_, thanks to which the _tiers état_ was, in truth, -all. But legally it was nothing, which was not much to its liking; for -the former ranks of society still existed by right, although their real -strength was not in keeping with their legal condition. The work of the -French Revolution was, therefore, to give to the _tiers état_ a legal -position suitable to its actual importance. - -Now, the _tiers_, first and foremost, assumed itself to be the equivalent -of the entire people. “It considered that its cause was the cause -of humanity.” Thus the attraction was real and powerful. The voices -raised to protest were unable to make themselves heard. Our author -cites, on this subject, a curious instance of clear-sightedness. An -anti-revolutionary journal, _The Friend of the King_, exclaimed, “Who -shall say whether or not the despotism of the _bourgeoisie_ shall not -succeed the pretended aristocracy of the nobility?” - -It is this, indeed, which has come to pass, continues Lassalle; the -_tiers état_ has become, in its turn, the privileged class. The proof is -that the wealth of the citizen became immediately the legal condition of -power in the state. - -Since 1791, in the constitution of Sept. 3 we find (chap. i., sects. 1 -and 2) a distinction established between active citizens and passive -citizens. The former are those who pay a certain quota of direct -contribution; and they alone possess the right of voting. Moreover, -all hired laborers were declared not active; and this excluded workmen -from the right of voting. It matters little that the tax was small; the -principle was laid down requiring some amount of fortune in order to -exercise a political right. “The wealth of the citizen had become the -condition necessary for obtaining power in the state, as nobility or -landed property had been in the Middle Ages.” - -The principle of the vote-tax held sway until the recent introduction of -universal suffrage. - -Our socialist, proceeding directly to the question of taxes, proves -that the _bourgeoisie moderne_, without inventing indirect taxation, -has nevertheless made it the basis of an entire system, and has settled -upon it all the expenses of state. Now, indirect taxes are such as are -levied beforehand upon all necessaries, as salt, corn, beer, meat, fuel, -or, still more, upon what we need for our protection--the expenses of -the administration of justice, stamped paper, etc. Generally, in making -a purchase, the buyer pays the tax, without perceiving that it is that -which increases the price. Now, it is clear that because an individual -is twenty, fifty, or a hundred times richer, it does not follow that he -will, on that account, consume twenty, fifty, or a hundred times more -salt, bread, meat, etc., than a workman or a person of humble condition. -Thus it happens that the great body of indirect taxes is paid by the -poorest classes (from the single fact that they are the most numerous). -Thus is it brought about, in a hidden way, that the _tiers état_ pay -relatively less taxes than the _quatrième état_. - -Concerning the instruction of adults, Lassalle says that, instead of -being left to the clergy as heretofore, it now in fact belongs to -the daily press. But securities, stamps, and advertisements give to -journalism another privilege of capital.[61] - -This sketch suffices; and I deem it needless to add that I am far from -concluding with the socialists. I am so much the more free to disagree -with them as I do not by any means admit the “immortal principles,” but -it seems to me to follow evidently from the preceding observations that -it is not true, in fact, that the general will has made the laws since -1789. - - -VII.--DOES UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE EXPRESS THE GENERAL WILL? - -Has the introduction of universal suffrage modified, in any great degree, -this state of things? Is it any more certain since 1848, than before, -that the nation is governed by the general will? We may content ourselves -here by appealing to the testimony of honest men. If the general will -were truly the master of all the powers in France, our country, which -to-day, so it is said, has only the government that it desires, would -be a model of union and concord; there could be in the opposition party -only an exceedingly small minority (otherwise the term general would be -unjustifiable), and we would follow peacefully the ways most pleasing to -us. - -This would not be saying--mark it well!--that those ways are good. That -is another question, to which we will return; but now we are dealing with -the question, Are our laws to-day formed or not formed by the general -will, according to the formula which I have quoted from the _Declaration -of the Rights of Man_? - -Notwithstanding the evidence for the negative, I think it well here to -analyze hastily that which M. Taine has just given in a little pamphlet -containing many truths.[62] M. Taine, being a free-thinker and a man of -the times, cannot be suspected of taking an ultramontane or clerical view -of the case. - -M. Taine is far from demanding the abolition of universal suffrage. He -believes it in conformity with justice; for he does not admit that his -money can be demanded or he himself sent to the frontier without his -own consent, either expressed or tacit. His only wish is that the right -of suffrage be not illusory, and that the electoral law be adapted “to -the French of 1791, to the peasant, the workman, etc.,” be he “stupid, -ignorant, or ill-informed.” From this M. Taine proves at the outset that -the ballot-roll is a humbug; and I believe that no person of sense will -contest the point. He immediately enters upon a statistical examination -of the composition of the elective world in France; and he arrives at -the following result: “Of twenty voters, ten are peasants, four workmen, -three demi-bourgeois, three educated men, comfortable or rich. Now, the -electoral law, as all law, should have regard to the majority, to the -first fourteen.” It behooves us, then, to know who these fourteen are -who are called to frame the law; that is to say, to decide, by their -representatives it is true, but sovereignly, on good and evil, justice -and injustice, and, necessarily, the fate of the country. - -M. Taine, in this connection, makes some new calculations which may be -thus summed up: The rural population embraces seventy out of one hundred -of the entire population, hence fourteen voters out of twenty. Now, in -France, there are thirty-nine illiterate out of every hundred males, -almost all belonging to the classes which M. Taine numbers among the -rural population; which enables him to find that seven out of every -fourteen rural voters cannot even read. I may observe, in passing, that -a peasant who cannot read, but who knows his catechism, may be of a much -sounder morality than M. Taine himself; but I willingly proclaim that the -seven electors in question could and should have a mediocre political -intelligence. - -This agreeable writer recounts, in a spicy way, a number of anecdotes -which prove “the ignorance and credulity” of the rural populations on -similar matters; and he thence concludes that the peasants “are still -subjects, but under a nameless master.” This is precisely what I said -at the beginning, not only of peasants, but of all modern people in -general. Be there a king on the throne or not, somebody decrees this, -somebody decrees that; and the subject depends, in a hundred ways, on -this abstract and undetermined somebody--“Through the collector, through -the mayor, through the sub-inspector of forests, through the commissary -of police, through the field-keeper, through the clerks of justice, for -making a door, for felling a tree, building a shed, opening a stall, -transporting a cask of wine, etc., etc.” - -All this expresses well and depicts admirably the ways of modern liberty; -and I cannot refrain from citing this last sketch, equally amusing and -true: “The mayor knows that in town, in an elegant apartment, is a worthy -gentleman, attired in broidered gown, who receives him two or three times -a year, speaks to him with authority and condescension, and often puts to -him embarrassing questions. But when this gentleman goes away, another -takes his place quite similar and in the same garb, and the mayor, on -his return home, says with satisfaction: ‘Monsieur the prefect always -preserves his good will towards me, although he has been changed many -times.’” - -The _plébiscite_, the appeal to the people, the invitation to vote on the -form of government, addressed to this kind of electors--is it not all -a cunning trick? M. Taine thinks so, and many others with him; but he -supposes that this same elector will be, at least, capable of “choosing -the particular man in whom he has most confidence.” It is with him, -says he, in the choice of one who shall make the laws, as in the choice -of the physician or the lawyer whom one may prefer. Although it is not -my intention to discuss here the opinions of this author, I beg him to -remark that his comparison is strikingly faulty; we cannot choose whom -we please for our physician or for our lawyer. The former is obliged to -go through a course of studies in order to merit his diploma; the latter -must fulfil the conditions necessary to be admitted to the bar. To frame -the laws is another thing; not the slightest preparation is exacted from -those eligible to this duty. Apparently it is not considered worth the -trouble. - -The ballot-roll and _plébiscite_ being disposed of, M. Taine returns -to figures, to study what transpires when the electors are called upon -to choose a deputy by district. This gives, says he, one deputy for -twenty thousand voters spread over a surface of one thousand kilometres -square, etc. Of the twenty thousand voters, how many will have a definite -opinion of the candidate presented to them? Scarcely one in ten beyond -the outskirts of the town; scarcely one in four or five in the whole -district. There remains the resource of advice; but “the spirit of -equality is all-powerful, and the hierarchy is wanting.” - -We touch here the most sorrowful wound of our social state; and this term -even, is it not misapplied?--for we have no longer any order, or, by -consequence, any social state. “As a general rule,” continues M. Taine, -“the country people receive counsel only from their equals.” Therefore -it is easy to employ evil means. These evil means may be summed up, -according to the same author, in the abuse of governmental influence, -and in a corruption whose form varies, but which makes the affair of an -election an affair of money. - -There should be, and I have alluded to it in passing, many exceptions -made with regard to what M. Taine says concerning the rural population. -He believes them manifestly less able to vote than the city populations, -while I am of quite the contrary opinion; but it still remains true that -direct universal suffrage, such as we have, does not allow a person -to choose from a knowledge of the case, and that, in reality, the -general will has not, up to the present day, been able to find its true -expression. - -This is all that I need prove for the present. - - -VIII.--IS THE GENERAL WILL COMPETENT TO MAKE LAWS? - -This is a still higher question, and one which we must now approach. -Admitting that the general will could make itself known, is it an -authority competent to make laws? - -But before starting let us lay down a first principle which, quite -elementary as it is, seems to be as much forgotten as the others: if -the natural law exist not anteriorly to enjoin respect for human laws, -human power would have no other ground of existence, no other support -than force. Without a divine lawgiver, there is, in truth, no moral -obligation.[63] The hypothesis of a previous agreement among the members -of society would not resolve the difficulty; for an agreement would not -be able to bind any one, at least if there were no higher authority to -secure it.[64] - -Whatever may be the immediate origin of law--be it promulgated by -a sovereign, enacted by an assembly, or directly willed by the -multitude--it would still be unable to rule, if we do not suppose a -law anterior and, as Cicero says, eternal, which, in the first place, -prescribes obedience to subjects, and, in the second, fidelity to -reciprocal engagements, promises, and oaths. This superior law being the -natural law, it is always, and in every case, impossible to suppress or -to elude it. - -Meanwhile, what is understood by the general will? Is it the unanimity -of wills? No one, so far as I know, has ever exacted this condition. -The question is, then, taking things at their best, of the will of the -majority. People grant this, and often give to our modern governments -the name of governments of the majority. They deduce then from this -principle, that in a population of thirty millions of men, for example, -it is lawful that the will of the twenty millions should rule over that -of the remaining ten millions. If the constitution of a kingdom, says -Burke, is an arithmetical problem, the calculation is just; but if the -minority refuse to submit, the majority will be able to govern only by -the aid of _la lanterne_.[65] - -Scaffolds, shootings, exile, prison--such are, in truth, the institutions -which have chiefly flourished since the famous _Declaration of the Rights -of Man_. - -In the eyes of a man who knows how to reason, continues the English -orator, this opinion is ridiculous. - -It could not be justified, unless it were well proved that the majority -of men are enlightened, virtuous, wise, self-sacrificing, and incapable -of preferring their own interest to that of others. No one has ever dared -to say that legislators should make laws for the sake of making them, and -without troubling themselves concerning the welfare of those for whom the -laws are made. Now, the laws being made for all, the majority, if it had -the qualities necessary for legislating, should concern itself still more -about the minority than about itself. - -The Comte de la Marck[66] relates that when Mirabeau became too much -excited concerning the rights and privileges of man, it happened -sometimes that he amused himself by curtailing his accounts. He cut off -first women, children, the ignorant, the vicious, etc. Once, the nation -being thus reduced to the little portion whose moral qualities it became -necessary to estimate, “I began,” says he, “to deduct those who lack -reason, those who have false notions, those who value their own interests -above everything, those who lack education and knowledge matured by -reflection; and I then asked him if the men who merit to be spoken of -with dignity and respect would not find themselves reduced to a number -infinitely small. Now, according to my principle, I maintained that the -government should act _for_ the people, and not _by_ them--that is to -say, not by the opinion of the multitude; and I proved, by historical -extracts and by examples which we had unfortunately under our eyes, that -reason and good sense fly from men in proportion as they are gathered -together in greater numbers.” - -Mirabeau contented himself with replying that one must flatter the people -in order to govern them, which amounts to saying that one must cheat them. - -For the rest, this same Mirabeau acknowledged that equality, in the -revolutionary sense, is absurd, and the passion which some have for it -he called a violent paroxysm. It is he who best characterized the true -result of the destruction of all social order. He called it “vanity’s -upsetting.” He could not have spoken better; and the vanity which -goes so low could have no other result than that which we behold--the -premeditated absence or suppression of all true superiority. - -This episode on equality is not a digression, for the system of -majorities supposes it. Now, it is absolutely anti-natural. According to -the beautiful idea of Aristotle:[67] there is in man himself a soul and -a body; the one predominating and made to command, the other to obey; the -equality or the shifting of power between these two elements would be -equally fatal to them. It is the same between man and the other animals, -between tame animals and wild. The harmony of sex is analogous, and we -even find some traces of this principle in inanimate objects; as, for -example, in the harmony of sounds. Therefore S. Augustine defines order -thus: “Such a disposition of things similar and dissimilar as shall give -to each what is proper to it”--_Ordo est parium dispariumque rerum sua -cuique tribuens dispositio_;[68] and S. Thomas hence concludes that order -supposes inequality: _Nomen ordinis inæqualitatem importat_.[69] - -But the “immortal principles” have changed all that, according to -Sganarelle; so their work, in its final analysis, results in a disorder -without name. - -The external disorder is visible and pretty generally acknowledged; but -the moral disorder passes unperceived. By means of equality on the one -hand, and of the secularization of the law on the other, they arrive at -this frightful result: for example, that regicide and parricide are, in -justice, but ordinary crimes; if, moreover, regicide profits the people, -it is worthy of eulogy. Sacrilege is nothing more than a superstitious -fiction. In fine, _respect_ being no longer possible nor even reasonable, -according to the prediction of Burke,[70] “the laws have no other -guardian than terror, … and in perspective, from our point of view, we -see but scaffolds,” or courts-martial, which amount to the same thing. - - -IX.--CONSEQUENCES OF THE SECULARIZATION OF LAW. - -How often do we not hear it said that almost all our misfortunes, and, -above all, our inability to repair our losses, come from the little -respect we have for the law! This statement, which has become almost -trite, indicates most frequently a strange wandering. After having -destroyed respect for persons, is it not absurd to claim it for their -works? But they have done more: they have denied the mission of a -legislator. The secularization of the law--that is to say, the denial of -a divine sanction applied to law--has no other meaning. Legislators being -no longer the mandataries of God, or not wishing to be such, now speak -only in virtue of their own lights, and have no real commission. By what -title, then, would you have us respect them? Every one is at liberty to -prefer his own lights and to believe that he would have done better. - -I hear the reply: “It is to the interest of all that order should reign, -were it but materially, and the law is the principal means of maintaining -order.” You may hence conclude that it would be more advantageous to see -the laws obeyed; but a motive of interest is not a motive of respect, and -there is a certain class of individuals who may gain by the disorder. No, -you will have the right to claim respect for the law only when you shall -have rendered the law truly respectable; and to do this you must prove -that you have the mission to make the law, even were you the _élite_ of -our statesmen and doctors of the law, and much more if you are but a -collection of the most uncultivated tax-payers in the world. - -Knowledge is something; it is something also to represent real and -considerable interests; and I do not deny the relative importance of -the elements of which legislative bodies are composed. But nothing of -all this can supply the place of a commission; and you will have that -only when you shall have consented, as legislators, to acknowledge the -existence of God, to submit yourselves to his laws, and to conform your -own thereto. - -People have but a very inadequate idea of the disastrous consequences -which, one day or other, may ensue from the secularization of law. Until -now the only danger of which they have dreamed is that with which extreme -revolution menaces us. - -This is a danger so imminent, so undisguised, that every one sees it; and -some have ended by understanding that without a return to God society is -destined to fall. Nay, more, the Assembly now sitting at Versailles has -made an act of faith by ordering public prayers; and this first step has -caused hope to revive in the hearts of men of good-will. But it is not, -perhaps, inopportune to draw the attention of serious men to another -phase of the question. - -What would happen if modern law should go so far as to enjoin a crime -upon Christians? The hypothesis is not purely imaginary; and although, -happily, thanks to Heaven, it has not yet come to pass, there is a whole -party which threatens to reach this extreme. In other countries there has -been something like a beginning of its realization. I would like to speak -of the school law and the avowed project of imposing a compulsory and lay -education. We know what is meant by _lay_ in such a case; and experience -proves that the state schools are often entrusted to men whose avowed -intention is to bring up the children in infidelity. What would happen if -such a law were passed, which supposes that everywhere, at the same time, -parents would be compelled to put their children in imminent danger of -losing their faith? The Catholic Church is very explicit in her doctrine -on the obligation of obeying even a bad government; she orders that -useless, unjust, and even culpable laws be borne with, so long as this -can be done without exposing one’s self to commit a sin. Neither plunder -nor the danger of death excuses revolt in her eyes. But in this case do -we understand to what we would be reduced? To resist passively, and to -allow one’s self to be punished by fines, by prison, by torture, or by -death, would not remedy the evil; the soul of the child remains without -defence, and the father is responsible for it. This kind of persecution -is, then, more serious in its consequences, and may lead to deeper -troubles, than even the direct persecution, which might consist, for -example, in exacting apostasy from adults. In this last case the martyr -bears all, and the first Christians have shown us the way; but here the -torments of the parents cannot save the children, and the parents cannot -abandon them; whatever becomes of the body, the soul must be guarded -until death. - -It belongs not to me to decide; for in this case, as in all those of a -similar kind, the line of conduct to be followed ought to be traced by -the only competent authority; but the problem is worth proposing, and by -it alone it is already easy to throw great light on the abysses to which -the atheism of the law is leading the people by rapid strides. - - -X.--CHRISTIAN DEFINITION OF NATURAL LAW. - -It remains to explain in a few words the great principles which should -form the basis of law, and which were never completely ignored until -these days of aberration and wretchedness. I could not expect to give -here, in these few pages, a course of natural law, nor even to trace its -outline; but there are some perfectly incontestable truths which it is -very necessary to recall since people have forgotten them. When one has -no personal authority, he feels a certain timidity in broaching so grave -a subject, and in speaking of it as if he aspired to enlighten his kind; -and meanwhile error is insinuated, preached, disseminated, commanded, -with a skill so infernal and a success so great that ignorance of truth -is almost unbounded. Of such elementary rules we often find influential -persons, and sometimes persons of real merit, totally ignorant. In other -days they would have known them on leaving school, or even from their -catechism. - -Let us go back, then, to the definition of the word nature, and it will -serve as a starting-point from which to treat of what the laws destined -to govern man should be. - -The nature of a being is that which renders it capable of attaining its -end. This is true of a plant or an animal as well as of man; but there -are two kinds of ends subordinate one to the other. The end for which God -created the world could be no other than God himself.[71] The Creator -could only propose to himself an end worthy of himself, and, he alone -being perfect, he could not find outside himself an end proportioned to -his greatness. God is, then, the last end of all creatures. But there -are particular ends; and it is in their subordination that the order of -the world consists. The primary ends are, in a certain sense, but a means -for arriving at the last end. - -But God being unable to add anything to his infinite perfection, the end -which he proposed to himself could not be to render himself more perfect; -hence he could seek only an exterior glory, which consists in manifesting -himself to his creatures. For this it was necessary that some of these -creatures should be capable of knowing him. These reasonable creatures -are superior to the others and are their primary end; therefore it is -that theologians call man a microcosm, a compendium of the universe, and -king of the world. - -Man is placed in creation to admire it, and by means of it to render -homage to God; for, in his quality of a creature gifted with reason, -he knows his end, which is God, and the essential characteristic of -his nature is the ability to attain this end. He is, moreover, endowed -with an admirable prerogative--liberty, or free-will; that is to say, -he is called on to will this end; and God, in his infinite bounty, will -recompense him for having willed his own good. But man has need of an -effort to will good; for his primitive nature has been corrupted by the -original fall. He has, therefore, an inclination to evil, against which -he must incessantly struggle; and the greatest number of political and -social errors have their source in ignorance or forgetfulness of this -perversion of human nature. - -This granted, the natural law comprises the obligations imposed on man in -order that he may reach his end, together with the prohibition of all -that could turn him away from it. This law obliges all men, even those -who have no knowledge of the positive divine law--that is to say, the -revealed law. - -Behold how Gerson has defined it: - -“The natural law is a sign imprinted upon the heart of every man enjoying -the right use of reason, and which makes known to him the divine will, in -virtue of which the human creature is required to do certain things and -to avoid certain others, in order to reach his end.” Among the precepts -which God has engraved upon the hearts of all men is found, in the first -rank, that which obliges them to refer themselves to God as to their last -end. - -From this it follows that every law which tends to hinder or prevent the -progress of men toward God is a law against nature, and consequently null -(_lex injusta non est lex_); for no human law can change or abrogate the -natural law. - - -XI.--CONTINUATION: THE END OF SOCIETY ACCORDING TO THE NATURAL LAW. - -The considerations of the preceding chapter have reference to man -considered abstractly from society. But man cannot exist alone. For life -and subsistence, during his early childhood, he has need of his kind; so -that, from the first moment of his existence, he forms part of a domestic -society--the family. - -The family being certainly of divine institution, and the duties which -it imposes being of the number of those which the natural law commands, -we find therein the first elements of all society: authority, hierarchy, -consequently inequality, mutual love, and protection--in a word, varied -and reciprocal duties. But the family suffices not for man’s social -cravings. Man naturally longs after his like; he possesses the marvellous -gift of speech for communication with his fellows; he bears engraven on -his heart the first precept of his duty towards them: “Do unto others -that which you would have others do unto you; and do not unto them that -which you would not that they do to you.” The existence of society is, -therefore, still a law of nature. - -Once formed, society itself has its duties; it has its proper end, which -not only should not be opposed to the end of man considered singly, but -should moreover contribute to facilitate the attainment of that end. The -end of man being God, and this end being attainable only by virtue, the -principal end of society will necessarily be to aid men in the practice -of virtue; and, that I may not be accused of depending exclusively on -theology, I will adduce what Aristotle has said on this subject: “The -most perfect state is evidently that in which each citizen, whoever he -may be, may, by favor of the laws, best practise virtue and be most -secure of happiness.”[72] And what is happiness, according to Aristotle? -“We consider it a point perfectly established that happiness is always -in proportion to wisdom; … [for] the soul, speaking absolutely and even -relatively to us, is more precious than wealth and the body.… Following -the laws of nature, all exterior goods are desirable only insomuch as -they serve the soul, and wise men should not desire them except for this -end; whereas the soul should never be placed in comparison with them.”[73] - -We are assuredly far off from this pagan, and he goes still further -even than the foregoing; for he lays down as incontestable a principle -which is the formal condemnation of the secularization of the law. “The -elements of happiness,” says he, “are the same for the individual and -for the city.”[74] We have just seen what he understands by happiness; -but he adds, in order that he may be the better comprehended, that if -the felicity of the individual consisted in wealth, it would be the same -for the city. According to Aristotle, therefore, the moral law obliges -society as it does the individual. Now, it is precisely this which the -partisans of atheistical or merely secular law deny. - - -XII.--CHRISTIAN LAW. - -I have designedly quoted the ancient philosophers, because certain -diseased minds who shrink from the authority of the sacred books accept -more willingly that of the learned; but I believe that from what precedes -one could easily infer the true rule of the relations between church and -state. I will not undertake it now; nevertheless, as I address myself, -by preference, to those who profess the same faith as myself, I will -take the liberty to point out to them some inevitable corollaries of the -principles I have just recalled. - -The natural law, properly so called, has been confirmed and completed -by revelation. Although the precepts whose observance is indispensable -to man to reach his end are engraven in the depths of his heart, the -blindness and the evil propensities which are the consequences of his -fall render him but too forgetful of his duties. Besides, God, having -resolved to save man, chose to himself a privileged people, that from it -he might cause the Messias to be born; and for the accomplishment of his -merciful designs he guided this people and made it the guardian of his -law, even to the day on which the promises were fulfilled. - -To this end God charged Moses with the promulgation of a positive -divine law which contained moral precepts--precepts relating to the -ceremonies of the ancient worship--and political precepts; that is to -say, precepts relating to the civil government of the Jewish people. The -last two classes of precepts no longer oblige; but those which concern -morals--that is to say, those of the Decalogue--retain all their force, -because they are the precepts of the natural law. - -But it is no longer by virtue of the promulgation of Moses that we are -bound by the moral obligations contained in the old law. He who is our -Judge, our Legislator, our King,[75] has come himself to give us a more -perfect law: “Mandatum novum do vobis” (Joan. 13). According to the -expression of Suarez, Jesus Christ has made known more perfectly the -natural law in completing it by new precepts. Jesus Christ has done -still more: he has founded a new kingdom--the church, the mystical body, -of which he is the head. He has, therefore, appointed interpreters and -guardians of his law, who have the mission to proclaim it to those who -know it not; to pardon in his name those who, having violated it, confess -and repent; and, finally, to distribute the numberless succors of divine -grace--all which have for their object to help us to observe the law -as perfectly as possible, and consequently to enable us ourselves to -approach perfection. The new precepts added by Christ to those of the -natural law are those which enjoin upon us the use of the sacraments and -which determine their form; these articles of the new law--if we may be -allowed so to term them--are all as obligatory as those of the natural -law, because they have God himself for their author. Behold how S. Thomas -sums up the whole of the new law, or the law of grace, which Christ came -to bring us: “It comprises,” says he, “the precepts of the natural law, -the articles of faith, and the sacraments of grace.” - -One of the most remarkable characteristics of the Christian law is that -it was not written. Jesus Christ _spoke_ his commandments, and, _his -word being divine_, it engraved them upon the hearts of his apostles and -disciples;[76] but the Incarnate Word had nothing written during the -time he spent upon earth. The first Gospel appeared at least eight years -after the death of Jesus Christ. If to this observation we add the common -belief of theologians, according to which it was only from the coming of -the Holy Ghost--that is to say, from the day of Pentecost and after the -Ascension--that the law of Christ became obligatory, we arrive at this -conclusion: that the means of oral teaching was expressly chosen by the -Word for the transmission of his law and his will. - -Nothing throws greater light upon the sovereign importance of the church -and its hierarchy; nothing manifests better the extreme necessity of -a permanent infallibility residing somewhere in the mystical body of -Christ. The Council of the Vatican, conformably to the tradition of -all Christian ages, has _defined_ that “the Roman Pontiff enjoys the -plenitude of that infallibility with which it was necessary for the -church to be provided in defining doctrine touching faith or morals.” - -These last words show that the Pope is the unfailing interpreter of -the natural law, and the judge, from whom there is no appeal of its -violations. - -The decisions given by the Sovereign Pontiff upon human laws are not -recognized at the present day by the powers of the earth. But neither -is God recognized; and thus it is that, little by little violence has -overrun the world and law has vanished. Europe is returning to a worse -than primitive barbarism; and Catholics are no longer alone in saying it. - -At the epoch at which the bishops were gathered together at Rome for the -last council, a publicist of great merit, an Englishman and a Protestant, -speaking in the name of his co-religionists, addressed an appeal to the -Pope entreating him to labor for the re-establishment of the rights of -the people. - -The rights of the people, or the law of nature, said Mr. Urquhart, -is the Ten Commandments applied to society. After having cited Lord -Mansfield, who says that this right “is considered to form part of the -English law,” and that “_the acts_ of the government cannot alter it,” -Mr. Urquhart fears not to add “that it is against their governments that -nations should protect this right.” And why did this Protestant appeal -to Rome? Because, in sight of the unjust wars which ravage Europe, he -hoped that the Ecumenical Council “would lay down a rule enabling -Catholics to distinguish the just from the unjust; so that the Pope might -afterwards exercise juridical power over communities, nations, and their -sovereigns.”[77] - -The rule exists; for the natural or divine law engraven by God from the -beginning upon the hearts of all men, and more expressly revealed in the -Decalogue, was the subject of the teaching of Christ. The juridical power -and the tribunal from which there is no appeal equally exist; but the -voice of the judge is no longer listened to by those who govern human -society. But it is not this which is important, and Mr. Urquhart is -right--it is the nations which should invoke against their new tyrants -the only efficacious protection; it is the people who should first bend -before the beneficent authority of the infallible master of the moral -law; there would then be no further need of the consent of governments. - - -XIII.--CONCLUSION. - -I said, in beginning the last paragraph, that it was addressed to -Catholics by right of corollary from the preceding considerations. It is -certain, indeed, that if all Catholics were truly instructed and well -convinced of the truths that I have endeavored to set forth as briefly -and clearly as I could, a great step in the right path would already have -been taken. - -But there is a much-used, widely-spread, and very convenient objection -which many excellent men fail not to proffer in such a case. “It is -true,” say they, “that if human discussions and quarrels could be -referred to the highest moral authority on earth, it would afford great -advantages; but this is not _practicable_. Times have changed, and it is -impossible to hope that this authority can ever recover the influence it -would require in order to act efficaciously.” - -If good men adhere to the fatal habit they have acquired of renouncing -beforehand all effort, for fear it will not be successful, nothing can -be done; and there remains to us nothing but to veil our faces while -awaiting the destruction of our country and of all organized society. But -even were we reduced to despair, we never have the right of renouncing -our convictions nor of ceasing to act personally according to the -prescriptions of our faith. Before concerning ourselves about the doings -of others, and without needing to count on success, we must begin by -conforming ourselves to the teachings of truth, which is by its nature -unchangeable; for there is no progress or civilization which can alter -one iota of the divine laws. - -Moreover, he is very bold who would dare to predict what Europe will or -will not be several years hence. Either it is condemned--and then, for -his own peace of mind, a man should allow himself to be guided by his -conscience with the full certainty of not doing wrong--or God wills to -save Europe still another time; and this can never be, save by truth. - -With regard to practical means, of which they make so much at the present -day, I see no one who proposes them inspiring any confidence. Every one -hesitates, gropes, and most often acknowledges that he can only invent. -The present hour is favorable to good, in this sense: that the greater -number of _practical_ errors no longer exercise the same seduction as at -the beginning of the century. - -Evil presses us on all sides, and, according to the expression of one -of our most distinguished publicists, “1789 has failed.”[78] After 1789 -there is no middle way between social war and the return to good. We meet -at every step upright minds who break their idols; there are too many who -know not yet with what to replace them, but it is still much to have seen -one’s error. - -Furthermore, there are untiring seekers, some of whom have found the -whole truth, and others who find but the fragments; all help to prepare -the way for the reconstruction of the social edifice. He to whom I have -dedicated this work[79] will pardon me, I hope, if I quote from him. I -do not believe that there is another example of an equal influence so -rapidly exercised by a book so serious, so grave in matter, so little -attractive to the frivolous reader, as that which he has written upon -_Social Reform_. To rediscover social truth by the method of observation -and analysis was already a phenomenon which I consider unique of its -kind; to cause it to be adopted by so great a number of minds biassed -and filled with hostile prejudices, and most frequently badly prepared -by their previous studies, is a fact still more astonishing. Thus, as I -said in my dedicatory epistle, it is impossible for me not to see herein -one of the most consoling signs of our age. The scientific processes of -M. Le Play were, perhaps, the only ones which would find favor with a -generation so dialectical and so enamored with the exact sciences as ours. - -Notwithstanding the sorrows which oppress us, we must not despair; and, -above all, we must not trouble ourselves too much concerning the errors -of what people agree to call public opinion. - -The errors regarding the general will reproduce themselves, under another -form, in the uneasiness which this self-styled queen of the world instils -into the minds of men of good-will. If we consider closely what the -elements of opinion are, we very quickly perceive that, in general, it -merits the name of public only because it proclaims itself very loudly -and makes itself known in all the public squares. In reality, a party -much less considerable than we suppose announces to the world, and -imagines, most frequently in good faith, that it alone is enlightened. -Its boldness inspires awe, and by degrees those who compose it succeed -in persuading the multitude, and in persuading themselves that they -represent the only _opinion_ worthy of note. And who are these? -Financiers and journalists who carry on business in common; loud-voiced -lawyers; professors much tainted themselves; officers occupying -a position, and others wishing to obtain one from them; the idle -pleasure-seeking men and women. Is it, then, true that these represent -the nation? - -Eager for their own interest or for that of others, these pretended -echoes of public opinion are wont to say “The people believe, the people -wish, the people will never consent, it does not suit the people, etc. -What a pity! The people are nothing in revolutions in which they are -but passive instruments. France no longer ardently desires anything -except repose. At first sight this proposition would seem true--the -previous consent of the French is necessary for the re-establishment -of the monarchy. Nothing is more false. The multitude never obtains -what it wills; it always accepts, it never chooses. We may even notice -an _affectation_ of Providence (if I may be allowed the expression), -inasmuch as the efforts of the people to attain an object are the very -means which it makes use of to withdraw them from it. - -“In the French Revolution the people were constantly chained, outraged, -ruined, torn by factions; and the factions, in their turn, the sport of -one another, constantly drifted (notwithstanding all their efforts), only -to be dashed against the rock which awaited them.… In the establishment -and the overthrow of sovereignties … the mass of the people enter only as -the wood and the cord employed by a machinist. Their chiefs even are such -only to strangers; in reality, they are led as they lead the people. When -the proper moment shall arrive, the Supreme Ruler of empires will chase -away these noisy insects. Then we shall be astonished at the profound -nothingness of these men. - -“Do people imagine that the political world goes on by chance, and -that it is not organized, directed, animated, by the same wisdom which -shines in the physical world? Great malefactors who overthrow the state -necessarily produce melancholy, internal dismemberments … but when man -labors to re-establish order, he associates himself with the Author of -order, he is favored by nature--that is to say, by the aggregate of -secondary causes which are the instruments of the Divinity. His action -has something divine; it is at once gentle and powerful; it forces -nothing and nothing resists it.”[80] - -These beautiful words are as true to-day as in 1797. - - -DURATION. - -II - -All change implies succession. Hence the duration of contingent beings, -inasmuch as they are subject to actual change, involves succession. The -duration of the changes brought about by purely spiritual operations -transcends our experience; for we are not pure spirits. Hence we have -no means of measuring such changes by their intrinsic measure. But the -duration of the changes which occur in the material world through local -movements lies within the range of our apprehensive faculty, and can be -measured by us; for we find in nature many movements which, by their -constant recurrence and their uniformity, are calculated to serve as -terms of comparison for measuring the length of successive duration. - -_Definitions of time._--The duration of local movement, which we measure -by a given standard, is called “time.” And therefore time may be properly -and adequately defined as the duration of local movement: _Duratio -motus_. From this definition it immediately follows that where there is -no movement there can be no time. Accordingly, there was no time before -creation, as there was no movement. It follows also that the duration of -created things, inasmuch as it expresses the permanence of those things -in their own being, is not time; for it is of the essence of time to be -successive, and there is no succession where there is no change, and -no change without movement. Hence, when we say that contingent beings -exist in time, we do not refer to their essence or substance as such, -but to their successive modes of being, by which their duration acquires -its accidental successivity. Were the whole world reduced to perfect -stillness by impeding or suspending the actions and movements of all -creatures, time would at the same instant cease to flow; for time is not -the duration of things, but the duration of movement. - -Time may be considered either as a _relation_ or as a _quantity_. -In fact, intervals of successive duration are, like distances, real -relations; but when we think of the greater or less extent of space -which can be measured with a given velocity between two correlated terms -of time, these same intervals exhibit themselves under the form of -continuous quantities. - -Time, as a relation, is defined by S. Thomas and by all the ancients -as _Ratio prioris et posterioris motus_--that is, as the link between -the “before” and the “after” of any movement; and, as a quantity, it -is defined as _Numerus motus_--that is, as a number arising from the -mensuration of the movement. This movement is always local, as we have -already intimated; for we cannot measure successive duration by any other -kind of movement. Hence it is that the duration which is predicated of -spiritual substances and of their operations differs in kind from our -time. For, since such substances are not subjected to local movements, -their duration cannot be measured in terms of space and velocity, as our -time, but only in terms of intellectual movements, which have nothing -common with the periodical revolutions from which we desume the measure -of our days, years, and centuries. When we say that angels have existed -for centuries, we measure the duration of their existence by a measure -which is altogether extrinsic to them; and in the same manner we measure -the duration of our own intellectual operations by a measure extrinsic -to them--that is, by comparing it with the duration of some movement -occurring in our bodies or in the surrounding world. - -Since time is the duration of movement, it is plain that when we perceive -movement we immediately perceive time; and since movement implies a -continuous change, it is plain also that the greater the number of -changes we can distinctly perceive in a given succession, the better -we realize the flowing of time. It is for this reason that time seems -longer in sickness or in a sleepless night than in good health and -in a pleasurable occupation; for gladness and amusement distract our -minds, and do not allow us to reflect enough on what is going on around -us; whilst anything which affects us painfully calls our attention to -ourselves and to our sensations, and thus causes us to reflect on a -great number of movements to which in other circumstances we would pay -no attention at all. It is for this reason, also, that when we are fast -asleep we have no perception of the flowing of time. The moment one falls -asleep he ceases to perceive the succession of changes, both interior -and exterior, from the consideration of which time should be estimated; -hence, when he awakes, he instinctively unites the present _now_ with -that in which he fell asleep, as if there had been no intermediate time. -Thus, in the same manner as there is no time without movement, there is -no actual perception of time without the actual perception of movement. - -_Measure of time._--We have said that time, as a quantity, is measured -by movement. The sense of this proposition is that a body moving with -uniform velocity describes spaces proportional to the times employed; -and therefore, if we assume as a unit of measure the time employed in -describing a certain unit of space with a given velocity, the duration -of the movement will contain as many units of time as there are units of -space measured by that velocity. Thus, if the revolution of the earth -around its axis is taken as the unit of movement, and its duration, or -the day, as the unit of time, the number of days will increase at the -same rate as the number of revolutions. Speaking in general, if the time -employed in describing uniformly a space _v_ be taken as a unit of time, -and _t_ be the time employed in describing uniformly a space _s_ with the -same constant velocity, we have the proportion-- - - _s_:_v_::_t_:1. - -The unit of time is necessarily arbitrary or conventional. For there is -no natural unit of measure in continuous quantities whose divisibility -has no end, as we have explained in a preceding article. - -The space _v_ uniformly described in the unit of time represents the -velocity of the movement; and therefore the duration of the movement -comprises as many units of time as there are units in the ratio of the -space to the constant velocity with which it is measured. In other -terms, time is the ratio of the space described to the velocity with -which it is described. - -We often hear it said that as time is measured by movement, so also -movement is measured by time. But this needs explanation. When we say -that time is measured by movement, we mean that time is represented by -the ratio of the space to the velocity with which it is described, or -by the ratio of the material extension to the formal extending of the -movement; for the proportion above deduced gives - - _t_ = _s_/_v_, - -where _s_ represents the length of the movement in space (which length -is its material constituent) and _v_ represents its intensity (which is -its formal constituent). On the other hand, when we say that movement -is measured by time, we either mean that the ratio of the space to the -velocity is represented by the time employed in the movement, and thus -we merely interchange the members of our equation, by which no new -conclusion can be reached; or we mean that the length and the velocity of -the movement are measured by time. But this cannot be; for our equation -gives for the length of the movement - - _s_ = _vt_; - -and this shows that time alone cannot measure the length of the space -described. On the other hand, the same equation gives for the velocity - - _v_ = _s_/_t_; - -and this shows that time is not the measure of velocity, as the one -diminishes when the other increases. - -This suffices to show that the phrase “movement is measured by time” -must be interpreted in a very limited sense, as simply meaning that -between movement and time there is a necessary connection, and that, all -other things remaining equal, the length of the movement is proportional -to the length of the time employed. Yet this does not mean that the -length of the movement depends entirely on the time employed, for the -same length may be described in different times; but it means that the -time employed depends on the material and formal extent of the movement, -as above explained; for, according as we take different velocities, -different lengths will be described in equal time, and equal lengths in -different times. It is not the time that extends the movement, but it is -the movement that by its extension extends its own time. - -The true measure of movement is its velocity; for the measure of any -given quantity is a unit of the same kind, and velocity is the unit of -movement. Time, as measured by us, is a number which arises from the -mensuration of the movement by its velocity; and therefore time results -from the movement as already measured. This shows again that time is not -the measure of the _extent_ of the movement. We have seen, also, that -time is not the measure of the _intensity_ of the movement. It follows, -therefore, that the quantity of movement is not measured by time. - -Time, being the ratio of two quantities mathematically homogeneous, is -represented by an _abstract_ number. Yet the same time may be expressed -by different numbers, according as we measure it by different units, as -days, hours, minutes, etc. These numbers, however, are only virtually -discrete, as time cannot be discontinued. - -Balmes from the equation - - _v_ = _s_/_t_ - -deduces the consequence that “the velocity is essentially a relation; for -it cannot be otherwise expressed than by the ratio of the space to the -time.”[81] We think that this conclusion is faulty. Space and time are -not homogeneous quantities; hence the mathematical ratio of space to time -is not an abstract but a concrete number, and therefore it represents an -absolute quantity. Space divided by time is a length divided into equal -parts; hence the quotient--viz., the velocity--represents the length -of the movement made in the unit of time. And since Balmes admits that -the length of the movement is a quantity having a determinate value, we -do not see how he can escape the consequence that velocity, too, is a -quantity of the same kind, and not a mere relation. “In the expression -of velocity,” says Balmes, “two terms enter--space and time. Viewing the -former in the real order, abstraction made of that of phenomena, we more -easily come to regard it as something fixed; and we comprehend it in a -given case without any relation. A foot is at all times a foot, and a -yard a yard. These are quantities existing in reality, and if we refer -them to other quantities it is only to make sure that they are so, not -because their reality depends upon the relation. A cubic foot of water is -not a cubic foot because the measure so says, but, on the contrary, the -measure so says because there is a cubic foot. The measure itself is also -an absolute quantity; and in general all extensions are absolute, for -otherwise we should be obliged to seek measure of measure, and so on to -infinity” (loc. cit.) This passage shows that a length described in space -is, according to Balmes, an absolute quantity. And since the mathematical -value of velocity represents a length described in space, as we have just -proved, it follows that velocity has an absolute value. - -But leaving aside all mathematical considerations, we may show that -velocity has an absolute value by reference to metaphysical data. -What is velocity but the development in extension of the intensity of -the momentum impressed on a material point? Now, the intensity of the -momentum is an absolute quantity, equal to the quantity of the action -by which it is produced. Hence it is evident that, as the action has an -absolute value, greater or less, according to circumstances, so also the -momentum impressed has an absolute value; and consequently the velocity -also, which is nothing else than the momentum itself as developing its -intensity into extension, has an absolute value, and is an absolute -quantity. - -Balmes thought the contrary, for the following reason: “If the -denominator, in the expression of velocity, were a quantity of the -same kind as space--that is, having determinate values, existing and -conceivable by themselves alone--the velocity, although still a relation -might also have determinate values, not indeed wholly absolute, but only -in the supposition that the two terms _s_ and _t_, having fixed values, -are compared.… But from the difficulties which we have, on the one hand, -seen presented to the consideration of time as an absolute thing, and -from the fact that, on the other hand, no solid proof can be adduced to -show such a property to have any foundation, it follows that we know not -how to consider velocity as absolute, even in the sense above explained” -(loc. cit.) - -This reason proves the contrary of what the author intends to establish. -In fact, if the denominator were of the same kind as the numerator, -the quotient would be an abstract number, as we know from mathematics; -and such a number would exhibit nothing more than the relation of the -two homogeneous terms--that is, how many times the one is contained in -the other. It is precisely because the denominator is not of the same -kind as the numerator that the quotient must be of the same kind as the -numerator. And since the numerator represents space, which, according to -Balmes, is an absolute quantity, it follows that the quotient--that is, -the number by which we express the velocity--exhibits a quantity of the -same nature: a conclusion in which all mathematicians agree. When a man -walks a mile, with the velocity of one yard per second, he measures the -whole mile yard by yard, with his velocity. If the velocity were not a -quantity of the same kind with the space measured, how could it measure -it? - -True it is that velocity, when considered in its metaphysical aspect, -is not a length of space, but the intensity of the act by which -matter is carried through such a length. Yet, since Balmes argues -here from a mathematical equation, we must surmise or presume that he -considers velocity as a length measured in space in the unit of time, -as mathematicians consider it; for he cannot argue from mathematical -expressions with logical consistency, if he puts upon them construction -of an unmathematical character. After all, it remains true that the -velocity or intensity of the movement is always to be measured by the -extension of the movement in the unit of time; and thus it is necessary -to admit that velocity exhibits an absolute intensive quantity measured -by the extension which it evolves. - -We therefore “know how to consider velocity as absolute,” though its -mathematical expression is drawn from a relation of space to time. The -measure of any quantity is always found by comparing the quantity with -some unit of measure; hence all quantity, inasmuch as measured, exhibits -itself under a relative form as _ratio mensurati ad suam mensuram_; and -it is only under such a form that it can be expressed in numbers. But -this relativity does not constitute the nature of quantity, because it -presupposes it, and has the whole reason of its being in the process of -mensuration. - -We have insisted on this point because the confusion of the absolute -value of velocity with its relative mathematical expression would lead -us into a labyrinth of difficulties with regard to time. Balmes, having -overlooked the distinction between the mathematical expression and the -metaphysical character of velocity, comes to the striking consequence -that “if the whole machine of the universe, not excluding the operations -of our soul, were accelerated or retarded, an impossibility would be -realized; for the relation of the terms would have to be changed without -undergoing any change. If the velocity be only the relation of space to -time, and time only the relation of spaces traversed, it is the same -thing to change them all in the same proportion, and not to change them -at all. It is to leave every thing as it is” (loc. cit.) The author is -quite mistaken. The very equation - - _t_ = _s_/_v_, - -on which he grounds his argument, suffices to show that if the velocity -increases, the time employed in measuring the space _s_ diminishes; and -if the velocity diminishes, the time increases. This being the case, it -is evident that an acceleration of the movements in the whole machine of -the universe would be a _real_ acceleration, since the same movements -would be performed in less time; and a retardation would be a _real_ -retardation, since the same movements would require more time. We are -therefore far from realizing an impossibility when we admit that, in the -hypothesis of the author, time would vary in the inverse ratio of the -velocity of the universal movement. - -_Division of time._--Philosophers divide time into _real_ and -_imaginary_. We have already explained this division when speaking of -flowing duration. The reality of time evidently depends on the reality -of movement; hence any time to which no real movement corresponds is -imaginary. Thus if you dream that you are running, the time of your -running is imaginary, because your running, too, is imaginary. In such -a case the real time corresponds to your real movements--say, to your -breathing, pulse, etc.--while the dream continues. - -Imaginary time is often called also _ideal_ time, but this last epithet -is not correct; for, as time is the duration of local movement, it is -in the nature of time to be an object of the imagination. And for this -reason the duration of the intellectual movements and operations of pure -spirits is called time only by analogy, as we have above stated. However, -we are wont to think of such a duration as if it were homogeneous with -our own time; for we cannot measure it except by reference to the -duration of the movements we witness in the material world. - -Time is also divided into _past_, _present_, and _future_. The past -corresponds to a movement already made, the future to a movement which -will be made, and the present to a movement which is actually going -on. But some will ask: Is there really any present time? Does not the -_now_, to which the present is confined, exclude all _before_ and all -_after_, and therefore all succession, without which it is impossible to -conceive time? We concede that the _now_, as such--that is, considered -in its absolute reality--is not time, just as a point is not a line; -for, as the point has no length, so the _now_ has no extension. Yet, as -a point in motion describes a line, so also the _now_, by its flowing -from _before_ to _after_, extends time. Hence, although the _now_, as -such, is not time, its flowing from _before_ to _after_ is time. If, -then, we consider the present as the link of the immediate past with the -immediate future--that is, if we consider the _now_ not statically, but -dynamically--we shall see at once that its actual flowing from _before_ -to _after_ implies succession, and constitutes an infinitesimal interval -of time. - -This may also be shown by reference to the nature of uniform local -movement. When a material point describes a line with uniform velocity, -its movement being continuous, its duration is continuous; and therefore -every flowing instant of its duration is continuous, as no discontinuous -parts can ever be reached in the division of continuum. Hence every -flowing instant has still the nature of time. This conclusion is -mathematically evident from the equation - - _t_ = _s_/_v_, - -for, _v_ being supposed constant, we cannot assume _t_ = 0 unless we also -assume _s_ = 0. But this latter assumption would imply rest instead of -movement, and therefore it is out of the question. Accordingly, at no -instant of the movement can we assume _t_ = 0; or, which is the same, -every flowing instant partakes the nature of time. - -The same conclusion can be established, even more evidently, by the -consideration of accelerated or retarded movements. When a stone is -thrown upwards, the velocity of its ascent suffers a _continuous_ -diminution till at last it becomes = 0; and at the very instant it -becomes = 0 an opposite velocity begins to urge the stone down, and -increases continually so long as the stone does not reach the ground -or any other obstacle. Now, a continuous increase or decrease of the -velocity means that there are not two consecutive moments of time in -which the stone moves at exactly the same rate; and hence nothing but -an instant corresponds to each successive degree of velocity. But -since the duration of the movement is made up of nothing but such -instants, it is clear that the succession of such instants constitutes -time; and consequently, as time is continuous, those instants, though -infinitesimal, are themselves continuous; and thus every flowing instant -is really time. - -From this it is plain, first, that although the _now_, as such, is not -time, yet its actual flowing is time. - -Secondly, it follows that infinitesimals of time, as employed in -dynamics, are not mathematical figments, but realities, for time flows -only through infinitesimal instants; and therefore to deny the reality of -such infinitesimals would be to deny the reality of time. - -Thirdly, we gather that the absolute _now_ differs from an actual -infinitesimal of time; because the former, as such, is only a term of -time, whereas the latter is the flowing of that term from its immediate -_before_ to its immediate _after_. Hence an infinitesimal of time is -infinitely less than any designable duration. In fact, its _before_ and -its _after_ are so immediately connected with the same absolute _now_ -that there is no room for any designable length of duration between them. - -Fourthly, whilst the absolute _now_ is no quantity, the infinitesimal of -time is a real quantity; for it implies real succession. This quantity, -however, is nascent, or _in fieri_ only; for the _now_, which alone is -intercepted between the immediate _before_ and the immediate _after_, has -no formal extension. - -Fifthly, the infinitesimal of time corresponds to a movement by which -an infinitesimal of space is described. And thus infinitesimals of -space, as considered in dynamics, are real quantities. To deny that such -infinitesimals are real quantities would be the same, in fact, as to -deny the real extension of local movement; for this movement flows and -acquires its extension through such infinitesimals only. And the same is -true of the infinitesimal actions by which the rate of local movement -is continually modified. These latter infinitesimals are evidently real -quantities, though infinitely less than any designable quantity. They -have an infinitesimal intensity, and they cause an infinitesimal change -in the rate of the movement in an infinitesimal of time. - -_Evolution of time._--The preceding considerations lead us to understand -how it is that in any interval of time there is but one absolute _now_ -always the same _secundum rem_, but changing, and therefore manifold -_secundum rationem_. S. Thomas, in his opuscule _De Instantibus_, c. ii., -explains this truth in the following words: “As a point to the line, -so is the _now_ to the time. If we imagine a point at rest, we shall -not be able to find in it the causality of any line; but if we imagine -that point to be in movement, then, although it has no dimensions, and -consequently no divisibility in itself, it will nevertheless, from the -nature of its movement, mark out a divisible line.… The point, however, -does in no way belong to the essence of the line; for one and the -same real term, absolutely indivisible, cannot be at the same time in -different parts of the same permanent continuum.… Hence the mathematical -point which by its movement draws a line is neither the line nor any -part of the line; but, remaining one and the same in itself, it acquires -different modes of being. These different modes of being, which must -be traced to its movement, are really in the line, whilst the point, -as such, has no place in it. In the same manner, an instant, which is -the measure of a thing movable, and adheres to it permanently, is one -and the same as to its absolute reality so long as the substance of the -thing remains unimpaired, for the instant is the inseparable measure -of its being; but the same instant becomes manifold inasmuch as it is -diversified by its modes of being; and it is this its diversity that -constitutes the essence of time.”[82] - -From this explanation we may infer that, as each point, or primitive -element, of matter has its own _now_, one in its absolute reality, -but manifold in its mode of being, there are in nature as many _nows_ -describing distinct lines of time as there are material points in -movement. Accordingly, there are as many particular times as there are -elements moving in space. The proposition that in time there is only -_unum instans in re_ is, therefore, to be limited to the particular -time of one and the same subject of motion. S. Thomas did not think of -this limitation, because he believed, according to the old astronomical -theory, that the movement of the _primum mobile_--that is, of the supreme -sphere--was the natural measure of time; and for this reason he thought -that, as the first movement was one, time also was one, and constituted -the common measure of all simultaneous movements.[83] But the truth is -that there must be as many distinct particular times as there are things -actually moving. This is a manifest consequence of the doctrine which -assimilates a flowing _now_ to a point describing a line. For as every -point in movement describes a distinct line in space, so also must the -absolute _now_ of every distinct being describe by its flowing a distinct -line of time. - -The general time, which we regard as _one_ successive duration, is the -duration of the movement from the beginning of the world to our day, -conceived in the abstract--that is, without reference to the particular -beings concerned in the movement. Time, when thus conceived, is a mere -abstraction; whereas the particular times of particular movements are -concrete in their continuous extension, notwithstanding their being -represented by abstract numbers. If we knew of any special body created -and put in movement before any other body, we might regard it as _primum -mobile_, and take its movement, if uniform, as the natural measure or -standard of general time; but as we know of no such particular body, and -as we have reason to believe that the creation of all matter was made -in one and the same moment, we are led to admit an exceedingly great -multitude of _prima mobilia_, every one of which was from the beginning -of time the subject of duration. It is clear that we cannot reduce their -distinct durations to one general duration, except by making abstraction -of all particular subjects, and considering movement in the abstract. - -Nevertheless, as we inhabit the earth, we usually restrict our -consideration of time to those periodical intervals of duration which -correspond to the periodical movements we witness in, or from, our -planet; and thus we take the duration of the diurnal or of the orbital -movement of the earth as our standard for the measure of time. If other -planets are inhabited by rational beings, it is obvious that their -time will be measured by other standards, as their diurnal and orbital -movements differ from those of our earth. - -To the doctrine that time is evolved by the flowing of a single instant, -S. Thomas adds an important remark to the effect that the _now_ of -contingent things should not be confounded with the _now_ of eternity. He -proposes to himself the following objection: “To stand and to move are -not essential differences, but only different manners of being. But the -_now_ of eternity is standing, and the _now_ of time is moving. The one, -therefore, seems to differ from the other in nothing but in the manner -of being. Hence the _now_ of time would be substantially the same as the -_now_ of eternity, which is absurd.”[84] - -S. Thomas replies: “This cannot be true, according to our doctrine; for -we have seen that eternity and time differ essentially. Moreover, when -of two things the one depends on the other as an effect from a cause, -the two things essentially differ; but the _now_ of eternity (which does -not really differ from eternity itself) is the cause of time and of the -_now_ of time; therefore the _now_ of time and the _now_ of eternity are -essentially different. Furthermore, the _now_ of time unites the past -with the future, which the _now_ of eternity does not do; for in eternity -there is no past and no future, because eternity is all together. Nor -has the objection any force. That to stand and to move do not constitute -an essential difference is true of those things which are liable both -to stand and to move; but that which always stands without possibility -of moving differs essentially from that which always moves without the -possibility of standing. And this is the case with the _now_ of eternity -on the one hand, and the _now_ of time on the other.”[85] - -_Beginning of time._--Here the question arises whether time must have had -a beginning. Those who believe that the world could have been created _ab -æterno_ will answer that time could have existed without a beginning. But -we are convinced that the world could not be created _ab æterno_; and -therefore we maintain that time must have begun. - -Our argument is drawn from the contingency of all things created. - -The duration of a contingent being cannot be without a beginning; for -the contingent being itself must have had a beginning. In fact, as that -cannot be annihilated which has never been in existence, so that cannot -be educed from nothing which has never been nothing. It is therefore -necessary to admit that every creature had a beginning of its existence, -and consequently of its duration also; for nothing endures but inasmuch -as it exists. - -Nor can this argument be evaded by saying that a contingent being -may have _initium naturæ_, without having _initium temporis_. This -distinction, though suggested and employed by S. Thomas, has no -foundation, because the beginning of the created nature is the beginning -also of its duration; and he who concedes that there must be an _initium -naturæ_ cannot consistently deny the _initium temporis_. In fact, no -contingent being can be said to have been created, if there was no -instant in which it was created; in other terms, every creature must be -traced to the _now_ of its creation. But the _now_ of its creation is -the beginning of its duration no less than of its existence. Surely, -whatever has a first _now_ has a beginning of duration; but every -creature has its first _now_--viz., the _now_ of its creation; therefore -every creature has a beginning of duration. That the _now_ of creation is -the first _now_ is self-evident; for the _now_ of creation is that point -of duration in which the passage is made from not being to being; and -therefore it marks the beginning of the existence of the created being. -And since we cannot say that the duration of the created being preceded -its existence, we are bound to conclude that the _now_ of its creation is -the beginning of its duration as well as of its existence. - -Some will object that we assume what is to be proved--viz., the very -_now_ of creation. For, if the world had been created _ab æterno_, no -_now_ of creation could be pointed out. To this we answer that the -_now_ of creation, whether we can point it out determinately or not, -must always be admitted. To suppress it, is to suppress creation. For, -if we assume that a thing had no _now_ of creation, we are compelled -to deny that such a thing has ever been created. In other terms, if -anything has no beginning of duration, it was always in act, it never -lacked actual existence, and it never passed from non-existence to actual -existence--that is, it is no creature at all; for to be a creature is -to have passed from non-existence to actual existence. And thus we must -conclude that to create is to make a beginning of time. - -The impossibility of a world created _ab æterno_ has also been argued -from the impossibility of an infinite ascending series. The force of this -proof does not, however, lie in the absurdity of an infinite series--for -such an absurdity, as S. Thomas remarks, has never been demonstrated--but -it lies in the necessity of granting a beginning to every term of the -series itself; for, if every term of the series has a beginning, the -whole series must have a beginning. S. Thomas, as we have just stated, -teaches that an infinite ascending series is not to be judged impossible, -“even if it were a series of efficient causes,” provided it depend on -an extrinsic cause: _In infinitum procedere in causis agentibus non -reputatur impossibile._[86] This doctrine is universally rejected, -and was fiercely attacked even in the time of the holy doctor; but he -persisted in maintaining it against all, and wrote a special treatise -to defend it _contra murmurantes_. The reason why S. Thomas embraced -this doctrine seems to have been that the creation of the world in the -beginning of time was an article of faith; and the saint believed that -articles of faith are proved only by authority, and not by natural -reason. He was therefore obliged to maintain that the beginning of time -could not be demonstrated by reason alone. “The newness of the world,” -says he, “cannot be demonstrated from the consideration of the world -itself, because the principle of demonstration is the quiddity of things. -Now, things, when considered as to their quiddity or species, do not -involve the _hic et nunc_; and for this reason the universals are said to -be everywhere and in all time. Hence it cannot be demonstrated that man -or any other thing did not always exist.”[87] - -To this argument we respectfully reply that, when the necessary -conditions of a contingent fact are to be demonstrated, the principle -of demonstration is not the abstract quiddity, or intelligible essence, -of the things, but the contingency of their actual existence. But it is -evident that whatever exists contingently has been educed out of nothing. -It is therefore necessary to conclude that all contingent things have had -a first moment of existence and of duration. - -The Angelic Doctor refers also to a similitude by which some philosophers -mentioned by S. Augustine undertook to explain the creation _ab æterno_. -If a foot had been _ab æterno_ pressed on the dust, the impression made -by it would be _ab æterno_. In the same manner the world might have been -_ab æterno_: for God, its maker, is eternal.[88] But we humbly reply -that the impression of the foot on the dust cannot be _ab æterno_ if it -is contingent. For, if it is contingent, it has necessarily a beginning -of its existence, and therefore of its duration also, as we have already -shown. Whatever is made has a beginning of duration. Hence the fathers -of the church, to prove that the divine Word was not made, thought it -sufficient to point out the fact that he was _ab æterno_ like his Father. - -S. Thomas, after stating his conclusion that the temporal beginning of -the world is not demonstrable, but simply credible, remarks as follows: -“And this should be kept in mind, lest, by presuming to demonstrate -what is matter of faith by insufficient proofs, we be laughed at by the -infidels, who may think that on the strength of such proofs we believe -our articles of faith.”[89] This advice is good. But we need not tell -our readers that what we hold as of faith we hold on divine authority, -irrespective of our philosophical reasons. - -_Perpetuity of time._--That time may go on without end is an evident -truth. But will it go on for ever, or will it cease at last? To this -question we answer that time will for ever continue. As long as there -will be movement there will be time. There will ever be movement; -therefore there will ever be time. The major of this syllogism needs no -explanation; for time is nothing but the duration of movement. The minor -is quite certain. For not only the rational creatures, but the earth -itself and other corporeal things, will last for ever, as is the common -doctrine of philosophers, who hold that God will never destroy what he -has created. These material things will therefore continue to celebrate -God’s glory for ever--that is, will continue to exert their motive power -and to bring about divers movements; for such is their nature, and such -their manner of chanting the praises of their Creator. Moreover, we know -by faith that we shall rise from death and live for ever, and that the -glorious bodies of the saints will possess, besides other privileges, the -gift of agility, which would evidently be of no use if there were to be -no local movement and no succession of time. Hence it follows that time -will last for ever. - -And let no one say that the Sacred Scriptures teach the contrary. For -wherever the Sacred Scriptures mention _the end of time_, they speak, not -absolutely and universally, but only with reference to certain particular -periods or epochs of time characterized by some special events or -manifestation of divine Providence. Thus we read in the Apocalypse that -“there will be time no more”--_Tempus non erit amplius_--and yet we find -that after the end of that time there will be a thousand years; which -shows that the phrase “there will be time no more” refers to the time -of mercy and conversion. Thus also we read in Daniel that “time has its -end”--_Quoniam habet tempus finem suum_--but we see by the context that -he speaks there of the Antichristian epoch, which of course must have an -end. And the like is to be said of other similar passages. - -The most we can admit in regard to the cessation of time is that, owing -to the great catastrophe and the wonderful changes which the consummation -of the present epoch shall bring about, the diurnal and the annual -revolutions, which serve now as measures of time, may be so modified as -to give rise to a new order of things, in which time shall be measured by -a different standard. This seems to be the opinion of many interpreters -of the Sacred Scriptures; though some of them speak as if after the -consummation of the present things there were to be time no more, but -only eternity. This manner of speaking, however, is no proof against -the continuance of time; for the word “eternity,” when applied to the -duration of creatures, means nothing else than sempiternity--that is, -time without end, according to the scriptural phrase: _Annos æternos in -mente habui_. We learn from S. Thomas that the word “eternity” is used -in three different senses: First, we call eternity the measure of the -duration of a thing which is always invariably the same, which acquires -nothing from the future, and loses nothing from the past. And this -is the most proper meaning of the word “eternity.” Secondly, we call -eternity the measure of the duration of a thing which has a fixed and -perpetual being, which, however, is subject to accidental changes in its -operations. Eternity, when thus interpreted, means what we should call -_ævum_ properly; for the _ævum_ is the measure of those things whose -being lasts for ever, but which admit of succession in their operations, -as is the case with pure intelligences. Thirdly, we call eternity the -measure of a successive duration, which has _before_ and _after_ without -beginning and without end, or simply without end, though it have a -beginning; and in this sense the world has been said to be eternal, -although it is really temporal. This is the most improper meaning of the -word “eternity”; for the true concept of eternity excludes _before_ and -_after_.[90] Thus far S. Thomas. - -We may be allowed to remark on this passage that, according to the -principles which we have established in our articles on _Substantial -Generations_,[91] not only the pure intelligences, but all primitive -and elementary substances are substantially incorruptible, and have -a fixed and permanent being. Hence the distinction made by the holy -doctor between _ævum_ and endless time ceases to have a foundation, and -the whole difference between the endless duration of spiritual and of -material changes will be reduced to this: that the movements of spiritual -substances are intellectual, whereas those of the material elements are -local. - -_The phrase “before creation.”_--We often hear of such expressions -as these: “Before creation there was God alone,” “Before creation -there was no time,” etc.; and since such expressions seem to involve -a contradiction in terms, we think it will not be superfluous to give -their rational explanation. Of course, if the words “before creation” -be understood absolutely--that is, excluding any creation either made -or imagined--those words will be contradictory. For the preposition -_before_ is relative, and implies succession; and it is contradictory -to suppose succession without anything capable of succession. When no -creature existed there could be nothing flowing from _before_ to _after_, -because there was no movement, there being nothing movable. - -Nor can it be said that the _now_ of divine eternity gives us a -sufficient ground for imagining any _before_ and _after_ without -referring to something exterior to God himself. The _now_ of eternity -has in itself neither _before_ nor _after_; and when we say that it is -equivalent to all imaginable time, we do not affirm that it implies -succession, but only acknowledge that it is the supreme reason of the -possibility of succession in created things. Hence, when we use the -phrase “Before creation” in an absolute sense, we in fact take away all -real _before_ and all real _after_; and thus the words “Before creation,” -taken absolutely, involve a contradiction. They affirm explicitly what -they implicitly deny. - -The truth is that, when we use the phrase in question, we express what -is in our imagination, and not in our intellect. We imagine that before -time there was eternity because we cannot picture to ourselves eternity, -except by the phantasm of infinite time. It is for this reason that in -speaking of eternity we use the terms by which we are accustomed to -express the relations of time. The words “Before creation” are therefore -to be understood of a time which was possible in connection with some -possible anterior creation, but which has never existed. This amounts to -saying that the _before_ which we conceive has no existence except in our -imagination. - -S. Thomas proposes to himself the question whether, when we say that -God was before the world, the term “before” is to be interpreted of a -priority of nature or of a priority of duration. It might seem, says -he, that neither interpretation is admissible. For if God is before the -world only by priority of nature, then it follows that, since God is _ab -æterno_, the world too is _ab æterno_. If, on the contrary, God is before -the world by priority of duration, then, since priority and posteriority -of duration constitute time, it follows that there was time before the -creation of the world; which is impossible.[92] - -In answer to this difficulty the holy doctor says that God is before -the world by priority of duration, but that the preposition “before” -designates here the priority, not of time, but of eternity. Or else we -must answer, he adds, that the word “before” designates a priority, not -of real, but of imaginary, time, just as the word “above” in the phrase -“above the heavens there is nothing” designates an imaginary space which -we may conceive by thinking of some imaginary dimensions superadded to -the dimensions of the heavens.[93] - -It strikes us that the first of these two answers does not really solve -the difficulty. For the priority of eternity cannot mean but a priority -of nature and of pre-eminence, by which God’s permanent duration -infinitely _excels_, rather than _precedes_, all duration of creatures. -In accordance with this, the objector might still urge on his conclusion -that, if God does not precede the world, the world is _ab æterno_ like -God himself. The second answer agrees with what we ourselves have -hitherto said. But as regards the objection proposed, it leaves the -difficulty entire. For, if God was before the world by a priority, not of -real, but of imaginary time, that “before” is imaginary, and not real. -And the consequence will be that God was not really “before” the world, -but we imagine him to have been so. - -We must own that with our imperfect language, mostly fashioned by -imagination, it is not easy to give a clear and popular solution of the -objection. Perhaps the most summary manner of dealing with it would be to -deny the inference in the first horn of the dilemma--viz., that if God is -before the world by priority of nature only, then the world will be _ab -æterno_ as much as God himself. This inference, we say, is to be denied; -for it involves the false supposition that a thing is _ab æterno_ if -there is no time before it; whereas that only is _ab æterno_ which has no -beginning of duration. - -Thus there is no need of saying that God _precedes_ the world in -duration; for it suffices to admit that he was before the world by -priority of nature and of causality. The duration of eternity has no -“before” and no “after,” though we depict it to ourselves as extending -into indefinite time. Even the verb _was_ should not be predicated -of God; for God, strictly speaking, neither was, nor will be, but -permanently _is_. Hence it seems to us that it would be a contradiction -to affirm that God was _before_ the world by the duration of his -eternity, while we acknowledge that in his eternity there is no “before.” -But enough about this question. - -_The duration of rest._--Supposing that a body, or an element of matter, -is perfectly at rest, it may be asked how the duration of this rest can -be ascertained and measured. Shall we answer that it is measured by time? -But if so, our reader will immediately conclude that time is not merely -the duration of movement, as we have defined it, but also the duration of -rest. On the other hand, how can we deny that rest is measured by time, -when we often speak of the rest of a few minutes or of a few hours? - -We might evade the question by answering that nothing in creation lies -in absolute rest, but everything is acting and acted upon without -interruption, so that its movement is never suspended. But we answer -directly that, if there were absolute rest anywhere in the world, the -duration of that rest should be measured by the duration of exterior -movements. In fact, rest has no _before_ and _after_ in itself, because -it is immovable, but only outside of itself. It cannot therefore have -an intrinsic measure of its duration, but it must borrow it from the -_before_ and _after_ of exterior movement. In other words, the thing -which is in perfect rest draws no line of time; it has only a statical -_now_ which is a mere term of duration; and if everything in the world -were in absolute rest, time would cease altogether. Hence what we call -the duration of rest is simply the duration of a movement exterior to the -thing which is at rest. - -This will be easily understood by considering that between a flowing and -a standing _now_ there is the same relation as between a moving and a -standing point. - -Now, to change the relation of distance between two points in space, it -suffices that one of them move while the other stands still. This change -of distance is measured by the movement of the first point; and thus the -point which is at rest undergoes, without moving, a continuous change in -its relation to the moving point. In a similar manner, two _nows_ being -given, the one flowing and the other standing, the time extended by the -flowing of the first measures the change of its relation to the second, -and consequently, also, the change of the relation of the second to the -first. This shows that the time by which we measure the duration of rest -is nothing but the duration of the movement extrinsic to the thing at -rest. - -But, as we have said, nothing in creation is in absolute rest; and -therefore what we consider as resting has really some movement -imperceptible to our senses--as, _v.g._, molecular vibrations--by which -the duration of its supposed rest is intrinsically measured. In God’s -eternity alone there is perfect immobility; but its duration cannot be -measured by time, even as an extrinsic measure, because the standing -duration of eternity has nothing common with the flowing duration of -creatures. As local movement cannot measure divine immensity, so flowing -duration cannot measure divine eternity; because, as the _ubi_ of a -creature never changes its relation to God’s immensity, so the _quando_ -of a creature never changes its relation to God’s eternity. - -_Continuity of time._--We will conclude with a few remarks on the -continuity of time. That time is essentially continuous is evident; -but the question has been proposed: What if God were to annihilate all -existing creatures, and to make a new creation? Would the instant of -annihilation be immediately followed by the instant of the new creation, -or could there be an interval of time between them? - -The right answer to this question is that between the annihilation and -the new creation there would be no time: because there cannot be time -without succession, and no succession without creatures. Yet, it would -not follow that the instant of the annihilation should be immediately -united with the instant of the new creation; in other words, the duration -of the new world would not be a continuation of the duration of the world -annihilated. The reason of this is that there cannot be a continuation of -time, unless the same _now_ continues to flow. For when one flowing _now_ -ceases to be, and another begins, the line of time drawn by the first -comes to an end, and another line, altogether distinct, begins, and this -latter cannot be a continuation of the former. If the English mail, for -instance, reaches New York at a given instant, and the French mail at the -same instant starts from Paris, no one will say that the movement of the -French mail is a continuation of the movement of the English mail. Hence -the duration of the movement of the one is not the continuation of that -of the other. - -Moreover, from what we have seen about the distinct lines of time -described by distinct subjects of flowing duration, it is plain that -even the durations of simultaneous movements are always distinct from -one another, as belonging to distinct subjects; and accordingly, when -one of the said movements ceases, the continuation of the others cannot -be looked upon as its continuation. Hence, if the present world were -annihilated, its duration would cease altogether; and the duration of -a newly-created world would draw a new line of time quite distinct -from that of the present world, though between the end of the one and -the beginning of the other there would be no time. “The two worlds -in question,” as Balmes remarks, “would have no mutual relation; -consequently there would be neither distance nor immediateness between -them.”[94] - -Time is _formally_ continuous. Formal continuity we call that of which -all the constituent elements have their own formal and distinct existence -in nature. In time such elements are those flowing instants which -unite the immediate past with the immediate future. This continuity is -essentially successive. It is owing to its successivity that time, as -well as movement, can be, and is, formally continuous. For no formal -continuum can be simultaneous, as we have shown where we refuted the -hypothesis of continuous matter.[95] But let this suffice about time. - - -AN INCIDENT OF THE REIGN OF TERROR. - -The close of the XVIIIth century found the good people of these United -States in a most amiable mood. The consciousness of all they had -achieved, by sustaining their Declaration of Independence in the face of -overwhelming difficulties, produced a glow of national self-complacency -that has thrown its glamour over the first page of our public annals, -which--as history counts her pages by centuries--we are only now -preparing to turn. Not until we were drawing near its close was the -light of that agreeable illusion obscured by the shadow of a question -whether the “glorious Fourth” was not like to prove, after all, a most -_in_glorious failure. - -Self-complacency is never an elevating sentiment, and seldom sustained -by the merits upon the assumed possession of which it is based. But our -people had many substantial virtues, sufficient to atone abundantly for -their indulgence in a pleasant foible. Among these was the principle of -gratitude, to which none but truly noble natures are subject. That they -possessed it was proved by their promptness in hastening to relieve and -comfort the French refugees whom the Reign of Terror had driven to our -shores when it was devastating that fair realm across the Atlantic which -had been the first to extend assistance and sympathy to us in the hour of -need. - -We have vivid recollections of sitting for hours--patchwork in hand--at -the feet of a dear relative in the pleasant home of our childhood, -listening to thrilling tales of those times, many of them connected with -the French emigrants--of the cordial hospitality with which all the -homes of her native city of Hartford, Conn., were thrown open to receive -these interesting exiles; of the shifts the inhabitants devised and the -discomforts they endured in order to provide comfortable shelter and -sustenance for so many from means already impoverished by the drain of -the conflict through which we ourselves had but just passed. - -Now, this dear relative was the possessor of a small gold locket of -antique fashion and exquisite workmanship, which was an object of -unceasing admiration to our childish fancy. In form it was an oblong -octagon. The border was a graceful tiny pattern in mosaic-gold inlaid -with amethyst and pearl. In the centre were two miniatures painted on -glass with marvellous distinctness and accuracy: the one a likeness -of that most unfortunate queen, Marie Antoinette, the other of her -beloved sister-in-law, the amiable Princess Elizabeth. A heavy pebble -crystal, perfectly transparent, covered the pictures without in the least -obscuring their delicate tints. In the back of the locket was an open -space, within which, our relative said, was once laid, upon the ground -of dark satin that still remained, a knot formed by two small locks of -glossy, silken hair, one a light rose-tinged auburn, the other flaxen -with a golden sheen. A glass covered these also. - -After much persuasion our relative related to us the following - - -STORY OF THE LOCKET. - -My father was an officer in the Continental army, and, soon after the -war of our Revolution closed, returned to his former home in the city -of Hartford, Conn., where he accepted an office of high municipal -trust. He was moved by the generous impulses of his nature to a life -of active benevolence; and when, in 1792-3, the Revolution in France -drove thousands of her citizens to take refuge in our republic, none -were more zealous and untiring than he in seeking out and providing for -the unfortunate strangers. Every apartment in our spacious house was -soon filled. Rooms were prepared in the carriage-house and barns for my -brothers and the domestics of the household, while my sisters and myself -took possession of a small room in the attic which had been a repository -for the spare bedding, now called into use. - -Among our guests was one lady who was distinguished by having a spacious -room set apart for her sole use, and who seldom left it or mingled with -her companions in misfortune and exile. Upon the rare occasions when -she did appear briefly in their circle, it was striking to observe the -ceremonious deference, amounting almost to veneration, with which she -was received. Where or how my father found her I never knew; but his -manner towards her was so profoundly respectful as to impress us all -with feelings akin to fear in her presence. Yet these impressions were -produced by the demeanor of others only; for on her own part there was -not the slightest self-assertion or assumption of stateliness. Simple and -unobtrusive as a child in her manners, she was indescribably affable to -all; but her countenance wore an expression which, when once seen, could -never be forgotten. More forcibly and clearly than words did it convey -the story that some overwhelming deluge of calamity had swept from her -life every vestige of earthly hope and joy. By no outward token did she -parade her griefs. Her dress, plain, even severe, in its perfect neatness -and simplicity, displayed no mourning-badge, but her very smile was an -intimate revelation of sorrow. - -She was known by the title of “Madame,” though some of our guests would -now and then add, when speaking of her in an undertone--not lost upon a -small listener like myself--“la Comtesse.” Her waiting-maid, Celeste, was -entirely devoted to her, and always served her slight and simple meals to -her in her own room. - -Soon after her arrival I was sent on some errand to madame’s apartment, -and her agitation upon seeing me was a thing to be remembered for a -lifetime. She drew me to her bosom, caressing me with many tears, -suppressed sobs, and rapid exclamations in her own language. I learned -afterwards from Celeste that I was of the same age and bore a striking -resemblance in form and face to her daughter, who had been torn from -her in the storm and turmoil of their escape. They had been rescued -by a faithful servant, and hurried off, more dead than alive, in the -fright, confusion, and uproar of a terrible outbreak in Paris, and had -discovered, when too late, that her daughter had been separated from -them and was missing. Their deliverer promised to make every possible -effort to find the child, but Celeste had little hope; for she had heard -from the servant of another lady, who escaped later--but had never told -her mistress--that one of the women who daily watched the carts which -conveyed the victims to the guillotine had averred that she was sure she -saw the child among their number. - -From the first I was a welcome visitor in the lady’s room. She -encouraged me to pass all the time with her which could be spared from -household duties; for in those days every child was required to perform -a portion of these. The schools in Hartford were, for the most part, -closed during that period, that the buildings might be devoted to the -accommodation of the strangers, who requited the kindness by teaching -the children of each household where they were entertained, daily. I was -the chosen pupil of madame. She soon imparted sufficient knowledge of -the French to give her instructions in her own language. Never was child -blest with a more gentle and painstaking teacher! To a thorough course -in the simple branches of study she added many delicate accomplishments -then unknown in our country, and the most patient training in all matters -connected with dress and deportment. After lessons she would hold long -conversations with me, more profitable than the lessons themselves, -awakening interest by suggestions and inquiries tending to form habits -of thinking, as well as of acquiring knowledge. Then such wonderful -fairy tales as she would relate! I used to listen perfectly entranced. -Never have I heard in English any fairy lore that would compare with it. -Translations we may have, but the fairy charm of the original is lost. - -At that time the spirit of infidelity and atheism which laid the train -for the horrors of the French Revolution prevailed widely in our own -country. When too young to comprehend their import, I had often listened -to warm discussions between my father, who was strongly tinctured with -those opinions--while in politics he was an ultra-democrat--and my -maternal grandfather, a High-Churchman and Tory. The latter always -insisted--and it was all I understood of their conversations--that -it was impossible for a government founded upon popular unbelief and -insubordination to stand. He was utterly hopeless for ours, not because -it was democratic in form, but because the people no longer reverenced -authority, had ceased to be imbued with the first principle of loyalty -to God as Supreme Ruler, and to the “powers that be” as his appointed -instruments. These subjects were themes of constant debate, and were -treated with a warmth that commanded even the notice of children. - -Some of our guests affected a gay and careless indifference to the claims -of God and man that amounted to a rejection of both; others vehemently -denounced all religion as a figment of priest-craft; while still another -class met such questions with the solemnity arising from a conviction of -the tremendous temporal and eternal interests which they involved. - -It was refreshing to steal away from these evening debates in the -drawing-room to the peaceful atmosphere of madame’s apartment. I -frequently found her saying her beads, of which I knew nothing, only that -they were exceedingly beautiful to the sight, and composed of very costly -materials. I used to enter her room very quietly, and take my accustomed -seat in silence, until her devotions were closed. Of her religion I -knew no more than the name; but its evident influence upon every action -of her life left an indelible impression upon my mind that it was a -power above and beyond any of the prevailing forms around us. She never -spoke expressly of her religion to me, but the purely Christian tone -of her instructions upon all the duties of life, social and domestic, -exemplified by her own conduct, proved abundantly that it was more than -a mere sentiment or a name. I was too young at that time to reason upon -these things, but, as I have said, they left an indelible impression, -and, as life advanced, furnished food for many reveries which at length -ripened into serious thought. - -How the weary months must have dragged along for those exiled -unfortunates! Yet the cheerfulness, even gayety, with which they endured -their misfortunes and the torturing suspense of their position, was a -matter of constant marvel to their New England friends. They watched the -arrival of every ship from France with intense anxiety, and a renewal of -grief and mourning was sure to follow the tidings it brought. Yet the -polite amenities and courtesies of their daily life, which seemed a part -of their nature, were never for a moment abated, and in the wildest storm -of grief even the women never lost that exquisite sense of propriety -which distinguishes their nation. - -And so the time wore on until a certain memorable night in September, -1794. My father’s residence was situated upon an elevated street which -commanded a wide view of the city and its environs. How well I remember -standing with my sisters by the window of our attic dormitory, looking -out upon the quiet city sleeping under the calm light of the harvest -moon, on that never-to-be-forgotten night! The contemplation of the -scene was too pleasant to be easily relinquished, and it was late before -we could turn away from its fascinations to our rest. We were scarcely -lost in sleep when we were awakened suddenly by a thrilling shout in -the street, accompanied by the wild huzzahs of an excited multitude. We -hastened to the lower rooms, where we found the strangers gathered around -the open windows, from which they were waving handkerchiefs, hats, and -scarfs, and mingling their shouts with those of the throng outside. - -In the street the city crier moved along in advance of the crowd, mounted -on a tall white horse, and waving an immense banner. At every crossing -he would pause and shout through a speaking-trumpet, “Rejoice! rejoice! -Robespierre, the tyrant, has fallen! has fallen!” Then followed the -jubilant cheers of the rapidly-increasing crowd. And so they passed on -through every street in the city. - -I sought madame’s apartment, and found her kneeling in the same reverent -attitude of humble devotion with which I had so long been familiar. -Strange to say, my first thought upon hearing the news so joyful to -others was one of dismal apprehension, and my first emotion one of -ineffable sadness! Quick as thought came the painful assurance to my -heart that this was the signal for my final separation from the loving -friend, the gentle teacher, to whom I had become inexpressibly attached. -As she arose and extended her arms towards me, I threw myself into them, -and, hiding my face in her bosom, gave way to a burst of uncontrollable -grief. Words were not necessary to explain its cause. Understanding it -at a glance, she caressed and soothed me with assurances of her undying -love, and that she could never forget or cease to pray for the child -whom heaven had appointed to be her dearest consolation under her great -afflictions. - -My apprehensions proved well founded. The same ship which brought tidings -of the tyrant’s fall brought letters also to madame from faithful -friends, urging her immediate return to France. - -My father accompanied her to Boston, in order to make needful preparation -for her departure on the next outward-bound vessel. I was thrown into -such an agony of grief at the thought of parting with her that madame -begged I might be permitted to go with them, urging that the change of -scene and a visit to relatives in Boston might divert my thoughts and -soothe the bitter anguish of my young heart. He consented, and, when we -reached the city, he left us at the house of his sister, where I found -my cousins all engaged preparing for an examination and exhibition which -was to take place the next day to close the term of the school they were -attending, on the same street and near by. - -They insisted that I should go with them, and madame dressed me in a -white muslin with a blue sash. She then hung the locket you so much -admire, suspended from a delicate gold chain, around my neck, and I set -off with my cousins. - -We found the girls grouped together in great glee, awaiting the opening -exercises. In the centre of the group was a fair and graceful girl, near -my own age and size, with a large basket containing bouquets of flowers -arranged with admirable taste, which the girls were purchasing for -themselves and to decorate the school-room. - -My cousins replied to my questions about the young stranger: “Oh! we call -her the little flower girl. She lives with a farmer just out of the city. -The family are very fond of her, and he gives her a little place in the -garden to cultivate flowers, and lets her come with him on market days to -sell them for herself in the city. She heard of what was going on here, -and thought this would be a good market for her bouquets; and so it has -been, for she has sold them all.” - -For some reason I could not turn my eyes from the child. There seemed to -be a mutual fascination which drew us together, and I observed she was -looking intently and with much emotion at the locket I wore. I asked her -why she was so much interested in it. She answered with a slight French -accent: “My mamma had such a locket, and all the ladies of the queen’s -household wore them.” - -“And where is your mamma?” I inquired. - -“Alas! I do not know if she is living. I lost her in a great crowd in the -streets of Paris, and was so frightened at the horrors around me that I -remember nothing until I found myself on board the ship which brought -me here. How I came there I never knew. The kind-hearted farmer with -whom I live was on the wharf when we landed, and, in great pity for my -bewildering loneliness and grief, took me to his home, where I have since -received every attention and sympathy.” - -Almost sinking under agitation, I turned to my cousins, who had been too -much occupied with their own affairs to notice us, and faintly gasped: -“She is, she must be, the daughter for whom madame mourns!” - -At the bare suggestion all else was forgotten! There was an impetuous -huddling of our electrified companions around the bewildered little -stranger, and a petition that the school exercises might be delayed -until they could escort her to my aunt and learn whether my conjecture -was true. So great was their excitement that it was useless to deny the -request, and we led our heroine off with hasty steps. - -On the way we decided that my aunt should break the matter gently to -madame, and introduce the child to her in her room. - -There was no need of an introduction! The moment their eyes met the -exclamations “Antoinette!” “Mamma!” burst from their lips, and my aunt -left them locked in a close embrace. The scene was too sacred for -intrusion! - -The news flew with the speed of the wind, and there were great rejoicings -far and near over the timely discovery brought about by means of the -locket, which madame bestowed upon me (after removing the knot of -hair, too precious, as a relic of her lamented queen and the Princess -Elizabeth, to be relinquished) in memory of this joyful event, and as a -souvenir of the beloved friend and teacher with whom I had passed so many -happy and profitable hours. - -Soon after the reunion of the mother and child they sailed for France, -and I returned with my father to a home which was now bereft of a charm -that could never be replaced or restored. But my sympathy with their joy -was too sincere to be chilled by selfish regrets. - -During my father’s stay in Boston he made some final arrangements -connected with a large territory of wild lands which he had received from -the government in partial requital of his services in the army. - -To that distant wilderness he removed his family immediately after our -return. The absence of mail communication with such remote districts, -in those days, was doubtless the reason why we never received further -tidings from one who had placed us among the favored few that “have -entertained angels unawares.” - -In the loneliness of my forest home, and through a long life marked by -many changes and sorrows, I have cherished grateful memories of the early -lessons I received from her lips, and they have proved, through their -influence upon my religious and moral being, a legacy far more precious -than a thousand caskets of gold and precious stones. - - -THE CHARITIES OF ROME. - -The present sacrilegious invaders of Rome have done much to change the -religious aspect of the city, and obliterate every trace of the influence -of the popes upon the charities once so liberally thrown open to the -people of every clime and color. In the true spirit of modern “progress,” -philanthropy has usurped the place of charity, and the state, taking -possession of institutions founded and hitherto directed in many points -by the church, banishes her as far from them as possible. It may be -interesting to pass in review some of those magnificent charities which -sprang up and flourished so long under pontifical protection, but which -have lately either been violently suppressed or are fast disappearing -under the difficulties of the political situation. We will write of these -charities as they existed in 1869, which was the last year during the -whole of which the papal government had control of them. In that year -an English Protestant writer, long resident in Rome, was obliged by the -clearness of facts to tell his readers that “few cities in Europe are so -distinguished for their institutions of public charity as Rome, and in -none are the hospitals more magnificently lodged or endowed with more -princely liberality. The annual endowments of these establishments are no -less than 258,390 scudi, derived from lands and houses, from grants, and -from the papal treasury.” - -When S. Peter entered Rome for the first time, and looked upon the -miserable condition of those to whom the favors of fortune were denied, -he recalled to mind the words addressed to his forefathers about to enter -into the promised land: “There shall be no poor nor beggar among you: -that the Lord thy God may bless thee in the land which he giveth thee to -possess” (Deut. xv. 4), and saw before him one of the greatest obstacles -to be overcome--involving a change of what was second nature to the -Romans (hardness of heart), they being, as S. Paul wrote (Rom. i. 31), -“without affection, without mercy”--but knowing that it was also said -in the same holy text “Poor will not be wanting in the land: therefore -I command thee to open thy hand to thy needy and poor brother,” and -having heard the blessed Lord Jesus say of the new dispensation, “The -poor ye have always with you,” he understood that God’s object was not -to forbid mendicity, but to leave no room for it. Therefore to the rich -and powerful, when brought by grace to his apostolic feet, he enjoined: -“Deal thy bread to the hungry, and bring the needy and the harborless -into thy house” (Isaias lviii. 7). The faith of the Roman Christians was -illustrious throughout the world, and so was their charity. From the -days of S. Peter it had been customary to take up collections on Sundays -in all the congregations of the city for the relief of the confessors -condemned to labor in the public mines and other works, or languishing -in prison, or wandering in exile; and Eusebius has preserved in his -_Ecclesiastical History_ (lib. iv. cap. 23) the testimony of Dionysius, -Bishop of Corinth (161-192), in favor of the long-established charitable -institutions of the Romans, and in praise, at the same time, of the piety -of his contemporary, Pope S. Soter, who not only retained these customs -of his people, but surpassed them in sending money to the Christians -of other parts of the world, and in receiving, as though they were his -own children, all faithful pilgrims to Rome. In the year 236 Pope S. -Fabian gave charge of the poor of Rome to seven deacons each of whom -superintended two of the fourteen civil divisions or regions, whence -they were called regionary deacons. A memorial of their occupation still -remains in the dalmatic, or deacon’s vestment, the wide sleeves of which -served originally for pockets; and Pope Innocent III., in his treatise -on the Mass, remarks that this kind of dress is attributed to deacons -because, in the first institution of their order, the distribution of -alms was assigned to them. A council of the IVth century, held under -Pope Sylvester, decreed that one-fourth part of the church revenues -should be set apart for the poor. S. Jerome attests in one of his letters -that a noble matron named Fabiola erected a hospital in the year 400; -and about the same time S. Gallicanus, a man of consular dignity, who -had also been honored with a triumph, becoming a Christian, founded a -similar institution at the mouth of the Tiber for the accommodation of -pilgrims and of the sick. He waited upon them in person. In 1869 Rome had -a population of about 220,000 inhabitants, and, although the climate is -not unhealthy, it is hardly one of the most salubrious in the world. The -low land upon which a great part of the modern city is built; the turbid -Tiber, which, passing through it in a winding course, is apt to overflow -its banks; the open position of the city, which is exposed, according to -the season, either to the sultry African wind or to the piercing blasts -from the neighboring mountains; and the large floating population, which -is everywhere a likely subject of disease, combine to make it desirable -that Rome should be well provided with institutions of succor and relief. -While under papal rule, she was not wanting in this respect, but was even -abundantly and excellently supplied. - -Man, being composed of spirit and matter, having consequently a soul -and a body to look after, has wants of two kinds, corresponding to the -twofold claims of his nature. We should therefore divide the charities -man is capable of receiving into two classes. He received them in -Rome with a generous hand. The first class comprehended relief to -the indigent, the sick, the destitute, the insane, the convalescent; -possessed hospitals and asylums, brought aid into private families, -opened nocturnal retreats, offered work to the honest needy, gave -marriage portions to the nubile, shielded widows, protected orphans, -advanced money on the easiest terms. These were charities of subsistence. -The second class embraced poor schools and other establishments for -gratuitous education in trades, arts, and sciences, conservatories for -the exposed, hospices for the reformed, and made provision for the legal -defence of the weak. These were called charities of education. - -There were two institutions in Rome that assisted the poor before they -had fallen into misery or become destitute. These were the _Monte di -Pietà_ and the savings-bank. The first was a bank of loan and deposit. -The idea of such an institution was suggested by a pious and shrewd -Franciscan, named Barnabas of Terni, who was painfully struck, during a -mission he was giving in Perugia in the year 1462, by the enormous usury -(a crime then practised almost exclusively by Jews) which the poor were -forced to pay for any advance of money they might need. This practical -friar prevailed upon several wealthy persons to mass sums of money into -one fund, out of which to lend to the poor at a reasonable (and in some -cases merely nominal) rate of interest. Hence the distinctive name of -Monte di Pietà, which means literally mountain of mercy. The Roman -_Monte_ was the third institution of the sort that was opened. This was -in the year 1539. It was to lend money up to a certain amount without -taking interest; above this amount for a very small interest. It was to -take articles on pawn, and give the appraised value, less one-third. Over -$100,000 used, under the papal government, to be annually loaned out -on pawns or otherwise without one cent of interest. This establishment -occupied a superb public building, and was under the control of the -Minister of Finance. Honest visitors were freely admitted into every part -of it; and we have heard many (even hard-fisted) English and Americans -express themselves surprised, if not satisfied, with this reasonable and -conscientious manner of saving the poor from the gripe of usurers and -pawn-brokers, while imposing enough restraint to discourage improvidence. -No hope was held out of indiscriminate relief. Looking at the _Monte_ -in an antiquarian light, it was a perfect museum of modern life, and -to go through it was as good as visiting a hundred consolidated old -curiosity-shops. Its administration employed, including a detachment of -the Swiss Guard, one hundred persons. The capital, which consisted of -every kind of property that at various periods and from many benefactors -had come to it, was about three million dollars. The most orthodox -political economists acknowledge that institutions of this sort were -devised only as a lesser evil; and consequently the Roman government -was glad to see the business of the _Monte_ fall away considerably -after the opening of the savings-bank in 1836. This was a charitable -institution, because it was governed gratuitously by an administration -of eleven honest and intelligent men, among whom were some of the first -nobility, who thus gave a portion of their time and talents to the -poor. The cashier, Prince Borghese, gave, besides his services, a part -of his magnificent palace to be turned into offices for the business -transactions of the bank. - -The Apostolic Almonry in the Vatican next claimed our attention in the -quiet days of the Pope. From the earliest period the vicars of Christ -have made it a practice to visit in person the poor, and distribute -alms with their own hands, in love and imitation of Him who “went about -doing good.” As the wealth of the church in Rome increased, it was found -necessary for the better ordering of things to have some administrative -assistance in the distribution of these private charities. S. Conon -I., in the VIIth century, employed the arch-priest Paschal to dispense -the bounty of the privy purse; and in the year 1271 Blessed Gregory -X. created the perpetual office of grand almoner in the papal court. -This officer is always an archbishop _in partibus_, and lives under -the same roof as the Holy Father, in order to be ready at all times to -receive his commands. Besides the many standing largitions issued from -the Grand Almonry, there were occasional ones, such as the largess of -$300 which was distributed in the great court-yard of Belvidere on each -anniversary of the Pope’s coronation. This sum was doubled the first -year. On each of the following civil or religious festivals, Christmas, -Easter, and Coronation day, $165 were divided among a certain number of -the best-behaved prisoners confined in Rome. About $650 a month were paid -out either at the word of the sovereign or on his order; while a sum of -$2,000 was annually divided among one hundred poor families. Besides -this, the Grand Almonry supported a number of free schools, dispensed -food and medicines, and performed many acts of more secret charity. A -memorial of the earlier personal distribution of alms by the popes is -retained in the _Succinctorium_, which they wear in solemn pontificals. -It is an ornament of silk of the color of the feast, fringed with gold, -and suspended down the left side from the girdle. On Good Friday the -succinctory is not worn, in execration of the evil use Judas Iscariot -made of the purse when he betrayed our Lord for thirty pieces of silver. - -Another of the great charities of Rome was the Commission of Subsidies -established by Pope Leo XII., in 1826, to give assistance and employment -to poor but honest people, willing to help themselves if they could find -the opportunity. The whole tendency of Roman charities under the popes -was to frown upon sloth and vagrancy, and encourage self-reliance and -mutual support; for S. Paul wrote to the Thessalonians (2, iii. 10): “If -any man will not work, neither let him eat.” The commission received -a yearly subsidy from government of $88,500. In each of the fourteen -rioni or wards of the city a physician, surgeon, pharmacist, and midwife -rendered gratuitous services under its control. It was by the judicious -employment of such men, thrown on the hands of the commission, that -within the last thirty years so much was done in making excavations in -and about Rome in search of antiquities and in studying its ancient -topography. We have sometimes heard English and American sight-seers make -brutal remarks about “those dirty, lazy Romans,” as they would stop a -moment to look at some party of these poor fellows taking their work so -easily in the Forum, on the Palatine, or elsewhere; but we should rather -applaud the paternal government that refrained from calling poverty a -crime or driving the poor and weak to their work like galley-slaves; and -while contributing a generous support, gave them enough to do to save -their self-respect. - -No such thing as work-houses, in the English sense, have ever been -maintained where Catholic influences have predominated; and for this we -may thank God. - -Another category of Roman charities comprised the confraternities. These -associations for purposes of piety and mutual help convey in their name -the idea of brotherliness and union. There were no fewer than ninety-one -confraternities in Rome under the popes. The oldest and most famous of -these was the Annunciation, which was founded in 1460 by the Dominican -Cardinal John Torquemada, in Santa Maria-in-Minerva, the head church of -his order in Rome.[96] Its particular object was to give portions to -poor but virtuous young females, that they might either marry or enter a -religious house if they had a vocation. On the 25th of March, Lady-day, -the pope, cardinals, and prelates, with the rest of the court, used to -assist at Mass in that church, and preside at the distribution of dowers -which followed immediately. The girls were always dressed in plain -white; such as had signified their choice of the heavenly Spouse being -distinguished by a wreath on the head. On this occasion the pontiff gave -one hundred golden scudi, and each cardinal present gave one, to the -funds of the confraternity. There were fourteen other confraternities -that had the same object, although carried out with less solemnity. In -this way $42,000 used to be expended annually. - -The Confraternity of the Twelve Apostles made it a special point to find -out and relieve in a delicate manner those who, having known better days, -were fallen into reduced circumstances. The Confraternity of Prayer and -Death buried the dead; and if an accident in or about Rome was reported -in which life was lost, a party was detailed to go and bring the body -in decently for Christian burial. Sometimes a poor herdsman on the -Campagna had been gored by an ox, or some fellow had been swept away and -drowned in the Tiber, or perhaps a reaper been prostrated by the heat; -at whatever hour of the day or night, and at all seasons, a band of this -confraternity went out, and returned carrying the unfortunate person on -a stretcher upon their shoulders. It must be remarked in this connection -that the members of the confraternity always observed the laws concerning -deaths of this kind, not interfering with, but merely placing themselves -at the disposal of, the officers of justice, to give a body burial at -their own expense and in consecrated ground. The Confraternity of Pity -for Prisoners was founded in 1575 by Father John Tallier, a French -Jesuit. It provided religious instruction for prisoners, distributed -objects of piety among them, looked after their families if destitute, -and assisted them to pay their debts and fines if they had any. The -Confraternity of S. John Baptist was composed exclusively of Florentines -and the descendants of Florentines. Its object was to comfort and assist -to the last, criminals condemned to death. As decapitation was the mode -of judicial punishment, S. John Baptist, who was slain by Herod, was -their patron, and his head on a charger the arms of the confraternity. -Although there were so many confraternities and other pious associations -in Rome, connected by their object with institutions of every kind, -sanitary, corrective, etc., they were very careful never to interfere -with the regulations of such establishments; and consequently, by minding -their own business, they were not in the way of the officials, but, on -the contrary, were looked upon as valuable assistants. The Society of S. -Vincent of Paul was started in Rome in 1842 by the late venerable Father -de Ravignan, S.J. It counted twenty-eight conferences and one thousand -active members, clergy and laymen, titled folks and trades-people all -working harmoniously together. About $2,100 was annually dispensed by the -society. The Congregation of Ladies was founded in 1853 by Monsignor--now -Cardinal--Borromeo to give work, especially needle-work, to young women -out of employment. A great many ecclesiastical vestments were thus made -under the direction of the ladies, and either sent as presents to poor -missions, or sold, for what they would bring, at the annual fair held for -the purpose of disposing of them. - -There were seven public hospitals in Rome, under the immediate direction -of a general board of administration composed of twelve members, of whom -three belonged to the clergy and the rest to the laity. The oldest, -largest, and best-appointed institution of this kind was Santo Spirito, -situated in the Leonine quarter of the city, on the border of the Tiber. -Its site has been occupied by a charitable institution ever since A.D. -728; the earliest building having been founded there for his countrymen -by Ina, King of Wessex. For this reason the whole pile of buildings is -called Santo Spirito _in Saxia_--_i.e._, in the quarter of the (West) -Saxons. There are three distinct establishments under the administration -of Santo Spirito--viz., the hospital itself, the Foundling Hospital, -and the Lunatic Asylum. The first was founded by Pope Innocent III. -in 1198, the Saxons having abandoned this locality for a more central -position--the present S. Thomas-of-the-English. It has received since -then many additions, until it has assumed the enormous proportions that -we now admire. Every improvement was made to keep pace with the advance -of hygienic knowledge. This hospital was for men only. It had 1,616 -beds and an annual average of 14,000 patients. The wards were twelve -in number, in which the cleanliness was refreshing, the ventilation -excellent, and the water-supply pure and abundant. The principal parts -of the exterior, and some of the interior parts of the building, were -by distinguished architects; while some of the wards had their ceilings -and upper walls painted in fresco with scenes from Sacred Scripture, -such as the sufferings of Job and the miraculous cures made by our Lord. -Not only the eye but the ear too of the poor patients was pleased; for -three times a week they were entertained with organ music from a lofty -choir erected at one end of the largest wards. The spiritual care of -the sick was perfect; it was impossible for any one to die without the -rites of the church. In the centre of every ward there was a fixed -altar, upon which Mass was said daily. The Confraternity of Santo -Spirito, composed of clergy and laymen, assisted the regular ministers of -religion in attendance day and night. These volunteers brought flowers -to the patients, read to them, prepared them for confession and other -sacraments, and disposed them to die a good death, besides performing for -them the most menial services. - -We remember to have read a letter addressed to the New York _Post_ by -an eminent Protestant clergyman of New York, in which, after describing -this institution (then under papal rule), he said that he could not -speak too highly of the excellent attendance the patients received from -the kind-hearted religious who were stationed there, and added that if -ever he had to come to a hospital, he hoped it would be Santo Spirito. -The Foundling Hospital was opened by Pope Innocent III.; and the Lunatic -Asylum, for both sexes, was founded in 1548 by three Spaniards, a priest -and two laymen. It was called the House of Our Lady of Mercy. A fine -garden on the Janiculum Hill was attached to it for the recreation of -the patients. We do not know how it is conducted since it has changed -hands, but formerly it was managed on the system of kindness towards -even the fiercest madmen, using only so much restraint as was positively -necessary. It was then under the care of religious. The Hospital of the -Santissimo Salvatore, near St. John of Lateran, was founded in 1236 by -a Cardinal Colonna. It was for women only. Another Cardinal Colonna -founded the Hospital of S. James, for incurables, in 1339. Our Lady -of Consolation was a fine hospital near the Forum for the maimed and -wounded; while San Gallicano, on the other side of the river, was for -fevers and skin-diseases. San Rocco was a small lying-in hospital, with -accommodation for 26 women. It was founded at the beginning of the XVIIth -century by a Cardinal Salviati. The most delicate precautions were always -used there to save any sense of honor that might still cling to a victim -of frailty. Guilt could at least blush unnoticed. The Santissima Trinità -was founded by S. Philip Neri for convalescents of both sexes and for -poor pilgrims. It could lodge 488 patients, had beds for 500 pilgrims, -and table-room for 900. In the great refectory of this building the -members of the confraternity came on every Holy Thursday evening to wash -the feet of the pilgrims and wait on them at table. Of course the two -sexes were in different parts of the building, and each was attended by -its own. We remember the delightful ardor with which the late Cardinal -Barnabo on such occasions would turn up his sleeves, twitch his apron, -and, going down on his knees, give some poor man’s feet a better washing -than they had had before in a year. There was much raising of soap-suds -in that wooden tub, and a real, earnest kiss on one foot when the -washing was over. The Hospital of S. John Calabyta was so called from a -Spaniard, the founder of the Brothers of Charity (commonly called the -_Benfratelli_), who attended it. It was opened in 1581, on the island of -the Tiber; and by a coincidence then perhaps unknown, but since fully -brought to light, it stood on the very site of an _asclepium_ which the -priests of Esculapius kept near their god’s temple two thousand years -ago. The Hospital of Santa Galla was founded in 1650 by the princely -Odescalchi family. It gave a night asylum to homeless men. There were -224 beds, distributed through nine dormitories. Another night refuge, -called S. Aloysius, was founded about the year 1730 by Father Galluzzi, -a Florentine Jesuit. It is for women. We can get some idea of the great -charity such refuges are when we know that during the year ending -December, 1869, no less than 135,000 persons sought a resting-place at -night in the station-houses of New York. Besides these public hospitals, -almost every Catholic country had a private national one. One of -the picturesque and not least of the Roman charities used to be the -daily distribution of food at the gates of monasteries, convents, and -nunneries, the portals of palaces, and the doors of seminaries, colleges, -and boarding-schools. - -With all this liberality, there was still some room for hand-alms. There -used to be beggars in Rome; assassins have taken their place. Under the -papal government a limit was put to beggary, and we have never seen the -_sturdy_ beggar who figures so maliciously in some Protestant books about -Rome. Beggary may become an evil; it is not a crime. We confess to liking -beggars if they are not too numerous and importunate. Few scenes have -seemed to us more venerable, picturesque, and Christian than the double -row of beggars, with their sores and crippled limbs, their sticks and -battered hats and outstretched hands, imploring _per è amore di Dio_, as -we pass between them to the church or cemetery or other holy place on -feast-day afternoons in Rome. - -The Hospice of San Michele was founded in 1686 by a Cardinal Odescalchi. -In this asylum nearly 800 persons used to be received. They were divided -into four classes--old men, old women, boys, and girls. The institution -had an annual endowment of $52,000; but some years ago the aged of -both sexes were removed elsewhere, and their part of the building was -converted into a house of correction for women and juvenile offenders. -The hospice, in its strict sense, now consists of a House of Industry for -children of both sexes, and a gratuitous school of the industrial and -fine arts. The carping author of Murray’s _Hand-book_ (1869), although -he acknowledges that this school of arts has produced some eminent -men, says that “the education of the boys might be turned, perhaps, to -more practically useful objects!” As if, forsooth, it were a lesser -charity, in the great home of the arts that Rome is, to help a poor -lad of talent to become an architect, for instance, than to make him a -tailor! The orphan asylum of Saint Mary of the Angels was near the Baths -of Diocletian. The boys numbered 450, under the care of male religious, -and the girls 500, under that of female religious. The institution -received annually $38,000 from the Commission of Subsidies. In the -same quarter of the city is the Deaf and Dumb Asylum. It was opened in -1794 by Father Silvestri, who had been sent to Paris by Pope Pius VI. -to receive instruction from the celebrated Abbé de l’Epée in the art -of teaching this class of unfortunates. Visitors to the house are made -welcome, and are often invited to test the knowledge of the pupils by -asking them questions on the blackboard. The first time we called there -was in 1862, and, having asked one of the boys, taken at hazard, who -was the first President of the United States, we were a little surprised -(having thought to puzzle him) to have the correct answer at once. The -House of Converts was an establishment where persons who wished to become -Catholics were received for a time and instructed in the faith. It was -founded in 1600 by a priest of the Oratory. Other interesting hospices -were the Widows’ Home and the House for Aged Priests, where the veterans -of the Roman clergy could end their days in honorable comfort. A peculiar -class of Roman charities were the conservatories. They were twenty-three -in number. Some of them were for penance, others for change of life, -and others again to shield unprotected virtue. The Infant Asylum was a -flourishing institution directed by female religious. Even fashion was -made to do something for it, since a noble lady years ago suggested that -the members of good society in Rome should dispense with their mutual New -Year visits on condition of giving three pauls (a small sum of money) to -the asylum, and having their names published in the official journal. - -The Society for the Propagation of the Faith was established at Rome in -1834. No city of the size and population of Rome was better supplied with -free schools of every description. The night-schools were first opened in -1819. In connection with studies we should mention the liberal presents -of books, vestments, and liturgical articles made to young missionaries -by the Propaganda, and the books on learned subjects, which, being -printed at government expense, were sold at a reduced price to students -of every nation on showing a certificate from one of their professors. - -It is written (Matthew iv. 4), “Man liveth not by bread alone”; and -consequently Rome multiplied those pious houses of retreat in which -the soul could rest for a time from the cares of life. There were five -such establishments in the city. Another great Roman charity was the -missions preached by the Jesuits and Franciscans in and around the city, -thus bringing the truths of the Gospel constantly before the people. We -have given but a brief sketch of our subject. It has been treated in -a complete manner by Cardinal Morichini in a new and revised edition -of his interesting work entitled _Degl’ Istituti di Pubblica Carità ed -istruzione primaria e delle prigioni in Roma_. - - -SONG. - - I. - - When in the long and lonely night - That brings no slumber to mine eyes, - Through dark returns the vision bright, - The face and form that day denies, - And, like a solitary star - Revealed above a stormy sea, - Thy spirit soothes me from afar, - I mourn thee not, nor weep for thee. - - II. - - And when I watch the dawn afar - Awake her sleeping sister night, - And overhead the dying star - Return into her parent light, - And in the breaking day discern - The glimmer of eternity, - The goal, the peace, for which I yearn, - I mourn thee not, nor weep for thee. - - III. - - And when the melancholy eve - Brings back the hour akin to tears, - And through the twilight I perceive - The settled, strong, abiding spheres, - And gently on my heart opprest - Like dew descending silently, - There falls a portion of thy rest, - I mourn thee not, nor weep for thee. - - IV. - - But when once more the stir of life - Makes all these busy highways loud, - And fretted by the jarring strife, - The noisy humors of the crowd, - The subtle, sweet suggestions born - Of silence fail, and memory - Consoles no more, I mourn, I mourn - That thou art not, and weep for thee. - - -PROGRESS _VERSUS_ GROOVES. - -“How do you like your new minister, Mrs. B.?” - -“Very much indeed! He is progressive--is not fixed in any of the old -grooves. His mind does not run in those ancient ruts that forbid advance -and baffle modern thought.” - -How strangely this colloquy between a Methodist and Congregationalist -fell upon the Catholic ear of their mutual friend! Comment, however, -was discreetly forborne. That friend had learned in the very infancy -of a Catholic life, beginning at the mature age of thirty-five by the -register, the futility of controversy, and that the pearls of truth -are too precious to be carelessly thrown away. Strangely enough these -expressions affected one whose habits of thought and conduct had been -silently forming in accordance with that life for twenty-five years! - -“Old grooves” indeed! Lucifer found them utterly irreconcilable with his -“advanced ideas” in heaven. Confessedly, the success of his progressive -enterprise was not encouraging; but the battle and its results -established his unquestionable claim as captain and leader of the sons -and daughters of progress for all time. - -“Modern thought!” So far as we can discover, the best it has done for its -disciples is to prove to them beyond a doubt that their dear grandpapa of -eld was an ape, and that they, when they shake off this mortal coil, will -be gathered to their ancestors in common with their brethren, the modern -monkeys! - -We, who believe the authentic history of the past, can see in this -boasted new railroad, upon which the freight of modern science and -advanced civilization is borne, a pathway as old as the time when our -dear, credulous old grandmamma received a morning call in Eden from -the oldest brother of these scientific gentlemen, who convinced her in -the course of their pleasant chat that poor deluded Adam and herself -were fastened in the most irrational rut--a perfect outrage upon common -sense--and that a very slight repast upon “advanced ideas” would lift -them out of it, emancipate thought, and make them as “gods knowing good -and evil.” - -We all know how well they succeeded in their first step on the highway -of progress. They lost a beautiful garden, it is true, of limited -dimensions, but they gained a world of boundless space, and a freedom -of thought and action which was first successfully and completely -illustrated by their first-born son when he murmured, “Why?” and killed -his brother, who was evidently attached to grooves. - -They left the heritage thus gained to a large proportion of their -descendants. A minority of them, it is true, prefer to “seek out the old -paths” of obedience to the commands of God, “and walk therein”--to shun -the “broad road” along which modern civilization is rolling its countless -throngs, and to “enter in at the strait gate” which leadeth to life -eternal, to the great disgust of the disciples of modern thought, who -spare no effort to prove their exceeding liberality by persecuting such -with derision, calumny, chains, imprisonment, and death! - -Thank God this is all they can do! Rage they never so furiously, He that -sitteth in the heavens laughs them to scorn. He will defend and preserve -his anointed against all the combined hosts of Bismarcks, kaisers, and -robber princes, who illustrate the liberal ideas that govern the march of -modern civilization. - - -TRACES OF AN INDIAN LEGEND. - -It has been said of our energetic republic that it had no infancy; that -it sprang into a vigorous and complete existence at a bound. However -true this may be with respect to its material structure in the hands of -the remarkable men who first planted colonies on American soil, there is -another view of the picture which presents widely different features. - -To the eye of the Christian philosopher the religious and moral aspects -of our country to this day afford subjects for anything but satisfactory -reflection. - -The pioneers of civilization along the northeastern borders of our -territory were--whatever their professions to the contrary may have -been--worshippers of material prosperity. The worship of God and the -claims of religion were indeed important and proper in their place for -a portion of the seventh part of each week, but the moment they came in -conflict with Mammon there was little question which should yield. It was -not to be expected that the saints whom the Lord had specially chosen, -and unto whom “He had given the earth,” should be diverted from their -pursuit of the great “main chance” by precepts which were applicable -only to ordinary and less favored mortals. - -Whatever progress the church has yet achieved in this region is the -result of appalling labors and sacrifices. The foundation was laid in -sufferings, fatigues, and perils, from the contemplation of which the -self-indulgent Christians of our day would shrink aghast; laid long -before the so-called Pilgrim fathers landed at Plymouth, while the -savage still roamed through the unbroken forests of New England, and -disputed dominion with wild beasts hardly more dangerous than himself -to the messengers of the Gospel of peace. Amid the wonderful beauty and -variety of the panorama which her mountains, lakes, and valleys unfold to -the tourists and pleasure-seekers of to-day, there is scarcely a scene -that has not been traversed in weariness, in hunger, and cold by those -dauntless servants of God who first proclaimed the tidings of salvation -to the wild children of the forest. - -Futile, and even foolish, as the toils of these early fathers may appear -to the materialist and utilitarian of this day, because of their tardy -and apparently inadequate fruits, the designs of Heaven have not been -frustrated, and its light reveals a very different history. We read -therein how He who causes “the weak and foolish things of this world -to confound the wise” and to proclaim his praise, sent his ministering -angels to hover over the pathway moistened with the tears and blood of -his servants, to note each footprint through the dreary wilderness, to -gather the incense of each prayer, and to mark each pain and peril of -their sacrificial march for record in the archives of eternity, as an -earnest for future good to those regions, and as enduring testimony -before the high court of heaven to their fitness for the crown--far -surpassing in glory all earthly crowns--which they won by their burning -zeal and unwavering patience. - -Nor were their efforts in the field of their earthly labors so vain as -some of our modern historians would have us suppose. Prayer and exertion -in the service of God are never fruitless. If it is true--as the great -Champlain was wont to say--“that one soul gained for heaven was of more -value than the conquest of an empire for France,” they gained from the -roving tribes of the desert many sincere and steadfast adherents to -the faith--whose names are recorded in the book of life--and scattered -benedictions along their painful pathway which have shed their beneficent -influences over the scenes they traversed down to the present day. We -hope to illustrate and sustain this assertion in the following sketch, -drawn from our memory, of traditions--preserved among the Indians of St. -Regis--to which we listened many years ago. - -Scattered along the southern shores of the St. Lawrence, from the foot -of Lake Ontario to the village of St. Regis--while St. Lawrence County, -N.Y., was yet for the most part covered with primitive forests--were -many encampments of these Indians. That whole region abounded in game -and furnished favorite hunting-grounds, to which they claimed a right -in connection with their special reservation in the more immediate -neighborhood of St. Regis. At each of these encampments an aged Indian -was sure to be found, who, without the title of chief, was a kind of -patriarch among his younger brethren, exercised great influence in their -affairs, and was treated with profound respect by them. He was their -umpire in all disputes, their adviser in doubtful matters, and the -“leader of prayer” in his lodge--always the largest and most commodious -of the wigwams, and the one in which they assembled for their devotions. - -One of the oldest of these sages--called “Captain Simon”--must have -been much more than a hundred years of age, judging from the dates of -events of which he retained a distinct remembrance as an eye-witness, -and which occurred in the course of the French and Indian wars, over a -century previous to the time when we listened to his recital. His head -was an inexhaustible store-house of traditions and legends, many of them -relating to the discovery and settlement of Canada and the labors of the -first missionaries. He was very fond of young people, and, gathering the -children of the white settlers around him, he would hold them spell-bound -for hours while he related stories of those early days in his peculiarly -impressive and figurative language. He claimed that his grandfather was -one of the party who accompanied Champlain on his first voyage through -the lake which bears his name, and that he afterwards acted as guide and -interpreter to the first priest who visited the valley of Lake Champlain. -When he heard that we were from Vermont, he asked for a piece of chalk, -and, marking on the floor an outline of the lake and the course of the -Richelieu River, he proceeded to narrate the voyage of Champlain and his -party in the summer of 1609. - -Embosomed within the placid waters of Lake Champlain, near its northern -extremity, is a lovely island, of which Vermonters boast as the “Gem -of the Lake,” so remarkable is it for beauty and fertility. Here the -party landed, and Champlain, erecting a cross, claimed the lake--to -which he gave his own name--its islands and shores, for France and for -Christianity. Half a century later one La Motte built a fort upon this -island, which he named St. Anne, giving the island his own name; and it -is called the Isle La Motte to this day. - -Champlain explored the lake as far as Crown Point, where they encountered -and defeated a band of Iroquois Indians; but not deeming it wise to -adventure further at that time so near such powerful foes, they returned -down the lake without delay. This encounter was the first act of that -savage drama which so long desolated New France, and threatened it with -entire destruction. - -Six years later, in the summer of 1615, another party landed on the Isle -La Motte. It was made up of a missionary of the Recollect Order and his -escort of Indians in two bark canoes. The grandfather of our narrator -was one of these. They remained a day or two on the island, and the -missionary offered the Christian sacrifice for the first time within the -territory now embraced by the State of Vermont.[97] - -The object of his journey was to visit scattered bands of hunters who -were encamped along the eastern shore of the lake and its vicinity, at -different points in the valley of Lake Champlain. - -Leaving the Isle La Motte, they steered for the mouth of the Missisque -River, which they navigated up to the first falls, where the village -of Swanton now stands. Here they found a flourishing encampment, and -remained some days for the purpose of instructing the Indians in the -truths of Christianity. The missionary found that some dim reports of the -Christian teachers had preceded him, and prepared the way for his work, -the success of which encouraged and consoled him. - -From that place they proceeded on foot for some miles to the base of -a line of hills, sketched by the narrator, and corresponding to those -east of St. Alban’s. Here they also remained several days, the reverend -father toiling early and late in the duties of his vocation. He was now -surrounded by a crowd of eager listeners; for not only did his former -audience accompany him, but a goodly number from the surrounding hills -and from Bellamaqueau and Maquam Bays--distant three and five miles -respectively--flocked to hear his instructions and to be taught “The -Prayer” revealed to them by the Great Spirit through his servant. - -Here they brought to him also the beautiful Indian maiden, of whom -her race cherish the legend that her declining health led her people -to bring her to these hills, hoping the change from the low lands and -damp atmosphere of her home to the bracing mountain air might prove -beneficial. Instead of finding relief, she only declined the more -rapidly, so that she was soon unable to be carried back. She, too, had -heard whispers of holy men who had come to teach her race the path of -heaven, and wistfully she had sighed daily, as she repeated the yearning -aspiration: “Oh! if the Great Spirit would but let me see and listen to -his messenger, I could die in peace!” - -The Indians, to this day, tell with what joy she listened to his words; -how eagerly she prayed that she might receive the regenerating waters; -how, when they were poured upon her head, her countenance became bright -with the light of heaven; and how her departure soon after was full of -joy and peace. Her burial-place was made on one of those eastern hills. -It was the first Christian burial for one of her race in Vermont, and her -people thought her intercessions would not fail to bring down blessings -upon all that region. - -Pursuing their journey by the trail of those who had preceded them -through the dense wilderness--for our aborigines were skilled in tracing -lines of communication between their different camps with extreme -directness by aid of their close observations of nature--the party -arrived at another camp on the bank of a river discovered by Champlain, -and named by him the Lamoille. - -At this place an Indian youth came to the missionary in great distress. -His young squaw was lying at the point of death, and the medicine men -and women could do nothing more for her. Would not “The Prayer” restore -her? Oh! if it would give her back to him, he, with all his family, would -gratefully embrace it! The reverend father went to her, and, when he -found she desired it, baptized her and her new-born infant in preparation -for the death which seemed inevitable. Contrary to all expectation, she -recovered. Her husband and his family, together with her father’s family, -afterwards became joyful believers. - -After some days the Indians of that place accompanied the party in -canoes to the lake and along its shores to the mouth of the Winooski -River, which they ascended as far as the first falls. Here they remained -many days, during which time the missionary visited the present site of -Burlington, and held two missions there--one at a camp on the summit of -a hill overlooking the valley of the Winooski as it approaches the lake, -and one near the lake shore. - -If Vermonters who are familiar with the magnificent scenery which -surrounds the “queen city” of their State never visit the place without -being filled with new admiration at the infinite variety and beauty -of the pictures it unfolds from every changing point of view, we may -imagine how strangers must be impressed who gaze upon them for the first -time. Not less picturesque, and if possible even more striking, were its -features when, crowned by luxuriant native forests and fanned by gentle -breezes from the lake, it reposed within the embrace of that glorious -amphitheatre of hills, in the undisturbed tranquillity of nature. It was -not strange that the natives were drawn by its unparalleled attractions -to congregate there in such numbers as to require from their reverend -visitor a longer time than he gave to any other place in this series of -missions. - -In the course of three months the party had traversed the eastern border -of the lake to the last encampment near its southern extremity. This was -merely a summer camp, as the vicinity of the Iroquois made it unsafe to -remain there longer than through that portion of the season when the -Mohawks and their confederates were too busy with their own pursuits -among the hills of the Adirondacks to give much heed to their neighbors. -At the close of the mission this camp was broken up for that season, and -its occupants joined the reverend father and his party in canoes as far -as the mouth of the Winooski River, whence men were sent to convey them -to the starting-point at Swanton, where their own canoes were left. - -On their way thither they lingered for some days on Grand Isle, then, -as now, a vision of loveliness to all admirers of the beautiful, and a -favorite annual resort of the natives for the period during which they -were safe from the attacks of their merciless foes. - -At every mission thus opened the missionary promised to return himself, -or send one of his associates, to renew his instructions and minister to -the spiritual wants of his converts. This promise was fulfilled as far as -the limited number of laborers in this vineyard permitted. The brave and -untiring sons of Loyola afterwards entered the field, and proved worthy -successors of the zealous Recollects who first announced the Gospel -message in those wilds. - -Our Indian narrator, when he had finished his recital of missionary -labors in this and other regions, would always add with marked emphasis: -“And it is firmly believed by our people, among all their tribes, that -upon every spot where the Christian sacrifice was first offered a -Catholic church will one day be placed.” - -There seemed to his Protestant listeners but slight probability of this -prediction ever being fulfilled in Vermont--settled for the most part -by the straitest sect of the Puritans--as there was not then, or until -twenty years from that time, a Catholic priest or church in the State. -Yet at this writing--and the fact has presented itself before us with -startling effect while tracing these imperfect reminiscences--there is at -every point indicated in his narrative a fine church, and in many places -flourishing Catholic schools. - -The labors of an eminent servant of God--to whom Vermont cannot be too -grateful--have been particularly blessed on the Isle La Motte, where the -banner of the cross was first unfurled within her territory. A beautiful -church has been erected there with a thriving congregation and school. - -Much as remains to be accomplished in this field, when we reflect upon -all that has been done since the first quarter of this XIXth century, -we can see great cause for encouragement and gratitude to Almighty God, -who has not withheld his blessing from the work of his servants of the -earliest and the latest times. “Going on their way, they went and wept, -scattering the seed,” the fruits of which we are now gathering into -sheaves with great joy. - - -FINDING A LOST CHURCH. - -The present age is pre-eminently one of discovery. In spite of the wise -man’s saying, “Nothing under the sun is new,” mankind, wiser in its -own conceit than the wise man, insists upon the newness of its every -production. In Rome a different spirit prevails. While the new is not -entirely neglected, the great delight of many Romans is to find something -old--the older the better. They live so much in the past that they follow -with an eager interest the various steps taken to enlighten them on the -lives and deeds of the men of old, their ancestors on the soil and in the -faith which they profess. - -Foremost in the pursuit and discovery of Christian antiquities stands the -Commendatore de Rossi. It has been said that poets are born, not made: De -Rossi’s ability as a Christian archæologist seems to be more the gift of -nature than the result of study. With unwearied industry, with profound -knowledge, with an almost unerring judgment, he finds out and illustrates -the remains of Christian antiquity scattered around Rome--not on the -surface, but in the deeps of the earth. The latest and one of the most -important discoveries he has made forms the subject of the present paper. - -Tor Marancia is a name not much known out of Rome, yet it designates -a place which was of some importance in its day. The traveller who -contemplates the works of ancient art collected in the Vatican Museum -cannot fail to be interested in two very beautiful black and white -mosaics which form the floor of the gallery known as the Braccio -Nuovo. Mythological fables and Homeric legends are represented in -these pavements, and they come from Tor Marancia. In the Gallery of -the Candelabra, and in the library of the same museum, a collection of -frescos, busts, statues, and mosaics of excellent workmanship and of -great interest, likewise discovered at Tor Marancia, are exhibited. All -these objects were found at that place in the course of excavations made -there in the reign of Pope Pius VI. In ancient times a villa stood at Tor -Marancia, of which these formed the decorations. - -At this spot also is found the entrance to a very extensive catacomb -which contains three floors, and diverges in long, winding ways under -the soil of the Campagna. The catacomb has been called by the name of -S. Domitilla, on evidence found during the excavations made there. This -lady was a member of the Flavian family, which gave three occupants to -the imperial throne--Vespasian, Titus, and Domitian. It is a well-known -fact that those early Christians who were blessed with wealth were in -the habit of interring the bodies of their brethren, of saints, and of -martyrs within the enclosure of their villas. Such villas were situated -outside the limits of the city; and hence we find the entrance to every -catacomb beyond the city walls, with the solitary exception of the -catacomb or grottos of the Vatican, and the entrances to all of them are -found in sites ascertained to have been the property of Christians. It -might be easy to multiply instances of this, taking the facts from the -_Acts of the Martyrs,_ wherein the places of sepulture are indicated, and -the names of those who bestowed the last rites upon the dead recorded. - -Domitilla, or Flavia Domitilla, as she is sometimes termed, was a niece -of the consul Flavius Clemens, who was cousin of the Emperor Domitian. -She was a Christian, having been baptized by S. Peter; and, after a life -spent in charitable works, amongst which was the burial of the martyrs -“in a catacomb near the Ardeatine Way,” the same of which we write, she -also suffered martyrdom. Her two servants, Nereus and Achilleus, were put -to death previously, and their bodies were placed in this catacomb by -Domitilla. - -In 1854, while De Rossi was pursuing his researches in the catacomb -of S. Domitilla, he came upon the foundations of a building which -pierced the second floor of the subterranean cemetery. This was a most -unusual occurrence, and the eminent archæologist eagerly followed up -his discovery. He found a marble slab which recorded the giving up of a -space for burial “Ex indulgentia Flaviæ Domitillæ”--a confirmation of the -proprietorship of the place. - -De Rossi naturally concluded that the building thus incorporated in -the Christian cemetery was of great importance. The _loculi_, or -resting-places of the dead, were very large, which indicates great -antiquity; the inscriptions likewise were of a very early date; and -_sarcophagi_ adorned with lions’ heads, marble columns overturned, and -other signs, led the discoverer to the conclusion that he had come upon -the foundations of a church constructed within this cemetery. In the -course of his excavations he had penetrated into the open air, and found -himself in a hollow depression formed by the falling in of the surface. -Amongst other objects discovered were four marble slabs containing -epitaphs furnished with consular dates of the years 335, 380, 399, and -406; and also a form of contract by which the right of burial in the -edifice was sold. The proprietor of the land above the cemetery opposed -the continuance of the excavations, and the discoverer, obliged to -withdraw, covered up the materials already found with earth, and turned -his attention to other recently-discovered objects in another place. - -Twenty years after, in 1874, Monsignor de Merode purchased the land -overlying the catacomb and church, and the excavations were again -undertaken under most favorable circumstances. In vain did the Commission -of Sacred Archæology, under De Rossi’s guidance, seek for the four marble -columns and the two beautiful _sarcophagi_ that had been seen there -twenty years before. The proprietor is supposed to have carried them -away. But they found instead the floor of the church or basilica, with -its three naves, the bases of the four columns, the apse, the place where -the altar stood, and the space occupied by the episcopal chair behind -the altar. The basilica is as large as that of San Lorenzo beyond the -walls. The left aisle is sixty feet long by thirteen broad; the central -nave is twenty-four feet broad; and the right aisle, which is not yet -entirely unearthed, is considered to be of the same breadth as the first -mentioned; the greatest depth of the apse is fifteen feet. “The church,” -says De Rossi, “is of gigantic proportions for an edifice constructed in -the bowels of the earth and at the deep level of the second floor of a -subterranean cemetery.” - -Here, then, was a basilica or church discovered in the midst of a -catacomb. That the latter belonged to Flavia Domitilla was well known; -and yet another proof, which illustrates archæological difficulties and -the method of overcoming them, was found here. It was a broken slab of -marble containing a portion of an inscription: - - ......RVM - .....ORVM - (*) - -and having the image of an anchor at the point(*). It was concluded -that the anchor was placed at an equal distance from both ends of the -inscription, and the discoverer, with the knowledge he already has of the -place, supplied the letters which he considered wanting to the completion -of the inscription, and thus produced the words, - - SEPVLCRVM - FLAVIORVM - * - -(sepulchre of the Flavii). This reading is very probably the right one, -and its probability is greatly strengthened by the position of the -anchor, since the full inscription, as here shown, leaves that sign still -in the centre. - -But to find the name borne by these ruins when the building of which -they are the sole remnants was fresh and new presented a task to their -discoverer. It was necessary to seek in ancient works--pontifical books -and codices--for some account of a basilica on the Ardeatine Way. -In the life of S. Gregory the Great it is related that this pontiff -delivered one of his homilies “in the cemetery of S. Domitilla on the -Ardeatine Way, at the Church of S. Petronilla.” The pontifical books and -codices, although they differ in details--some saying in the cemetery -of Domitilla, and others in that of Nereus and Archilleus, which is -the same place under another name--agree in the principal fact. On the -small remnant of plaster remaining on the wall of the apse an unskilled -hand had traced a _graffito_, or drawing scratched on the plaster with -a pointed instrument, somewhat resembling those found on the walls of -Pompeii. This _graffito_ represents a bishop, vested in episcopal robes, -seated in a chair, in the act of delivering a discourse. This rude -sketch of a bishop so occupied, taken in conjunction with the fact that -S. Gregory did here deliver one of his homilies, is a link in the chain -of evidence which identifies the ruin with the ancient basilica of S. -Petronilla. - -But a still more convincing testimony was forthcoming. A large fragment -of marble, containing a portion of what appeared to have been a long -inscription, was found in the apse. There were but few complete words in -this fragment, and these were chiefly the termination of lines in what -seemed to have been a metrical composition. Odd words, selected at random -from a poem, standing alone, devoid of preceding or succeeding words, -might not seem to furnish very rich materials even to an archæologist. -These wandering words were, however, recognized to be the terminal words -of a poem or eulogium written by Pope Damasus in honor of the martyrs -Nereus and Achilleus. Now the connection between this metrical eulogium -and the basilica was to be sought for. In the Einsiedeln Codex the place -where this poem was to be seen is stated to have been the sepulchre of -SS. Nereus and Achilleus, on the Appian Way, at S. Petronilla. The poem, -or rather this fragment of it, being found at this sepulchre, it was -natural to conclude that the church was that of S. Petronilla. The Appian -Way is the great high-road from which the Ardeatine Way branches off near -this spot. - -Again, the basilica of S. Petronilla was frequented by pilgrims from -many nations in the VIIth century. Among these were Gauls, Germans, and -Britons. In their itineraries of the martyrs’ sepulchres in Rome, and in -the collection of the metrical epigraphs written at these places, it is -proved that the original name of this church was that of S. Petronilla. -“Near the Ardeatine Way is the Church of S. Petronilla,” say these old -documents, and they likewise inform us that S. Nereus and S. Achilleus -and S. Petronilla herself are buried there: “Juxta viam Ardeatinam -ecclesia est S. Petronillæ; ibi quoque S. Nereus et S. Achilleus sunt et -ipsa Petronilla sepulti.” - -A second fragment of the slab containing the metrical composition -of Pope Damasus has since been found, and this goes to confirm the -testimony furnished by the former fragment. In the following copy of -the inscription the capital letters on the right-hand side are those -on the fragment first discovered; those on the left belong to the -recently-discovered portion: - - “NEREUS ET ACHILLEUS MARTYRES. - - “Militiæ nomen dederant sævumQ gerebant - Officium pariter spectantes jussA TYRanni - Præceptis pulsante metu serviRE PARati - Mira fides rerum subito posueRE FVRORem - COnversi fugiunt ducis impia castrA RELINQVVNT - PROiiciunt clypeos faleras telAQ. CRVENTA - CONFEssi gaudent Christi portaRE TRIVMFOS - CREDITe per Damasum possit quid GLORIA - CHRISTI.” - -The date of the church was likewise ascertained. It is known that Pope -Damasus, the great preserver of the martyrs’ graves, would never allow -the Christian cemeteries to be disturbed for the purpose of building -a church therein; and although he himself strongly desired that his -remains should repose in one of these sacred places by the side of his -predecessors, he abandoned this desire rather than remove the sacred -ashes of the dead. It may naturally be concluded, then, that this church -was built after his day--he died in 384--as were the churches of S. -Agnes, S. Lawrence, and S. Alexander, all of which are beyond the city -walls and built in catacombs. The catacombs under the Church of S. -Petronilla showed an inscription bearing the date of 390, and in the -church itself a monumental slab with the date of 395 has been found. It -is thus almost certain that between the highest date found _under_, and -the lowest date found _in_, the church--that is, between the years 390 -and 395--the basilica of S. Petronilla was constructed. - -For about three centuries and a half this church was well frequented. -We have records of gifts sent to it, precious vestments, etc., by Pope -Gregory III., who reigned from 715 to 741. But in 755 the Longobards -came down upon Rome; they desecrated the churches and cemeteries around -the city, and then began the siege of Rome. After peace was made, the -pontiff of the period, Paul I., transferred the relics and remains of -the saints to safer custody, and the Church of S. Petronilla became -deserted. From unmistakable signs it seems that this desertion was -conducted in a most regular manner, and that it was closed and despoiled -of its precious objects. The door which entered the left aisle was found -walled up; the altar, the seats of the choir, the episcopal chair, and -the ambons or marble pulpits ware all removed and transported elsewhere. -The floor of the church, so far below the level of the surrounding -soil, formed a resting-place for the water which drained through the -neighboring lands after rains had fallen, and this undoubtedly formed -the strongest reason for the abandonment of S. Petronilla. Nothing was -left in it but _sarcophagi_ and sepulchres, the pavements with their -marble epitaphs--so valuable to-day in revealing history--some columns -with their beautifully-carved capitals, which time or an earthquake has -overturned and hidden within the dark bosom of the earth for more than a -thousand years. - -The hundred pilgrims who came from America, with a hundred new-found -friends, assembled on the 14th of June, 1874, to pray in that disentombed -old church. They had come from a world unknown and undreamt of by the -pilgrims who had formerly knelt within these walls; and as they looked -around on the wide and desolate Campagna, and on the monument of Cecilia -Metella shining in the distance white and perfect, in spite of the -nineteen centuries that have passed away since it received its inmate, -and at the blue, changeless sky overhead, and then turned their eyes upon -the church, decorated that morning with festoons of green branches and -gay flowers, the same as it may have been on other festive occasions a -thousand years ago, they may have felt that time has effected almost as -little change in the works of man as in those of nature, and that all -things in Rome partake of Rome’s eternity. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - LE CULTE CATHOLIQUE OU EXPOSITION DE LA FOI DE L’EGLISE - ROMAINE SUR LE CULTE DU AUX SAINTS ET A LEURS RELIQUES, A - LA BIENHEUREUSE VIERGE MARIE, AUX IMAGES, etc., en réponse - aux objections du Protestantisme, suivie d’une dissertation - historique et critique sur le celibat du clergé. Par l’Abbé - Louis-Nazaire Bégin, Docteur en Théologie, Professor à la - Faculté de Théologie de l’Université Laval. Quebec: Typographie - d’Augustin Cote et Cie. 1875. - -_Le Culte Catholique_ is another valuable addition to controversial -literature, by the author of _The Bible and the Rule of Faith_. - -It is true that the days of controversy seem to be drawing to a close. -The Greek schism still holds itself aloof in sullen isolation; but the -controversy is exhausted, and all that is left of a church has become the -mere unfruitful appanage of a northern despotism. - -As to Protestantism, it never had any positive existence as a confession. -Three hundred years have exhausted its theological pretensions. As a -religion it has ceased to exist, and it lies buried beneath the weight of -its own negations. The only formidable enemies of the church now are the -disowners both of Christ and God, and they seek her destruction because -they know that she alone offers an insuperable obstacle to the universal -atheism which they hope to bring about. - -Under such circumstances works like Dr. Bégin’s are chiefly useful for -the information of Catholics, and for the support they render to their -faith. - -_Le Culte Catholique_ is, the writer tells us, “an exposition of the -faith of the Roman Church in the matters of the worship of the saints and -of their relics, of the blessed Virgin Mary, of images, etc., in reply -to the objections of Protestantism, followed by a historical and critical -dissertation on the celibacy of the clergy.” On these trite subjects -little that is new can be said. But the work before us is a terse and -lucid summary of Catholic teaching on the above points. - -It is the object of the society of Freemasons to effect the universal -deification, the rejection, that is, of the belief in any existence -higher than the human being, and in any superiority of one man over -another. For this they find it convenient to support the foolish -Protestant objection to a splendid ritual and costly churches, on the -ground that “God is a spirit, and they that worship him must worship him -in spirit and in truth.” Dr. Bégin quotes the following telling passage -from a contemporary writer in answer to this frivolous objection: - -“I know the old tirades about the temple of nature. No doubt the starry -vault of heaven is a sublime dome; but no worship exists which is -celebrated in the open air. A special place of meeting is required for -collective adoration, because our religious sociability urges us to -gather together for prayer, as it were to make a common stock of our joys -and griefs. Besides, should the time come when we shall have nothing -but the cupola of heaven to shelter our religious assemblies, it would -require a considerable amount of courage to betake ourselves thither, -especially in winter. And the philosophers who find our cathedrals -so damp would not be the most intrepid against the inclemency of the -sanctuary of nature. Thus do great errors touch on the ridiculous. -Reasoning begins their refutation; a smile ends it.” - -The second chapter is an admirable exposition of the special worship -(_hyperdulia_) paid to the Blessed Virgin Mary, in the course of which -he shows triumphantly that the definition of her Immaculate Conception -was no new doctrine, but a mere definite and dogmatic statement of a -doctrine which had been all along held implicitly in the church. The -following simile, illustrative of this argument, appears to us to be -worth quoting: “Modern science, which is daily making such extraordinary -progress, discovers, ever and anon, fresh stars, which seem to float -in the most distant depths of space, which become more bright as they -are more attentively observed, and which end by becoming stars of -continually-increasing splendor. These stars are not of recent date; -they are not new; they are only perceived. Something analogous takes -place in the heavens of the church on the subject of certain truths of -our faith. Their light reveals itself and develops by degrees. Sometimes -the shock of controversy illuminates them. Then comes a definition to -invest them with fresh splendor. But in receiving this supplement of -light, destined to make them better understood by the faithful, they lose -nothing of their proper nature; their essence is not in the slightest -degree changed; only our minds appropriate them with more facility.” - - FLOWERS FROM THE GARDEN OF THE VISITATION; or, Lives of Several - Religious of that Order. Translated from the French. Baltimore: - Kelly, Piet & Co. 1875. - -To those who have attempted to form an adequate conception of the -charitable and ascetic spirit, the simple record of these saintly lives -must have a wonderful fascination. To those, even, who are wholly -absorbed in a life of pleasure it will at least possess the merit of a -new sensation, if they can forget the silent reproof which such examples -convey. - -It affords matter of encouragement in these days of combined luxury -and destitution to look over the history of those--many of whom were -delicately reared--who left all for God, content to do whatsoever he -appointed them to do, and to submit to extraordinary mortifications for -his sake. The work embraces six brief biographies of Visitation Nuns -eminent for their self-sacrificing labors for the moral and intellectual -education of their charges, and in other good and charitable offices. -Their names, even, may be quite new to English-speaking readers, but that -fact is all the more in keeping with their hidden lives. We have said -enough to indicate the general character of the volume. - - JOHN DORRIEN: A novel. By Julia Kavanagh. New York: D. Appleton - & Co. 1875. - -The writer succeeds, in the very opening chapter, in so portraying -the character of a child as to make it a living breathing reality -to the reader. The story of his humble life in childhood and his -struggles and trials in later years is told without any attempt at -fine writing--indeed, all the characters are simply and well drawn, -and retain their individuality to the end. The heroine, neglected in -childhood, and without any guide in matters of faith, is easily persuaded -by a suitor that religion is contrary to reason; and thus, left to her -own unaided judgment, and notwithstanding her innate love of truth, -soon finds herself entangled in a web of deceit and hypocrisy. She only -escapes the unhappiness which such a course entails by forsaking it. - -The moral of the tale (if that is not an obsolete term) is what -the reader would naturally infer--the necessity of early religious -instruction, and the advantage, even in this life, of a belief in -revealed truth. We are glad to note the absence of the faults which -disfigure much of the imaginative literature of the day, not excepting, -we are sorry to say, that which emanates from the writer’s own sex. We -see no attempt to give false views of life, or to undermine the moral and -religious principles of the reader; on the contrary, there is reason to -infer much that is positively good, though not so definitely stated as we -should have liked. - - THE BIBLE AND THE RULE OF FAITH. By the Abbé Louis-Nazaire - Bégin, Doctor of Theology, Theological Professor in the - University of Laval. Translated from the French by G. M. Ward - [Mrs. Pennée]. - -Protestantism is well-nigh defunct. It is in its last throes. It has not -sufficient vitality left to care for its own doctrines, such as they -are. As a religion it has almost ceased to exist. Disobedience to the -faith has been succeeded by indifference; indifference by the hatred of -Christ. Its rickety old doctrines, whose folly has been exposed over and -over again thousands of times, have quietly tumbled out of existence. -Protestants themselves have almost forgotten them, and certainly do not -care enough about them to defend them. Paganism has returned--paganism in -its last stage of sceptical development. We have to contend now for the -divinity of Christ and the existence of a God. The Bible and the rule of -faith are up amongst the lumber. - -Yet it may be--as the writer of this work asserts; we much doubt -it, however--that there are still “many poor souls in the bosom of -Protestantism a prey to the anguish of doubt.” To such the Abbé Bégin’s -treatise on the rule of faith may be of the utmost service. The argument -is extremely terse and lucid. In short, were the minds of Protestant -fanatics open to reason, it could not fail to convince them of the -unreasoning folly of their notions about the Bible being the one only -rule of faith. - -The first part of this work treats of the rule of faith in general, and -proves, amongst other things, that such a rule must be sure, efficient, -and perpetual to put an end to controversies. - -The second part exhibits the logical impossibility of the Protestant rule -of faith, remote and proximate. That is to say, that it is impossible for -the unexplained text of the Bible to be a sure, efficient, and perpetual -rule of faith, and for an immediate inspiration of its meaning to -individuals by the Holy Ghost to be its means of explanation. - -The third part proves very exhaustively that the Catholic rule of faith -is the only possible sure, efficient, and perpetual one; namely, Holy -Scripture, the remote rule, and the teaching church, the proximate one. - -To any souls “in the bosom of Protestism” who are “a prey to the anguish -of doubt,” if indeed there be such, we cordially recommend this treatise. -Its tone is kind and gentle, its reasoning irresistible, and, with -the blessing of God, is able to put an end to all their doubts on the -fundamental question as to the true rule of faith. - - PERSONAL REMINISCENCES. By Cornelia Knight and Thomas Raikes. - New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co. 1875. - -This is another of the pleasant “Bric-à-Brac series,” edited by Richard -Henry Stoddard. Miss Knight was that nondescript kind of being known as -a “lady companion” to the Princess Charlotte of Wales. Her position gave -her peculiar facilities for enjoying the privilege, so dear to certain -hearts, of a peep behind the scenes of a royal household. Never having -been married, she had plenty of time for jotting down her notes and -observations on men, women, and things. Many of the men and women she met -were famous in their way and in their time. As might be expected, there -is much nonsense in her observations, mingled with pleasant glimpses of a -kind of life that has now passed away. Mr. Raikes’ journal is similar in -character to that of Miss Knight, with the advantage or disadvantage, as -may be considered, of having been written by a man. - - - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XXII., No. 129.--DECEMBER, 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. - - -MR. GLADSTONE AND MARYLAND TOLERATION. - -It was supposed that Mr. Gladstone had been so triumphantly refuted, as -a polemic, that he would take a prudent refuge in silence. At a moment -when neighboring nations were rent with religious dissensions, and when -England needed repose from, rather than fuel added to, her internal -agitations, a statesman and ex-premier of the British Empire assumes the -_rôle_ of a religious agitator and accuser, and startles, as well as -offends, the public sense of appropriateness by his useless and baseless -indictment against the Catholic Church, to which England owes all that -is glorious in her constitution and in her history; against English -Catholics in particular, his fellow-subjects, who of all others, by their -loyalty and Christian faith and virtues, can preserve the liberties -and the institutions of their country, now threatened alike by infidel -corruption, Protestant indifference, and communistic malice; and against -that saintly and illustrious pontiff whose hand is only raised to bless, -whose lips breathe unfaltering prayer, and whose voice and pen have never -ceased to announce and defend the eternal truths of religion, to uphold -morality, and to refute the crying errors and evils of our times. The -unanswerable refutations which Mr. Gladstone’s attacks elicited from -Cardinal Manning, Bishops Ullathorne and Vaughan, Drs. Newman and Capel, -and Canon Neville, not to speak of the Italian work of Mgr. Nardi and the -rebukes administered by the periodical press, had, it was believed, even -by impartial Protestants, effectually driven this new champion of the old -No-popery party in England from the field of polemics. But, like all new -recruits, the ex-premier seems incapable of realizing defeat, or perhaps -is anxious, at least, to retire with the honors of war. - -Not content with the serial publication of his three tracts, he has just -now republished them in one volume, with a _Preface_, under the title -of _Rome and the Newest Fashions in Religion_--a title as unbecoming -the gravity of his subjects as it is unsupported by the contents of -the work. The preface to the republication not only reiterates his -accusations on all points, but the author, not satisfied with his new -part as theologian, essays the _rôle_ of historical critic, and thus -gives prominence to a historical question of deep interest and of -especial importance to the Catholics of this country. - -The same _animus_ which inspired Mr. Gladstone’s attacks against the -church, against his Catholic fellow-countrymen, and against the most -august and venerable personage in Christendom, has also induced him to -deny to the Catholic founders of Maryland the honorable renown, accorded -to them heretofore by historians with singular unanimity, of having, when -in power, practised religious toleration towards all Christian sects, and -secured freedom of conscience, not only by their unwavering action and -practice, but also by giving it the stability and sanctions of statute -law. This is certainly the only phase in this celebrated controversy upon -which it remains for Mr. Gladstone to be answered. - -His Eminence Cardinal Manning, in _The Vatican Decrees in their bearing -on Civil Allegiance_, at page 88 (New York edition), writes: - - “For the same reasons I deplore the haste, I must say the - passion, which carried away so large a mind to affirm or to - imply that the church of this day would, if she could, use - torture, and force, and coercion in matters of religious - belief.… In the year 1830 the Catholics of Belgium were in - a vast majority, but they did not use their political power - to constrain the faith or conscience of any man. The ‘Four - Liberties’ of Belgium were the work of Catholics. This is the - most recent example of what Catholics would do if they were in - possession of power. But there is one more ancient and more - homely for us Englishmen. It is found at a date when the old - traditions of the Catholic Church were still vigorous in the - minds of men.… If the modern spirit had any share in producing - the constitution of Belgium, it certainly had no share in - producing the constitution of Maryland. Lord Baltimore, who - had been Secretary of State under James I., in 1633 emigrated - to the American plantations, where, through Lord Stafford’s - influence, he had obtained a grant of land.… They named their - new country Maryland, and there they settled. The oath of the - governor was in these terms: ‘I will not, by myself or any - other, directly or indirectly, molest any person professing to - believe in Jesus Christ, for or in respect of religion.’ Lord - Baltimore invited the Puritans of Massachusetts--who, like - himself, had renounced their country for conscience’ sake--to - come into Maryland. In 1649, when active persecution had sprung - up again in England, the Council of Maryland, on the 21st - of April, passed this statute; ‘And whereas the forcing of - the conscience in matters of religion hath frequently fallen - out to be of dangerous consequence in the commonwealth where - it has been practised, and for the more quiet and peaceable - government of the province, and the better to preserve mutual - love and amity among the inhabitants, no person within the - province professing to believe in Jesus Christ shall be - anyways troubled, molested, or discountenanced for his or her - religion, or in the free exercise thereof.’ The Episcopalians - and Protestants fled from Virginia into Maryland. Such was the - commonwealth founded by a Catholic upon the broad moral law I - have here laid down--that faith is an act of the will, and that - to force men to profess what they do not believe is contrary to - the law of God, and that to generate faith by force is morally - impossible.” - -Mr. Gladstone, in his _Vaticanism_, page 96, replies to the above as -follows: - - “It appears to me that Archbishop Manning has completely - misapprehended the history of the settlement of Maryland and - the establishment of toleration there for all believers in the - Holy Trinity. It was a wise measure, for which the two Lords - Baltimore, father and son, deserve the highest honor. But the - measure was really defensive; and its main and very legitimate - purpose plainly was to secure the free exercise of the Roman - Catholic religion. Immigration into the colony was by the - charter free; and only by this and other popular provisions - could the territory have been extricated from the grasp of its - neighbors in Virginia, who claimed it as their own. It was - apprehended that the Puritans would flood it, as they did; and - it seemed certain that but for this excellent provision the - handful of Roman Catholic founders would have been unable to - hold their ground. The facts are given in Bancroft’s _History - of the United States_, vol. i., chap. vii.” - -Again, in his _Preface_ to _Rome and the Newest Fashions in Religion_, -page viii., Mr. Gladstone writes: - - “It has long been customary to quote the case of Maryland in - proof that, more than two centuries ago, the Roman Catholic - Church, where power was in its hands, could use it for the - purposes of toleration. Archbishop Manning has repeated the - boast, and with very large exaggeration. - - “I have already shown from Bancroft’s _History_ that in the - case of Maryland there was no question of a merciful use of - power towards others, but simply of a wise and defensive - prudence with respect to themselves--that is to say, so far as - the tolerant legislation of the colony was the work of Roman - Catholics. But it does not appear to have been their work. - By the fourth article of the charter we find that no church - could be consecrated there except according to the laws of the - church at home. The tenth article guaranteed to the colonists - generally ‘all privileges, franchises, and liberties of this - our kingdom of England.’ It was in 1649 that the Maryland - Act of Toleration was passed, which, however, prescribed the - punishment of death for any one who denied the Trinity. Of the - small legislative body which passed it, two-thirds appear to - have been Protestant, the recorded numbers being sixteen and - eight respectively. The colony was open to the immigration of - Puritans and all Protestants, and any permanent and successful - oppression by a handful of Roman Catholics was altogether - impossible. But the colonial act seems to have been an echo - of the order of the House of Commons at home, on the 27th of - October, 1645, that the inhabitants of the Summer Islands, and - such others as shall join themselves to them, ‘shall without - any molestation or trouble have and enjoy the liberty of their - consciences in matters of God’s worship’; and of a British - ordinance of 1647. - - “Upon the whole, then, the picture of Maryland legislation is - a gratifying one; but the historic theory which assigns the - credit of it to the Roman Church has little foundation in fact.” - -Let us first test Mr. Gladstone’s accuracy and consistency as a -historical critic. He begins by alleging that the Maryland Toleration Act -was a measure of defensive prudence in the interests of the Catholics -themselves, and that “its main and very legitimate purpose plainly was to -secure the free exercise of the Roman Catholic religion.” He then asserts -that this act of toleration was not the work of the Catholics at all, but -of a Protestant majority in the legislature which passed it. We have, -then, here presented the extraordinary picture of an alleged Protestant -legislature passing a law which was really intended to protect Catholics -against Protestant ascendency and apprehended Protestant persecution, and -whose “main and very legitimate purpose was to secure the free exercise -of the Roman Catholic religion.” Surely, the Protestants of that day were -liberal and generous, especially as it was an age of persecution, when -not only were Catholics hunted down both in England and her Virginia -and New England colonies, but even Protestants of different sects were -relentlessly persecuting each other. And in what proper sense can _they_ -be said to have been Protestants with whom it was “_a very legitimate -purpose_” to legislate in the express interests of Roman Catholics? - -Mr. Gladstone also states that the Toleration Act was passed in the -apprehension of an influx of Puritans, and to protect the colony “from -the grasp of its neighbors in Virginia”; whereas his favorite author, -Mr. Bancroft, informs Mr. Gladstone that Lord Baltimore invited both -the Episcopalians of Virginia and the Puritans of New England into -his domains, offering a gift of lands as an inducement; and it is a -historical fact that numbers of them accepted the invitation. - -Again, Mr. Gladstone, while apparently treating the Toleration Act as a -Catholic measure, animadverts with evident disapproval on that feature -in it which “prescribed the punishment of death for any one who denied -the Trinity,” and then immediately he claims that the legislature which -passed the act was a Protestant body--“two-thirds,” he writes, “appear -to have been Protestants”--thus imposing upon his Protestant friends the -odium of inflicting death for the exercise of conscience and religious -belief; and that, too, not upon Papists, as they were not included in the -punishment. - -Mr. Gladstone, in _The Vatican Decrees in their bearing on Civil -Allegiance_ (page 83), expressing no doubt the common sentiments of -Protestants since the time of Luther and Henry VIII., uses these -irreverent words in regard to the Blessed Virgin Mary, that peerless and -immaculate Lady whom four-fifths of the Christian world venerate as the -Mother of God: - - “The sinlessness of the Virgin Mary and the personal - infallibility of the Pope are the characteristic dogmas of - modern Romanism.… Both rest on pious fiction and fraud; both - present a refined idolatry by clothing a pure humble woman and - a mortal sinful man with divine attributes. The dogma of the - Immaculate Conception, which exempts the Virgin Mary from sin - and guilt, perverts Christianism into Marianism.… The worship - of a woman is virtually substituted for the worship of Christ.” - -And yet with such sentiments, in which doubtless the Protestants of -Maryland in 1649 concurred, he attributes to, and claims for, those -Protestants who, he says, constituted two-thirds of the Maryland Colonial -Legislature in 1649, the passage of a law which enacted “that whosoever -shall use or utter any reproachful words or speeches concerning the -Blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of our Saviour, … shall for the first -offence forfeit five pounds sterling, or, if not able to pay, be publicly -whipped and imprisoned during pleasure, etc.; for the second offence, ten -pounds, etc.; and for the third shall forfeit all his lands and goods, -and be banished from the province.” - -The following anecdote, related by the Protestant Bozman,[98] is quite -pertinent to our subject and to our cause: - - “And in the time of the Long Parliament when the differences - between the Lord Baltimore and Colonell Samuel Matthews, as - agent for the colony of Virginia, were depending before a - committee of that parliament for the navy, that clause in the - sayd law, concerning the Virgin Mary, was at that committee - objected as an exception against his lordship; whereupon a - worthy member of the sayd committee stood up and sayd, that he - wondered that any such exception should be taken against his - lordship; for (says hee) doth not the Scripture say, that all - generations shall call her blessed? (The author here cites in - the margin, ‘Lu. i. 48.’) And the committee insisted no more on - that exception.” - -The authorities relied upon by Mr. Gladstone, besides Bancroft, whom -we shall presently refer to, are _Maryland Toleration_, by the Rev. -Ethan Allen, and _Maryland not a Catholic Colony_, by E. D. N. The -former is a pamphlet of sixty-four pages addressed by the author, a -Protestant minister, to his brethren in the ministry in 1855, is purely -a sectarian tract, hostile to every Catholic view and interest, and -partisan in spirit and in matter. The latter is a few pages of printed -matter, consisting of three newspaper articles published last year in -the _Daily Pioneer_ of St. Paul, Minnesota, and recently reprinted in -the _North-Western Chronicle_ of the same place, the editor of which -states that the author of the letters is the Rev. Edward D. Neill, also -a Protestant minister, and president of Macalester College. The letters -of “E. D. N.” were sharply and ably replied to by Mr. William Markoe, -formerly an Episcopal minister, now a member of the Catholic Church. The -letters of “E. D. N.” are more sectarian than historical, and cannot -be quoted in a controversy in which such names as Chalmers, Bancroft, -McSherry, Bozman, etc., figure. The attack of “E. D. N.” on the personal -character of Lord Baltimore is enough to condemn his effort. - -But Mr. Gladstone’s principal author is Bancroft, from whose pages -he claims to have shown that “in the case of Maryland there was _no -question_ of a merciful use of power towards others, but _simply_ of -a wise and defensive prudence with respect to themselves.” Motives of -_self-interest_ are thus substituted for those of _benevolence_ and -_mercy_. If this were correctly stated, why does Mr. Gladstone state that -the Act of Toleration was a measure “for which the two Lords Baltimore, -father and son, deserve the highest honor”? But our task is now to -inquire how far his author sustains Mr. Gladstone in denying to the -Catholics of Maryland, who enacted religious toleration, all motives of -benevolence and mercy. - -Mr. Bancroft, on the contrary, asserts that the “new government [of -Maryland] was erected on a _foundation_ as extraordinary as its results -were _benevolent_.”[99] In speaking of Lord Baltimore, the founder of -Maryland, its chief statesman and law-giver, he extols his _moderation_, -_sincerity of character_, and _disinterestedness_,[100] and proceeds to -say: - - “Calvert deserves to be ranked among the most wise and - _benevolent_ law-givers of all ages. He was the first in the - history of the Christian world to seek for religious security - and peace by the practice of justice, and not by the exercise - of power; to plan the establishment of popular institutions - with the enjoyment of liberty of conscience; to advance the - career of civilization by recognizing the rightful equality of - all Christian sects. The asylum of Papists was the spot where, - in a remote corner of the world, on the banks of rivers which, - as yet, had hardly been explored, the _mild forbearance_ of a - proprietary adopted religious freedom as the _basis_ of the - state.”[101] - -Referring to the act of taking possession of their new homes in Maryland -by the Catholic pilgrims, the same author says, thereby “religious -liberty obtained a home, its only home in the wide world, at the humble -village which bore the name of St. Mary’s.”[102] And speaking of the -progress of the colony, he further says: “Under the _mild_ institutions -and munificence of Baltimore the dreary wilderness soon bloomed with -swarming life and activity of prosperous settlements; the Roman -Catholics who were oppressed by the laws of England were sure to find a -peaceful asylum in the quiet harbors of the Chesapeake; and there, too, -Protestants were sheltered against Protestant intolerance.”[103] Such, -in fine, is the repeated language of an author whom Mr. Gladstone refers -to in proof of his assertion that toleration in Maryland was _simply_ a -measure of self-defence. - -Chalmers bears the following testimony to the same point: “He” (Lord -Baltimore) “_laid the foundation_ of his province upon the broad _basis_ -of security to property and of freedom of religion, granting, in absolute -fee, fifty acres of land to every emigrant; establishing Christianity -according to the old common law, of which it is a part, without allowing -pre-eminence to any particular sect. The wisdom of his choice soon -converted a dreary wilderness into a prosperous colony.”[104] - -And Judge Story, with the history of the colony from its beginning and -the charter before him, adds the weight of judicial approval in the -following words: “It is certainly very honorable to the liberality and -public spirit of the proprietary that he should have introduced into his -_fundamental_ policy the doctrine of general toleration and equality -among Christian sects (for he does not appear to have gone further), -and have thus given the earliest example of a legislator inviting his -subjects to the free indulgence of religious opinion. This was anterior -to the settlement of Rhode Island, and therefore merits the enviable rank -of being the first recognition among the colonists of the glorious and -indefeasible rights of conscience.”[105] - -But there is another view, clearly sustained by an important and certain -chain of facts, which has never occurred to the historical writers on -Maryland toleration, at least in this connection, though they give the -facts upon which the view is based, and which wholly destroys the theory -of Mr. Gladstone and his authorities. The latter may dispute in regard to -the merits and motives of the statute of 1649, but they do not touch the -real question. It is an incontestable fact that the religious toleration -which historians have so much extolled in the Catholic colonists and -founders of Maryland did not originate with, or derive its existence -from, that law of 1649, but, on the contrary, it existed long anterior -to, and independent of, it. This great feature in the Catholic government -of Maryland had been established by the Catholic lord-proprietary, his -lieutenant-governor, agents, and colonists, and faithfully practised for -fifteen years prior to the Toleration Act of 1649. From 1634 to 1649 it -had been enforced with unwavering firmness and protected with exalted -benevolence. This important fact is utterly ignored by Mr. Gladstone and -his authors, the Rev. Ethan Allen and the Rev. Edward D. Neill, but the -facts related by Bancroft, and indeed by all historians, prove it beyond -a question. Bancroft records that the very “_foundations_” of the colony -were laid upon the “_basis_” of religious toleration, and throughout the -eulogiums pronounced by him on the religious toleration of Maryland, -which we have quoted above, refers entirely to the period of the fifteen -years preceding the passage of the act of 1649. The Toleration Act was -nothing else than the declaration of the existing state of things and -of the long and cherished policy and practice of the colony--a formal -sanction and statutory enactment of the existing common law of the -province. - -Before proceeding to demonstrate this fact, we will briefly examine -how far Mr. Bancroft sustains the theory or views of Mr. Gladstone in -regard to the act itself. After extolling the motives and conduct of the -Catholics of Maryland in establishing religious toleration, as we have -remarked above, during the fifteen years preceding the passage of the -act, Mr. Bancroft refers to that statute in terms of highest praise. -He barely hints at the possibility that a foresight, on the part of -the colonists, of impending dangers to themselves from threatened or -apprehended Protestant ascendency and persecution, might have entered -among the motives which induced them to pass that act; but he nowhere -asserts the fact, nor does he allege anything beyond conjecture for -the possibility of the motive. Indeed, his mode of expressing himself -indicates that, though he thought it possible, his own impression was -that such motive did not suggest in part even the passage of the act; for -he writes: “_As if_, with a foresight of impending danger and an earnest -desire to stay its approach, the Roman Catholics of Maryland, with the -earnest concurrence of their governor and of the proprietary, determined -to place upon their statute-book an act for _the religious freedom which -had ever been sacred on their soil_.” Compare this with the language -of Mr. Gladstone, who excludes every motive but that of self-interest, -and refers to Bancroft in support of his view, but does not quote his -language. Mr. Bancroft, on the other hand, after quoting from the -statute, exclaims, such was “its sublime tenor.” - -Mr. Griffith does not agree with the suggestion that a sense of fear or -apprehension entered into the motives of the Maryland lawgivers, and -says: “That this liberty did not proceed from fear of others, on the one -hand, or licentious dispositions in the government, on the other, is -sufficiently evident from the penalties prescribed against blasphemy, -swearing, drunkenness, and Sabbath-breaking, by the preceding sections of -the act, and proviso, at the end, that such exercise of religion did not -molest or conspire against the proprietary or his government.”[106] - -Let us now proceed to examine still further whether Maryland was a -Catholic colony, whether it was by Catholics that religious toleration -was established there, and whether it had its origin in the act of 1649 -or in the long previous practice and persistent generosity and mercy of -the Catholic rulers of the province. It is true that while the territory -afterwards granted to Lord Baltimore was subject to the Virginia charter, -a settlement of Episcopalians was made on Kent Island; but they were very -few in numbers, always adhered to Virginia rather than to Maryland in -their sympathies, were so turbulent and disloyal that Governor Calvert -had to reduce them by force of arms, and no one has ever pretended that -they founded a State. We will show what relation they had in point of -numbers and political influence to the colony, and that they did not form -even the slightest element of power in the founding of the province. - -Maryland was founded alone by the Catholic Lord Baltimore and his -colonists. Such is the voice of history. It is rather disingenuous in the -reverend authors of the pamphlets mentioned by Mr. Gladstone that upon so -flimsy a circumstance they assert that Maryland was not settled first by -Catholics. Their voices are drowned by the concurrent voice of tradition -and of history. It is only the reassertion of the pretensions of these -zealous sectarians by so respectable a person as Mr. Gladstone, and that, -too, in one of the most remarkable controversies of the age, that renders -a recurrence to the historical authorities and their results at all -desirable or necessary. - -The colony of Maryland was conceived in the spirit of liberty. It was the -flight of English Catholics from Protestant persecution in their native -country. The state of the penal laws in England against Catholics at this -period is too well known. The zealous Protestant Bozman writes that they -“contained severities enough to keep them [the Catholics] in all due -subjection.” - -It was at this hour of their extremest suffering that the Catholics -of England found a friend and leader in Sir George Calvert, who held -important trusts under the governments of James and Charles, and enjoyed -the confidence of his sovereigns and of his country. “In an age when -religious controversy still continued to be active, when increasing -divisions among Protestants were spreading a general alarm, his mind -sought relief from controversy in the bosom of the Roman Catholic Church, -and, preferring the avowal of his opinions to the emoluments of office, -he resigned his place and openly professed his conversion.”[107] Even -after this he was advanced to the peerage under the title of Lord -Baltimore--an Irish title--and was appointed one of the principal -secretaries under James I. His positions in the government gave him -not only an acquaintance with American colonization, but an official -connection with it. Of these he now availed himself to provide an asylum -abroad for his fellow-Catholics from the relentless persecution they -were suffering at home. His first effort was to found a Catholic colony -on the shores of Newfoundland. A settlement was begun. Avalon was the -name it received, and twice did Lord Baltimore cross the ocean to visit -his cherished cradle of liberty. Baffled by political difficulties, -the severity of the climate, and an ungenerous soil, he abandoned the -endeavor. That his motive all along was to found a place of refuge for -Catholics from persecution is certain from the time and circumstances -under which the enterprise was undertaken, as well as from the testimony -of historians. Oldmixon says: “This gentleman [Lord Baltimore], being -of the Romish religion, was uneasy at home, and had the same reason to -leave the kingdom as those gentlemen had who went to New England, to -enjoy the liberty of his conscience.”[108] Bozman writes that “by their -[the Puritans’] clamors for a vigorous execution of the laws against -Papists, it became now necessary for them [the Catholics] also to look -about for a place of refuge.”[109] The same writer also refers to a MS. -in the British Museum, written by Lord Baltimore himself, in which this -motive is mentioned. Driven from Avalon by the hardness of the climate, -he visited Virginia with the same view; but hence again he was driven -by religious bigotry and the presentation of an anti-popery oath from -a colony “from which the careful exclusion of Roman Catholics had been -originally avowed as a special object.” His mind, filled with the thought -of founding a place of refuge for Catholics, next turned to the country -beyond the Potomac, which had been embraced originally in the Virginia -charter, but which, upon the cancellation of that charter, had reverted -to the crown. He obtained a grant and charter from the king, so liberal -in its terms that, Griffith says, it became the model for future grants. -The name was changed from Crescentia to that of Maryland, in honor of the -Catholic queen of Charles; but the devout Catholics of the expedition, in -their piety, extended the term _Terra Mariæ_, the Land of Mary, into an -act of devotion and honor to Mary, the Queen of Heaven. - -The first Lord Baltimore did not live to see his project carried into -effect; he died on the 25th of April, 1632, was succeeded by his son -Cecilius, second Lord Baltimore, who, as Bancroft says, was the heir of -his _intentions_ no less than of his fortunes; to him was issued the -charter negotiated by his father, bearing date the 15th of June, 1632. - -Founded by a Catholic, designed as an asylum for persecuted Catholics, -is it to be supposed that Lord Baltimore and his brother, Governor -Leonard Calvert, who organized and led forth the pilgrims, would be so -inconsistent at this moment of their success as to lose sight of the -main object of the movement, and carry _Protestant_ colonists with whom -to found a _Catholic_ colony? If, as Rev. Edward D. Neill, author of -_Maryland not a Catholic Colony_, says, there were only twenty Catholic -gentlemen in the ship, and three hundred servants, mostly Protestants, -would it have been deemed necessary to carry two Catholic priests -and their assistants along to administer to the souls of so small a -number? In point of fact, the Protestants were so few that they brought -no minister with them, and it was several years before their entire -numbers justified their having either a minister or a place of worship. -The voyage on the _Ark_ and _Dove_ was more like a Catholic pilgrimage -than a secular expedition. The principal parts of the ship (the _Ark_), -says Father White in his _Narrative_, were committed to the protection -of God especially, and to his Most Holy Mother, and S. Ignatius, and -all the guardian angels of Maryland. The vessel was a floating chapel, -an ocean shrine of Catholic faith and devotion, consecrated by the -unbloody sacrifice, and resounding with Latin litanies; its safety from -many a threatened disaster was attributed to the intercession of the -Blessed Virgin and the saints, whose mediation was propitiated by votive -offerings promised and promptly rendered after their safe arrival at St. -Mary’s. The festivals of the saints were faithfully observed throughout -the voyage, the feast of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin was -selected for landing, and the solemn act of taking possession was -according to the Catholic form. Father White thus describes the scene: - - “On the day of the Annunciation of the Most Holy Virgin Mary - (March 25), in the year 1634, we celebrated the Mass for the - first time on this island [St. Clement’s]. This had never been - done before in this part of the world. After we had completed - the sacrifice, we took upon our shoulders a great cross which - we had hewn out of a tree, and advancing in order to the - appointed place, with the assistance of the governor and his - associates, and the other Catholics, we erected a trophy to - Christ the Saviour, humbly reciting on our bended knees the - Litanies of the Sacred Cross with great emotion.”[110] - -They founded a city, the capital of the colony, and called it St. Mary’s. -A Catholic chapel was subsequently erected there; and this too was -dedicated to S. Mary. The city has passed away, but the little chapel -still stands, preserved alike by Catholic and Protestant hands, as a -monument of the faith and zeal of the Catholic pilgrims of Maryland. -Mr. Griffith, the historian, uniting his voice to that of Bancroft and -other writers, speaking of the object which inspired the settlement -from its inception by Lord Baltimore in England, says: “Out of respect -for their religion they planted the cross, and, after fortifying -themselves, plainly and openly set about to obtain, by the fairest means -in their power, other property and homes, where they should escape the -persecutions of the religious and political reformers of their native -country at that time.”[111] - -The church and parish of S. Mary were for many years the headquarters of -the Jesuit missions of Maryland. During the succeeding years prior to -1649 there was a steady influx of Catholics into the colony from England, -as is evident by the land records and other official documents, and by -the fact that the number of Catholic priests required for the settlement -increased from two in 1634 to four priests and one coadjutor prior to -1644. The Catholic strength was also increased by numerous conversions, -as is shown by Father White’s _Narrative_, in which, at page 56, he -relates that, “among the Protestants, nearly all who came over from -England, in this year 1638, and many others, have been converted to the -faith, together with four servants … and five mechanics whom we … have in -the meantime won to God.” So numerous were these conversions, and they -created so great a sensation in England, that measures were taken there -to check them. - -That the colony was Catholic in its origin, and so continued until -after the year 1649, when the Toleration Act was passed, has never been -denied, according to our researches, except by Mr. Gladstone and the two -Protestant ministers whom he quotes. Bancroft, writing of the religious -toleration which prevailed in Maryland during this period, always speaks -of it as the work of Catholics. In referring to the original colonists -he adds, “most of them Roman Catholic gentlemen and their servants.” -Even so unfriendly a writer as Bozman says: “The most, if not all, of -them were Catholics.” Chancellor Kent speaks of the colony as “the -Catholic planters of Maryland,” and Judge Story says they were “chiefly -Roman Catholics.” Father White, in his _Narrative_, speaks of the few -Protestants on board the _Ark_ as individuals, and not as a class. -Bozman, alluding to the year 1639, and to “those in whose hands the -government of the province was,” says: “A majority of whom were, without -doubt, Catholics, as well as much the greater number of the colonists.” -Mr. Davis, a Protestant, who drew his information from the official -documents of the colony and State, gives unanswerable proofs of the fact -for which we are contending. We give a single passage from his work on -this point: - - “St. Mary’s was the home--the chosen home--of the disciples - of the Roman Church. The fact has been generally received. - It is sustained by the tradition of two hundred years and by - volumes of unwritten testimony; by the records of the courts; - by the proceedings of the privy council; by the trial of - law-cases; by the wills and inventories; by the land-records - and rent-rolls; and by the very names originally given to the - towns and _hundreds_, to the creeks and rivulets, to the tracts - and manors of the county. The state itself bears the name of - a Roman Catholic queen. Of the six _hundreds_ of this small - county, in 1650, five had the prefix of _St._ Sixty tracts and - manors, most of them taken up at a very early period, bear the - same Roman Catholic mark. The creeks and villages, to this - day, attest the widespread prevalence of the same tastes, - sentiments, and sympathies. Not long after the passage of the - act relating to ‘religion,’ the Protestants, it is admitted, - outgrew their Roman Catholic brethren, and in 1689 succeeded - very easily in their attempt to overthrow the proprietary. But - judging from the composition of the juries in 1655, we see no - reason to believe that they then had a majority.”[112] - -Mr. Gladstone seems to favor the view that religious toleration in -Maryland was derived from the charter. We are surprised at this, since -“E. D. N.” (Rev. Edward D. Neill), whose pamphlet has furnished the -substance of the entire passage we have quoted from Mr. Gladstone’s -_Preface_, says in his _Maryland not a Roman Catholic Colony_, “The -charter of Maryland granted to Lord Baltimore was not a charter -of religious liberty, but the very opposite.” McSherry, a Catholic -historian, says that “the ecclesiastical laws of England, so far as -related to the consecration and presentation of churches and chapels, -were extended to the colony, but the question of state religion was left -untouched, and therefore within the legislative power of the colonists -themselves.”[113] And Bozman, a Protestant historian, adopts the same -view of the charter, for he regards the “Act for Church Liberties” passed -in 1639, enacting that “Holy Church within this province shall have -all her rights and privileges,” as an attempt to exercise a control of -religion, and says: “We cannot but suppose that it was the intention of -the Catholic government to erect a hierarchy, with an ecclesiastical -jurisdiction, similar to the ancient Church of England before the -Reformation, and to invest it with all its rights, liberties, and -immunities.”[114] The same views are expressed by the same author at -pages 68 and 350 of his history. While civil liberty was guaranteed by -the charter to all within the province, we find no mention of religious -toleration in its provisions. Nor do we find that immigration was made -free by the charter, as alleged by Mr. Gladstone; the provision to which -he refers simply assures to the subjects of England, “transported or -to be transported into the province, all privileges, franchises, and -liberties of this our kingdom of England,” but the decision of the point -as to who should be transplanted or admitted to settle there was left -to the lord proprietary and the provincial legislature. The grant by -the king to Lord Baltimore of all the lands of the province in itself -gave him the full control over immigration, by enabling him to fix the -conditions to the grants of land to colonists, which would have kept out -all except such as the lord proprietary wished to enter. - -We think we have shown that the Catholics were in the majority during -the whole period covered by our discussion, and that the charter -left them free to protect themselves from intrusion; that they were, -consequently, all-powerful to perpetuate their numerical preponderance -and control of the government. Why had they not the same motives for -practising intolerance as the Puritans? Their positions, respectively -and relatively, were the same in this particular, and the same reasons -apply to both. No, they were actuated by a different spirit, and guided -by different traditions. They possessed the power, and used it with mercy -and benevolence; not only permitting but inviting Christians of every -shade of opinion to settle in the province, but also offering grants -of land on easy terms, and protecting the settlers from molestation on -account of their religion. If they had not the power to proscribe, why -should Bancroft, Griffith, Chambers, Kent, Story, and nearly all writers -on the subject, have bestowed such encomiums on them for doing what they -could not have refrained from doing? Why extol the toleration enjoined -by Lord Baltimore and proclaimed by Governor Leonard Calvert, and the -subsequently enacted Toleration Act of 1649, if the liberty it enacts was -already secured by the charter of 1632? - -It is not necessary for us to go further into this question, since in -either event the honor and credit of religious toleration in Maryland -is due to a Catholic source. If the charter secured it, our answer is -that the charter itself was the work of a Catholic, for Lord Baltimore -is the acknowledged author of that document. “The nature of the document -itself,” says Bancroft, “and concurrent opinion, leave no doubt that it -was penned by the first Lord Baltimore himself, although it was finally -issued for the benefit of his son.”[115] “It was prepared by Lord -Baltimore himself,” says McSherry, “but before it was finally executed -that truly great and good man died, and the patent was delivered to his -son, Cecilius, who succeeded as well to his noble designs as to his -titles and estates.”[116] It will be more than sufficient to add here -that both Mr. Bozman and the Rev. Ethan Allen concede that Lord Baltimore -was the author of the charter. - -We propose now to show that the religious toleration which prevailed -in Maryland had its origin in the good-will, generosity, and mercy of -the Catholic lord proprietary and his Catholic government and colony of -Maryland; was practised from the very beginning of the settlement, and -that we are not indebted for it to the Toleration Act of 1649, except -perhaps as a measure by which its provisions were prolonged. Toleration -was the course adopted in organizing the Maryland colony, even in -England and before the landing of the pilgrims. Thus we find that some -Protestants were permitted to accompany the colonists and share equal -rights and protection with their Catholic associates. Father White speaks -of them on board the _Ark_ and _Dove_. The author of _Maryland not a -Catholic Colony_ refers to the fact that “Thomas Cornwallis and Jerome -Hawley, who went out as councillors of the colony, were adherents of the -Church of England,” as evidence in part that Maryland was “not a Catholic -colony.” We take the same fact to show that not only were Protestants -tolerated in the colony from its inception, but were liberally and -generously given a share in its government. The Rev. Ethan Allen relates -a succession of proofs of this fact, though not for that purpose, in -the following passage: “Witness the fact of so large a portion of the -first colonists being Protestants; his invitation to Capt. Fleet; his -invitation to the Puritan colonists of Massachusetts to come and reside -in the colony in 1643; his constituting Col. Stone his governor in -1648, who was a Protestant, and was to bring five hundred colonists; -his admitting the Puritans of Virginia in the same year; and in the -year following erecting a new county for Robert Brooke, a Puritan, and -his colonists.”[117] McSherry says, speaking of the act of possession -on landing in 1634: “Around the rough-hewn cross, on the island of St. -Clement’s, gathered the Catholic and the Protestant, hand in hand, -friends and brothers, equal in civil rights, and secure alike in the free -and full enjoyment of either creed. It was a day whose memory should make -the Maryland heart bound with pride and pleasure.”[118] The same author -says that the Toleration Act of 1649 was passed “to give _additional_ -security to the safeguards which Lord Baltimore _had already provided_.” -Bancroft makes religious toleration commence from the first landing -“when the Catholics took possession,” and extend throughout the fourteen -years up to the passage of the act of 1649. He says that “the apologist -of Lord Baltimore could assert that his government, in conformity with -his strict and repeated injunctions, had _never_ given disturbance to any -person in Maryland for matter of religion.”[119] The Rev. Ethan Allen -relates that the Protestants in the colony were allowed to have their own -chapel and to conduct therein the Protestant service. He cites a case -in which a Catholic was severely punished for abusive language towards -some Protestant servants in respect to their religion, and remarks that -“the settling of the case was unquestionably creditable and honorable to -the Catholic governor and council.”[120] Mr. Davis, a Protestant, says: -“A freedom, however, of a wider sort springs forth at the _birth of the -colony--not demanded by that instrument_ [the charter], but permitted by -it--not graven upon the tables of stone, nor written upon the paper of -the statute-books, but conceived in the very bosom of the proprietary and -of the original pilgrims--not a formal or constructive kind, but a living -freedom, a freedom of the most practical sort. It is the freedom which -it remained for them, and for them alone, _either to grant or deny_--a -freedom embracing within its range, and protecting under its banner, all -those who were believers in Jesus Christ.”[121] - -Again, the same author writes: “The records have been carefully searched. -No case of persecution occurred, during the administration of Gov. -Leonard Calvert, from the foundation of the settlement at St. Mary’s -to the year 1647.”[122] Langford, a writer contemporaneous with the -period of which we are treating, in his _Refutation of Babylon’s Fall_, -1655, confirms the result of Mr. Davis’ investigation of the records. -The Protestants of the colony themselves, in a _declaration_, of which -we will speak again, attribute the religious toleration they enjoyed -not solely to the Toleration Act, but also to “_several other strict -injunctions and declarations of his said lordship for that purpose -made and provided_.” Gov. Leonard Calvert also enjoined the same by a -proclamation, which is mentioned by numerous historians. A case arising -under this proclamation is given by Bozman and others in 1638, eleven -years before the passage of the Toleration Act. Capt. Cornwallis’ -servants, who were Protestants, were lodged under the same roof with -William Lewis, a zealous Catholic, who was also placed in charge of the -servants. Entering one day the room where the servants were reading -aloud from a Protestant book--Mr. Smith’s _Sermons_--at the very moment -the Protestants were reading aloud a passage to the effect “that the -pope was Antichrist, and the Jesuits were anti-Christian ministers,” -supposing that the passage was read aloud especially for him to hear, he -ordered them with great warmth not to read that book, saying that “it -was a falsehood, and came from the devil, as all lies did; and that he -that writ it was an instrument of the devil, and he would prove it; and -that all Protestant ministers were ministers of the devil.” All the -parties were tried before the governor and his council; the case against -the servants was postponed for further testimony, but Mr. Lewis, the -Catholic, was condemned to pay a fine of five hundred pounds of tobacco -(then the currency of the colony), and to remain in the sheriff’s custody -until he found sufficient sureties in the future. Bozman thus remarks -upon this decision: “As these proceedings took place before the highest -tribunal of the province, composed of the three first officers in the -government, they amply develop the course of conduct with respect to -religion which those in whose hands the government of the province was -placed, had resolved to pursue.”[123] Not only did the Catholic lord -proprietary, in 1648, appoint Mr. Stone, a Protestant, to be the governor -of the province, but also he at the same time appointed a majority of the -privy councillors from the same faith. - -We will close our testimony on this point with the official oath which -Lord Baltimore required the governor and the privy councillors to take; -it was substantially as follows: - - “I will not by myself nor any person, directly or indirectly, - trouble, molest, or discountenance any person whatsoever in - said province professing to believe in Jesus Christ, for or in - respect to his or her religion, nor in his or her free exercise - thereof.” - -We cannot determine when this oath began to be used. Bancroft places it -between 1636 and 1639. Chalmers, Dr. Hawks, and others give the time -as between 1637 and 1657. It is certain that this oath was prescribed -prior to the passage of the Toleration Act; for Governor Stone and the -councillors took the oath in 1648, and there is reason to believe that it -was in use at a much earlier period. - -Referring to the period anterior to the passage of the Toleration Act, -Bancroft says: “Maryland at that day was unsurpassed for happiness and -liberty. Conscience was without restraint.”[124] Mr. Davis, in reference -to this subject, writes: “The toleration which prevailed from the first, -and for fifteen years later, was formally ratified by the voice of the -people” (in 1649). - -Mr. Gladstone’s view of the subject is evidently superficial; it relates -exclusively to the passage of the Toleration Act, and was conceived and -published without the knowledge of the fact, which we have demonstrated, -that the toleration for which the Catholics of Maryland have been so -much praised had been practised for fifteen years before the passage of -that act. Surely, there can be no rival claim set forth in behalf of -Protestants for the period we have mentioned. Mr. Gladstone sets up his -claim for the Protestants under that act. We cannot admit the justice or -truth of the pretension. Let us examine it. This law enacted that “no -one professing to believe in Jesus Christ shall be troubled, molested, -or discountenanced for his religion, or the free exercise thereof, nor -compelled to the belief or exercise of any other religion against his -consent.” Now here, too, the claim set up by Mr. Gladstone, and by the -authors of the pamphlets he quotes, is met by stern facts. - -In the first place, the Toleration Act of 1649 was the work of a -Catholic. It was prepared in England by Lord Baltimore himself, and sent -over to the Assembly with other proposed laws for their action. This fact -is related by nearly all writers on Maryland history, including those -consulted by Mr. Gladstone, except the writer of _Maryland not a Roman -Catholic Colony_, who does not refer to the subject, except to claim that -it was but the echo of a previous and similar order of the English House -of Commons in 1645 and of a statute passed by it in 1647. The last-named -writer even intimates that the Rev. Thomas Harrison, the former pastor of -the Puritans at Providence, afterward Annapolis, in Maryland, suggested -the whole matter to Lord Baltimore. We might even admit this pretension -without impairing the Catholic claim. It does not destroy the credit -due to the Catholics of Maryland in passing the Toleration Act to show -that others, even Puritans, entertained in one or two instances similar -views and enacted similar measures. We know that the Puritans in England -were proscriptive, and that in New England they did not practise the -toleration of Maryland. Even if Lord Baltimore had the measure suggested -to him by the Puritan Harrison, the act itself, when adopted by him -and put in practice, is still his act and that of the Assembly which -passed it. It remains their free and voluntary performance. The merit -which attaches to the good deeds of men is not destroyed by having been -suggested by others. A Puritan might even share in the act without -appropriating the whole credit to himself. But whatever merit is claimed -for the Puritans in these measures--which we cannot perceive--is -lost by their subsequent conduct. They overturned the government of -Lord Baltimore in Maryland, and under their ascendency Catholics were -persecuted in the very home of liberty to which Catholics had invited the -Puritans. But of the existence of the English toleration acts mentioned -by the writer referred to and by Mr. Gladstone, we have been supplied -with no proof. That the Puritan Harrison suggested the measure to Lord -Baltimore is hinted at, not roundly asserted, certainly not sustained by -proof. - -But public facts give the negative to these pretensions. The Toleration -Act of 1649 was the immediate echo of the actual toleration which, under -the injunctions of Lord Baltimore, the proclamation of Governor Calvert, -and the uniform practice of the colonists, had long become the common -law of the colony. Why seek, in the turbulent and confused proceedings -of the Long Parliament, a model or example for the Maryland law, when -such exemplar is supplied nearer home by the colony itself from its first -inception? To the people of Maryland, in 1649, the Toleration Act was -nothing new; it was readily and unanimously received; it produced no -change in the constitution of the province. Toleration was not the law -or the practice of that day, either in England or her colonies; the echo -was too remote and too readily drowned by the din of persecution and of -strife. - -But the Maryland Toleration Act contains intrinsic evidence of a purely -Catholic origin. The clause enforcing the honor and respect due to “the -blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of our Saviour,” which we have already -quoted, gives a Catholic flavor to the whole statute, and excludes the -theory of parliamentary or puritanical influence in originating the -measure. The claim thus set up is also against the concurrent voice of -history, which, with great accord, gives the authorship of the law to -Lord Baltimore, who, as he had enjoined and enforced its provisions on -the colony for fifteen years, needed no assistance in reducing them to -the form of a statute, which we are informed he did. - -But who were the lawgivers of 1649, and what was their religion? - -By the charter the law-making power was vested in Lord Baltimore and the -Assembly. It was for some years a matter of contest between them which -possessed the right to initiate laws. The lord proprietary, however, -finally conceded this privilege to the Assembly. It was not uncommon for -the Assembly to reject the laws first sent over by the lord proprietary, -and afterwards to bring them forward themselves and pass them. But in -1648, when Governor Stone was appointed, the Toleration Act was among -the measures sent by Lord Baltimore, for the action of the Assembly. The -government, then, consisted of Cecilius, Lord Baltimore, a Catholic, -without whose sanction no law could be enacted, and whose signature to -the measure in question was given the following year. The journal of the -Maryland legislature was lost or destroyed, but fortunately a fragment of -it is preserved, consisting of a report from the financial committee of -the Assembly, and the action of that body on the bill of charges. With -this document, and the aid of the historical facts recorded by Bozman and -other historians, we are enabled to ascertain the names of the members -of the Assembly in 1649. - -Gov. Stone was lieutenant-governor and president of the council, -which was composed of Thomas Green, John Price, John Pile, and Robert -Vaughan, commissioned by the lord proprietary; and the remaining -councillors were Robert Clarke, surveyor-general, and Thomas Hatton, -secretary of the colony, _ex-officio_ members of the council. The -other members of the Assembly were the representatives of the freemen, -or burgesses, as follows: Cuthbert Fenwick, Philip Conner, William -Bretton, Richard Browne, George Manners, Richard Banks, John Maunsell, -Thomas Thornborough, and Walter Peake, nine in number. The governor, -councillors, and burgesses made sixteen in all; but as Messrs. Pile and -Hatton, one Catholic and one Protestant, were absent, the votes actually -cast were fourteen. On the memorable occasion in question the councillors -and burgesses sat in one “house,” and as such passed the Toleration Act. -Of the fourteen thus voting, Messrs. Green, Clarke, Fenwick, Bretton, -Manners, Maunsell, Peake, and Thornborough were Catholics, and Messrs. -Stone, Price, Vaughan, Conner, Banks, and Browne were Protestants. The -Catholics were eight to six Protestants. - -But the Assembly was not the only law-making branch of the government. -The executive, or lord proprietary, was a co-ordinate branch, and -without his co-operation no law could pass. Now, the executive was -a Catholic, and a majority of the Assembly were Catholics; so that -we have it as a historical fact that in a government composed of two -co-ordinate branches, _both branches of the law-making power_ which -enacted the Toleration Act _were Catholic_. It is an important fact -that if all the Protestant members of the Assembly had voted against -the law, the Catholic majority could and would have passed it, and the -Catholic executive was only too ready to sanction his own measure. It -cannot, therefore, be said that the Catholics could not have passed the -law without the Protestant votes; for we have seen that both of the -co-ordinate branches of the government were in the hands of the Catholics. - -Waiving, however, the division of the government into two co-ordinate -branches, by which method we have the entire government Catholic; and -regarding the lord proprietary merely as individual, computing the -lawgivers of 1649 simply numerically, we have the following result: - - LAWGIVERS OF 1649. - - _Catholics._ _Protestants._ - - Lord Baltimore. Lt.-Gov. Stone. - Mr. Green. Mr. Price. - Mr. Clarke. Mr. Vaughan. - Mr. Fenwick. Mr. Conner. - Mr. Bretton. Mr. Banks. - Mr. Manners. Mr. Browne--6. - Mr. Maunsell. - Mr. Peake. - Mr. Thornborough--9. - -As Catholics we would be quite content with this showing; but we are -indebted to several Protestant authors--more impartial than Messrs. -Gladstone, Allen, and Neill, who write solely in the interests of -sect--for a computation of the respective Catholic and Protestant votes -in the Assembly in 1649, which, leaving out Lord Baltimore, and making -the number of votes fourteen, gives, according to their just and strictly -legal computation, _eleven Catholic votes and three Protestant votes -for the Act of Toleration_. Mr. Davis, in his _Day-Star of American -Freedom_, and Mr. William Meade Addison, in his _Religious Toleration in -America_, both Protestant authors, take this view, and enforce it with -strong facts and cogent reasonings. We will quote a passage, however, -from only one of these works, the former, showing their views and the -method by which they arrive at the respective numbers _eleven_ and -_three_. Mr. Davis writes: “The privy councillors were all of them, as -well as the governor, the special representatives of the Roman Catholic -proprietary--under an express pledge, imposed by him shortly before -the meeting of the Assembly (as may be seen by the official oath), to -do nothing at variance with the religious freedom of any believer in -Christianity--and removable any moment at his pleasure. It would be -fairer, therefore, to place the governor and the four privy councillors -on the same side as the six Roman Catholic burgesses. Giving Mr. -Browne to the other side, _we have eleven Roman Catholic against three -Protestant votes_.”[125] - -We think, however, that if the computation is to be made by numbers, Lord -Baltimore must be included, as the act received his executive approval, -and could never have become a law without it. Thus, according to the -views of Messrs. Davis and Addison, with this amendment by us, the -numbers would stand twelve Catholic against three Protestant votes. But -we prefer taking our own two several methods of computation, viz., by -co-ordinate branches of the government, showing-- - - _Catholic._ _Protestant._ - - The executive, Lord Baltimore, None. - - The Assembly, 2. - ---and that estimated by numbers, counting Lord Baltimore as one, showing-- - - Catholics, 9. Protestants, 6. - -This surely is a very different result from that announced by Mr. -Gladstone, following the author of _Maryland not a Roman Catholic -Colony_--viz., sixteen Protestant against eight Catholic votes. So far -the numbers given by Mr. Gladstone and the writer he follows are mere -assertion, unsupported by authority, either as to the composition of the -Assembly or the respective religious beliefs of the members. Mr. Davis, -however, gives in detail every member’s name, and refers to the proof by -which he arrives at their names and number; and the same testimony is -open, we presume, to the examination of all. In order that there may be -no lack of proof as to the religious faiths they professed, he gives a -personal sketch of each member of the Assembly in 1649, and proves from -their public acts, their deeds of conveyance, their land patents, their -last wills and testaments, the records of the courts, etc., that those -named by him as Catholics were incontestably of that faith. - -The population of the colony in 1649 was also largely Catholic beyond -dispute. We have already shown that it was Catholic by a large majority -during the fifteen years preceding and up to that time. The above -computations, showing a majority of the legislature to be Catholic, -strongly indicates the complexion of the religious faith of their -constituents. Up to 1649 St. Mary’s, the Catholic county, was the only -county in the State, and Kent, the seat of the Protestant population, was -only a _hundred_ of St. Mary’s. Kent was not erected into a county until -the year the Toleration Act was passed. While St. Mary’s was populous -and Catholic, Kent was Protestant and thinly settled. There were six -_hundreds_ in St. Mary’s, all Catholic except perhaps one, and of that -one it is uncertain whether the majority was Catholic or Protestant. “But -the population of Kent,” says Davis, “was small. In 1639, if not many -years later, she was but a _hundred_ of St. Mary’s county.[126] In 1648 -she paid a fifth part only of the tax, and did not hold in the Assembly -of that year a larger ratio of political power. That also was before the -return, we may suppose, of all the Roman Catholics who had been expelled -or exported from St. Mary’s by Capt. Ingle and the other enemies of the -proprietary. In 1649 she had but one delegate, while St. Mary’s was -represented by eight. And this year she paid but a sixth part of the tax, -and for many years after as well as before this Assembly there is no -evidence whatever of a division of the island (of Kent) or the county, -even into _hundreds_. Its population did not, in 1648, exceed the fifth, -nor in 1649 the sixth, part of the whole number of free white persons -in the province.”[127] After a thorough examination of the records, Mr. -Davis arrives at the conclusion that the Protestants constituted only -one-fourth of the population of Maryland at the time of the passage of -the Toleration Act, in 1649. His investigations must have been careful -and thorough, for he gives the sources of his information, refers to -_liber_ and _folio_, and cites copiously from the public records. He -thinks that for twenty years after the first settlement--to wit, about -the year 1654--the Catholics were in the majority. He concludes his -chapter on this subject with the following passage: “Looking, then, at -the question under both its aspects--regarding the faith either of the -delegates or of those whom they substantially represented--we cannot but -award the chief honor to the members of the Roman Church. To the Roman -Catholic freemen of Maryland is justly due the main credit arising from -the establishment, by a solemn legislative act, of religious freedom for -all believers in Christianity.”[128] - -But, fortunately, we have another document at hand, signed in the most -solemn manner by those who certainly must have known the truth of the -case, as they were the contemporaries, witnesses of, and participators -in, the very events of which we are treating. This is what is usually -known as the Protestant _Declaration_, made the year after the passage of -the Toleration Act, and shortly after it was known that Lord Baltimore -had signed the act and made it the law of the land. This important -document is an outpouring of gratitude from the Protestants of the colony -to the Catholic proprietary for the religious toleration they enjoyed -under his government. It is signed by Gov. Stone, the privy councillors -Price, Vaughan, and Hatton--all of whom were members of the Assembly -that passed the Toleration Act--by all the Protestant burgesses in the -Assembly of 1650, and by a great number of the leading Protestants of the -colony. They address Lord Baltimore in these words: - - “We, the said lieutenant, council, burgesses, and other - _Protestant_ inhabitants above mentioned, whose names are - hereunto subscribed, do declare and certify to all persons whom - it may concern that, according to an act of Assembly here, - _and several other strict injunctions and declarations by his - said lordship_, we do here enjoy all fitting and convenient - freedom and liberty in the exercise of our religion, under his - lordship’s government and interest; and that none of us are - anyways troubled or molested, for or by reason thereof, within - his lordship’s said province.”[129] - -This important document is dated the 17th of April, 1650. It proves that -the religious toleration they enjoyed was not due alone to the act of -1649, but to the uniform policy of Lord Baltimore and his government; -and that even for the Toleration Act itself, which had recently become a -law by his signature, they were indebted to a Catholic. Comment on such -testimony is unnecessary. - -Chancellor Kent, with the charter, the public policy of Lord Baltimore, -of his colonial officers and colonists, and the Toleration Act of 1649, -all submitted to his broad and profound judicial inquiry and judgment, -has rendered the following opinion and tribute to the Catholic lawgivers -of Maryland, to whom he attributes the merit of the generous policy we -are considering: - - “The legislature had already, in 1649, declared by law that - no persons professing to believe in Jesus Christ should be - molested in respect to their religion, or in the free exercise - thereof, or compelled to the belief or exercise of any other - religion against their consent. Thus, in the words of a learned - and liberal historian (Grahame’s _History of the Rise and - Progress of the United States_), the Catholic planters of - Maryland won for their adopted country the distinguished praise - of being the first of American States in which toleration was - established by law, and while the Puritans were persecuting - their Protestant brethren in New England, and Episcopalians - retorting the same severity on the Puritans in Virginia, the - Catholics, against whom the others were combined, formed - in Maryland a sanctuary where all might worship and none - might oppress, and where even Protestants sought refuge from - Protestant intolerance.”[130] - -Catholics have written comparatively little upon this subject. The -historians of Maryland have been chiefly Protestants. As long as -Protestants so unanimously accorded to the Catholic founders of Maryland -the chief credit of this great event, it was unnecessary for Catholics -to speak in their own behalf. It has remained for Mr. Gladstone and the -two sectarian ministers he follows to attempt to mar the harmony of that -grateful and honorable accord of the Protestant world, by which Catholic -Maryland received from the united voice of Protestant history the -enviable title of “_The Land of the Sanctuary_.” - - -ARE YOU MY WIFE? - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” “PIUS VI.,” -ETC. - -CHAPTER XI. - -A DINNER AT THE COURT, WITH AN EPISODE. - -Crossing from the station to his brougham, Sir Simon saw Mr. Langrove -issuing from a cottage on the road. The vicar had been detained later -than he foresaw on a sick-call, and was hurrying home to dress for -dinner. It was raining sharply. Sir Simon hailed him: - -“Shall I give you a lift, Langrove?” - -“Thank you; I shall be very glad. I am rather late as it is.” And they -got into the brougham together. - -“And how wags the world with you, my reverend friend? Souls being saved -in great numbers, eh?” inquired the baronet when they had exchanged their -friendly greetings. - -“Humph! I am thankful not to have the counting of them,” was the reply, -with a shake of the head that boded ill for the sanctification of -Dullerton. - -“That’s it, is it? Well, we are all going down the hill together; there -is some comfort in that. But how about Miss Bulpit? Don’t her port wine -and tracts snatch a few brands from the burning?” - -“For the love of heaven don’t speak to me of her! Don’t, I beg of you!” -entreated the vicar, throwing up his hands deprecatingly, and moved from -the placid propriety that seemed a law of nature to him. - -“Suppose I had good news to report of her?” - -“How so?” cried Mr. Langrove with sudden vivacity. “She’s not going to -marry Sparks, is she?” - -“Not just yet; but the next best thing to that. She is going to leave the -neighborhood.” - -“You don’t mean it!” - -“I do indeed. How is it you’ve not heard of it before? She’s been -pestering Anwyll these two years about some repairs or improvements she -wants done in her house--crotchets, I dare say, that would have to be -pulled to pieces for the next tenant. He has always politely referred -her to his agent, which means showing her to the door; but at last she -threatened to leave if he did not give in and do what she wants.” - -“Oh! is that all?” exclaimed the vicar, crestfallen. “I might have waited -a little before I hallooed; we are not out of the woods yet. Anwyll is -sure to give in rather than let her go.” - -“Nothing of the sort. He dislikes the old lady, and so does his mother, -and so particularly does your venerable _confrère_ of Rydal Rectory. I -met Anwyll this morning at the club, and he told me he had made up his -mind to let her go. It happens--luckily for you, I suspect--that he has a -tenant in view to take her place. Come, now, cheer up! Is not that good -news?” - -“Most excellent!” said the vicar emphatically. “I wonder where she will -move to?” - -“Perhaps I could tell you that too. She is in treaty with Charlton for -a dilapidated old hunting lodge of his in the middle of a fir-wood -the other side of Axmut Common, about twenty miles the other side of -Moorlands; it is as good as settled, I believe, and if so we are all safe -from her.” - -“Well, you do surprise me!” exclaimed Mr. Langrove, his countenance -expanding into a breadth of satisfaction that was absolutely radiant. -“Who is the incumbent of Axmut, let me see?” he said, musing. - -“There is as good as none; it is a lonely spot, with no church within -ten miles, I believe. I shrewdly suspect this was the main attraction; -for the life of him, Charlton says, he can’t see any other. It is a -tumble-down, fag-end-of-the-world-looking place as you would find in all -England. It must be the clear coast for ‘dealing with souls,’ as she -calls it, that baited her. There is a community of over a hundred poor -people, something of the gypsy sort, scattered over the common and in a -miserable little hamlet they call the village; so she may preach away to -her heart’s content, and no one to compete or interfere with her but the -blacksmith, who rants every Sunday under a wooden shed, or on a tub on -the common, according to the state of the weather.” - -“Capital! That’s just the place for her!” was the vicar’s jubilant remark. - -In spite of the pleasure that lit up his features, usually so mild and -inexpressive, Sir Simon, looking closely at the vicar, thought him worn -and aged. “You look tired, Langrove. You are overworked, or else Miss -Bulpit has been too much for you; which is it?” he said kindly. - -“A little of both, perhaps,” the vicar laughed. “I have felt the recent -cold a good deal; the cold always pulls me down. I’ll be all right when -the spring comes round and hunts the rheumatism out of my bones,” he -added, moving his arm uncomfortably. - -“You ought to do like the swallow--migrate to a warm climate before the -cold sets in,” observed Sir Simon; “nothing else dislodges rheumatism.” - -“That’s just what Blink was saying to me this morning. He urged me very -strongly to go away for a couple of months now to get out of the way of -the east winds. He wants me to take a trip to the South of France.” Mr. -Langrove laughed gently as he said this. - -“And why don’t you?” - -“Because I can’t afford it.” - -“Nonsense, nonsense! Take it first, and afford it afterwards. That’s my -maxim.” - -“A very convenient maxim for you, but not so practicable for an incumbent -with a large family and a short income as for the landlord of Dullerton,” -said Mr. Langrove good-humoredly. - -The baronet winced. - -“Prudence and economy are all very well,” he replied, “but they may be -carried too far; your health is worth more to you than any amount of -money. If you want the change, you should take it and pay the price.” - -“I suppose we might have most things, if we choose to take them on those -terms,” remarked the vicar. “‘Take it and pay the price!’ says the poet; -but some prices are too high for any value. Who would do my work while I -was off looking after my health? Is that Bourbonais hurrying up the hill? -He will get drenched; he has no umbrella.” - -“Like him to go out a day like this without one,” said Sir Simon in an -accent of fond petulance. “How is he? How is Franceline? How does she -look?” - -“Poorly enough. If she were my child, I should be very uneasy about her.” - -“Ha! does Bourbonais seem uneasy? Do you see much of him?” - -“No; not through my fault, nor indeed through his. We have each our -separate work, and these winter days are short. I met him this morning -coming out of Blink’s as I went in. I did not like his look; he had his -hat pulled over his eyes, and when I spoke to him he answered me as if he -hardly knew who I was or what he was saying.” - -“And you did not ask if there was anything amiss?” said Sir Simon in a -tone of reproach. - -“I did, but not him. I asked Blink.” - -“Ha! what did he say?” And the baronet bent forward for the answer with -an eager look. - -“Nothing very definite--you know his grandiloquent, vague talk--but -he said something about hereditary taint on the lungs; and I gathered -that he thought it was a mistake not having taken her to a warm climate -immediately after that accident to her chest; but whether the mistake was -his or the count’s I could not quite see. I imagine from what he said -that there was a money difficulty in the way, or he thought there was, -and did not, perhaps, urge the point as strongly as he otherwise would.” - -Sir Simon fell back on the cushions, muttering some impatient exclamation. - -“That was perhaps a case where the maxim of ‘take it first and afford it -afterwards’ would seem justifiable,” observed Mr. Langrove. - -“Of course it was! But Bourbonais is such an unmanageable fellow in -those things. The strongest necessity will never extract one iota of a -sacrifice of principle from him; you might as well try to bend steel.” - -“He has always given me the idea of a man of a very high sense of honor, -very scrupulous in doing what he considers his duty,” said Mr. Langrove. - -“He is, he is,” assented the baronet warmly; “he is the very ideal and -epitome of honor and high principle. Not to save his life would he swerve -one inch from the straight road; but to save Franceline I fancied he -might have been less rigid.” He heaved a sigh, and they said no more -until the brougham let Sir Simon down at his own door, and then drove on -to take Mr. Langrove to the vicarage. - -A well-known place never appears so attractive as when we look at it -for the last time. An indifferent acquaintance becomes pathetic when -seen through the softening medium of a last look. It is like breaking -off a fraction of our lives, snapping a link that can never be joined -again. A sea-side lodging, if it can claim one sweet or sad memory with -our passing sojourn there, wears a touching aspect when we come to say -“good-by,” with the certainty that we shall never see the place again. -But how if the spot has been the cradle of our childhood, the home of our -fathers for generations, where every stone is like a monument inscribed -with sacred and dear memories? Sir Simon was not a sentimental man; but -all the tenderness common to good, affectionate, cultivated natures -had its place in his heart. He had always loved the old home. He was -proud of it as one of the finest and most ancient houses of his class in -England; he admired its grand and noble proportions, its architectural -strength and beauty; and he had the reverence for it that every well-born -man feels for the place where his fathers were born, and where they have -lived and died. But never had the lordly Gothic mansion looked to him -so home-like as on this cold January evening when he entered it, in all -human probability, for the last time. It was brilliantly lighted up to -welcome him. The servants, men and women, were assembled in the hall to -meet him. It was one of those old-fashioned patriarchal customs that were -kept up at the Court, where so many other old customs survived, unhappily -less harmless than this. As Sir Simon passed through the two rows of -glad, respectful faces, he had a pleasant word for all, as if his heart -were free from care. - -The hall was a sombre, cathedral-like apartment that needed floods -of light to dispel its oppressive solemnity. To-night it was filled -with a festal breadth of light; the great chandelier that hung from -the groined roof was in a blaze, while the bronze figures all around -supported clusters of lamps that gleamed like silver balls against the -dark wainscoting. The dining-room and library, which opened to the -right, stood open, and displayed a brilliant illumination of lamps and -wax-lights. Huge fires burned hospitably on all the hearths. The table -was ready spread; silver and crystal shone and sparkled on the snowy -damask; flowers scented the air as in a garden. Sir Simon glanced at it -all as he passed. Could it be that he was going to leave all this, never -to behold it again? It seemed impossible that it could be true. - -As he stood once more in the midst of his household gods, those familiar -divinities whose gentle power he had never fully recognized until now, -it seemed to him that he was safe. There was an unaccountable sense -of security in their mere presence; they smiled on him, and seemed to -promise protection for their shrine and their votary. - -The baronet went straight to his room, made a hasty toilet, and came down -to the library to await his guests. - -He was in hopes that Raymond would have come before the others, and that -they might have a little talk together. But Raymond was behind them all. -Everybody was assembled, the dinner was waiting, and he had not yet -arrived. - -It was a mere chance that he came at all. Nothing, in fact, but the -dread of awakening Franceline’s suspicions had withheld him from sending -an excuse at the last moment; but that dread, which so controlled his -life in every act, almost in every thought, compelling him to hide his -feelings under a mask of cheerfulness when his heart was breaking, drove -him out to join the merry-makers. It was all true what Mr. Langrove had -said. There had been a return of the spitting of blood that morning, -very slight, but enough to frighten Angélique and hurry her off with -her charge to the doctor. He had talked vaguely about debility--nervous -system unstrung--no vital mischief so far; the lungs were safe. The -old woman was soothed, and went home resolved to do what was to be -done without alarming her master or telling him what had occurred. -She counted, however, without Miss Merrywig. That pleasant old lady -happened from the distance to see them coming from the doctor’s house, -and, on meeting the count next morning, asked what report there was of -Franceline. Raymond went straight to Blink’s. - -“I ask you as a man of honor to tell me the truth,” he said; “it is a -matter of life and death to me to know it.” - -The medical man answered his question by another: “Tell me frankly, are -you in a position to take her immediately to a warm climate? I should -prefer Cairo; but if that is impossible, can you take her to the South of -France?” - -Raymond’s heart stood still. Cairo! It had come to this, then. - -“I can take her to Cairo,” he said, speaking deliberately after a -moment’s silence. “I will take her at once.” - -He thought of Sir Simon’s blank check. He would make use of it. He would -save his child; at least he would keep her with him a few years longer. -“Why did you not tell me this sooner?” he asked in a tone of quick -resentment. - -“I did not believe it to be essential. I thought from the first it would -have been desirable; but you may recollect, when I suggested taking her -even to the South of France, your daughter opposed the idea with great -warmth, and you were silent. I inferred that there was some insuperable -obstacle in the way, and that it would have been cruel as well as useless -to press the matter.” - -“And you say it is not too late?” - -“No. I give you my word, as far as I can see, it is not. The return of -the spitting of blood is a serious symptom, but the lungs as yet are -perfectly sound.” M. de la Bourbonais went home, and opened the drawer -where he kept the blank check; not with the idea of filling it up there -and then--he must consider many things first--but he wanted to see it, to -make sure it was not a dream. He examined it attentively, and replaced -it in the drawer. A gleam of satisfaction broke out on the worn, anxious -face. But it vanished quickly. His eye fell on Sir Simon’s letter of -the day before. He snatched it up and read it through again. A new and -horrible light was breaking on him. Sir Simon was a ruined man; he was -going to be turned out of house and home; he was a bankrupt. What was -his signature worth? So much waste paper. He could not have a sixpence -at his bankers’ or anywhere else; if he had, it was in the hands of the -creditors who were to seize his house and lands. “Why did he give it to -me? He must have known it was worth nothing!” thought Raymond, his eyes -wandering over the letter with a gaze of bewildered misery. - -But Sir Simon had not known it. It was not the first time he had -overdrawn his account with his bankers; but they were an old-fashioned -firm, good Tories like himself. The Harnesses had banked with them from -time immemorial, and there existed between them and their clients of this -type a sort of adoption. If Sir Simon was in temporary want of ready -money, it was their pleasure as much as their business to accommodate -him; the family acres were broad and fat. Sir Simon was on friendly but -not on confidential terms with his bankers; they knew nothing of the -swarm of leeches that were fattening on those family acres, so there was -no fear in their minds as to the security of whatever accommodation -he might ask at their hands. When Sir Simon signed the check he felt -certain it would be honored for any amount that Raymond was likely to -fill it up for. But since then things had come to a crisis; his signature -was now worth nothing. Lady Rebecca, on whose timely departure from -this world of care he had counted so securely as the means of staving -off a catastrophe, had again disappointed him, and the evil hour so -long dreaded and so often postponed had come. Little as Raymond knew of -financial mysteries, he was too intelligent not to guess that a man on -the eve of being made a bankrupt could have no current account at his -bankers’. Dr. Blink’s decree was, then, the death-warrant of his child! -Raymond buried his face in his hands in an agony too deep for tears. But -the sound of Franceline’s step on the stairs roused him. For her sake he -must even now look cheerful; love is a tyrant that allows no quarter to -self. She came in and found her father busy, writing away as if absorbed -in his work. She knew his moods. Evidently he did not want her just now; -she would not disturb him, but drew her little stool to the chimney -corner and began to read. An hour passed. It was time for her father to -dress for dinner; but still the sound of the pen scratching the paper -went on diligently. - -“Petit père, it is half-past six, do you know?” said the bright, silvery -voice, and Raymond started as if he had been stung. - -“So late, is it? Then I must be off at once.” And he hurried away to -dress, and only looked in to kiss her as he ran down-stairs, and was off. - -“Loiterer!” exclaimed Sir Simon, stretching out both hands and clasping -his friend’s cordially. - -“I have kept you waiting, I fear. The fact is, I got writing and forgot -the hour,” said the count apologetically. - -Dinner was announced immediately, and the company went into the -dining-room. - -They were a snug number, seven in all; the only stranger amongst them -being a Mr. Plover, who happened to be staying at Moorlands. He was an -unprepossessing-looking man, sallow, keen-eyed, and with a mouth that -superficial observers would have called firm, but which a physiognomist -might have described as cruel. His hair was dyed, his teeth were false--a -shrunken, shrivelled-looking creature, whose original sap and verdure, if -he ever had any, had been parched up by the fire of tropical suns. He had -spent many years in India, and was now only just returned from Palestine. -What he had been doing there nobody particularly understood. He talked -of his studies in geology, but they seemed to have been chiefly confined -to the study of such stones as had a value in the general market; he had -a large collection of rubies, sapphires, and diamonds, some of which he -had shown to Mr. Charlton, and excited his wonder as to the length of -the purse that could afford to collect such costly souvenirs of foreign -lands simply as souvenirs. Mr. Plover had met his host accidentally -a week ago, and discovered that he and the father of the latter had -been school-fellows. The son was not in a position either to verify or -disprove the assertion, but Mr. Plover was so fresh in his affectionate -recollection of his old form-fellow that young Charlton’s heart warmed -to him, and he then and there invited him down to Moorlands. He could -not do otherwise than ask Sir Simon to include him in his invitation to -the Court this evening; but he did it reluctantly. He was rather ashamed -of his pompous, self-sufficient friend, whose transparent faith in the -power and value of money gave a dash of vulgarity to his manners, which -was heightened by contrast with the well-bred simplicity of the rest of -the company. He had not been ten minutes in the room when he informed -them that he meant to buy an estate if he could find an eligible one in -this neighborhood; if not, he would rent the first that was to be had on -a long lease. He wanted to be near his young friend Charlton. Sir Simon -was extremely civil to him--surprisingly so. - -The other faces we know: Mr. Langrove, bland, serious, mildly exhilarated -just now, like a man suddenly relieved of a toothache--Miss Bulpit was -going from the parish; Mr. Charlton running his turquois ring through -his curly light hair, and agreeing with everybody all round; Lord -Roxham, well-bred and lively; Sir Ponsonby Anwyll, a pleasant sample -of the English squire, blond-visaged, good-tempered, burly-limbed, and -displaying a vast amount of shirt-front; M. de la Bourbonais, a distinct -foreign type, amidst these familiar English ones, the face furrowed with -deep lines of study, of care too, unmistakably, the forehead moulded to -noble thought, the eyes deep-set under strong projecting black brows, -their latent fire flashing out through the habitually gentle expression -when he grew animated. He was never a talkative man in society, and -to-night he was more silent than usual; but no one noticed this, not -even Sir Simon. He was too much absorbed in his own preoccupation. -Raymond sat opposite him as his _alter ego_, doing the honors of one side -of the hospitable round table. - -The conversation turned at first on generalities and current events; -the presence of Mr. Plover, instead of feeding it with a fresh stream, -seemed to check the flow and prevent its becoming intimate and personal. -Sir Simon felt this, and took it in his own hands and kept it going, -so that, if not as lively as usual, it did not flag. Raymond looked -on and listened in amazement. Was yesterday’s letter a dream, and -would this supreme crisis vanish as lesser ones had so often done? -Was it possible that a man could be so gay--so, to all appearance, -contented and unconcerned, on the very brink of ruin, disgrace, beggary, -banishment--all, in a word, that to a man of the baronet’s character and -position constitute existence? He was not in high spirits. Raymond would -not so much have wondered at that. High spirits are sometimes artificial; -people get them up by stimulants as a cloak for intense depression. No, -it was real cheerfulness and gayety. Was there any secret hope bearing -him up to account for the strange anomaly? Raymond could speculate on -this in the midst of his own burning anxiety; but for the first time -in his life bitterness mingled with his sympathy for the baronet. Was -it not all his own doing, this disgrace that had overtaken him? He had -been an unprincipled spendthrift all his life, and now the punishment -had come, and was swallowing up others in its ruin. If he had not been -the reckless, extravagant man that he was, he might at this moment be a -harbor of refuge to Raymond, and save his child from a premature death. -But he was powerless to help any one. This is what his slavish human -respect had brought himself and others to. A few hundred pounds might -save, or at any rate prolong for perhaps many years, the life of the -child he professed to love as his own, and he had not them to give; he -had squandered his splendid patrimony in the most contemptible vanity, -in selfish indulgence and unprofitable show. And there he sat, a piece -of tinsel glittering like true gold, affable, jovial, as if care were a -hundred miles away from him. M. de la Bourbonais felt as if he were in a -dream, as if everything were unreal--everything except the vulture that -was gnawing silently at his own heart. - -The conversation grew livelier as the wine went round. Mr. Plover was -attending carefully to his dinner, and was content to let others do the -most of the talking. A discussion arose as to a case of something very -like perjury that a magistrate of the next county had been involved in. -Some were warmly defending, while others as warmly condemned, him. Mr. -Plover suspended the diligence of his knife and fork to join with the -latter; he was almost aggressive in his manner of contradicting the other -side. The story was this: A magistrate had to judge a case of libel -where the accused was a friend of his own, who had saved him from being -made a bankrupt some years before by lending him a large sum of money -without interest or security. The evidence broke down, and the man was -acquitted. It transpired, however, a few days later, that the magistrate -had in his possession at the time of the trial proof positive of his -friend’s guilt. In answer to this charge he replied that the evidence in -question had come to his knowledge under the seal of confidence; that he -was therefore bound in honor not only not to divulge it, but to ignore -its existence in forming his judgment on the case. The statement was -denied, and it was affirmed that the only seal which bound him was one of -gratitude, and that he was otherwise perfectly free to make use of his -information to condemn the accused. - -The dispute as to the right and the wrong of the question was growing -hot, when Sir Ponsonby Anwyll, who noticed how silent Raymond was, called -out to him across the table: - -“And what do you say, count?” - -“I should say that gratitude in such a case might stand in the place of a -verbal promise and compel the judge to be silent,” replied Raymond. - -“The temptation to silence was very strong, no doubt, but would it -justify him in pronouncing an acquittal against his conscience?” asked -Mr. Langrove. - -“It was not against his conscience,” replied the count; “on the contrary, -it was in accordance with it, since it was on the side of mercy.” - -“Quite a French view of the subject!” said Mr. Plover superciliously, -showing his shining teeth through his coal-black moustache. “If I were -a criminal, commend me to a French jury; but if innocent, give me an -English one!” - -“Mercy has perhaps too much the upper hand with our tender-hearted -neighbors,” observed Sir Simon; “but justice is none the worse for being -tempered with it.” - -“That is neither here nor there,” said Mr. Plover. “Justice is justice, -and law is law; and it strikes me this Mr. X---- has tampered with both, -and it’s a very strange thing if he is not tabooed as a perjurer who has -dodged the letter of the law and escaped the hulks, but whom no gentleman -ought from this out to associate with.” - -“Come, come, that is rather strong language,” said Mr. Langrove. “We must -not outlaw on mere inferential evidence a man who has borne all his life -a most honorable name; and if worse comes to worst, we must remember -it would go hard with the best of us to put a social brand on a friend -that we were deeply indebted to, if we could by any possibility find a -loophole of escape for him. A man may remain strictly honest in the main, -and yet not be heroic enough not to save a friend on a quibble.” - -“Why, to be sure; there are honest men and honest men,” assented Plover. -“I’ve known some whose moral capacity expanded to camels when expediency -demanded the feat and it could be done discreetly. It’s astounding what -some of these honest men can swallow.” - -Sir Simon felt what this speech implied of impertinence to Mr. Langrove, -and, indeed, to everybody present. “Roxham,” he said irrelevantly, “why -is your glass empty? Bourbonais, are you passing those delectable little -_patés de foie gras_?” - -Raymond helped himself mechanically, as the servant presented again the -rejected dish. - -“It would be a nice thing to define exactly the theory of truth and its -precise limits,” observed Mr. Langrove in his serious, sententious way, -addressing himself to no one in particular. - -“One should begin by defining the nature of truth, I suppose,” said Mr. -Plover. “Let us have a definition from our host!” - -“Oh! if you are going in for metaphysics, I hand you over to Bourbonais!” -said Sir Simon good-humoredly. “Take the pair of them in hand, Raymond, -and run them through the body for our edification.” - -Raymond smiled. - -“I should very much like to have the count’s opinion on this particular -point of metaphysics or morals, whichever it may be,” said Mr. Plover. -“Do you believe it possible for a man to effect such a compromise with -his conscience, and yet be, as our reverend friend describes him, a -blameless and upright man?” - -“I do,” answered M. de la Bourbonais with quiet emphasis. “I doubt if -any simple incident can with safety be taken as the key of a man’s -character. One fault, for instance, may stand out in his life and color -it with dishonor, and yet be a far less trustworthy index to his real -nature than, a very slight fault committed deliberately and involving no -consequences. We are more deliberate in little misdeeds than in great -ones. When a man commits a crime, he is not always a free agent as -regards the command of his moral forces; there are generally a horde of -external influences at work overpowering his choice, which is in reality -his individual self. When he succumbs to this pressure from without, -we cannot therefore logically consider him as the sole and deliberate -architect of his sin; hard necessity, fear of disgrace, love of life, -nay, some generous feeling, such as gratitude or pity, may hurry a man -into a criminal action as completely at variance with the whole of his -previous and subsequent life as would be the act of a Christian flinging -himself out of the window in a fit of temporary insanity.” - -“Subtly put,” sneered Mr. Plover. “If we were to follow up that theory, -we might find it necessary on investigation to raise statues to our -forgers and murderers, instead of sending them to the hulks and the -gallows.” - -“It opens a curious train of thought, nevertheless,” remarked Lord Roxham. - -“I don’t fancy it would be a very profitable one to pursue,” said Plover. - -“I have sometimes considered whether it may not on given occasions be -justifiable to do evil; I mean technically evil, as we class things,” -said Lord Roxham. - -“For instance?” said Mr. Langrove. - -“Well, for instance--I’ll put it mildly--to convey a false idea of facts, -as your friend X---- seems to have done in this libel business. I suppose -there are cases where it would be morally justifiable?” - -“To tell a lie, you mean? That is a startling proposition,” said the -vicar, smiling. - -“It has the merit of originality, at least,” observed Mr. Plover, helping -himself to a tumblerful of claret. - -“I’m afraid it can’t boast even that,” said Lord Roxham; “it is only an -old sophism rather bluntly put.” - -“I should like to hear the Count de la Bourbonais’ opinion on it,” said -Mr. Plover, rolling the decanter across to his self-elected antagonist. - -Raymond had feigned unconsciousness of the stranger’s insolent tone thus -far, though he had detected it from the first, and was only too deeply -possessed by other thoughts to resent it or to care a straw for what -this stranger or any human being thought of him or said to him. But the -persistency of the attack forced him to notice it at last, if not to -repel it; he was not sufficiently interested in the thing for that. But -he was roused from the kind of stinging lethargy in which he had hitherto -sat there, nibbling at one thing or another, oftener playing with his -knife and fork, and touching nothing. He laid them down now, and pushed -aside his glass, which had been emptied to-night oftener than was his -wont. - -“You mean to ask,” he said, “if, according to our low French code of -morals, we consider it justifiable to commit a crime for the sake of some -good to ourselves or others?” - -“I don’t go quite that length,” replied Mr. Plover; “but I assume from -what you have already said that you look on it as permissible to--tell a -lie, for example, under given circumstances.” - -“I do,” said Raymond. - -There was a murmur of surprise and dissent. - -“My dear Bourbonais! you are joking, or talking for the mere sake of -argument,” cried Sir Simon, forcing a laugh; but he looked vexed and -astonished. - -“I am not joking, nor am I arguing for argument’s sake,” protested -Raymond with rising warmth. “I say, and I am prepared to prove it, that -under given circumstances we are justified in withholding the truth--in -telling a lie, if you like that way of putting it better.” - -“What are they?” - -“Prove it!” - -“Let us hear!” - -Several spoke together, excited and surprised, and every head was bent -towards M. de la Bourbonais. Raymond moved his spectacles, and, fixing -his dark gray eyes on Mr. Plover as the one who had directly challenged -him, he said: - -“Let us take an illustration. Suppose you entrust me with that costly -diamond ring upon your finger, I having promised on my oath to carry -it to a certain person and to keep its possession a secret. We will -suppose that your life and your honor depend on its being delivered at -its destination by me and at a given time. On my way thither I meet an -assassin, who puts his pistol to my breast and says, ‘Deliver up your -purse and a diamond which I understand you have on your person, or I -shoot you and take them; but if you give me your word that you have not -got it, I will believe you and let you go.’ Am I not justified, in order -to save your honor and life and my own in answering, ‘No, I have not got -the diamond’?” - -“Certainly not!” cried Plover emphatically, bringing his jewelled hand -down on the table with a crash. - -“My dear sir!…” began some one; but Raymond echoed sharply: - -“‘Certainly not!’ Just so. But suppose I draw my pistol and shoot the -robber dead on the spot? God and the law absolve me; I have a right -to kill any man who threatens my life or my property, or that of my -neighbor.” - -“You have! Undoubtedly you have!” said two or three, speaking together. - -“And yet homicide is a greater sin than a lie!” cried Raymond. He was -flushed and excited; his eye sparkled and his hand trembled as he pushed -the glasses farther away, and leaned on the table, surveying the company -with a glance that had something of triumph and something of defiance in -it. - -“Well done, Bourbonais!” cried Sir Simon. “You’ve not left Plover an inch -of ground to stand on!” - -“Closely reasoned,” said Mr. Langrove, with a dubious movement of the -head; “but.…” - -“Sophistry! a very specious bit of sophistry!” said Mr. Plover in a loud -voice, drowning everybody else’s. “Comte and Rousseau and the rest of -them in a nutshell.” - -“Crack it, then, and let’s have the kernel!” said Lord Roxham. He was -growing out of patience with the dictatorial tone of this vulgar man. - -“Just so!” chimed in Mr. Charlton, airing a snowy hand and signet gem, -and falling back in his chair with the air of a man wearied with hard -thinking. - -“It’s too preposterous to answer,” was Plover’s evasive taunt; “it’s mere -casuistry.” - -“A very compact bit of casuistry, at any rate,” said Sir Simon, with -friendly pride in Raymond’s manifest superiority over his assembled -guests; “it strikes me it would take more than our combined wits to -answer it.” - -“Egad! I’d eat my head before _I’d_ answer it!” confessed Ponsonby -Anwyll, who shared the baronet’s personal complacency in the count’s -superior brain. But Raymond had lapsed into his previous silent mood, and -sat absently toying with a plate of bonbons before him, and apparently -deaf to the clashing of tongues that he had provoked. There was something -very touching in his look, in the air of gentle dejection that pervaded -him, and which contrasted strikingly with the transient warmth he had -displayed while speaking. Sir Simon noticed it, and it smote him to -the heart. For the first time this evening he bethought him how his -own cheerfulness must strike Raymond, and how he must be puzzled to -account for it. He promised himself the pleasure of explaining it to -his satisfaction before they parted to-night; but meanwhile it gave him -a pang to think of the iron that was in his friend’s soul, though it -was part of his pleasant expectation that he would be able to draw it -out and pour some healing balm on the wound to-morrow. He would show -him why he had borne so patiently with the vulgar pedagogue who had -permitted himself to fail, at least by insinuation, in respect to M. de -la Bourbonais. The pedagogue meanwhile seemed bent on making himself -disagreeable to the inoffensive foreigner. - -“It is a pity X---- was not able to secure Count de la Bourbonais as -counsel,” he began again. “In the hands of so skilful a casuist his -backsliding might have come out quite in a heroic light. It would have -been traced to his poverty, which engendered his gratitude, and so on -until we had a verdict that would have been virtually a glorification of -impecuniosity. It is a pity we have missed the treat.” - -“Poverty is no doubt responsible for many backslidings,” said Raymond, -bridling imperceptibly. He felt the sting of the remark as addressed to -him by the rich man, or he fancied he did. “The world would no doubt be -better as well as happier if riches were more equally divided; but there -are worse things in the world than poverty, for all that.” - -“There is the excess of riches, which is infinitely worse--a more -unmitigated source of evil, taking it all in all,” said Mr. Langrove. - -“Well said for a professional, my dear sir,” laughed Mr. Plover; “but -you won’t find many outsiders to agree with you, I suspect.” - -“If by outsiders you mean Turks, Jews, and Hottentots, I daresay you are -right,” said the vicar good-temperedly. - -“I mean every sensible man who is not bound by his cloth to talk cant--no -offence; I use the word technically--you won’t find one such out of a -thousand to deny that riches are the best gift of heaven, the one that -can buy every other worth having--love and devotion into the bargain.” - -“What rank heresy you are propounding, my dear sir!” exclaimed Sir Simon, -taking a pinch from his enamelled snuff-box, and passing it on. “You will -not find one sane man in a thousand to agree with you!” - -“Won’t I though? What do you say, count?” - -“I agree with you, monsieur,” said Raymond with a certain asperity; -“money can purchase most things worth having, but I deny that it can -always pay for them.” - -“Ha! there we have the sophist again. It can buy, and yet it can’t pay. -Pray explain!” - -“What do you mean, Raymond?” said Sir Simon, darting a curious, puzzled -look at his friend. - -“It is very simple. I mean that money may sometimes enable us to confer -an obligation which no money can repay. We may, for instance, do a -service or avert a sorrow by means of a sum of money, and thus purchase -love and gratitude--things which Mr. Plover has included in those worth -having, and which money cannot pay for, though it may be the means of -buying them.” The look that accompanied the answer said more to Sir Simon -than the words conveyed to any one else. He averted his eyes quickly, -and was all at once horrified to discover several empty glasses round the -table. They were at dessert now. - -“Charlton, have you tried that Madeira? Help yourself again, and pass it -on here, will you? I shall have to play Ganymede, and go round pouring -out the nectar to you like so many gods, if you don’t bestir yourselves.” - -And then there was a clinking of glasses, as the amber and ruby liquid -was poured from many a curious flagon into the glistening crystal cups. - -“Talking of gods, that’s a god’s eye that you see there on Plover’s -finger,” observed Mr. Charlton, whose azure gem was quite eclipsed by the -flashing jewel that had suggested M. de la Bourbonais’ illustration. “It -was set in the forehead of an Indian idol. Just let Sir Simon look at -it; he’s a judge of precious stones,” said the young man, who felt that -his feeble personality gained something from the proximity of so big a -personage, and was anxious to show him off. The latter complacently drew -the ring from his finger and tossed it over to his host. It was a large -white diamond of the purest water, without the shadow of a flaw. - -“It _is_ a beauty!” exclaimed Sir Simon with the enthusiasm of a -connoisseur; “only it’s too good to be worn by a man. It ought to have -gone to a beautiful woman when it left the god. I suppose it will soon, -eh, Plover?” - -Mr. Plover laughed. He was not a marrying man, he said, but he would -make no rash vows. Then he went on to tell about other precious stones -in his possession. He had some amazingly sensational stories to relate -concerning them and how he became possessed of them. We generally -interest others when we get on a subject that thoroughly interests -ourselves and that we thoroughly understand. Mr. Plover understood a -great deal about these legendary gems, and the celebrated idols in which -they had figured; he had, moreover, imbibed a certain tinge of Oriental -superstition concerning the talismanic properties of precious gems, and -invested them, perhaps half unconsciously, with that kind of prestige -that is not very far off from worship. This flavor of superstition -pierced unawares through his discourse on the qualities and adventures -of various rubies and sapphires that had played stirring parts in the -destinies of particular gods, and were universally believed to influence -for good or evil the lives of mortals who became possessed of them. - -The company began to find him less disagreeable as he went on. They did -not quite believe in him; but when a story-teller amuses us, we are not -apt to quarrel with him for using a traveller’s privilege and drawing the -long bow. - -By the time this vein was exhausted the party had quite forgiven -the obnoxious guest, and admitted him within the sympathetic ring -of good-fellowship and conviviality. M. de la Bourbonais had become -unusually talkative, and contributed his full share to the ebb and flow -of lively repartee. He was generally as abstemious as an anchorite; but -to-night he broke through his ascetic habits, and filled and refilled his -glass many times. It was deep drinking for him, though for any one else -it would have been reckoned moderate. Before the dessert was long on the -table the effect of the wine was visible in his excited manner and the -shrill tone of his voice, that rose high and sharp above the others in a -way that was quite foreign to his gentleness. Sir Simon saw this, and at -once divined the cause. It gave him a new pang. Poor Raymond! Driven to -this to keep his misery from bursting out and overwhelming him! - -“Shall we finish our cigars here or in the library?” asked the baronet -when his own tired limbs suggested that a change of posture might be -generally agreeable. - -As by tacit consent, the chairs were all pushed back and everybody rose. -The clock in the hall was striking ten. - -“Do you know I think I must be going?” said Mr. Langrove. “Time slips -quickly by in pleasant company; I had no idea it was so late!” - -“Nonsense! you are not going to leave us yet!” protested Sir Simon. -“Don’t mind the clocks here; they’re on wheels.” - -“Are they?” said the vicar, and innocently pulled out his watch to -compare it with the loud chime that was still trembling in the air. -“Humph! I see your wheels are five minutes slower than mine!” he said, -with a nod and a laugh at his prevaricating host. - -“Come, now, Langrove, never mind the time. ‘Hours were made for slaves,’ -you know. Come in and have another cigar,” urged Sir Simon. - -But the vicar was firm. - -“Then I may as well go with you,” said M. de la Bourbonais; “it’s late -already for me to be out.” - -Sir Simon was beginning to protest, when his attention was called away by -Lord Roxham. - -“Have you that diamond ring, Harness?” - -“What ring? Plover’s? No; I passed it to you to look at, and it didn’t -come round to me again. Can it not be found?” - -“Oh! it’s sure to turn up in a minute!” said Mr. Plover. “It has slipped -under the edge of a plate, very likely!” And he went to the table and -began to look for it. - -“Come, let us be going, as we are going,” said M. de la Bourbonais to the -vicar, and he went towards the door. - -“Wait a bit,” replied Mr. Langrove--“wait a moment, Bourbonais; we must -see the end of this.” - -“What have we to see in it? It is no concern of ours,” was the slightly -impatient rejoinder. Raymond was in that state of unnatural excitement -when the least trifle that crosses us chafes and irritates. He had -nothing for it, however, but to comply with the vicar’s fancy and wait. - -“Most extraordinary!” Sir Simon exclaimed, as crystal dishes and -porcelain plates were lifted and moved, and silver filigree baskets -overturned and their delicate fruits sent rolling in every direction. “It -must have dropped; stand aside, everybody, while I look under the table.” -Every one drew off. Sir Simon flung up the ends of the snowy cloth, and, -taking a chandelier with several lights, set it on the floor and began -carefully to examine the carpet; but the ring was nowhere to be seen. - -“If it is here, it is certain to be seen,” he said, still bent down. -“Look out, all of you, as you stand; you may see it flash better in the -distance.” - -But no flash was anywhere visible. The wax-lights discovered nothing -brighter than the subdued colors of the rich Persian carpet. Sir Simon -went round to the other side of the table, and searched with the same -care and the same result. - -“You are not an absent man, are you?” he said, lifting the chandelier -from the ground, and addressing the owner of the missing ring. “You are -not capable of slipping it into your pocket unawares?” - -“I never did such a thing in my life; but that is no reason why I may not -have done it now. Old wine sometimes plays the deuce with one,” said Mr. -Plover, and he began to rummage his pockets and turn their contents on to -the table-cloth. Its whiteness threw every article into vivid relief; but -there was no ring. - -“This is very singular, very extraordinary indeed!” said Sir Simon in -a sharp tone of annoyance. “Is any one hoaxing? Charlton, you’re not -playing a trick on us, are you?” - -“What should I play such a stupid trick as that for?” demanded the young -man. “I’m not such an idiot; but here goes! Let us have my pockets on the -table too!” - -And following his friend’s example, he turned them inside out, coat, -waistcoat, and trousers pockets in succession; but no ring appeared. - -“It is time we all followed suit,” said Sir Simon, and he cleared a -larger space by sweeping away plates and glasses. “I am given to absence -of mind myself, and, as you say, I may have taken a glass more than was -good for me.” - -As he spoke he turned out one pocket after another, with no other result -than to show the solidity and unblemished freshness of the linings; there -was not a slit or the sign of one anywhere where a diamond ring, or a -diamond without a ring, could have slipped through. - -“Well, gentlemen, I invite you all to follow my example!” said the host, -stepping back from the table, and motioning for any one that liked to -advance. His voice had a ring of command in it that would have compelled -obedience if that had been necessary; but it did not seem to be so. One -after another the guests came up and repeated the operation, while the -owner of the ring watched them with a face that grew darker with every -disappointment. Mr. Langrove and M. de la Bourbonais were standing -somewhat apart from the rest near the door, and were now the only two -that remained. The vicar came first. He submitted his pockets to the same -rigorous scrutiny, and with the same result. A strange gleam passed over -Mr. Plover’s features, as he turned his sallow face in the direction of -M. de la Bourbonais. Suspicion and hope had now narrowed to this last -trial. Raymond did not move. “Come on, Bourbonais; I have done!” said -Mr. Langrove, consigning his spectacles and his handkerchief to his last -pocket. - -But Raymond remained immovable, as if he were glued to the carpet. - -“Come, my dear friend, come!” Sir Simon called out, in a voice that was -meant only to be kind and encouraging, but in which those who knew its -tones detected a nervous note. - -“I will not!” said the count in a sharp, high key. “I will not submit to -such an indignity; it has been got up for the purpose of insulting me. I -refuse to submit to it!” - -He turned to leave the room. - -“Raymond, you are mad! You _must_ do it!” cried Sir Simon imperatively. - -“I am not mad! I am poor!” retorted the count, facing round and darting -eyes of defiance at Sir Simon. “This person, who calls himself a -gentleman, has insulted me from the moment I sat down to table with him, -and you allowed him to do it. He taunted me with my poverty; he would -make out now that because I am poor I am a thief! I have borne with him -so far because I was at your table; but there is a limit to what I will -bear. I will not submit to the outrage he wants to put upon me.” - -Again he turned towards the door. - -“You shall hand out my ring before you stir from here, my fine sir!” -cried Mr. Plover, taking a stride after him, and stretching out an arm -as if to clutch him; but Sir Simon quick as thought intercepted him by -laying a hand on the outstretched arm, while Ponsonby Anwyll stepped -forward and placed his tall, broad figure like a bulwark between Raymond -and his assailant. - -“Let me go!” said the latter, shaking himself to get free from the -baronet’s clasp; but the long, firm fingers closed on him like grim death. - -“You shall not touch M. de la Bourbonais in my presence,” he said; “you -have insulted him, as he says, already. If I had seen that he detected -what was offensive in your tone and manner, I would not have suffered it -to pass. Stand back, and leave me to deal with him!” - -“Confound the beggar! Let him give me my ring! I don’t want to touch him; -but as I live he doesn’t stir from this room till I’ve seen his breeches -pocket turned wrong-side out!” - -The man had been drinking heavily, and, though he was still to all -intents and purposes sober, this excitement, added to that caused by -the wine, heated his blood to boiling-point. He looked as if he would -have flown at Raymond; but cowed by Sir Simon’s cool self-command and -determined will, he fell back a step, fastening his eyes on Raymond with -a savage glare. - -Raymond meantime continued obstinate and impracticable. Mr. Langrove took -his hand in both his, and in the gentlest way entreated him to desist -from his suicidal folly; assuring him that he was the last man present -whom any one in his senses would dream of suspecting of a theft, of the -faintest approach to anything dishonorable, but that it was sheer madness -to refuse to clear himself in the eyes of this stranger. It was a mere -form, and meant no more for him than for the rest of them. But Raymond -turned a deaf ear to his pleading. - -“Let me go! I will not do it! He has been insulting me from the -beginning. I will not submit to this,” he repeated, and shook himself -free from Mr. Langrove’s friendly grasp. - -Sir Simon came close up to him. He was pale and agitated in spite of his -affected coolness, and his hand shook as he laid it on Raymond’s shoulder. - -“Raymond, for my sake, for God’s sake!” he muttered. - -But Raymond thrust away his hand, and said with bitter scorn: “Ha! I am a -beggar, and so I must be a thief! No, I will not clear myself! Let this -rich man go and proclaim me a thief!” And breaking away from them all, he -dashed out of the room. - -“Hold! Stop him, or by ---- I’ll make hot work of it for you!” shouted -Mr. Plover, making for the door; but Ponsonby Anwyll set his back to it, -and defied him to pass. If the other had been brave enough to try, it -would have been a hopeless attempt; his attenuated body was no match -for the stalwart limbs of the young squire. He involuntarily recoiled as -if Ponsonby’s arms, stoutly crossed on his breast, had dealt him a blow. -Lord Roxham and Mr. Charlton pressed round him, expostulating and trying -to calm him. This was no easy task, and they knew it. They were terribly -shaken themselves, and they felt that it was absurd to expect this -stranger, fuming for his diamond, to believe that M. de la Bourbonais had -not taken it. - -“No one but a madman would have done such a thing, when it’s as certain -as death to be found out,” said Sir Ponsonby, whose faith in Raymond was -sustained by another faith. “Besides, we all know he’s no more capable of -it than we are ourselves!” - -“Very fine talk, but where is the ring? Who has taken it, if not this -Frenchman? I tell you what, he will be making out that it was his right -and his duty to steal from a rich man to help a poor one. Perhaps he’s -hard up just now, and he blesses Providence for the opportunity.” - -“Remember, sir, that you are speaking of a gentleman who is my friend, -and whom I know to be incapable of an unworthy action,” said Sir Simon in -a stern and haughty tone. - -“I compliment you on your friends; it sha’n’t be my fault if you don’t -see this one at the hulks before long. But curse me! now I think of it, -I’m at your mercy, all of you. I have to depend on you as witnesses, and -it seems the fashion in these parts for gentlemen to perjure themselves -to screen a friend; you will most likely refuse to swear to facts--if you -don’t swear against them, eh?” - -“You must be drunk; you don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Mr. -Charlton, forgetting to drawl, and speaking quickly like a sensible man. -“It is as premature as it is absurd to imagine the ring is stolen; it -must be in the room, and it must be found.” - -“In the room or out of it, it must and it shall be found!” echoed Mr. -Plover, “or if not.…” - -“If not, it shall be paid for,” added Mr. Charlton; “it shall be -replaced.” - -“Replaced! All you’re worth could not buy a stone like that one!” - -“Not its duplicate as a god’s eye invested with magical virtue,” said Mr. -Charlton ironically; “but its value in the market can be paid, I suppose. -What price do you put on it?” - -“As a mere stone it is worth five hundred pounds to any jeweller in -London.” - -“Five hundred pounds!” repeated several in chorus with Mr. Charlton. - -Sir Simon said nothing. A mist came before his eyes. He saw Raymond in -the grip of this cruel man, and he was powerless to release him. If the -dread was an act of disloyalty to Raymond, Sir Simon was scarcely to -blame. He would have signed away five years of his life that moment to -see M. de la Bourbonais cleared of the suspicion that he had so insanely -fastened on himself; but how could he help doubting? He knew as no one -else knew what the power of the temptation was which had--had it?--goaded -him to the mad act. Its madness was the strongest argument against its -possibility. To pocket a ring worth five hundred pounds--worth five -pounds--in the very teeth of the person it belonged to, and with the -clear certainty of being immediately detected--no one in his right mind -would have done such a thing. But was Raymond in his right mind when -he did it? Had he been in his right mind since he entered the house -to-night? There is such a thing as delirium of the heart from sorrow or -despair. Then he had been drinking a great deal more than usual, and wine -beguiles men to acts of frenzy unawares. If Sir Simon could even say to -this man, “I will pay you the five hundred pounds”; but he had not as -many pence to call his own. There had been a momentary silence after the -exclamation of surprise that followed the announcement of the value of -the diamond. Would Mr. Charlton not ratify his offer to pay for it? And -if he did not, what could save Raymond? - -“Five hundred pounds! You are joking!” said the young man. - -“We’ll see whether I am or not! I had the diamond valued with several -others at Vienna, where it was set,” said Mr. Plover. - -“Consider me your debtor for the amount,” said Sir Ponsonby Anwyll, -stepping forward; “if the ring is not found to-night, I will sign you a -check for five hundred pounds.” - -“Let us begin and look for it in good earnest,” said Lord Roxham. “We -will divide; two will go at each side of the table and hunt for it -thoroughly. It must have rolled somewhere into a crevice or a corner.” - -“I don’t see how a ring was likely to roll on this,” said Mr. -Plover, scratching the thick pile of the carpet with the tip of his -patent-leather boot. - -“Some of us may have kicked it to a distance in pushing back our -chairs,” suggested Mr. Langrove; “let us set the lights on the floor, and -divide as Lord Roxham proposes.” - -Every one seized a chandelier or a lamp and set it on the floor, and -began to prosecute the search. They had hardly been two minutes thus -engaged when a loud ring was heard, and after a momentary delay the door -opened and M. de la Bourbonais walked in. - -“Good heavens, Bourbonais! is it you?” cried Sir Simon, rising from his -knees and hastening to meet him. - -But Raymond, with a haughty gesture, waved him off. - -They were all on their feet in a moment, full of wonder and expectation. - -“I made a mistake in refusing to submit to the examination you asked of -me,” said the count, addressing himself to all collectively. “I was wrong -to listen only to personal indignation in the matter; I saw only a poor -man insulted by a rich one. I have come back to repair my mistake. See -now for yourselves, and, if you like, examine every corner of my clothes.” - -He advanced to the table, intending to suit the action to the words, when -a burst of derisive laughter was heard at the other end of the room. It -was from Mr. Plover. The others were looking on silent and confounded. - -“Do you take us all for so many born fools?” cried Mr. Plover, and he -laughed again a short, contemptuous laugh that went through Raymond’s -veins. - -He stood there, his right hand plunged into his pocket in the act of -drawing out its contents, but arrested by the sound of that mocking -laugh, and by the chill silence that followed. He cast a quick, -questioning glance at the surrounding faces; pity, surprise, regret, -were variously depicted there, but neither confidence nor congratulation -were visible anywhere. A gleam of light shot suddenly through his mind. -He drew out his hand and passed it slowly over his forehead. - -“My God, have pity on me!” he murmured almost inaudibly, and turned away. - -“Raymond! listen to me.” Sir Simon hurried after him. - -But the door was closed. Raymond was gone. Sir Simon followed into the -hall, but he did not overtake him; the great door closed with a bang, and -the friend he loved best on earth was beyond his hearing, rushing wildly -on in the darkness and under the rain, that was falling in torrents. - -The apparition had come and gone so quickly that the spectators might -have doubted whether they had not dreamt it or seen a ghost. No one -spoke, until Mr. Plover broke out with a hoarse laugh and an oath: - -“If the fellow has not half convinced me of his innocence! He’s too great -a fool to be a thief!” - -“Until he has been proved a thief, you will be good enough not to apply -the term to Monsieur de la Bourbonais under my roof,” said Sir Simon. -“Now, gentlemen, we will resume our search.” - -They did, and prosecuted it with the utmost care and patience for more -than an hour; but the only effect was to fasten suspicion more closely on -the absent. - -Mr. Plover was so triumphant one would have fancied the justification of -his vindictive suspicion was a compensation for the loss of his gem. - -“Have you a pen and ink here, or shall I go into the library? I want to -write the check,” said Ponsonby. - -“You will find everything you want in the library,” said Sir Simon, -and Ponsonby went in. Some one rang, and the carriages and horses were -ordered. In a few minutes Ponsonby returned with the check, which he -handed to Mr. Plover. - -“If you require any one to attest my solvency, I dare say Charlton, whom -you can trust, will have no objection to do it,” he remarked. - -“Certainly not!” said Mr. Charlton promptly. - -“Oh! it’s not necessary; I’m quite satisfied with Sir Ponsonby Anwyll’s -signature,” Mr. Plover replied. And as he pocketed the check he went to -the window and raised the curtain to see if Mr. Charlton’s brougham had -come round. The rest of the company were saying good-by, cordial but sad. -Sir Simon and the young squire of Rydal stood apart, conversing in an -earnest, subdued voice. - -“Have you a trap waiting, or shall I drop you at the vicarage?” inquired -Lord Roxham of Mr. Langrove. - -“Thank you! I shall be very glad,” said the vicar. “The night promised to -be so fine I said I would walk home.” - -“You will have a wet ride of it, Anwyll; is not that your horse I see?” -cried Mr. Charlton from the window, where he had followed his ill-omened -friend. “Had you not better leave him here for the night, and let me give -you a lift home?” - -“Oh! thank you, no; I don’t mind a drenching, and it would take you too -far out of your way.” - -Mr. Plover and Mr. Charlton were leaving the room when Sir Simon’s voice -arrested them. - -“One moment, Charlton! Mr. Plover, pray wait a second. I need not -assure any one present how deeply distressed I am by what has occurred -to-night--distressed on behalf of every one concerned. I know you all -share this feeling with me, and I trust you will not refuse me the only -alleviation in your power.” - -He stopped for a moment, while his hearers turned eager, responsive faces -towards him. - -“I ask you as a proof of friendship, of personal regard and kindness to -myself, to be silent concerning what has happened under my roof to-night; -to let it remain buried here amongst ourselves. Will you grant me this, -probably the last favor I shall ever ask of you?” - -His voice trembled a little; and his friends were touched, though they -did not see where the last words pointed. - -There was a murmur of assent from all, with one exception. - -“Plover, I hope I may include your promise with that of my older -friends?” continued the baronet, his voice still betraying emotion. “I -have no right, it is true, to claim such an act of self-denial at your -hands; I know,” he added with a faint laugh that was not ironical, only -sad--“I know that it is a comfort to us all to talk of our misfortunes -and complain of them to sympathizing acquaintances; but I appeal to you -as a gentleman to forego that satisfaction, in order to save me from a -bitter mortification.” - -As he spoke, he held out his fine, high-bred hand to his guest. - -Sir Simon did not profess to be a very deep reader of human nature, but -the most accomplished Macchiavellist could not have divined and touched -the right chords in his listener’s spirit with a surer hand than he -had just done. Mr. Plover laid his shrivelled fingers in the baronet’s -extended hand, and said with awkward bluntness: - -“As a proof of personal regard for you, I promise to hold my tongue in -private life; but you can’t expect me not to take steps for the recovery -of the stone.” - -“How so?” Sir Simon started. - -“It is pretty certain to get into the diamond market before long, and, -unless the police are put on the watch, it will slip out of the country -most likely, and for ever beyond my reach, and I would give double the -money to get it back again. But I pledge myself not to mention the affair -except to the officers.” - -He bowed another good-night to the company, and was gone. The rest -quickly followed, and soon the noise of wheels crushing the wet gravel -died away, and Sir Simon Harness was left alone to meditate on the events -of the evening and many other unpleasant things. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -RECOLLECTIONS OF WORDSWORTH.[131] - -BY AUBREY DE VERE, ESQ. - - -PART I. - -It was about eight years before his death that I had the happiness of -making acquaintance with Wordsworth. During the next four years I saw -a good deal of him, chiefly among his own mountains, and, besides many -delightful walks with him, I had the great honor of passing some days -under his roof. The strongest of my impressions respecting him was that -made by the manly simplicity and lofty rectitude which characterized -him. In one of his later sonnets he writes of himself thus: “As a _true_ -man who long had served the lyre”; it was because he was a true man that -he was a true poet; and it was impossible to know him without being -reminded of this. In any case he must have been recognized as a man of -original and energetic genius; but it was his strong and truthful moral -nature, his intellectual sincerity, the abiding conscientiousness of -his imagination, so to speak, which enabled that genius to do its great -work, and bequeath to the England of the future the most solid mass of -deep-hearted and authentic poetry which has been the gift to her of any -poet since the Elizabethan age. There was in his nature a veracity -which, had it not been combined with an idealizing imagination not -less remarkable, would to many have appeared prosaic; yet, had he not -possessed that characteristic, the products of his imagination would -have lacked reality. They might still have enunciated a deep and sound -philosophy; but they would have been divested of that human interest -which belongs to them in a yet higher degree. All the little incidents of -the neighborhood were to him important. - -The veracity and the ideality which are so signally combined in -Wordsworth’s poetic descriptions of nature made themselves, at least, as -much felt whenever nature was the theme of his discourse. In his intense -reverence for nature he regarded all poetical delineations of her with -an exacting severity; and if the descriptions were not true, and true -in a twofold sense, the more skilfully executed they were the more was -his indignation roused by what he deemed a pretence and a deceit. An -untrue description of nature was to him a profaneness, a heavenly message -sophisticated and falsely delivered. He expatiated much to me one day, -as we walked among the hills above Grasmere, on the mode in which nature -had been described by one of the most justly popular of England’s modern -poets--one for whom he preserved a high and affectionate respect. “He -took pains,” Wordsworth said; “he went out with his pencil and note-book, -and jotted down whatever struck him most--a river rippling over the -sands, a ruined tower on a rock above it, a promontory, and a mountain -ash waving its red berries. He went home, and wove the whole together -into a poetical description.” After a pause Wordsworth resumed with -a flashing eye and impassioned voice: “But nature does not permit an -inventory to be made of her charms! He should have left his pencil and -note-book at home; fixed his eye, as he walked, with a reverent attention -on all that surrounded him, and taken all into a heart that could -understand and enjoy. Then, after several days had passed by, he should -have interrogated his memory as to the scene. He would have discovered -that while much of what he had admired was preserved to him, much was -also most wisely obliterated. That which remained--the picture surviving -in his mind--would have presented the ideal and essential truth of the -scene, and done so, in a large part, by discarding much which, though -in itself striking, was not characteristic. In every scene many of the -most brilliant details are but accidental. A true eye for nature does not -note them, or at least does not dwell on them.” On the same occasion he -remarked: “Scott misquoted in one of his novels my lines on Yarrow. He -makes me write, - - “‘The swans on sweet St. Mary’s lake - Float double, swans and shadow.’ - -but I wrote, - - “‘The _swan_ on _still_ St. Mary’s lake.’ - -“Never could I have written ‘swans’ in the plural. The scene when I saw -it, with its still and dim lake, under the dusky hills, was one of utter -loneliness; there was _one_ swan, and one only, stemming the water, -and the pathetic loneliness of the region gave importance to the one -companion of that swan--its own white image in the water. It was for -that reason that I recorded the swan and the shadow. Had there been -many swans and many shadows, they would have implied nothing as regards -the character of the scene, and I should have said nothing about them.” -He proceeded to remark that many who could descant with eloquence on -nature cared little for her, and that many more who truly loved her had -yet no eye to discern her--which he regarded as a sort of “spiritual -discernment.” He continued: “Indeed, I have hardly ever known any one -but myself who had a true eye for nature--one that thoroughly understood -her meanings and her teachings--except” (here he interrupted himself) -“one person. There was a young clergyman called Frederick Faber,[132] -who resided at Ambleside. He had not only as good an eye for nature -as I have, but even a better one, and sometimes pointed out to me on -the mountains effects which, with all my great experience, I had never -detected.” - -Truth, he used to say--that is, truth in its largest sense, as a thing at -once real and ideal, a truth including exact and accurate detail, and yet -everywhere subordinating mere detail to the spirit of the whole,--this, -he affirmed, was the soul and essence not only of descriptive poetry, but -of all poetry. He had often, he told me, intended to write an essay on -poetry, setting forth this principle, and illustrating it by references -to the chief representatives of poetry in its various departments. It -was this twofold truth which made Shakspere the greatest of all poets. -“It was well for Shakspere,” he remarked, “that he gave himself to the -drama. It was that which forced him to be sufficiently human. His poems -would otherwise, from the extraordinarily metaphysical character of his -genius, have been too recondite to be understood. His youthful poems, in -spite of their unfortunate and unworthy subjects, and his sonnets also, -reveal this tendency. Nothing can surpass the greatness of Shakspere -where he is at his greatest; but it is wrong to speak of him as if even -he were perfect. He had serious defects, and not those only proceeding -from carelessness. For instance, in his delineations of character he does -not assign as large a place to religious sentiment as enters into the -constitution of human nature under normal circumstances. If his dramas -had more religion in them, they would be truer representations of man, as -well as more elevated and of a more searching interest.” Wordsworth used -to warn young poets against writing poetry remote from human interest. -Dante he admitted to be an exception; but he considered that Shelley, -and almost all others who had endeavored to outsoar the humanities, had -suffered deplorably from the attempt. I once heard him say: “I have -often been asked for advice by young poets. All the advice I can give -may be expressed in two counsels. First, let nature be your habitual and -pleasurable study--human nature and material nature; secondly, study -carefully those first-class poets whose fame is universal, not local, and -learn from them; learn from them especially how to observe and how to -interpret nature.” - -Those who knew Wordsworth only from his poetry might have supposed that -he dwelt ever in a region too serene to admit of human agitations. This -was not the fact. There was in his being a region of tumult as well a -higher region of calm, though it was almost wholly in the latter that his -poetry lived. It turned aside from mere _personal_ excitements; and for -that reason, doubtless, it developed more deeply those special ardors -which belong at once to the higher imagination and to the moral being. -The passion which was suppressed elsewhere burned in his “Sonnets to -Liberty,” and added a deeper sadness to the “Yew-trees of Borrowdale.” -But his heart, as well as his imagination, was ardent. When it spoke -most powerfully in his poetry, it spoke with a stern brevity unusual in -that poetry, as in the poem, “There is a change, and I am poor,” and -the still more remarkable one, “A slumber did my spirit seal”--a poem -impassioned beyond the comprehension of those who fancy that Wordsworth -lacks passion, merely because in him passion is neither declamatory nor, -latently, sensual. He was a man of strong affections--strong enough on -one sorrowful occasion to withdraw him for a time from poetry.[133] -Referring once to two young children of his who had died about forty -years previously, he described the details of their illnesses with an -exactness and an impetuosity of troubled excitement such as might have -been expected if the bereavement had taken place but a few weeks before. -The lapse of time appeared to have left the sorrow submerged indeed, but -still in all its first freshness. Yet I afterwards heard that at the -time of the illness, at least in the case of one of the two children, -it was impossible to rouse his attention to the danger. He chanced -to be then under the immediate spell of one of those fits of poetic -inspiration which descended on him like a cloud. Till the cloud had -drifted he could see nothing beyond. Under the level of the calm there -was, however, the precinct of the storm. It expressed itself rarely but -vehemently, partaking sometimes of the character both of indignation -and sorrow. All at once the trouble would pass away and his countenance -bask in its habitual calm, like a cloudless summer sky. His indignation -flamed out vehemently when he heard of a base action. “I could kick such -a man across England with my naked foot,” I heard him exclaim on such -an occasion. The more impassioned part of his nature connected itself -especially with his political feelings. He regarded his own intellect -as one which united some of the faculties which belong to the statesman -with those which belong to the poet; and public affairs interested -him not less deeply than poetry. It was as patriot, not poet, that he -ventured to claim fellowship with Dante.[134] He did not accept the term -“reformer,” because it implied an organic change in our institutions, -and this he deemed both needless and dangerous; but he used to say that, -while he was a decided conservative, he remembered that to preserve our -institutions we must be ever improving them. He was, indeed, from first -to last, pre-eminently a patriot--an impassioned as well as a thoughtful -one. Yet his political sympathies were not with his own country only, -but with the progress of humanity. Till disenchanted by the excesses -and follies of the first French Revolution, his hopes and sympathies -associated themselves ardently with the new order of things created by -it; and I have heard him say that he did not know how any generous-minded -_young_ man, entering on life at the time of that great uprising, could -have escaped the illusion. To the end his sympathies were ever with the -cottage hearth far more than with the palace. If he became a strong -supporter of what has been called “the hierarchy of society,” it was -chiefly because he believed the principle of “equality” to be fatal to -the well-being and the true dignity of the poor. Moreover, in siding -politically with the crown and the coronets, he considered himself to be -siding with the weaker party in our democratic days. - -The absence of love-poetry in Wordsworth’s works has often been remarked -upon, and indeed brought as a charge against them. He once told me that -if he had avoided that form of composition, it was by no means because -the theme did not interest him, but because, treated as it commonly -has been, it tends rather to disturb and lower the reader’s moral and -imaginative being than to elevate it. He feared to handle it amiss. -He seemed to think that the subject had been so long vulgarized that -few poets had a right to assume that they could treat it worthily, -especially as the theme, when treated unworthily, was such an easy -and cheap way of winning applause. It has been observed also that the -religion of Wordsworth’s poetry, at least of his earlier poetry, is -not as distinctly “revealed religion” as might have been expected from -this poet’s well-known adherence to what he has called emphatically “The -lord, and mighty paramount of truths.” He once remarked to me himself -on this circumstance, and explained it by stating that when in youth -his imagination was shaping for itself the channel in which it was to -flow, his religious convictions were less definite and less strong than -they had become on more mature thought; and that, when his poetic mind -and manner had once been formed, he feared that he might, in attempting -to modify them, have become constrained. He added that on such matters -he ever wrote with great diffidence, remembering that if there were -many subjects too low for song, there were some too high. Wordsworth’s -general confidence in his own powers, which was strong, though far from -exaggerated, rendered more striking and more touching his humility in -all that concerned religion. It used to remind me of what I once heard -Mr. Rogers say, viz.: “There is a special character of _greatness_ about -humility; for it implies that a man can, in an unusual degree, estimate -the _greatness_ of what is above us.” Fortunately, his diffidence did -not keep Wordsworth silent on sacred themes. His later poems include -an unequivocal as well as beautiful confession of Christian faith; and -one of them, “The Primrose of the Rock,” is as distinctly Wordsworthian -in its inspiration as it is Christian in its doctrine. Wordsworth was -a “High-Churchman,” and also, in his prose mind, strongly anti-Roman -Catholic, partly on political grounds; but that it was otherwise as -regards his mind poetic is obvious from many passages in his Christian -poetry, especially those which refer to the monastic system and the -Schoolmen, and his sonnet on the Blessed Virgin, whom he addresses as - - “Our tainted nature’s solitary boast.” - -He used to say that the idea of one who was both Virgin and Mother had -sunk so deep into the heart of humanity that there it must ever remain. - -Wordsworth’s estimate of his contemporaries was not generally high. I -remember his once saying to me: “I have known many that might be called -very _clever_ men, and a good many of real and vigorous _abilities_, but -few of genius; and only one whom I should call ‘wonderful.’ That one was -Coleridge. At any hour of the day or night he would talk by the hour, if -there chanced to be _any_ sympathetic listener, and talk better than the -best page of his writings; for a pen half paralyzed his genius. A child -would sit quietly at his feet and wonder, till the torrent had passed by. -The only man like Coleridge whom I have known is Sir William Hamilton, -Astronomer Royal of Dublin.” I remember, however, that when I recited -by his fireside Alfred Tennyson’s two political poems, “You ask me why, -though ill at ease,” and “Of old sat Freedom on the heights,” the old -bard listened with a deepening attention, and, when I had ended, said -after a pause, “I must acknowledge that those two poems are very solid -and noble in thought. Their diction also seems singularly stately.” He -was a great admirer of Philip van Artevelde. In the case of a certain -poet since dead, and little popular, he said to me: “I consider his -sonnets to be certainly the best of modern times”; adding, “Of course -I am not including my own in any comparison with those of others.” He -was not sanguine as to the future of English poetry. He thought that -there was much to be supplied in other departments of our literature, -and especially he desired a really great history of England; but he -was disposed to regard the roll of English poetry as made up, and as -leaving place for little more except what was likely to be eccentric or -imitational. - -In his younger days Wordsworth had had to fight a great battle in poetry; -for both his subjects and his mode of treating them were antagonistic to -the maxims then current. It was fortunate for posterity, no doubt, that -his long “militant estate” was animated by some mingling of personal -ambition with his love of poetry. Speaking in an early sonnet of - - “The poets, who on earth have made us heirs - Of truth, and pure delight, by heavenly lays,” - -he concludes: - - “Oh! might my name be numbered among theirs, - Then gladly would I end my mortal days.” - -He died at eighty, and general fame did not come to him till about -fifteen years before his death. This might perhaps have been fifteen -years too soon, if he had set any inordinate value on it. But it was -not so. Shelley tells us that “Fame is love disguised”; and it was -intellectual sympathy that Wordsworth had always valued far more than -reputation. “Give me thy love; I claim no other fee,” had been his demand -on his reader. When fame had laid her tardy garland at his feet, he found -on it no fresher green than his “Rydalian laurels” had always worn. Once -he said to me: “It is indeed a deep satisfaction to hope and believe -that my poetry will be, while it lasts, a help to the cause of virtue and -truth, especially among the young. As for myself, it seems now of little -moment how long I may be remembered. When a man pushes off in his little -boat into the great seas of Infinity and Eternity, it surely signifies -little how long he is kept in sight by watchers from the shore.” - -Such are my chief recollections of the great poet, whom I knew but in -his old age, but whose heart retained its youth till his daughter Dora’s -death. He seemed to me one who from boyhood had been faithful to a high -vocation; one who had esteemed it his office to minister, in an age of -conventional civilization, at nature’s altar, and who had in his later -life explained and vindicated such lifelong ministration, even while he -seemed to apologize for it, in the memorable confession, - - “But who is innocent? By grace divine, - Not otherwise, O Nature! are we thine.”[135] - -It was to nature as first created, not to nature as corrupted by -“disnatured” passions, that his song had attributed such high and healing -powers. In singing her praise he had chosen a theme loftier than most -of his readers knew--loftier, as he perhaps eventually discovered, -than he had at first supposed it to be. Utterly without Shakspere’s -dramatic faculty, he was richer and wider in the humanities than any -poet since Shakspere. Wholly unlike Milton in character and in opinions, -he abounds in passages to be paralleled only by Milton in solemn and -spiritual sublimity, and not even by Milton in pathos. It was plain -to those who knew Wordsworth that he had kept his great gift pure, -and used it honestly and thoroughly for that purpose for which it had -been bestowed. He had ever written with a conscientious reverence for -that gift; but he had also written spontaneously. He had composed with -care--not the exaggerated solicitude which is prompted by vanity, and -which frets itself to unite incompatible excellences, but the diligence -which shrinks from no toil while eradicating blemishes that confuse a -poem’s meaning and frustrate its purpose. He regarded poetry as an art; -but he also regarded art, not as the compeer of nature, much less her -superior, but as her servant and interpreter. He wrote poetry likewise, -no doubt, in a large measure, because self-utterance was an essential -law of his nature. If he had a companion, he discoursed like one whose -thoughts must needs run on in audible current; if he walked alone among -his mountains, he murmured old songs. He was like a pine-grove, vocal -as well as visible. But to poetry he had dedicated himself as to the -utterance of the highest truths brought within the range of his life’s -experience; and if his poetry has been accused of egotism, the charge -has come from those who did not perceive that it was with a human, not -a mere personal, interest that he habitually watched the processes of -his own mind. He drew from the fountain that was nearest at hand what he -hoped might be a refreshment to those far off. He once said, speaking of -a departed man of genius, who had lived an unhappy life and deplorably -abused his powers, to the lasting calamity of his country: “A great poet -must be a great man; and a great man must be a good man; and a good man -ought to be a happy man.” To know Wordsworth was to feel sure that if he -had been a great poet, it was not merely because he had been endowed with -a great imagination, but because he had been a good man, a great man, and -a man whose poetry had, in an especial sense, been the expression of a -healthily happy moral being. - -_P.S._--Wordsworth was by no means without humor. When the Queen, on one -occasion, gave a masked ball, some one said that a certain youthful poet, -who has since reached a deservedly high place both in the literary and -political world, but who was then known chiefly as an accomplished and -amusing young man of society, was to attend it dressed in the character -of the father of English poetry--grave old Chaucer. “What!” said -Wordsworth, “M---- go as Chaucer! Then it only remains for me to go as -M----!” - - -PART II. - -SONNET--RYDAL WITH WORDSWORTH. - -BY THE LATE SIR AUBREY DE VERE. - - “What we beheld scarce can I now recall - In one connected picture; images - Hurrying so swiftly their fresh witcheries - O’er the mind’s mirror, that the several - Seems lost, or blended in the mighty all. - Lone lakes; rills gushing through rock-rooted trees; - Peaked mountains shadowing vales of peacefulness; - Glens echoing to the flashing waterfall. - Then that sweet twilight isle! with friends delayed - Beside a ferny bank ’neath oaks and yews; - The moon between two mountain peaks embayed; - Heaven and the waters dyed with sunset hues: - And he, the poet of the age and land, - Discoursing as we wandered hand in hand.” - -The above-written sonnet is the record of a delightful day spent by -my father in 1833 with Wordsworth at Rydal, to which he went from the -still more beautiful shores of Ulswater, where he had been sojourning at -Halsteads. He had been one of Wordsworth’s warmest admirers when their -number was small, and in 1842 he dedicated a volume of poems to him.[136] -He taught me when a boy of eighteen years old to admire the great bard. -I had been very enthusiastically praising Lord Byron’s poetry. My father -calmly replied: “Wordsworth is the great poet of modern times.” Much -surprised, I asked: “And what may his special merits be?” The answer was, -“They are very various; as, for instance, depth, largeness, elevation, -and, what is rare in modern poetry, an _entire_ purity. In his noble -‘Laodamia’ they are chiefly majesty and pathos.” A few weeks afterwards -I chanced to take from the library shelves a volume of Wordsworth, and -it opened on “Laodamia.” Some strong, calm hand seemed to have been laid -on my head, and bound me to the spot till I had come to the end. As I -read, a new world, hitherto unimagined, opened itself out, stretching far -away into serene infinitudes. The region was one to me unknown, but the -harmony of the picture attested its reality. Above and around were indeed - - “An ampler ether, a diviner air, - And fields invested with purpureal gleams”; - -and when I reached the line, - - “Calm pleasures there abide--majestic pains,” - -I felt that no tenants less stately could walk in so lordly a precinct. -I had been translated into another planet of song--one with larger -movements and a longer year. A wider conception of poetry had become -mine, and the Byronian enthusiasm fell from me like a bond that is -broken by being outgrown. The incident illustrates poetry in one of -its many characters--that of the “deliverer.” The ready sympathies -and inexperienced imagination of youth make it surrender itself easily -despite its better aspirations, or in consequence of them, to a false -greatness; and the true greatness, once revealed, sets it free. As early -as 1824 Walter Savage Landor, in his “Imaginary Conversation” between -Southey and Porson, had pronounced Wordsworth’s “Laodamia” to be “a -composition such as Sophocles might have exulted to own, and a part of -which might have been heard with shouts of rapture in the regions he -describes”--the Elysian Fields. - -Wordsworth frequently spoke of death, as if it were the taking of a -new degree in the University of Life. “I should like,” he remarked to -a young lady, “to visit Italy again before I move to another planet.” -He sometimes made a mistake in assuming that others were equally -philosophical. We were once breakfasting at the house of Mr. Rogers, when -Wordsworth, after gazing attentively round the room with a benignant and -complacent expression, turned to our host, and, wishing to compliment -him, said: “Mr. Rogers, I never see this house, so perfect in its taste, -so exquisite in all its arrangements, and decorated with such well-chosen -pictures, without fancying it the very house imaged to himself by the -Roman poet when, in illustration of man’s mortality, he says: ‘Linquenda -est domus.’” “What is that you’re saying?” replied Mr. Rogers, whose -years between eighty and ninety, had not improved his hearing. “I was -remarking that your house,” replied Wordsworth, “always reminds me of -the ode (more properly called an elegy, though doubtless the lyrical -measure not unnaturally causes it to be included among Horace’s odes) -in which the Roman poet writes: ‘Linquenda est domus’; that is, since, -ladies being present, a translation may be deemed desirable, _The house -is_, or _has to be, left_; and again,’et placens uxor’--and the pleasing -wife; though, as we must all regret, that part of the quotation is not -applicable on the present occasion.” The Town Bard, on whom “no angle -smiled” more than the end of St. James’ Place, did not enter into the -views of the Bard of the Mountains. His answer was what children call -“making a great face,” and the ejaculation, “Don’t talk Latin in the -society of ladies.” When I was going away, he remarked, “What a stimulus -the mountain air has on the appetite! I made a sign to Edmund to hand him -the cutlets a second time. I was afraid he would stick his fork into that -beautiful woman who sat next him.” Wordsworth never resented a jest at -his own expense. Once when we had knocked three times in vain at the door -of a London house, I exclaimed, quoting his sonnet written on Westminster -Bridge, - - “Dear God, the very houses seem asleep.” - -He laughed heartily, then smiled gravely, and lastly recounted the -occasion and described the early morning on which that sonnet was -written. He did not recite more than a part of it, to the accompaniment -of distant cab and carriage; and I thought that the door was opened too -soon. - -Wordsworth, despite his dislike to great cities, was attracted -occasionally in his later years - - “To the proud margin of the Thames - And Lambeth’s venerable towers,” - -where his society was courted by persons of the most different character. -But he complained bitterly of the great city. It was next to impossible, -he remarked, to tell the truth in it. “Yesterday I was at S---- House; -the Duchess of S----, showing me the pictures, observed: ‘This is the -portrait of my brother’ (naming him), ‘and it is considered very like.’ -To this I assented, partly perhaps in absence of mind, but partly, I -think, with an impression that her grace’s brother was probably a person -whose face every one knew or was expected to know; so that, as I had -never met him, my answer was in fact a lie! It is too bad that, when more -than seventy years old, I should be drawn from the mountains to London -in order to tell a lie!” He made his complaint wherever he went, laying -the blame, however, not so much on himself or on the duchess as on the -corrupt city; and some of those who learned how the most truthful man -in England had thus quickly been subverted by metropolitan snares came -to the conclusion that within a few years more no virtue would be left -extant in the land. He was likewise maltreated in lesser ways. “This -morning I was compelled by my engagements to eat three breakfasts--one -with an aged and excellent gentleman, who may justly be esteemed an -accomplished man of letters, although I cannot honestly concede to him -the title of a poet; one at a fashionable party; and one with an old -friend whom no pressure would induce me to neglect, although for this, -my first breakfast to-day, I was obliged to name the early hour of seven -o’clock, as he lives in a remote part of London.” - -But it was only among his own mountains that Wordsworth could be -understood. He walked among them not so much to admire them as to -converse with them. They exchanged thoughts with him, in sunshine or -flying shadow, giving him their own and accepting his. Day and night, -at all hours, and in all weathers, he would face them. If it rained, he -might fling his plaid over him, but would take no admonition. He must -have his way. On such occasions, dutiful as he was in higher matters, he -remained incurably wayward. In vain one reminded him that a letter needed -an answer or that the storm would soon be over. It was very necessary -for him to do what he liked; and one of his dearest friends said to -me, with a smile of the most affectionate humor: “He wrote his ‘Ode to -Duty,’ and then he had done with that matter.” This very innocent form of -lawlessness, corresponding with the classic expression, “Indulge genio,” -seemed to belong to his genius, not less than the sympathetic reverence -with which he looked up to the higher and universal laws. Sometimes there -was a battle between his reverence for nature and his reverence for other -things. The friend already alluded to was once remarking on his varying -expressions of countenance: “That rough old face is capable of high and -real beauty; I have seen in it an expression quite of heavenly peace and -contemplative delight, as the May breeze came over him from the woods -while he was slowly walking out of church on a Sunday morning, and when -he had half emerged from the shadow.” A flippant person present inquired: -“Did you ever chance, Miss F----, to observe that heavenly expression on -his countenance as he was walking into church on a fine May morning?” A -laugh was the reply. The ways of nature harmonized with his feelings in -age as well as in youth. He could understand no estrangement. Gathering a -wreath of white thorn on one occasion, he murmured, as he slipped it into -the ribbon which bound the golden tresses of his youthful companion, - - “And what if I enwreathed my own? - ’Twere no offence to reason; - The sober hills thus deck their brows - To meet the wintry season.” - - -SIR THOMAS MORE. - -_A HISTORICAL ROMANCE._ - -FROM THE FRENCH OF THE PRINCESSE DE CRAON. - -III. - -“Ah! well, and so you are going to carry the French birds back!” -exclaimed the old keeper Jack, with a loud, coarse laugh, as he leaned -against one of the century-old trees in Windsor forest. “Well, well, so -be it, my friends; but give us a little drop to drink,” he added in a -jocular but self-important tone. As he said these words, he familiarly -slapped the shoulder of one of the falconers, who was engaged in -fastening the chains again to the feet of the tiercelets, whilst his -comrades cut off the heads of the game taken, and threw them as a reward -to the cruel birds, who devoured them with avidity. - -“After a while,” replied the falconer a little impatiently. “Wait till -our work is done, father Jack; you are always in a hurry--to drink. We -will take our glass together now directly. See that troop of birds! They -must first be chained and put with the others.” - -“Well, well!” replied Jack, “provided we lose nothing by waiting. These -are beautiful birds, if they do come from France.” - -“No, no, you shall lose nothing by waiting,” cried the second falconer. -“Come here; I will let you taste a liquid that these birds have brought -over under their wings, and we will see then if you have ever drunk -anything equal to it since you drew on your boots in the service of his -majesty.” - -And he poured out of a canteen that hung from his shoulder-belt a very -acid gin, filling, until it foamed over, a large pewter cup, which he -handed to father Jack. - -It was swallowed at one draught. - -“Oh! superb, superb!” cried the old keeper, returning the cup and -smacking his lips. “During the five-and-forty years past that I have had -the honor of keeping Windsor, I have drunk nothing better. Let’s go! That -strengthens a man’s courage and warms up his old blood! I believe the -deer will give us a hard drive to-day; I have seen the tracks of fourteen -or fifteen at least.” And saying this, he remounted his old wind-broken -mare. - -“Wait, father Jack, wait for us! We will all go together,” exclaimed the -_gens de l’equipage_; for Jack contributed much to their amusement. When -they had mounted their horses, they followed the keeper, getting off a -hundred jokes on the old mare, to which he was much attached. - -They very soon passed by two young lords who had halted near the verge of -the forest, and were engaged in conversation. - -One of them held in leash four beautiful greyhounds, especial favorites -of the king because of their great sagacity and swiftness in the chase. -Their keeper, however, was obliged to use the lash, in order to stop -their clamorous baying. - -“You have seen her, then?” he remarked to his companion. - -“Yes, I have seen her down yonder. She crossed the road with all of her -ladies,” replied the latter, who belonged to Wolsey’s household and wore -his livery. “She was dressed in a black velvet cap and green riding-habit -and she is really charming!” - -“Well, my poor friend,” replied the other, “but do you know I have -serious fears that your cardinal will soon fall into disfavor? But a -moment ago, as they passed by here, I heard the Duke of Norfolk remark -to a lady that the red cloak was decidedly out of style, and altogether -it was at this time so completely used up that he did not think it could -ever again be mended. The lady smiled maliciously, and said he was -right--she believed the green mantle would eventually end by tearing the -red to pieces! And pointing to the young Anne Boleyn, who was not far -off, she made a sign that left no doubt on my mind it was that lady she -meant to designate as the destroyer.” - -“Truly,” replied the young domestic,[137] “what you tell me is anything -but encouraging. And so our dear duke must have _his_ finger in the pie! -I shall be very sorry for all this if it happens, because my own clothes, -are made of scarlet, you see; and when one has succeeded, in the course -of time, in getting a suit well made up, he doesn’t like the trouble of -having to commence again and make it over.” - -As he said this a cloud of dust arose, and a troop of horsemen passed at -full gallop and with a terrible hue and cry. - -“My dogs! my dogs!” cried the king in the midst of the crowd. “Let -loose my dogs! The deer makes for the ponds. Let them hasten to tell the -ladies, that they may be in at the death.” - -He disappeared like a flash of lightning, of which we obtain but a -glimpse ere it is gone. The shrill notes of the hunter’s horn resounded -from afar, awaking countless echoes through the forest. - -“Let us go,” exclaimed the two young men simultaneously. “We will then -get rid of these accursed hounds.” - -“To the ponds! To the ponds!” they cried. “The ladies, to the ponds! The -ladies, to the ponds!” And they started on, laughing and shouting. - -“What is that you are shouting down there?” cried a huntsman from a -distance, whose horse had just made him roll in the dust. - -“To the ponds! My lord, to the ponds!” they cried. - -The retinue surrounding the Duke of Suffolk put whip to their horses and -followed in a sweeping gallop. From every side of the hills surrounding -these ponds there appeared, at the same moment, troops of eager hunters, -panting and covered with dust. The different roads traversing the forest -in every direction converged and met on the banks of the ponds that slept -in the basin thus formed. - -The ladies had already assembled, and nothing could have been more -entertaining than the rapid and eager movements of the remainder of the -hunters as they came galloping up. The king arrived before any of the -others. He excelled in exercises of this kind, and took great delight -in ending the chase in a brilliant manner by shooting the deer himself. -On this occasion he had decided that, contrary to the usual custom, it -should be taken alive; consequently, they hastened to spread in every -direction the nets and fillets. - -In this case the skill of the hunters consisted in driving the game into -the snare. - -Very soon the deer made his appearance, followed by a multitude of -hounds, who pursued him so furiously, and crowded so closely one against -the other, that, to use a familiar expression of the hunters, they could -have been covered with a table-cloth. - -At sight of the nets the beautiful animal paused for an instant. He -shook his horns menacingly, and stamped the ground with his feet; then -suddenly, feeling already the scorching breath of the infuriated pack -of hounds about to seize him, he made a desperate effort, and, leaping -at a single bound the entire height of the fillets, threw himself into -the lake. Instantly a loud and deafening shout arose, while the furious -hounds, arrested in their course by the nets, uttered the most frightful -howlings on seeing their prey escape. - -“My cross-bow!” cried the king. “Quick! my cross-bow!” and he drew it so -skilfully that at the first shot he pierced the flank of the poor animal, -who immediately ceased to swim. - -Satisfied with his brilliant success, the king, after having heard the -plaudits of the ladies and received the congratulations of the hunters, -proceeded to the pavilion, constructed of evergreens and foliage, as -elegant as it was spacious, which he had had erected in the midst of the -forest, in order to dine under cover. - -The Duchess of Suffolk did the honors of the festival, taking the place -of Queen Catherine, who, under the pretext of bad health, declined -appearing at these hunting parties, the noisy sports having become -insupportable to her. - -Meanwhile the courtiers were greatly excited by observing a roll of paper -the extremity of which projected from the right pocket of the king’s -hunting-jacket; on one of the leaves, a corner of which was turned down, -two words were visible--the name of “Wolsey” and that of “traitor.” Each -one sought to approach the king or pass behind him in order to assure -himself of the astonishing fact, of which they had the temerity to -whisper mysteriously together. - -But in spite of all their efforts, they were unable to discover anything -more; the day and the festival ended with numerous conjectures--the -fears and hopes excited in the minds of that court where for so long the -learned favorite had ruled with as much authority as the king himself. - - * * * * * - -At daybreak on the morning succeeding the festival the gates were thrown -open, and a carriage, bearing the royal arms and colors, drove from the -great courtyard of Windsor Palace. - -While the postilion trotted leisurely along, looking around from time -to time as he wonderingly reflected why the horse on his right grew -constantly lean in spite of the generous addition he had made to his -rations, the two occupants of the carriage engaged in the following -conversation: - -“It is cold this morning,” said one of them, wrapping his cloak more -closely about him. - -“Yes; and how this fog and the heavy dew covering the earth remind one of -the bivouac!” - -“It does indeed,” responded Norfolk to his companion; “but such -souvenirs are always agreeable, and carry us back to the happiest days -of life--years spent amid the tumult and vicissitudes of the camp. -Eighteen! that impulsive, impetuous age, when presumptuous courage rushes -headlong into danger, comprehending nothing of death; when reckless -intrepidity permits not a moment’s reflection or hesitation, transported -by the ardent desire of acquiring glory; the intoxicating happiness of a -first success--such are the thrilling emotions, the brilliant illusions -of youth, which we shall experience no more!” And the old warrior -sorrowfully bowed his head. - -“Ah! well, others replace them,” replied Suffolk. - -“Yes, to be displaced and disappear in their turn,” answered the duke, -brushing back the white locks the wind had blown over his forehead, on -which appeared a deep scar. - -“Well, my lord,” exclaimed the Duke of Suffolk, “do not spoil, by -your philosophic reflections, all the pleasure we ought to enjoy in -the thought that, thanks to the influence and good management of your -charming niece, we are now going to inform Monseigneur Wolsey that the -time has at last arrived for him to abdicate his portion of the crown.” - -“Yes, perhaps so,” replied the duke. “And yet I don’t know. Yesterday, -even, I detested this man, and desired most ardently his ruin; -to-day--no, no; an enemy vanquished and prostrate at my feet inspires -only compassion. Now I almost regret the injury my niece has done him and -the blow she has struck.” - -“Come, come, my lord, do you not know that an excess of generosity -becomes a fault? We have nothing to regret,” continued Suffolk, with an -exulting laugh. “I only hope he may not be acquitted (and thus be able to -settle the scores with us afterwards); that Parliament will show him no -mercy. Death alone can effectually remove him. The little memorandum you -have there contains enough to hang all the chancellors in the world.” - -“It is very certain,” replied the Duke of Norfolk, abstractedly turning -the leaves of the book he held in his hand (the same that had excited -such eager curiosity among the courtiers)--“it is certain this book -contains grave accusations. Nevertheless, I do not think it has entirely -accomplished the end proposed by the author.” - -“In truth, no,” answered Suffolk; “for Wiltshire counted very certainly -on replacing Wolsey. He will be astounded when he learns of the choice of -the king.” - -“Although Wiltshire is a relative of mine,” replied the duke, “I am -compelled to acknowledge that it would have been impossible for the king -to have made a better selection or avoided a worse one. Wiltshire is both -ignorant and ambitious, while Thomas More has no superior in learning -and merit. I knew him when quite a child, living with the distinguished -Cardinal Morton, who was particularly attached to him. I remember very -often at table Morton speaking of him to us, and always saying: ‘This -young boy will make an extraordinary man. You will see it. I shall not be -living, but you will then recall the prediction of an old man.’” - -“Extraordinary!” replied Suffolk in his habitual tone of raillery; -“most extraordinary! We are promised, then, a chancellor of a peculiar -species! I suppose he will not be the least astonished at receiving so -high and singular a favor. But, the devil! he will need to be a wonderful -man. If he sustains himself on the throne ministerial, he will find a -superior degree of wisdom necessary. Between the king, the queen, the -council, Wiltshire, the Parliament, the clergy, and the people, I would -not risk my little finger, brother-in-law of his majesty although I have -the honor to be.” - -And he began laughing as he looked at Norfolk, although, out of deference -to him, he had not included in the list of difficulties the most -formidable of all, and the one that carried all others in its train--his -niece, Mlle. Anne. - -“In the sense you use the word,” the duke answered coldly, “I believe, -on the contrary, he is by no means an astute man. The intrigues of court -will be altogether foreign to his character; but otherwise, in science -and learning, he has no equal. He is in possession of all that a man -is capable of acquiring in that direction, and no man has made a more -profound study of the common law and the statutes of the kingdom. Morton -placed him at Oxford, then at the Chancellors’ College at Lincoln, and he -achieved the most brilliant success.” - -“Admirable!” exclaimed Suffolk, laughing. - -“Since that time,” pursued the Duke of Norfolk, “his reputation has -continued to increase. When he lectured in S. Lawrence’s Church, the -celebrated Dr. Grocyn and all of our London _savants_ crowded eagerly to -hear him.” - -“Well! well! I knew nothing of these most agreeable particulars,” said -Suffolk; “I only knew that it was he who induced Parliament to refuse -the subsidy demanded for the Queen of Scots. If he continues to repeat -such exploits as that, I venture to predict he will not be chancellor -very long.” - -“Oh! as to that,” replied the duke, “he is a man who will never -compromise his conscience. Yes, yes, I recall distinctly the enraged -expression of the present king’s father when Mr. Tyler came to inform him -that the House of Commons had rejected his demand, and a beardless youth -had been the cause of it. I have not forgotten, either, that Henry VII., -of happy memory, well knew how to avenge himself by having an enormous -fine imposed on Sir Thomas’ father.” - -“Well,” replied Suffolk, “but it was not always expedient for the House -of Commons to raise money in that way.” - -The conversation was continued in this manner, as the hours glided by, -until at length the glittering spires of the London churches appeared in -the distance, and very soon the carriage had entered the narrow, gloomy -streets of that great city. - - * * * * * - -Just at this time the soul of Wolsey was replenished with an -inexpressible quietude and contentment. “At last,” he said to himself, -“my enemies have all been confounded. I can no longer entertain a doubt -respecting my power, after the most gracious manner in which the king -has treated me at Grafton. I trust the influence of Anne Boleyn has -diminished in the same proportion that mine has increased. Now she wants -Sir Thomas Cheney recalled; but I shall not consent to that. Campeggio -goes loaded with honorable presents. The influence of the mistress -will soon cease, and that ambitious fool Wiltshire will lose the fruit -of his intrigues.…” As the Cardinal of York consoled himself with these -agreeable reflections, the arrival of the Venetian ambassador was -announced. - -“Ah! so he presents himself at last,” Wolsey exclaimed. “He has been a -long time demanding an audience!” And he ordered him to be introduced. - -Wolsey received him in the most gracious manner. After the usual -compliments were exchanged, he proposed showing him the honors of the -palace. He had spent his life in embellishing and adorning it with -wonderful treasures of industry and art, of which he was the enlightened -and generous protector, bestowing on them from his own purse the most -liberal encouragement. - -Numerous galleries, in which an exquisite taste had evidently directed -even the most trivial ornamentation, were filled with paintings, statues, -and precious antique vases. Superb Flanders tapestries gleamed on all -sides, covered the panels, were disposed around the windows, and fell in -heavy drapery before the openings of the doors to conceal the entrance. -These precious cloths, then of inestimable value, were only found in the -palaces of kings. They usually represented some historical or poetical -subject; and sometimes landscapes and the rarest flowers were wrought and -tinted with reflections of gold. Finally, Wolsey took occasion to point -out, among all these treasures, the presents he had received at different -times from the various princes of Europe who had sought to secure his -influence. - -Charmed with the order, taste, and beauty that reigned throughout the -palace, the Italian admired everything, surprised to find in this foreign -clime a condition of luxury that recalled the memory, always pleasing, -yet sometimes sad, of his own country. - -“Alas!” he exclaimed at length, “we also were rich and happy, and reposed -in peace and security in our palaces, before this war in which we have -been so unfortunate as to rely on the King of France for assistance. He -has abandoned us; and now, compelled to pay an enormous tribute, the -republic finds itself humiliated in the dust beneath the sceptre of the -haughty emperor!” - -“Such is the right of the conqueror,” replied Wolsey. “You are fortunate, -inasmuch as he is forced to use that right with moderation.” - -“It seems a heavy burden to us, this moderation!” replied the ambassador. -“He not only exacts immense sums of money, but compels us to surrender -territory we have conquered with our blood. Florence is placed under the -dominion of the Medici, and all of our Italian princes are reduced to a -condition of entire dependence.” - -“Which, of course, they will shake off at the first opportunity,” -interrupted Wolsey. “Charles V. is too shrewd not to foresee that. Be -assured he will endeavor to secure your good-will, because your support -is indispensable to enable him to resist the formidable power of the -Sultan Soliman, and the invasions of the barbarians subject to his -authority.” - -“In that we have placed our last hope. If our services can be made -available, then from vanquished enemies we may become united allies. -Already the emperor foresees it; for he overwhelms Andrew Doria and the -republic of Genoa with favors. He seems to have forgotten the injuries he -suffered from Sforza; he received him most affably at court, and promised -him the Princess of Denmark, his niece, in marriage.” - -“I am informed,” said Wolsey, “that he is deeply afflicted by the death -of the Prince of Orange.” - -“Very much,” replied the ambassador. “The prince was a valiant captain. -He leaves no children; his titles and landed property will descend to the -children of his sister Rénée, the Countess of Nassau.” - -“And they are all German princes who have thrown themselves headlong -into the Lutheran heresy. They will endeavor to cast off the yoke of the -emperor, and become altogether independent.” - -“They have no other intention,” replied the ambassador; “and by -separating from the Church of Rome they hope more surely to effect their -purpose. However, the decree laid before the diet against the religious -innovations has passed by a large majority.” - -“Yes,” replied Wolsey; “but you see the Elector of Saxony, the Marquis -of Brandenburg, the Landgrave of Hesse, the Dukes of Luneburg, and the -Prince d’Anhalt are all leagued against the church, with the deputies of -fourteen imperial cities, and are designated by no other name than that -of Protestant.” - -“I am aware of that,” replied the ambassador. “It will greatly increase -the difficulties in carrying out the emperor’s secret project,” he -continued after a moment’s silence. “Perhaps, however, he may succeed in -making the crown hereditary in his family.” - -“That is what we shall have to prevent!” cried Wolsey vehemently, who, -at the words of the ambassador, felt all his old hatred toward Charles V. -revive. “We will never suffer it, neither will France. No, no; I am very -certain France will never permit it.” - -“Ah!” replied the ambassador, shaking his head with a doubtful air, -either because he was not convinced, but more probably because he was -well pleased to arouse against the conqueror of Venice the animosity of -England (still, as he considered, entirely governed by the will of the -minister who stood before him). - -“I assure you of it most positively,” answered Wolsey; “and I wish you -to bear it in mind.” And he regarded him with an expression of perfect -confidence and authority. - -“I hope it may be so,” said the ambassador in an abstracted manner. “We -certainly desire nothing more.” - -“Ah! if he had only you to oppose him,” answered Wolsey, resuming his -usual haughtiness, “I should doubt of success. See where you stand,” he -continued, with the secret satisfaction of national pride. “Invaded on -all sides, Italy can oppose but a feeble barrier to the power of two -such bold and daring pirates. Is it not a shame, then, to see these -obscure and cruel robbers, sons of a Lesbian potter--two barbarians, in -fact--reigning sovereigns of the kingdom of Algiers, which they have -seized, and from whence they fearlessly go forth to destroy the Christian -fleets on every sea? When would you be able to conquer these ocean -pirates--you, who have but a gibbet for your couch and a halter for your -vestment? Justice would be kept a long time waiting!” - -The Italian reddened and bit his lip. He vainly sought words in which -to reply, and was relieved of his embarrassment when the door opened and -admitted the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk. - -They entered without the usual ceremonies or salutations, and Wolsey, -surprised at seeing Suffolk, whom he had not met since the altercation -at Blackfriars, regarded them with astonishment. He arose, however, and -advanced toward them. Suffolk, with a disdainful gesture, referred him to -the Duke of Norfolk. - -Astonished at the coldness of the one, the brusque impoliteness of the -other, and embarrassed by the presence of the ambassador, the cardinal -stood motionless, undecided what to think or say. - -“My lords,” he at length exclaimed, “what do you desire of me?” - -“We want you to deliver up the seal of state,” replied Norfolk, without -changing countenance. - -“What do you say, my lord?” cried Wolsey, stupefied with astonishment. - -“The king has ordered it,” continued the duke with the same imperturbable -manner. - -“The king! Can it be possible?” said Wolsey, dismayed, and in a voice -almost inaudible. “The seal of state! And what have I done? What? Can -this be true? No, my lord, no,” he suddenly exclaimed with an expression -of indescribable terror; “it cannot be true! You have mistaken the king; -I do not deserve any such treatment. I pray you let me see him; let me -speak to him for a moment--one single moment. Alas! alas!” - -And he glanced at the ambassador, who, astounded himself at first, and -feeling himself out of place in the presence of this mighty downfall, -had involuntarily withdrawn towards the door. - -“It is no longer a question to be submitted to the king,” cried Suffolk -in a threatening and defiant manner; “it is only necessary now to obey -him, and he orders you instantly to deliver up the seal.” - -“The order is imperative,” added Norfolk in a cold and serious manner. “I -regret being charged with a commission which to you, my lord, must be so -painful.” - -He said no more. But Suffolk, base and jealous in his nature, was not -ashamed to add to the humiliation of the unfortunate cardinal. - -“Come, my good friend,” he said in an ironical voice, “why do you beg so -imploringly? One would suppose we had demanded the apple of your eye. You -have been putting the seal so long now on our purses and tongues, you -ought not to be surprised nor annoyed that we feel like using it awhile -ourselves.” - -This cowardly insult exasperated Wolsey, but his courage was roused with -his indignation. - -“My Lord Suffolk,” he answered with dignity, “I am sorry for you and -for the prompt manner in which you seem to forget in their misfortune -those who in days of prosperity were always found ready to come to your -assistance. I hope you may never experience how painful it is to endure a -similar cruel ingratitude.” - -He immediately withdrew, and returned with the richly-adorned casket -containing the great seal of state. - -Holding it in his trembling hand, he avoided Suffolk, and, advancing -rapidly toward the Duke of Norfolk, handed it to him. - -“My lord,” he said, “here are the seals of the kingdom of England. -Let the king’s will be done. Since I received them from his hand, -fifteen years ago, I am conscious of having done nothing to merit his -displeasure. I trust he will one day deign to render me full justice, for -I have never proved myself unworthy of his favor.” - -As he uttered the last words, he was unable to restrain the tears which -involuntarily arose to his eyes. - -Although the cardinal was by no means a favorite with the Duke of -Norfolk, he was moved with compassion, and sadly reflected that he had -still more painful intelligence to communicate. - -He glanced at his companion, but, fearing the bitter and poignant irony -in which Suffolk never failed to indulge, he hastened to prevent it in -order to spare Wolsey. - -“My lord cardinal,” he said, “you ought to reflect that the king is too -just and impartial to withdraw the favor he has so long bestowed on you -without having weighed well the reasons and necessities requiring such -a course. Nevertheless, his goodness has not abandoned you; he permits -you to select such counsel as you may desire to defend you against the -accusations presented against you to Parliament.” - -“To Parliament!” murmured Wolsey, terror-stricken; for the duke’s last -words suddenly disclosed the depth of the abyss into which he had fallen. -“To Parliament!” he repeated. The shock he had experienced was so -violent that his pride of character, the sense of personal dignity, the -presence of his enemies, were all forgotten in a moment, and he abandoned -himself to despair. Unable longer to sustain himself, he sank on his -knees. “I am lost!” he cried, weeping and extending his hands toward -his persecutors. “Have pity on me, my Lord Norfolk! I give up all to -the king! Let him do with me what he will! Since he says I am culpable, -although I have never had the intention, yet I will acknowledge that I -am. But, alas! of what do they accuse me?” - -“Of having violated the statutes of præmunire,” replied Norfolk. - -“And betraying your country,” continued Suffolk, “by carrying on a secret -correspondence with the King of France. You well remember that it was you -who had me recalled at the moment when, having become master of Artois -and Picardy, I had the Parisians trembling within their walls? Will you -dare deny that you were the cause of it, and that it was the _prière -d’argent_ of Mme. Louise[138] induced you to give the order for me to -retire? The king has been already long enough your dupe, and our duty was -to enlighten him. As to the rest, my lord cardinal, you understand the -proceedings; your advocate ought to be here, and you should immediately -confer with him with regard to the other charges herein contained.” - -As he said this, he threw on the cardinal’s table the bill of -presentment, which contained no less than forty-four chief accusations. - -They then took possession of all the papers they could find, carrying -away the seal of state, and left Wolsey in a condition deserving pity. - -As they retired, they proposed sending in the advocate, who was waiting -in an adjoining apartment conversing with Cromwell. - -“Ha! ha! you are here, then, Sir Cromwell,” said the Duke of Suffolk, -laughing. “Go in, go in there at once,” he cried, pointing to the door -of Wolsey’s cabinet. “The cardinal needs you; I fear he will be hard to -console.” - -Cromwell watched with great anxiety the course of events, and, not -knowing to which side to turn, determined at least to secure for -himself the appearance and merit of fidelity to his benefactor. Without -reflecting on the consequences, he hastily replied that he would not -leave Wolsey, would never abandon him, but follow him to the end. - -“You will follow him to the end, eh?” replied Suffolk. “When you know his -intended destination, I doubt very much if you will then ask to follow -him.” - -As he said this, he made a gesture giving Cromwell to understand that his -master, besides losing place and power, was also in danger of losing his -head. - -“High treason, my dear sir, high treason!” cried Suffolk. “Do you hear -me?” - -“High treason?” repeated Cromwell slowly. “Ah! my lord duke, how could he -be guilty?” - -He hastened to rejoin Wolsey, whom he found bathed in tears and -endeavoring to decipher the act of presentment. - -“Ah! Cromwell,” exclaimed the unhappy cardinal on seeing him, “my dear -friend, you have not then forsaken me! But, alas! I am lost. Read here -for yourself--read it aloud to me; for my sight is failing.” - -Cromwell seized the paper and commenced reading the accusation. On -hearing that it was based principally on the violation of the statutes of -præmunire,[139] Wolsey was unable to control his indignation. - -“How,” he cried, “can the king be induced to sanction such unparalleled -injustice? It is true that in receiving from the pope the title of -legate, and exercising throughout the kingdom the authority conferred -by that title, I have been brought in opposition to the precautionary -statutes of King Richard; but still I have not violated them, since the -king himself has sanctioned that power and recognized it by appearing -in his own person before the court. Is he not more to blame, then, who -desired and ordered it, than I, who have simply been made a party to it? -I can prove this,” he cried--“yes, I can prove it; for I have still the -letters-patent, signed by his own hand, and which he furnished me to that -effect. Cromwell, look in my secretary; you will find them there.” - -Cromwell opened the secretary, but found nothing. - -“There is not a single paper here,” he said. “Where could you have placed -them?” - -“Indeed!” exclaimed the cardinal. “Then they have all been carried away! -All!” he repeated. “I have no longer any means of defence; I am lost! -They are all arrayed against me; they have resolved upon my death. O -Henry! O my king! is it thus you forget in one moment the services I -have rendered you? Cromwell,” he continued in a low voice and gloomy, -abstracted manner--“Cromwell, I am lost!” - -The same evening another messenger came to inform the unhappy cardinal -the king wished to occupy, during the session of Parliament he was about -to convene, his palace of York (the object of his care and pride), and -that in leaving it he could retire to, and have at his disposal, a house -about eight leagues from London, entirely abandoned, and belonging to the -bishopric of Winchester. - - * * * * * - -The night, already far advanced, found Sir Thomas More still seated in -his cabinet, conversing with the Bishop of Rochester, who had arrived at -Chelsea very late that morning. - -A light was burning on a long table encumbered with books and papers; -several high-backed chairs, covered with black morocco, cast their -shadows on the walls; a capacious rug of white sheep-skin was spread -before the hearth, where the remains of a fire still burned in the grate. - -Such was the simplicity of the home of Sir Thomas More. - -“And why, my dear friend,” asked the Bishop of Rochester, “will you -consent to take upon your shoulders so terrible a responsibility? Once -become chancellor, have you fully considered that you will be surrounded -by enemies, who will watch your every movement and pursue you even to -your death? Have you reflected well that you acknowledge no other laws -than those of your own conscience, and feel no remorse unless for not -having spoken your views with sufficient candor? Is it thus you hope to -resist--thus you hope to escape the snares that will continually surround -you?” - -“I fear nothing,” replied More; “for I believe in God! And you -yourself--would you not blame such weakness? In refusing the king I -refuse the queen. Would not Catherine then declare that the trusted -servant, even he who had been called her friend, had sacrificed her -interests to his love of ease? He had declared his life should be devoted -to her cause, and now had abandoned and deprived her of the only hope of -relief Providence seemed to have left her! No, Fisher, friendship has -rights too sacred for me not to respect them.” - -“Then,” cried the bishop, “if you respect the rights of friendship, -listen to my appeal! I ask you to decline a dignity that will prove -destructive to you. In the name of all that you hold most dear, in the -name of all that is good and beautiful in nature, in the entire universe, -I conjure you to refuse this fatal honor! It is more than probable the -very seal they wish now to place in your hands will be very soon affixed -to your death-warrant! Believe me, my friend, all will unite against you. -A deep conviction has taken possession of my soul, and I see, I feel, the -wrath of this prince, as violent as he is cruel, ready to fall upon your -devoted head. You will be crushed in this struggle, too unequal to admit -for an instant the hope of escape.” - -“Ah! well,” replied More laughingly, “instead, then, of simply inscribing -on my tombstone ‘Here lies Thomas More,’ there will appear in pompous -style the inscription, ‘Here lies the Lord High Chancellor of England.’ -Assuredly, I think that would sound much better, and I shall take care to -bequeath my first quarter’s salary to defray the expense of so elegant an -inscription.” - -“More!” cried the Bishop of Rochester with impatience, “I cannot suffer -you to jest on a subject of such grave importance. Do you, then, desire -to die? Would you ruin yourself? Trust to my experience. I know the heart -of Henry thoroughly; your attempt to save the queen will be vain, and -you will inevitably be involved in her ruin. I conjure you, then, accept -not this office. I will myself carry your refusal to the king.” - -“No, no!” exclaimed More. “I have decided--decided irrevocably.” - -“Irrevocably?” repeated Rochester, whom the thought reduced almost to -despair. “More, I see it. You have become ambitious; the vainglory of -the world, the fatal infatuation of its honors, have taken possession -even of the soul of Thomas More! Your heart no longer responds to mine; -your ear remains deaf to all my solicitations! Ah! well, since the desire -of being honored among men, and to have them grovel at your feet, has -made even you despise my counsel and advice, then listen, listen well, -and God grant that I may be able to destroy in your heart the poison -that pride has poured into it! You are willing to sacrifice to your -vanity all the happiness, all the quiet and peace, of your future; know, -then, what recompense will be meted out to you. Yesterday Wolsey was in -a manner driven from his palace, and descended the Thames in a common -boat, Cromwell alone accompanying him; for all have deserted him except -his enemies, who, in order to enjoy his calamities, crowded the river in -boats and followed after him. They hoped to see him arrested and carried -to the Tower, the report having been circulated that he would be taken -there. Wolsey--he whom you have so often seen make his appearance in -Parliament, surrounded by an almost royal pomp and splendor--is now a -fugitive, alone, abandoned, without defence, of the clamorous insults -and bitter scorn of a populace always eager to feast their eyes on -the ruins of fallen greatness. The air around him resounded with their -maledictions. ‘Here is the man who fattened on the blood of the poor,’ -they cried. ‘The taxes will be reduced now,’ exclaimed others, ‘since -he will have no farther use for palaces and gardens’; and all, in their -ignorance, abused him as the cause of the wrongs and oppressions which -it was probably not in his power to have averted. At length, overwhelmed -with insults and outrages, he was landed at Pultney, and, in order to -escape the mob, was hurriedly conducted to his house at Asher, where he -has been banished. Such is the reward you will receive in the service of -an avaricious prince and a blind infatuated multitude!” - -He paused, overcome by anxiety and excitement. - -“My dear Fisher,” responded More, deeply moved, “our hearts and thoughts -are always in unison; you have only represented to me a second time the -picture I had already painted myself.” - -“Indeed!” cried Rochester; “and do you still hesitate?” - -“What!” replied More, resolutely, “and does it require so much hesitation -to sacrifice one’s self? I would not wish to live dishonored; and I -should consider myself guilty if I forgot my duty toward my sovereign and -the honor of England!” - -“So you are resolved! Ah! well, let your sacrifice be accomplished,” said -the saintly bishop; “but then may God, whose goodness is infinite, hear -my vows and grant my prayer: may the same dangers unite us; side by side -with you may my last sigh be breathed out with yours; and if the life of -the aged man is not extinguished before that of the man in his prime, -then may the stroke of death cut us down at the same moment!” - -“My dear friend,” cried More, “the many years that have passed over your -head and blanched your locks have not yet ripened your judgment, since -you can believe it possible that the king’s anger, although it may one -day fall on me, could ever be permitted to overtake you, the counsellor -of his youth, whom he has so often called his father! No, I can conceive -of no such fearful possibility; the wise, the virtuous Bishop of -Rochester can never be involved in the misfortune that would crush Thomas -More.” - -“Ah!” replied Fisher, “but I shall understand how to call down on my head -the vengeance with which he may hesitate to strike me. Believe me, More, -a man scarcely reaches the prime of life before he feels himself, as it -were, daily beginning to fail. Just as in the autumn days the sun’s light -rapidly diminishes, so the passing years despoil his body of physical -strength and beauty; but it has no effect upon his soul. The heart--no, -the heart never grows old! It loves, it suffers, as in the early morning -of life; and when at last it has reached the age when wisdom and -experience have destroyed the illusions of the passions, friendship, -strengthened by so many blessed memories, reigns there alone and entire, -like a magnificent flower that has been sheltered and preserved from the -destroying worm. - -“Having almost arrived at the end of his career, he often takes a survey -of the road he has passed over. He loves to recall his joys and his -sorrows, and to weep again for the friends he has lost. I know that -presumptuous youth imagines that the prudence he refuses to obey is the -only good that remains after the labors of life have been terminated by -time. - -“Your feelings are not in unison with those of an old man. It is because -you do not understand them. He lives in memory, and you in hope. You -pursue a phantom, a chimera, the nothingness of which he has already -experienced; you accuse him, he complains of you, and often you do not -deign to regard the last bitter tear that is drawn from him at the sight -of the tomb into which he must soon descend.” - -“Oh!” exclaimed More, “you whom I venerate as a father and love as a -friend--can you doubt for one moment the truth of a heart entirely -devoted to you? Confirmed by your example, guided and sustained by -your counsels, what have I to fear? Banish from your mind these sad -presentiments. Why should this dread of the future, that perhaps after -all is only chimerical, destroy the extreme happiness I enjoy in seeing -you?” - -For a long time they continued to converse, until the light of early -morning at length succeeded the uncertain glimmer of the candle, now -flickering in its socket. - -“My friend, I must leave you,” said Rochester. “The day already dawns. -God grant the sun may not this morning arise on the beginning of your -misfortunes!” - -“Oh! no,” replied More, “this is my _fête_ to-day. S. Thomas will pray -for and protect us.” - -The good bishop then descended to the courtyard and mounted his mule; but -More, unwilling to give him up, walked on by his side as far as the road -followed the course of the river. When they reached the cross-road where -the bishop turned off, More shook his hand and bade him farewell. - -A great wooden cross stood near the roadside, on which was suspended a -wreath of withered leaves; and More, seating himself on one of the stone -steps upon which the cross was elevated, followed the good bishop with -his eyes until he had disappeared in the distance. - -He then rested his head sadly on his hands, and recalled to mind all this -venerable friend had said to him. - -“He is right!” he mentally exclaimed. “How clear-sighted his friendship -renders him! Into what a sea of agitation, malignity, and hatred I shall -be plunged! And all for what? In order that I may be lord chancellor -of the kingdom through which this road passes. Behold, then, beside -the highway,” he added, looking around him, “my lord the great high -chancellor, shivering in the cold morning air just as any other man would -do who had gone out at this hour without putting on his cloak!… Yes, I -can understand how social distinctions might cause us to scorn other -men, if they exempted us from the inconveniences of life. We might then -perhaps believe that we had different natures. But let us change our -garments, and we fall at once, and are immediately confounded with the -common herd.” - -While making these sad reflections upon the follies of human nature, More -arose and returned to the house, where his wife and children and his aged -father--simple and peaceable old man, happy in the favor of the king and -the virtues of his son--were all wrapped in profound slumber. - -In a spacious apartment, of which the dark and worm-eaten ceiling, -ragged tapestry, and dilapidated windows presented the appearance of a -desolate and abandoned edifice, a fragment of broken furniture still -remained, upon which was placed a small piece of bread. Numberless crumbs -strewed the dusty floor and were eagerly devoured by a little mouse, but -recently the only inhabitant of the place. To-day, however, he had the -company of a man whose extraordinary mind had conceived vast projects and -executed great and useful enterprises--the Archbishop of York, Cardinal -Wolsey. Seated upon the edge of a wooden stool which he had placed in the -embrasure of a window, he held his hands crossed one upon the other, and -bitterly reflected upon his unhappy destiny. Regrets, of which he felt -all the impotency, pressed upon his agitated soul. It seemed to him that -he still heard the cries and menaces of the furious populace that exulted -in his distress, and to which perhaps, alas! he would again be subjected. -At one time filled with courage and resolution, at another humble and -cast down, the anxieties of his mind seemed wholly without measure. His -eyes, wearied with straying listlessly over the plain which extended -before him, beheld only a single laborer ploughing the field. “Man is -small,” said he, “in presence of immensity; the point which he forms -in space is imperceptible. Entire generations have passed away, have -gathered the fruits of the earth, and now sleep in their native dust. -My name has been unknown to them. Millions of creatures suffer, where -I exist free from pain. Coming up from the lowest ranks of society, I -have endeavored to elevate myself above them. And what has my existence -signified to them? Has not each one considered himself the common centre -around which all the others must revolve?” - -Here Wolsey, impelled by extreme hunger, approached the little worm-eaten -table, and took up the morsel of dry bread left from his repast the -evening before. - -Just as he was raising it to his mouth a man entered, dressed in the most -scrupulous manner, and enveloped in an ample cloak of the finest material. - -Wolsey was startled, and gazed at him in astonishment. - -“What! Arundel,” he exclaimed at last, “what could have brought you to -this place?” - -“Yourself,” replied Arundel, in a frank, abrupt manner. “You have lost -everything, and have never informed me by a word! Do you think, then, I -have forgotten all you have done for me?” - -“The favors I have conferred on you were so slight,” replied Wolsey, -“that it would have been natural you should have no longer remembered -them, especially since many who owe their wealth, and perhaps their -lives, to me have so completely forgotten it.” - -“I have never learned how to flatter nor to wear velvet gloves,” replied -Arundel; “but I am still more ignorant of the art of forgetting past -favors. No, it has never been my custom to act thus; and you have -offended me more than you imagine by proving you believed me capable of -such baseness.” - -As he said this, Arundel took from his bosom an immense purse of red -satin, filled with gold, and laid it on the dilapidated table beside a -package of clothing which he had thoughtfully added to his gift. - -“There are no acknowledgments to be made,” he remarked; “it is essential -first of all that you be made comfortable. You can return this when it -suits your convenience. Now let us say no more about it.” - -“Alas!” cried Wolsey, “are you not aware, then, that I may never be able -to return it? They will divide my ecclesiastical benefices among them. -The Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Wiltshire have already been put in -possession of the revenue from my bishopric of Winchester. This is the -only food I have had since I came here,” he added, showing him the bread -he still held in his hand. - -“Indeed! It is not very delicate,” replied Arundel; “but it is your own -fault. When one has friends, he should not neglect them, and that is just -what you have done.” - -“Misfortune often renders us unjust,” answered the cardinal, deeply -moved by the generous frankness and brusque proceedings of Arundel, whom -he had always, until now, regarded as being haughty and ungrateful, -because he had never observed him among his crowd of fawning courtiers. -“I must confess that I could not endure the thought of being repulsed -by those for whom I have done everything. I do not believe that among -the immense number of those who daily wearied me with protestations of -their ostentatious regard there is to-day one who has condescended to -think of me in my misfortunes. You only have thought to succor me in my -distress--you, who, without my being aware of it, have doubtless been all -the while the most sincere among them all.” - -“I cannot believe,” replied Arundel, without appearing to notice the -acknowledgments with which Wolsey continued to overwhelm him, “that they -would all thus have abandoned you had they known the extreme severity -with which you have been treated; it would be too foul a blot upon the -name of humanity. Notwithstanding they laugh at our misfortunes, I think -it appears worse to us than it really is. No, be assured you will find -some faithful friends who will defend you. For instance, Sir Thomas More, -your successor, whose fortune you have made, cannot fail to use his -influence in your favor.” - -“More owes me nothing,” replied the cardinal. “I have not made his -fortune; when I proposed him to the king as Treasurer of the Exchequer, -he had for a long time been acquainted with his rare merits. Knowing that -the appointment would prove both useful and agreeable to the king, I -recommended him to make it; but really it was more for the king’s benefit -than More’s. Besides, I am aware that More is one of the most zealous -partisans of Catherine. Thus, you see, there exists no reason why he -should feel inclined to assist me. I am only surprised that a man of his -exalted integrity should accept a position where he will necessarily be -compelled to act in opposition to his convictions.” - -“It is with the eager desire of ultimately being able to convert all -the world and to correct all consciences,” replied Arundel with a smile -of derision; for he never lost an occasion of ridiculing the importance -which many attach to political intrigues, and, as they say, to the -public good, in whose management they pretend to take a hand, in order -to win admiration at any cost for their talents. “And verily, he will -find it difficult to sustain his position, unless he becomes the very -humble servant of my Lady Anne, regent of the kingdom; for nothing is -done but what she ordains, and her uncle, whom she has appointed chief -of the council, executes the orders which the king claims the honor -of communicating to him. Oh!” continued Arundel in the same ironical -tone, and without perceiving the painful effect his words produced on -the unhappy cardinal, “truly it is a very great advantage, and above -all highly honorable for England, to see her king put in tutelage to -the caprices of a woman as weak and vain as she is arrogant. If he was -absolutely determined to go into leading-strings, why did he not beseech -the good Queen Catherine to take charge of him? She, at least, would -have been careful to hold the reins equally on both sides, so that the -swaddling could have been made to walk straight.” - -“A swaddling,” repeated Wolsey, “… who devoured his nurse!” - -“Hold, my dear lord,” continued Arundel; “it cannot be denied that -you have made a great mistake in encouraging the king in his divorce -project--yes, a great mistake, which they now begin to discover. But I do -wrong, perhaps, to reproach you, since you are the first to be punished -for your manner of seeing things. But listen to me; as for myself, if, in -order to avoid dying of starvation, or being compelled to subsist on just -such bread as you have there, I had been obliged to accept the place of -lord chancellor, on the day when I found myself relieved of so burdensome -and exacting an office I should have cried aloud: ‘Thank heaven that I am -again seated by my own fireside, where in peace and quiet I can get up -at my leisure and contemplate passing events.’ For myself, these are my -principles: to have nothing to do is the first essential to happiness; -nothing to lose, the second; nothing to disturb or annoy, the third; -and upon these rest all the others. Such is my system--the best of all -systems, the only.…” - -Arundel would have still continued explaining the numerous theories he -had originated for securing happiness for an indefinite length of time, -perhaps, but he suddenly perceived that Wolsey no longer heard him, but, -with his head sunk on his breast, seemed absorbed in thought. - -“Well, my lord,” said Arundel, “you are not listening to me, it seems? -Really, it is not worth while to explain to you the true method of being -happy.” - -“Ah! my dear Arundel,” replied Wolsey, aroused by the exclamation of his -visitor, “how could you expect me to think of profiting by your lessons, -or to make an application of your theories of happiness, when at this -very moment, perhaps, I have been condemned to death by Parliament?” - -“There is no proof of that,” replied Arundel. “Sufficient unto the day -is the evil--gloomy apprehensions profit us nothing; they do not delay -the progress of events; on the contrary, they send them on us in advance, -and only serve to aggravate the consequences. Moreover, I must not forget -to suggest that if it would be more agreeable for you to be with your -friends, there are many who will be happy to receive you, and offer you -a mansion as commodious, although less sumptuously furnished, than your -palace of York or that of Hampton Court, the latter of which I have never -liked since you added the gallery.” - -“What is that gallery to me now? I surrender it up to you,” said the -cardinal. - -The endless arguments of Arundel began to weary him exceedingly. In spite -of the extreme gratitude he felt for his sincere and generous offers, -Wolsey could not divest himself of the conviction that Arundel belonged -to that class who, while in other respects full of good impulses and -laudable intentions, are so entirely wanting in tact and delicacy, and -contend so urgently for their own opinions, that the consolations they -would force you to adopt, far from alleviating your sufferings, only -augment them and render their sympathy irksome and oppressive. This -feeling was experienced by Wolsey, uncertain as he was what fate was -reserved for him, trembling even for his life, while Arundel endeavored -to paint for him a minute picture of the happiness and tranquillity -enjoyed by a man living in peace and quiet, with nothing to disturb him -in the enjoyment of his possessions. - -“Alas!” he exclaimed at length impatiently, “why has not kind Providence -blessed me with a nature like yours? I should be less unhappy, nor every -instant see yawning before me the terrible depths of the precipice on -which I now stand. I could catch, at least, at the branches of absurdity, -until the moment when I should be dashed to pieces! But no, I cannot; -I am too well acquainted with men and things to expect the slightest -assistance. They are always ready to strike those who are falling, -but never attempt to raise them up. Yesterday, only yesterday, the -commissioners of Parliament demanded of me the letters-patent I had -received from the king in order to exercise my authority as legate, -although every one knew that, as he had given them to me, it was his -right alone to take them away again. Ah! well, they have persisted in -their demand, and have refused to believe me on oath! No, I will indulge -in no more illusions; my enemies have sworn my death, and they will -obtain it! And the king, the king my master, after fifteen years of the -most faithful service, he delivers me up, helpless and defenceless, to -all the cruelties their hatred may inspire; and yet you, Arundel, think -that I should still indulge in hope?” - -“But all this will be arranged, I tell you,” replied Arundel with an -imperturbable coolness. “You should not trouble yourself in advance, -because, if the worst _should_ happen, it will change nothing; and if it -does _not_, your present suffering will have been needless.” - -As Arundel finished this wise reasoning, Cromwell appeared. - -He came from London, where he had been, he said, to defend Wolsey before -the Parliament. - -On seeing him enter the cardinal was seized with an uncontrollable alarm, -thinking his fate had been decided. - -“Cromwell!” he cried, and could say no more. - -“Ah!” replied Cromwell, “you should not thus give way to your -apprehensions, although.…” He paused on seeing the cardinal grow deadly -pale. “You need have no uneasiness, because the king has sent Norris to -bid me assure you he would take you under his protection.” - -“I have been condemned, then!” cried the unhappy Wolsey. “Speak, -Cromwell, speak; conceal nothing from me. I am not a child,” he added -with firmness. - -“You have been condemned by the Star Chamber, but the king says he will -have the bill rejected in the House of Commons,” replied Cromwell. - -“He will not do it!” cried Wolsey, the tears coursing rapidly down his -cheeks. “He will sacrifice me, Cromwell, I know it; he has no longer any -use for me, and my past services have left no impression on his mind. But -how far has their rage carried them? To what have they condemned me?” - -“You have been placed beyond the protection of the king, and all your -property confiscated.” - -“The king’s protection is already recovered,” gently interrupted Arundel, -who had listened until this time in silence. “As for the confiscation, -that will be more difficult, inasmuch as they are generally more ready -to take than to give. However, my dear cardinal, you should despair of -nothing; then let us try and console you. They cannot confiscate me, who -have never had anything to do with the gentlemen of the council. I have a -good house, an excellent cook; you will come home with me, and, my word -for it, you shall want for nothing.” - -“Arundel,” interrupted the cardinal, “I am deeply grateful for your kind -offer; but believe me, they will not leave me the choice of profiting by -it.” - -“Why not? why not?” exclaimed Arundel. “The devil! Why, these gentlemen -of the council are not wild beasts! A little avaricious, a little -ambitious, a little envious, and slightly selfish, but they are at least -as accommodating as the devil!” - -“No!” replied Wolsey. - -“I assure you, before receiving the king’s message,” said Cromwell, “I -was in despair, for they spoke of having you arrested and immediately -urging the accusation of high treason; but since the king has declared -you under his protection, I do not believe that all is entirely lost. -Norris has repeated to me twenty times: ‘Say positively to the cardinal -that the king advises him not to be troubled, and to remember that he can -give him, any moment he pleases, far more than they can take away.’” - -“I hope I may be mistaken, dear Cromwell,” replied the cardinal with -a sombre air; “but I fear a momentary compassion only has excited the -king to say what you tell me, and it will not be long before that wicked -night-bird[140] will again have possession of his ear. She will not -fail to use her influence in defaming me and blackening anew all my -actions, until the king will cease to oppose the wicked designs they have -conceived against me.” - -Saying this, he buried his face in his hands and sank into a state of -despondency impossible to describe. - -Cromwell made no reply, and Arundel silently took his leave, inwardly -congratulating himself, as he returned home, upon the tranquil and happy -life he knew so well how to lead, and censuring those who would not -imitate his example; without once reflecting that few were in a position -so agreeable or independent as his, and consequently were not able to -enjoy themselves equally nor after his own deliberate fashion. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -SINE LABE CONCEPTA - - Predestined second Eve. For this conceiv’d - Immaculate--not lower than the first. - Chosen beginner in the loss reversed, - And mediatress in the gain achieved, - When, the new angel, as the old, believed, - Thy hearkening should bless whom Eve’s had curst. - And therefore we, whose bondage thou hast burst, - Grateful for our inheritance retrieved, - Must deem this jewel in thy diadem - The brightest--hailing thee alone “all fair,” - Nor ever soil’d with the original stain: - Alone, save Him whose heart-blood bought the gem - With peerless grace preventive none might share-- - Redemption’s perfect end, all else tho’ vain. - - -VILLAGE LIFE IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. - -“I think I shall start for New Hampshire to-morrow,” I said. “Do you know -anything about L----, in Cheshire County?” - -Jones, who had been meditatively examining the coloring of a -richly-tinted meerschaum, sat up erect at this question, with a sudden -access of vigor. - -“L----?” he said. “By George! there’s where Agnes Cortland lives now in -the summer.” - -It was the middle week of July. Aspirations for one whiff of the breeze -among the hills had become irresistible. We were sitting together, Jones -and I, in my room up-town after luncheon. Jones was a young New York -artist in his first season after his return from Italy the previous -autumn. He, too, was about to start on a sketching tour through Vermont, -in which State his people lived. He was late leaving town, but money -was not easy with him--a handsome young fellow of that golden age -between twenty-three and twenty-four, when one is apt to think he needs -only a very short-handled lever to move the world. He was of medium -height, but squarely and powerfully built; with a face good-natured, -but very resolute, in expression. A stranger would not be likely to -take a liberty with him. I had a strong notion that Jones would make a -better soldier than artist, if there were any question of blows being -struck for the country, which happily there is not. But hitherto I had -shrewdly kept that opinion to myself. Considerably older than he was, -and engaged in another occupation, circumstances had thrown us a good -deal together. Intimacy had brought confidence, and confidence, at -his age, meant--nothing more nor less than it always does under such -circumstances--the unbosoming of his love affairs. How few there are -who have not found themselves in the same position, either as actors or -sympathetic chorus, or in time as both! What countless dramas of passion -are continually being put upon the private stage before this limited -audience! - -Now, it is not the purpose of this paper to pursue the history of -Jones’ captivity at the hands of the tender goddess through all the -infinitesimal and transcendental chapters a first romance runs into. More -placid emotions and observations, befitting the serenity of approaching -middle age, are in store for the reader. And in fact the history of -Jones’ passion is still incomplete. But so much of it may be given as -fell within the purview of our New Hampshire observations. - -Jones was poor--prosaic fact, which robs life of so many compensations as -we grow old. But at twenty-three we spurn the mastery of the glittering -dross--that is, if Congress gives us any to spurn! Let us say rather -of the flimsy paper. At that age of our flowing life we coin money at -our own mint; or, more truly, draw limitless drafts on the Bank of -the Future. Happy the man who meets them when they fall due! Jones, -at least, had no doubts as to his future solvency. But his plans were -vague--very! - -Agnes Cortland was the daughter of a railroad director--or two or -three directors rolled into one--and had the world, or at least the -New York world, to choose from. Poor Jones! his story might almost be -predicted from the start. Yet this inheritor of the (latent) genius -of any half-dozen masters, ancient or modern, you choose to name, -believed, perhaps with some reason, that this daughter of Dives liked -him; and as for himself, he vowed with hyperbole that he adored her. -They had frequently met--their families then being neighbors in the -country--before he went to Italy, where he had spent two years studying -and wandering about. No avowal of affection had been made between them, -but he had gone away with the consciousness many little signs and tokens -give that he was not disliked. Since his return a year ago some meetings -had taken place--at rarer intervals--in society. At an evening party -some months before she had given him, he said, a slight but unmistakable -opportunity of declaring himself, if he had wished to do so. - -“But I did not take it,” said Jones, who, spite of his being in love, was -as manly a young fellow as one could meet. “She knows I am poor; and I -don’t want to be thought a fortune-hunter.” - -I laughed at this quixotic declaration. - -“My dear fellow,” I said, “you fly at high game. But I should not let -the _auri sacra fames_ interfere, one way or the other, with my tender -emotions. If I did so at all, Plutus would have his due weight in the -scale, believe me!” - -“What would you do?” said Jones. This was in one of those “tobacco -parliaments” in early spring--if so they might be called, where one, -only, smoked, and the other looked on with sympathy; for I had abandoned -the “weed” some years before--hardly of such profundity, nor yet so -silent, as those Mr. Carlyle speaks of. Jones had recurred to his usual -topic of hopes and perplexities. - -“Do?” I answered, looking at him retrospectively, as it were, as if -contemplating my own departed youth, as he sat there in his favorite -attitude after dinner, gracefully balancing one leg over the arm of -my chintz-covered easy-chair, while I was stretched out on the sofa. -“Ah! that is an easy question to propound, but not so easy to answer. -At your age I should not think you would need much prompting. But if -you ask me, I would say, leave it alone! Love is a luxury for the rich -or the evenly-mated poor. But you are not likely to take that advice. -A good deal would depend on the reinforcements she might bring to the -struggle. A woman is not always a passive instrument in those affairs, -but sometimes has a will of her own. I have never seen your fair one, -and know nothing about her. But if she be a girl of some strength of -character, and her love do not prove a mere school-girl’s fancy, she -might possibly gain her father’s consent. But it is not a promising -adventure, at the best; and I would not recommend you to embark your -hopes in it. Keep clear of serious entanglements until you see your way -before you. Above all, avoid anything like a clandestine engagement. It -will not add to your happiness or hers. I don’t suppose you will think -this a very encouraging opinion. But there may be circumstances in your -favor I know nothing of. Marry her, if you can, and can get the father’s -consent; and go into “railroading” with him in his office. You will make -more money at that than you are ever likely to do sticking little dabs of -color on a piece of canvas.” - -I saw Jones wince at this mercenary view of his art. But he bore it -like a man, and continued silent. The suggestion of such a change of -vocation did not appear to surprise him, though it was plain no active -intention of throwing up his art had yet entered his mind. The fact is, -Jones is one of those young men--not inconsiderable in numbers in the -profession--who “have a studio,” but are not likely ever to send many -master-pieces out of it. Developing some precocious talent for drawing -when they are boys, and seizing with boyish eagerness upon the suggestion -of being “an artist,” they are offered by fond but undiscerning parents -upon the altar of art. But they never advance beyond a mechanical -dexterity in putting conventional scenes upon canvas. They haven’t -a spark of that genius that is often observed where other pursuits -have prevented a devotion to the profession. Eventually they abandon -altogether the study or practice of their art, or sink into drudges for -the picture or chromo dealers, or grind out a living as drawing-masters, -or--Heaven knows how. I will not say that Jones was altogether deficient -in talent, but the talent that makes an agreeable accomplishment for -the rich amateur is a different thing from that which will pay the -piper or win eminence in the art. Jones painted his pictures for the -autumn and spring exhibitions, and had one or two on view in one of -the up-town windows. But at Du Vernet’s big sale I know that a clever -little bit of coloring on which he had spent some time was knocked down -to a chromo-dealer for sixteen dollars! How was he going to live on such -prices? And as for marrying Agnes Cortland--it was simply preposterous -to think of it. Nor is this redundancy of young native artists on whom -neither genius nor fashion smiles confined to New York alone. In Boston, -which is the only other city boasting of a native school of art, the same -low prices prevail. It is disheartening; but a more disheartening thing -still is that those prices often represented the actual value of the -picture. - -Jones was imperfectly educated, though his continental travel had made -him a fair linguist. He certainly drew very little inspiration from the -antique, for he knew next to nothing about it; nor had he much of that -sympathy with the undercurrent of life, and its relations with nature, -which gives significance to common things. He had a fondness for pleasure -which, of course, did not contribute to his success. Yet he was one of -those young fellows whom it is impossible to meet without liking. He was -frank, honorable, and spirited, and had a robust shrewdness about him in -dealing with men and things that made him a pleasant companion. That he -would eventually choose a more active kind of life--and probably succeed -in it--I was half-convinced, and my advice about “railroading,” though -spoken partly in jest, was inwardly meant in good faith. - -On this particular July evening on which our paper opens Jones followed -up the announcement of my proposed trip to L---- by expressing a wish -that he were going there too, so that he might come to a definite -understanding with Agnes Cortland; and the wish was soon followed by the -determination to act on it. - -“How long do you intend to stay there?” he asked. - -“Till the first week in September,” I said. - -“Then I will come back that way, and join you for a few days about the -first of September. The Cortlands don’t leave there till October. We can -come back to New York together.” - -It would have been ungracious on my part to have objected to this -proposal, though I had a good many doubts about its wisdom. So it -happened that my little excursion to L----, which I had innocently -designed to be a season of simple lotus-eating such as Mr. Tennyson -ascribes to his Olympian deities, “reclined upon the hills together, -careless of mankind,” was complicated by a subordinate interest in a -comedy from real life which had that quiet village for a stage. - -The next day I started, taking Boston _en route_. That staid, quiet, -cleanly city seems always to be, compared with New York, like a good -school-boy by the side of a big, blustering brother fonder of a street -row than his books. Then to Fitchburg, where I stopped over night, as -some stage travelling was to be done from our “jumping-off” place, and -riding over the country roads in the morning was more promising than on -a dark and cloudy night. In the morning the Fitchburg Railroad again, -and one of its branches to L----. The unwonted coolness of the morning -breeze, as the train entered the New Hampshire hills, already began to -refresh mind and body alike. The pines and hemlocks extending back into -deep, dim recesses carpeted with moss and ferns; the cattle moving slowly -over the pastures in the distance; the pastures themselves stretching -up the sides of the highest hills, still of the freshest green, without -a hint of the yellow undertone that I watched gradually overspread them -as the summer ripened into autumn; a lake in the foreground, silent, -unvisited, its clear waters unpolluted by the dregs of commerce or the -drainage of a vast metropolis; even the caw! caw! of the ravens flying -off from the tops of the pine stumps, send a novel and delicious feeling -of freedom through the breast of the city traveller who has put care and -work behind him for a season. Nor is this feeling altogether evanescent. -Even now, as winter approaches and the north winds from the same hills -come sweeping down over the great city, sending us chattering and -freezing to our cosey firesides, the glory of the July foliage moves our -memory like a far-off dream of youth. Yet, after all, it may be doubted -whether the charm of country scenes is not due in great part to their -novelty and the feeling that we are not bound to them longer than we -please. Of all that has been written in praise of country life, how much -is the work of the city resident; how little, comparatively speaking, -springs from the country itself! There drudgery too often takes the -place of sentiment. It is the Epicurean poet, Horace, satiated with the -noise of the Forum and the gossip of the baths, who sings sweetest of -rural contentment, of the “lowing herds,” the “mellow fruits of autumn,” -and the “brooks murmuring over stony beds.” But when he gives play to -his satiric vein, none pictures more truthfully than the Venusian the -grumbling of the husbandman, who “turns the heavy clay with the hard -plough.” Embowered in some shady arbor on the windings of the Digentia -through his Sabine farm, or doing a little amateur farming, to the -amusement, as he confesses, of his blunt country neighbors, who laughed -at the dandy poet with a hoe in his hand, it was easy for Horace to -chant the smooth and sunny side of country life. But the eight laborers -on his estate, chained literally to the soil, as many a New England -farmer morally is by the burden of debt or family, no doubt saw things -differently. And the bailiff of his woodlands we know to have despised -those “desert and inhospitable wilds,” and to have longed for the streets -and shows of Rome. It is amazing upon what inattentive ears the music of -our wild birds falls in a secluded farm-house. Often it seems absolutely -unheard; while the clatter of the long street of the country town that -the farmer visits once a month is for ever in his mind. - -But we delay too long at the way station at L----. Let us onwards. - -The carrier of the United States mail, who is at the same time the Jehu -of the passenger stage, slings our _impedimenta_ up behind with an energy -to be envied by a veteran “baggage-smasher” at some of our big depots, -straps it down, and jumps upon the box. We mount more slowly beside him, -disdaining to be shut up in the close interior, and intent upon looking -at the country we pass through this lovely morning. The two stout grays -breast the hill leading to L---- Centre, eight miles distant. - -The surface of the country is hilly and broken; as we approach L----, -mountainous. Mounting the crest of the first steep hill, a beautiful -natural panorama spreads out before us: long, narrow, intersecting lines -of timber, like giant hedges, dividing the hill farms from each other. -A rolling country spreads toward the east, bounded on the horizon by a -low range of mountains wooded to the summit, and with a white steeple -flashing out here and there among the trees at their base. The effects of -light and shade, caused by the clouds on a brilliant day, on one of those -white steeples, standing out solitarily against the side of a mountain -eight or ten miles distant, are peculiar. Sometimes it becomes invisible, -as the circle of the shadow is projected upon that area of the mountain -which includes it. Then, as the dark veil moves slowly, with a sliding -motion, up the side and over the crest of the mountain, the white spire -flashes out from the obscure background of the forest with a sudden -brilliancy. On this side patches of blue water among the trees in the -hollows revealed the presence of numerous ponds, as the small lakes, and -some of the large ones, are universally called in New England. - -To the northwest what seemed to be a level plain from the height over -which we rode, but which was in reality broken and undulating ground, -stretched beneath us for ten or twelve miles to the base of Mt. -Monadnock. The mountain, grand, massive, and still veiled by a thin mist, -rose boldly from the low country at its foot to a height of nearly four -thousand feet. - -A ride of an hour and a half brought us to the top of the hill on the -side of which stands L----. A dozen scattered houses flank the broad -village green, and a Congregational meeting-house, with white belfry -tower and green blinds, stands half-way down the incline. - -The post-office and country store combined is at the cross-roads as you -drive down the hill, and some ancient elms on the green seem to nod at -the stranger with a friendly air as he enters the village. “Here,” said I -to myself, “is rural quiet and simplicity. Farewell for many slumberous -weeks the busy haunts of men.” L---- is quite out of the beaten track of -summer travel, and had been recommended me by a friend who had spent some -seasons there, on the ground of economy, charming scenery, good fishing, -and repose. Nor did I find any reason to regret having listened to him. -A country tavern offers entertainment to man and beast, and is resorted -to by the drummers and sample men who invade L----, as elsewhere, with -their goods. But I was not forced to be dependent on it, as a letter from -my friend opened to me the hospitable doors of the comfortable farm-house -where he had boarded two years before. - -Here let it be said at the outset that whatever the other drawbacks of -village life in New Hampshire, there is among the farming class a natural -courtesy, and, among the women, even an inherited refinement of manner, -especially in their treatment of strangers, which speaks well for the -native stock. Prejudices there are among both men and women--deep-rooted, -as we shall see--and narrow-minded opinions in plenty; but even these -are concealed where to manifest them might give offence. The family -in which I was domiciled consisted of Mr. Allen and his wife, their -married daughter--who, together with her husband, resided with them--an -unmarried daughter, and a pretty little girl, the grandchild. Mr. Allen -kept a country store--for L---- boasted of two--and traded also in cattle -with Canada, making a journey sometimes as far as Montreal in the spring -to buy stock, which he fattened on his pastures through the summer and -autumn, and sold in the early part of the winter. These various ventures, -which were on the whole successful--as the command of a little ready -money enabled him to take his time and buy and sell to advantage--had -made him more “forehanded” than most of his neighbors. He was one of -the selectmen of L----. His dwelling-house, a large, white, well-kept -two-story edifice, with a garden-plot facing the village street, a piazza -on the sunny side, and two beautiful maples dividing the carriage yard -from the road, was one of the handsomest in L----. Mrs. Allen was one of -those energetic housewives whose sound sense and domestic capacity had -evidently contributed not a little to her husband’s present prosperity. - -They were a sturdy couple, intelligent, honest, and knowing what was due -to themselves and others; now going down the hill together with mutual -dependence and confidence in each other. I consider them a good example -of the best type of the New Hampshire farming class. - -The married daughter did not compare favorably with the mother. One could -not say of her in any sense: - - “O matre pulchra filia pulchrior!” - -for, as to the question of female beauty, I will not say, as far as my -observations extend, that the New Hampshire, or indeed the New England -women generally, outside the radius of Boston and some of the large -towns, are very generously endowed by nature with that gracious but -dangerous gift. The lines of the face are too strongly marked; they are -sallow, the form angular; or, where the figure is fuller, it is apt to be -as redundant as the old Flemish painters make the women at a village fair. - -But this absence of feminine beauty is not universal. I have seen a -young mother with her babe in her lap--a visitor sitting in Mrs. Allen’s -parlor--who made a picture of beautiful maternity as dignified and -simple as Murillo ever painted. As for that more lasting moral beauty -which, where it is feminine, puts on its most delightful and engaging -charm, Mrs. Harley, the married daughter, was too much engaged with -her own little cares and gossip--poor woman!--to think much of so -intangible a possession. Brought up, probably, in habits of more leisure -and pleasure-seeking than her mother, who still took all the household -work upon herself, she was a victim of _ennui_ and of that blight of -too many American homes--only one child to care for. Her health was -delicate and uncertain, and she bade fair to sink eventually into that -class of invalid wives which forms such an unhappily large percentage -of American women. How often have I heard her complain of the dreadful -dulness of the day! “But,” I asked, “what will you do in the winter, if -you find the summer so unbearable?” Her answer was that they generally -enjoyed themselves enough in the summer-time to be able to get through -the winter. I don’t know whether this was a covert thrust at my lack of -entertaining power; but I laughed at the stroke of satire at my expense, -innocent or intended. That long dreary, snow-shrouded New Hampshire -winter--it demanded indeed a stout heart to face it in one of those -isolated villages. Mrs. Harley had given up her music when she married; -the piano stood idle in the best room. She read nothing--unless looking -at the fashion-plates in a ladies’ magazine be considered reading. A -Sunday-school picnic, a day’s shopping in the nearest country town, were -white days in her calendar. Is such a picture of life cheerless? Yet too -many women are forced to endure it elsewhere. Happy they if the abounding -resources of the faith and its literature come to their aid! Mrs. Harley -was a kind woman withal, if her attention were drawn for a moment from -herself; and an affectionate and anxious wife. This and her love for -her child--fretful and over-indulgent as the latter sentiment was apt -to be--were her redeeming qualities. Placed in a large city, with means -equal in proportion to those within her reach in L----, she would have -made a more agreeable woman, and would have been tenfold happier herself. -The influence of semi-solitary life--where a religious vocation does not -exalt and sanctify it--is more unfavorable in its effects upon women than -upon men. The latter commonly have work to do which keeps their faculties -from rusting. Woman’s nature is essentially social. - -Mr. Harley assisted his father-in-law in the store--a tall, handsome -young man with a city air, who, at that season, sat in the store the -whole afternoon with perhaps one customer. Such a life for youth, with -its superabundant energies ready to pour like a torrent into any -channel, is stagnation. The highest of man’s natural powers rust and -decay. But natural forces have their sway in the great majority of such -cases, and force an outlet for themselves. The youth of these villages -leave their homes for the great cities, or take Horace Greeley’s advice -and “go West.” Life is hard, and it is monotonous, which adds a new -slavery to hardship. The exodus is constant. L---- has less population -and fewer inhabited houses now than it had forty years ago. The same is -true of other villages--a striking fact in a comparatively new country. -One rambles along some by-road overgrown with grass, and presently comes -upon a deserted and ruined house and barn, the rafters only standing, or -perhaps nothing more than a heap of bricks in the cellar. He asks about -the people, and is told that they have “gone away.” The answer is vague -and uncertain as their fate. I spoke to an old man of eighty-seven, -seated in the shade on the long bench before the country store, where he -could hear the news in the morning. He remembered with distinctness the -events of the war of 1812. He spoke with regret of the flourishing times -of his youth in L---- and its dulness to-day. This roving disposition -of the American youth is the result of immense elbow-room, and has -been providential in building up new States and subduing the virgin -wilderness. The manufacturing cities of New Hampshire also gain yearly at -the expense of the small villages. The township--or town, as it is most -commonly called--embraces three or four of such villages, and is subject -to the same reciprocal movement. Comparatively few new farms have been -broken in during the last twenty or thirty years; and too rarely it -happens on the old farms that fresh ground is taken in from the pasture -for cultivation. The son tills what his father or grandfather cleared. - -The first few days in L---- I spent rambling about the pastures--some -of them literally red with the raspberry, which, though it has not the -delicacy or fragrance of the wild strawberry, is not to be disdained -by the city palate--or climbing to the tops of the highest neighboring -hills. What a sense of elastic joy and freedom to me, who had not spent -a summer in the country for three years, to lie stretched at full length -on the top of a new-mown hill, and let the eye wander over the valley -beneath, with its intervening woods and ponds, till it rested upon the -distant mountains, the cloud-shadows chasing each other over their sides -and summits! If this were not in truth an Arcadia to those who lived and -died there, and were buried in the white-stoned churchyard among the -elms--if to them life brought its cares, its jealousies, and sorrows--to -the stranger who sought nothing more than to enjoy its natural beauties -it renewed all the associations of rural happiness and simplicity. Not -that one might hope to see a Corydon and Phillis issue from the New -Hampshire woods--for there is a sternness among those northern scenes, -even in the brightest bloom of summer, foreign to the poetry of the -South--but that in its dark pine groves and on its windy hills fancy -might picture an eclogue or a romance not less sweet and tender because -more real. - -L---- is on the height of land between the valleys of the Connecticut and -Merrimac, between twenty and thirty miles distant from each. It is from -one thousand to one thousand three hundred feet above the sea level. It -is said of the rain that falls on the roof of the village church that -part of it eventually runs into the Connecticut, part into the Merrimac, -so evenly does its roof-tree divide the water-shed of those rivers. -But as the same story is told of other churches in the central belt of -Cheshire County, it may be regarded rather in the light of a rhetorical -illustration than as a fact of physical geography. The scenery is not -of the grand or sublime order to be seen further north among the White -Mountains, except where Mt. Monadnock raises its dark and solemn front -above the surrounding landscape; but it is beautiful and picturesque. -Its greatest charm is its variety. In the morning, when the sun was well -towards the zenith--for the fresh air of those hills made the day at -all hours delightful--I would stroll out over the pastures to a hill a -quarter of a mile distant from the farm-house. There would I seat myself, -protected from the sun’s ardent rays, under a young maple bush, the -elastic branches of which, with the sloping ground thick with ferns, made -a natural easy-chair. The valley is below me, the farms stretch along -the nearer hills, and in the further distance the blue-veiled mountains -define the skyline. I bend down a branch of the maple, and before me is -the upper half of Mt. Monadnock, a thin gray mist still enveloping it. -The base of the mountain is hidden by an intervening hill. Leaving this -pasture, and walking a few hundred rods further on, I enter a field where -the hay has just been cut, and which is now as smooth as a croquet lawn, -but not so level; for it is the crest of one of the highest hills. Here a -new scene awaits me. To the north and west the hill has the shape almost -of a perfect dome. Stretched on the top, I cannot see the declivities -of the sides, but only the tops of the trees at some distance. One has -the sensation of being on the roof of a high building with a deep drop -between him and the surrounding country. The view is superb. The whole -mass of Mt. Monadnock, from its base to the highest elevation, rises -from the valley ten miles distant. At its foot is the village of West -Jaffrey, a fashionable watering place. The white spire of the church -is conspicuous among the trees. Further south is Gap Mountain and -Attleborough Mountain; and sweeping round to the east, the view stretches -along the New Ipswich Mountains to Watatick Hill. The circuit extends -about twenty or thirty miles, making a picture of great natural beauty. -The English hay, as the timothy and red clover are generally called, was -still standing in many of the fields, but here and there the whirr of -the mowing-machine could be heard, and the eye, following the direction -of the sound, could discern the mower in his shirt-sleeves driving his -pair of horses in the distant field. The meadow-grass of the lowlands was -still in most places untouched. On the sides of the hills the scattered -fields of wheat, barley, and oats, still green, made darker patches of -verdure on the yellowish ground-color. - -But the view I most preferred was from a hill a little to the south of -the village near some deserted buildings. Here the scene was wilder -and more extensive. To the west Mt. Monadnock could be seen through -a gorge between two hills; to the east was a wild and broken country; -while to the south the woods seemed to extend as far as the eye could -reach, and over the furthest range of hills the great dome of Mt. -Wachusett in Massachusetts, nearly thirty miles distant, was plainly -seen, gray and massive, with the naked eye. It was only when one turned -to Mt. Monadnock, ten miles distant, and observed how plainly he could -distinguish the different colors of the mountain--the dark woods, the -brown, bare surfaces, and the slate-colored rocks--that, looking at Mt. -Wachusett, and noting its uniform pale gray outline, he was able to -estimate the real distance of the latter, so comparatively close at hand -did it appear. - -Seated at ease on the smooth turf on the summit of this “heaven-kissing” -hill, and looking at this wide and beautiful prospect, one might repeat -to himself Mr. Longfellow’s lines: - - “Pleasant it was, when woods were green - And winds were soft and low, - To lie amid some sylvan scene, - Where, the long, drooping boughs between, - Shadows dark and sunlight sheen - Alternate come and go;” - -substituting only for “drooping boughs” the irregular ranges of hills. - -But descriptions of natural scenery, if long continued, are wearisome. -Even a Ruskin is read best in snatches. The mind otherwise becomes -clogged with images. Let us return, therefore, to animated life. - -As Sunday approached, I made inquiries about the nearest Catholic church. -I found it was at W----, eight or nine miles distant. I had no means -of getting there the first Sunday. I retired to my room and read some -chapters of that sublime and affecting work, the _Imitation of Christ_, -the gift of a good and beloved mother. - -A Catholic is still almost a being from another moral world in some -of the isolated New Hampshire villages. Nowhere are the traditions of -Puritanism more zealously or rigidly maintained. These good folk seem -hardly yet to have emerged from a fog of wild amazement that “popish” -priests and their followers should be tolerated by the selectmen. Not -that any overt or offensive change of manner follows the announcement -that one is a Catholic--as I have elsewhere said, there is a natural or -inherited vein of good manners among the people that forbids it--but a -momentary silence reveals to the speaker that he has stated something -strange and unlooked for. There is an unmistakable tone of intolerance -manifest, however, in any allusion to the poorer class of Irish and -French that congregate in the larger towns, and are sometimes found in -the villages in a wooden-ware factory, or cutting wood or hemlock-bark, -or doing an odd job of haymaking. They are looked upon with dislike -and distrust, mixed with a feeling of contempt. Curious it is that the -native-born New Englander, with his mind saturated with hereditary -theories of personal liberty, equality, and fraternity, should yet -evince a more unconquerable aversion to the foreign element, which has -contributed so largely to the greatness of the country, than is shown in -European countries to men of a different race, unless war has temporarily -embittered national feeling. Yet the explanation is not hard to find. -This descendant of the Puritan, chained to the rocky and ungrateful -soil his forefathers won from the Indians and the wilderness, sees with -sullen indignation and jealousy the same rights and privileges which -he enjoys under our free institutions extended so largely to those of -a different nationality and religion. In revenge he draws himself more -jealously into his shell. Nor is this feeling confined to the rich and -refined; it penetrates the mass of the native-born New England population. - -To speak of lighter things. Society in L---- is eminently aristocratic. -Better, perhaps, it would be to say that the lines of society are very -strongly marked, and that the aristocratic element is essentially -conservative. - -Mrs. Cortland, the wife of the New York capitalist, who resides there -three months in the summer, a stout, refined, tight-gloved, graciously -condescending lady, gives a metropolitan tone to L---- society. Mr. -Cortland, an easy-going, easy-tempered man in private life, but reported -to be hard as flint in business matters, seldom finds time to leave New -York, and his visits to L---- are uncertain. His country house, a large, -handsome mansion with well-kept grounds, croquet-lawn, coach-house, and -stables, is on the highest ground in the village; and Mrs. Cortland -occupies without dispute the highest ground socially. It is an imperial -elevation, after the manner of the saying attributed to Cæsar. A call -on Mrs. Cortland is the event of a week, and a return call from her -is a matter not to be lightly treated. How have I seen this good Mrs. -Allen, my landlady, prepare her best room for the grand occasion, and -Mrs. Harley speculate about it with well-assumed indifference a whole -afternoon. One or two other magnates from Boston, scattered through L---- -and adjacent townships, save Mrs. Cortland from complete exhaustion by -contact with the village people during the summer. - -Then there is the local aristocracy, consisting of the wife of the -Congregational pastor _ex-officio_, and Mrs. Parsons, the wife of -“Squire” Parsons, who owns a small bucket-factory near L----. These two -ladies maintain a strict alliance, offensive and defensive, with Mrs. -Cortland during the summer. Then come the middle classes, comprising Mrs. -Allen and Mrs. Harley, the young doctor’s wife--a stranger and somewhat -snubbed by the autochthonous _élite_--and the well-to-do farmers’ wives. -Finally, we have the _profanum vulgus_, the tail of L---- society, or, -to speak more correctly, those whom society does not recognize--some -farmers’ wives whose husbands were too much in debt to allow them to keep -up appearances; one or two hapless women who sold milk in a wagon to -the neighboring towns, and drove the wagon themselves; and the village -washerwoman, who went around doing “chores.” I think I have exhausted the -classification of the social strata of L----. I observed that the men -eschewed as much as possible the aristocratic distinctions made by their -wives, and were apt to resent by silence or the assumption of an unwonted -bluntness the empty airs and loud voice with which some vulgar rich man -from a neighboring large town would sometimes stride through the village. - -Wanderers and waifs, destined apparently to be at some time drawn into -the great caldron of city life--perhaps to their own destruction--were -not wanting in L----. I have said that the women were not remarkable -for beauty. But there was one exception. A girl belonging to one of -the most destitute families in the village, by one of those whims of -nature which are not uncommon, was gifted with a face and figure to -attract even an unobservant eye, and which seemed out of place in that -quiet and homely neighborhood. The mother, a poor, struggling woman with -a growing-up family of all ages, managed to live somehow by the days’ -work and occasional assistance given her by the well-to-do families. -The father was living, but spent most of his time in the county jail -for drunkenness. The daughter of whom I speak was about nineteen or -twenty years of age; tall, of fair complexion, with a naturally elegant -carriage and a proud and almost defiant air, as if she resented the -caprice of fortune which had placed her in that lowly station. She had -the art of dressing well with limited means, which some women possess -to the envy of others. On Sundays and at picnics she outshone the more -expensively-dressed daughters of the farmers. She had been, and perhaps -still is, the maid at the village inn. It may be imagined that gossip was -not idle about this poor girl, thus singularly placed and dangerously -gifted. Dreadful quarrels had taken place between the father and mother -about the girl’s staying at the hotel; the drunken father, with a true -sense of what was becoming, insisting that she should leave, the mother -as strenuously maintaining that she should remain. The beauty of the -girl herself was not of that domestic type I have elsewhere noticed -in the mother and her babe I saw in Mrs. Allen’s parlor, but of that -showy, restless, naturally haughty stamp which presaged storm, perhaps -disaster. It is this class misfortune follows and the great cities sweep -into their net. Poverty often makes vice of that which, under happier -fortunes, might have been attractive virtue. _Absit omen_. May this -rustic beauty find a happier, if more homely, destiny as the wife of some -honest farmer in L----! - -The summer passed, week after week. I fished, I walked, I rode, I read, -I loitered. The barley ripened on the hill behind the farm-house, and -a golden tint began to spread over the distant fields. The apples grew -large and ruddy on one side where the sun struck the laden branch in -the orchard. The tassels of the corn showed purple. August blazed. The -doves flew thirstily to the large blue pump, and perched on the edges -of the horse-trough after the farmer watered his horse at mid-day. The -bees hummed three at a time in the big yellow cups of the squash-vines. -Have you ever observed of that homely vegetable how ingeniously and -dexterously it fastens its daring and aggressive vines to the ground as -it shoots out over the close-cut grass? Stoop down among the after-math, -or rowen, as it is called in New Hampshire, and you will see that at the -inosculation of each successive joint of the vine, where it throws out -its tendrils and blossoms, it also thrusts forth slender, white, curling -ligaments that twist, each of them, tightly around a tiny tuft of the -short grass. Thus it moors itself, as if by so many delicate living -cables, to the bosom of the life-giving earth. - -I might, if space allowed, tell of my fishing ventures, and how one -glorious morning we rode out of L---- in a big yellow wagon with -three horses--a party of seven of us, ladies and gentlemen, from the -village--to make the ascent of Mt. Monadnock. This is the lion of all the -country round. Parties are made up every week to climb its rugged summit. -Over the hills and rolling ground we gaily rattled. Through the sandy -country roads, where the branches of the trees met overhead and made dim -aisles of verdure, we smoothly sped. And then what panting, laughing, -climbing, shrill screaming, as we toiled up the winding path from the -half-way house to the top of the mountain! What a magnificent, boundless -view repaid us! The day was clear. To the north, Mt. Kearsarge and -rolling ranges of mountains; to the southeast, a diversified surface of -country spreading onwards far as the eye could reach towards the unseen -ocean; to the south, Mt. Wachusett; below us woods, valleys, and lakes. A -feeling of awe creeps over one in these mountain solitudes. - -As to the fishing, I will confess that to me, who had thrown a fly over -more than one Canadian river, and had killed my twenty-pound salmon -on the Nipisiquit, loafing with a pole in a boat over a lily-covered -pond for a half-pound pickerel was not tremendously exciting sport. But -what mattered it? The mornings were soft and wooing; the woods were -full of mysterious shadows; the water was limpid as if Diana and her -nymphs bathed there in the spectral moonlight. Life passed smoothly and -agreeably. I sought no more. - -The blackberries began to ripen, first one by one and then in sable -clusters, in the pastures. The days were growing shorter. The twilight -sank more quickly into night. September approached, and I began to -look for the appearance of my friend Jones. I had seen Miss Cortland -two or three times coming from or going to the meeting-house on Sunday -mornings, when all the beauty and fashion of L---- for miles around rode -up in buggies, carryalls, or open wagons; but I had never met her to be -introduced to her--a little imperial beauty, with a fresh and rosy color, -and a mouth shaped like Cupid’s bow, that needed only to smile to conquer. - -On a bright September morning, when the surrounding atmosphere was clear -as a bell, but a thin haze still clung about Mt. Monadnock and the -far-off mountains, Jones rode over on the stage-coach from the railroad -station and joined me at L----. He asked eagerly about Miss Cortland. - -Was she in the village? - -Yes. - -Had I met her? - -No; but I had seen her two or three times. - -What did I think of her? - -Well, I thought her pretty enough to excuse a little wildness of -imagination on his part. He would be a lucky fellow if he got her and -some of her father’s money or a position in his business! - -Did I think he would give up his Art so easily? - -“My dear Jones,” I replied, “I don’t want to appear cold-blooded, -or to dash your enthusiasm for your art in the least; but, to speak -candidly, I should not be surprised if you did some day under sufficient -temptation--the prospect of marrying Miss Cortland, for example.” - -Jones declared his intention of calling on Miss Cortland that very day. -He had a sketch-book full of studies, spirited, but many of them mere -hints. He came back before dinner, full of life, and proposing a score -of schemes for to-morrow. He made a sort of small whirlwind in my quiet -life. Mrs. Cortland had received him civilly, but he thought a little -coolly. But he had seen Agnes, and had spoken a few words to her that -might mean much or little as they were taken, and he was happy--rather -boisterously happy, perhaps, as a young fellow will be at such -times--full of jokes, and refusing to see a cloud on his horizon. - -Jones fell easily into our farm-house ways, though he was apt to steal -off in the mornings to play croquet on the Cortlands’ lawn with Miss -Cortland and Miss Parsons, and any other friend they could get to join -them. - -One afternoon, when the sun was getting low and a southerly wind blowing, -we started to try for some fish at a pond about half an hour’s walk from -the house. As we turned off the highway into a by-road covered with grass -that led to the pond, I saw Miss Cortland standing on the rising ground -some distance before us. She was looking from us towards the sinking sun, -now veiled in quick-drifting clouds. Her dog, a large, powerful animal, a -cross between a Newfoundland and Mount St. Bernard, was crouched at her -feet. Some vague thoughts about Una and her lion flitted through my mind. -But I was more struck by the way the light touched her figure, standing -out motionless against the gray sky. It reminded me very much of the -general effect of a painting by a foreign artist--Kammerer, I think it -was--that I saw at the exhibition of the Boston Art Club last year. It -was the picture of a girl standing on a pier on the French coast, looking -out to sea. Her golden hair was slightly stirred by the breeze, her lips -a little parted, and there was a far-away look in her eyes, as if she may -have expected a lover to be coming over the sea in one of the yachts that -lined the horizon. The dress of the girl and the stone-work of the pier -were both white. It was a good example of the striking effects produced -by the free use of a great deal of almost staring white, which is a -favorite device of the latest school of French art. - -As we advanced, the dog growled and rose, but, recognizing Jones, wagged -his tail inoffensively as we drew nearer. Miss Cortland turned towards us. - -“Shall I introduce you?” said Jones. - -“No,” I said. “I’ll go on to the pond. I’ll see you to-night.” - -Jones advanced, hat in hand. “What happy fortune,” he said, addressing -her, “has led me to meet the goddess of these woods?” Then, altering his -tone, he added in a bantering way: “I see you have been poaching on our -preserves, Miss Cortland. But I do wonder at your taste, fishing for -eels!” pointing to a small basket on her arm from which hung some of the -long stems of the pond-lily. This he said to vex her, knowing her horror -of those creatures. “Eels?” she exclaimed indignantly, with a tone and -gesture of aversion at the thought. “They are pond-lilies.” - -“Oh! that is very well to say,” replied Jones, “when you have the lid of -the basket down to hide them; but I insist upon their being eels unless -you show them to me.” - -By this time I was out of hearing. I left them together, and kept on down -the road to the pond. - -That night Jones came into my room with a quieter manner than usual. He -was evidently very happy, but his happiness had a sobering effect upon -him. He told me that he had made a plain avowal of his feelings to Agnes -Cortland as they walked home together, and that he had won from her the -confession that she loved him and had not been indifferent to him before -he left for Europe. I wished him joy of his good-fortune, though I could -foresee plainly enough that his difficulties had only begun. For a little -time these two innocent young souls--for Jones I knew to be singularly -unsullied by the world for a man of his age--would enjoy their paradise -undisturbed together. Then would come maternal explanations, and the -father’s authority would be invoked. A solemn promise would be exacted -from her to see him no more. Miss Cortland was much attached to her -parents, who would be sincerely anxious for her welfare. She would not -make much resistance. Some day there would come a storm of tears, and -poor Jones’s letters and the ring he gave her would be returned to him -by a faithful messenger, and a little note, blotted with tears, asking -him to forgive her and praying for his happiness. This must be the end. -A year or two of separation and a summer and winter in Europe with her -parents would leave nothing more than a little sad memory of her brief -New Hampshire romance; and in five years she would be married to some -foreigner of distinction or successful man of business, and would be a -happy wife and mother. As for poor Jones, he would probably be heard of -at rare intervals for a year or two as a trader on the Pacific coast -or prospecting a claim in Nevada. But men like him, vigorous, powerful, -well equipped in body and temper for the struggle with the world, are not -kept down long by such disappointments. The storm is fierce, and leaves -its scars after it; but the man rises above it, and is more closely knit -thereafter. Jones will make his mark in the world of business, if not of -art. - -No unwelcome prophecies of mine, however, disturbed his happiness for -those few days. I let events take their course. Why should I interrupt -his dream by Cassandra-like anticipations of woe, which would have been -resented as a reflection upon the constancy of his idol? I know that -they met frequently for the following three or four days. Then came the -packing up for departure. My long holiday was over. - -On a foggy morning in September we steamed up the Sound on a Fall -River boat. Through Hell Gate the stately boat sped on her way, past -Blackwell’s Island, and across the bows of the Brooklyn ferry-boats, -crowded with passengers for the city in the early morning. Around the -Battery we swept, into the North River, and slowly swung alongside of -Pier 28. Then the hackmen yelled at us; our coach stuck at the corner of -the street; a jam followed; the drivers swore; the policemen shouted and -threatened; the small boys grinned and dodged between the horses; and a -ward politician, with a ruby nose, looked on complacently from the steps -of a corner “sample” room. In one word, we were in New York, and our -village life in Hampshire was a thing of the past. - - -THE PALATINE PRELATES OF ROME. - -Whatever is connected with our Holy Father must have an interest for -Catholics; and at the present time especially it would seem desirable to -know something about the origin and functions of those faithful prelates -of whom this article treats, and with some of whom American visitors to -Rome may be likely to have relations. They are called palatine prelates -because lodged in the same palace as the sovereign, and in these days of -trouble are the nearest to his most sacred Majesty in his solitude and -sufferings. They are four in number, and belong to the pope’s intimate -court and confidence, their names being registered in the Roman _Notizie_ -immediately after those of the palatine cardinals among the members of -the pontifical family. - - -MAGGIORDOMO. - -The majordomo, called in good Latin, the official language of the church, -_Magister Domus Papæ_, is the first of these prelates and one of the -highest dignitaries of the Holy See. The chief of the royal palace -has had in all countries immense influence and power; and in France -and Scotland, at least, the _Maires du palais_ and stewards succeeded -in mounting the throne. This officer, who, like the other three, is -always a clergyman, is the high steward of his Holiness and master of -his household, remaining day and night conveniently near to the Pope’s -person, of which he has the special care, and for the safety of which he -is responsible to the Sacred College. Until the present reign he was -supreme under the sovereign, in the civil, military, and ecclesiastical -affairs of the court, having his own tribunal of civil and criminal -jurisdiction.[141] Some years ago, however, a part of the prerogatives -of this office was transferred to the Cardinal Secretary of State; but -even now the majordomo is at the head of the administration of the palace -in which the Pope may reside for the time being, and on a vacancy of the -see is _ex-officio_, by a decree of Clement XII. in 1732, governor of -the conclave.[142] In this latter capacity, by a natural order of things -which cannot be long delayed (yet God grant it may!), he will have to -act a part during one of the most critical periods in the history of -Christian Rome. He has the privilege[143] for life of using the pope’s -arms with his own, and consequently retains this heraldic distinction -even after he has been promoted to the cardinalate to which his office -surely leads, sooner or later, according to a court custom that began -in the middle of the XVIIth century.[144] The origin of this office is -involved in some doubt, owing to its antiquity. It must have been that, -in the palace given to Pope Melchiades by the Emperor Constantine, some -person conspicuous for piety and prudence was appointed to keep the -members of a large and constantly-increasing court in mutual harmony and -subjection to authority, while relieving the pontiff of the immediate -superintendence of his household, and leaving him free to give his -precious time to public and more important matters. At all events, at -a very early period after this there is mentioned among the officers -attached to the _Patriarchium Lateranense_--as the old _Ædes Lateranæ_ -were then called--a _Vice-dominus_, who was chosen from the Roman clergy, -and was often, as the more modern prelates have been, invested with the -episcopal dignity. He was answerable for the good order and harmonious -administration of the palace; and the extent of that portion of it -in which he dwelt and had his offices, as well as held his court of -jurisdiction over the papal domestics,[145] must have been large, since -it was called the _vicedominium_; and although his successor fifteen -hundred years later has not the same ample powers that he enjoyed, he is -still a personage so considerable that the part of the Vatican in which -he resides is known officially as the _Maggiordomato_. The earliest name -(not title) of such an officer which has come down to us is that of a -certain priest Ampliatus, who is mentioned in the year 544 as having -accompanied Pope Vigilius to Constantinople for the affair of the Three -Chapters, and being detached from the pontiff’s suite at Sicily on their -way back, with orders to hurry on to Rome, where the concerns of the -Lateran seem to have suffered by his absence. Anatolius, a deacon, held -the office under S. Gregory the Great, who was very particular to have -only virtuous and learned men about him; and in 742 Benedict, a bishop, -held it under S. Zachary, who sent him on a mission to Luitprand, King of -the Lombards. This officer is mentioned for the last time in history as -_Vice-dominus_ in the year 1044, when an archdeacon Benedict served under -Benedict IX. After this period, those who held the analogous position -were styled chamberlains of the Holy Roman Church until 1305, when, the -court being at Avignon, a large share of their duties and privileges was -given to a nobleman of high standing, who was called _Maestro del sacro -Ospizio_.[146] - -Under Alexander V., in 1409, the Holy Father having returned to Rome, -mention is made for the first time, in a paper drawn up for the guidance -of the court, of a prefect of the apostolic palace--_Magister domus -pontificiæ_--who was the same as the later majordomo, the name only -having been changed by Urban VIII. in 1626. The series of these high -prelates, to the number of 99--belonging generally to the very first -nobility of Italy, and showing such illustrious names as Colonna, -Gonzaga, Farnese, Frangipani, Visconti, Acquaviva, Cybo, Cenci, Caraffa, -Pico della Mirandola, Piccolomini, Borghese, Borromeo, etc.--begins with -Alexander Mirabelli, a Neapolitan, who was named to the office by Pius -II. in the month of August, 1458. - - -MAESTRO DI CAMERA. - -This officer, whose official title in Latin is _Prefectus cubiculi -Sanctitatis suæ_, is the second palatine prelate. He is the grand -chamberlain of his Holiness, carries out the entire court ceremonial, -and has the supervision of all audiences, as well as admittances of -whatever kind to the presence of the Pope. How important and confidential -is this post which he holds at the door of the papal chambers may best -be judged from the single fact that no one can approach the sovereign -without his knowledge in all and his consent[147] in most cases. He has -sometimes the episcopal character--in truth, was usually in times past -an archbishop _in partibus_; but it is now more customary for him to be -simply in priest’s orders. If, however, he be not already a prelate of -high rank, he is always, immediately after his nomination to the office, -made an apostolic prothonotary, with precedence over all his brethren -in that ancient and honorable college. Like his immediate superior, he -has the privilege of quartering the Pope’s arms with his own. He is the -keeper of the Fisherman’s ring, and at the Pope’s death delivers it up -to the cardinal chamberlain of the Holy Roman College, who gives him a -notarial receipt for it. This celebrated ring is the official one of the -popes, and gets its name from having the figure of S. Peter in a bark -and casting his net into the sea engraved upon it. Above this figure is -cut the name of the reigning pontiff. It is the first among the rings, -but the second in the class of seals, since it only serves as the privy -seal or signet used on apostolic briefs and matters of subordinate -consequence,[148] whereas the Great Seal is used to impress the heads -of SS. Peter and Paul in lead (sometimes, but rarely, in gold) on papal -bulls. At first this ring was a private and not an official one of the -pope; for in a letter from Perugia of March 7, 1265, addressed by Clement -IV. to his nephew Peter Le Gros, he says that he writes to him and to his -other relatives, not _sub bulla, sed sub piscatoris sigillo, quo Romani -Pontifices in suis secretis utuntur_; from which we gather that the ring -was in use some time before, but by whom introduced is unknown, as is -also the precise period when it became official, although this happened -during one or other of the XVth century pontificates. Perhaps the first -time that the now familiar expression, “Given under the Fisherman’s -ring,” is met with in the manner of a formal statement or curial formula, -such as it has been ever since retained, is in a document of Nicholas V. -dated from Rome--_Datum Romæ_--on the 15th of April, 1448. - -The institution of this office is extremely ancient, but, like most -others of the court, it has had different names and increased or -diminished attributions at various periods. The modern Romans take a -legitimate pride in being able to deduce many of their great court -offices from the corresponding ones of the Cæsars, to whom their -sovereign has succeeded. Thus this officer is sometimes called in -classical Latin _Magister admissionum_, such an one being mentioned by -the historian Ammianus Marcellinus (xv. 5); and his office _Officium -admissionis_, which is found in Suetonius’ _Life of Vespasian_ (xiv.) -Among the members of the household of S. Gregory the Great in the year -601 there was a certain (S.) Paterius, _Secundicerius_ of the Holy See -(corresponding to the modern sub-dean of the apostolic prothonotaries, -the dean being _Primicerius_). He had to make known to the pope the -names of those who solicited the favor of an interview; and it is -probable that he also gave (as is now given) along with the name some -account of the quality and business of the visitor, for fear that the -pontiff should be unnecessarily intruded upon or brought in contact -with unworthy and perhaps dangerous characters. Investigators into the -origin of the offices of the Holy See have fixed upon this person as -the remote predecessor of the present _Maestro di Camera_; but all the -charges of the palace having been remodelled and placed nearly on their -present footing about four hundred and fifty years ago, and many of -the court records having been lost or stolen during the disturbed era -between the pontificates of Clement V. (1305) and Martin V. (1417)--which -includes the periods of Avignon and the schism--the authentic roll of the -holders of these high offices of state rarely begins earlier than the -XVth century. Thus the first grand chamberlain of the modern series is -Bindaccio Ricasoli of Florence, who was _Magister aulæ palatii_ to John -XXIII. in 1410. The present one is Monsignor Ricci-Paracciani, a Roman, -who, however, has become majordomo by Monsignor Pacca’s promotion. The -_Maestro di Camera_, being constantly in company with exalted personages -who seek an audience of the Holy Father and wait their turn in, or at all -events pass through, the _Anticamera nobile_, which opens immediately -into the Pope’s reception-room, must be distinguished for good breeding -and courtliness, and serve as a model to his subordinates in that august -apartment, lest it be said of him: - - “His manners had not the repose - That marks the caste of Vere de Vere.” - -Hence we are prepared to find the noblest families of Italy represented -in the office, and notice such patrician names as Odescalchi, Altieri, -Fieschi, Ruffo, Doria, Massimo, Pignatelli, Caracciolo, Barberini, -Riario-Sforza, etc. - - -UDITORE. - -The auditor of his Holiness--_Auditor Papæ_--is the agent-general, most -intimate privy councillor, and canonist of the Pope. He is third in rank -of the palatine prelates, and lived in the Quirinal, where his offices -and the archives were situated, until the present iniquitous occupation, -since which they have been removed to the Torlonia palace, near the -Vatican. This office was instituted by Paul II. (1464-1471), and the -first to hold it was the renowned J. B. Millini, a Roman, who was at the -same time Bishop of Urbino (which was administered by some one else in -his name); he later became a cardinal under Sixtus IV., in 1476. His -successor at the present time is Monsignor Sagretti. Up to this century -the power and general influence of the auditor were extraordinary, since -he had a court of justice and ample jurisdiction, even exercising in the -name of the Pope the supremacy of appeal in many matters. For this reason -the great epigraphist Morcelli, who wrote before these judicial functions -were abolished, called him _Judex sacrarum cognitionum_. Formerly he gave -audience to all comers about matters of equity and appeal on Tuesdays, -in his apartment at the Quirinal, standing in his prelatic robes behind -a low-backed throne supposed by a sort of fiction to be then occupied -by the Pope;[149] hence he was called in choice Latin _Cognoscens vice -sacrâ_--_i.e._, in _lieu_ of his Holiness. The common Italian appellation -_Uditore Santissimo_ is only a corrupt rendering of the Latin _Auditor -Sanctissimi_. This post has always been occupied by one of the ablest -jurists in Italy; and even now the auditor must be both very learned and -most incorruptible, from the part that he takes officially in filling -vacant sees and making other important nominations. - - -MAESTRO DEL SACRO PALAZZO. - -The Master of the Holy Apostolic Palace--_Magister Sacri Palatii -Apostolici_--is one of the most distinguished members for piety and -doctrine of the Dominican Order. He is the Pope’s official theologian, -and usually a consultor of several Roman congregations, more nearly -concerned with matters of faith and morals, as the Inquisition, -Indulgences and Relics, Index, etc. He ranks fourth among the palatine -prelates, and resided until the late invasion in the Quirinal Palace -with his “companion” and two lay brothers of his order. He is considered -an honorary auditor of the Rota, and as such has a place with the -prelates of this class in the papal chapels and reunions. He retains -the habit of his order, but wears on his hat a black prelatical band. -He is _ex-officio_ president of the Theological Faculty in the Roman -University, and the person to whom was entrusted the censorship of the -press. The origin of this office dates from the year 1218, when S. -Dominic, who established the Order of Friars Preachers, suggested to -Honorius III. that it would be proper if some one were charged to give -religious instruction to the many servants of cardinals, prelates, and -others, who used to spend their time idly in useless talk and slanderous -gossip with their brethren of the papal palace while their masters -were expecting an audience or engaged with his Holiness.[150] The Pope -was pleased, and at once appointed Dominic to the good work, who began -by explaining the Epistles of S. Paul.[151] The fruit of these pious -conferences was so apparent that the pope determined to perpetuate -them under the direction of a Dominican. Besides the more familiar -instructions, which were given at first extempore, it was arranged -later that while the pope and court were listening to the preacher -appointed to sermonize in the palace during Advent and Lent, the papal -domestics and other servants should also have the benefit of formal -discourses, but in another part of the building. It was always the father -_master_--_i.e._, doctor--who held forth to them until the XVIth century, -when the duties of his office becoming more onerous, especially by reason -of the many attempts to misuse the recently-discovered art of printing -to corrupt faith and morals in Rome itself, the obligation devolved upon -his companion--_Pro-Magister_ or _Socius_--who also holds three days of -catechism in preparation for each of the four general communions that -are given yearly in the palace. This deputy is appointed by the master, -and is a person of consequence, succeeding sometimes to the higher -office. The present master is Vincenzo Maria Gatti. When the learned -Alexander V. became pope (1409), the Master of the Palace was required -to stand by at his meals, especially on Sundays and festival days, and -be ready to propose difficult points of debate, or to enter into an -argument on any matter and with any person present as the Holy Father -should command.[152] There have been seventy-nine occupants of this -office since its institution (not to count several anti-masters created -by anti-popes), of whom seventeen have been made cardinals, and among -them the celebrated church historian Orsi. The great writer on Christian -antiquities, Mamachi, held this office with distinction. It is one, of -course, in which “brains” rather than “blood” find a place; and since -there is no royal road to learning--for as an old monkish couplet says: - - “Gutta cavat lapidem, non vi, sed sæpe cadendo, - Sic homo fit doctus, non vi, sed sæpe studendo” - ---we are not surprised that the series of Masters of the Apostolic Palace -exhibits no such names as those that predominate among the chamberlains -and majordomos--“Not many noble” (1 Cor. i. 26). - -In the mother-church of the Dominican Order at Rome, _Santa Maria sopra -Minerva_, which is also the title of the first American cardinal,[153] -there is a special vault beneath the chapel of S. Dominic for the -entombment of the masters; but the brutal invaders who now hold -possession of Rome having forbidden all intra-mural burials--evidently -through malice, because, from the dry nature of the soil and the -perfection of Roman masonry, there could not be the slightest danger -from a moderate number of interments within the city--they will have to -sleep after death in some less appropriate spot: “How long shall sinners, -O Lord, how long shall sinners glory?… Thy people, O Lord, they have -brought low: and they have afflicted thy inheritance” (Ps. xciii.) - - -POWER, ACTION, AND MOVEMENT. - -The word “motion” is now commonly used for movement, but it properly -means the action by which a thing is set into movement. This action, -or motion, of course proceeds from an agent, and consists in the -production of an act, or momentum, which must be terminated or received -in a patient. The active power of the agent is its substantial act as -virtually containing in itself all the acts which the agent is ready to -produce, according to its nature. This active power may therefore be -called the virtuality, or terminability, of the act by which the agent -is. The momentum produced by such a power stands to the power in the same -ontological relation as the _now_ of time to the virtuality of God’s -eternity, and as the ubication of a point in space to the virtuality of -God’s immensity; for in all these cases there is question of nothing -else than of an extrinsic terminability and an extrinsic term. We may, -therefore, in treating of motive powers and momentums, follow the same -order of questions which we have followed in our articles on space and -duration. - -But the subject which we are about to investigate has a special feature -of its own; because in the exertion of active power, and consequently in -the momentums produced, there is something--_intensity_--which is not to -be met with either in the _when_ or in the _where_. For the _when_ and -the _where_ are mere terms of intervals or distances, and do not partake -in their continuity; from which it follows that they are not quantities, -but merely terms of quantities, whereas the momentum of motion is the -formal principle of the real changes produced by the agent in the -patient. And these changes admit of different degrees, and thus by their -greater or less magnitude reveal the greater or less intensity of the -exertion. The reason of this difference is very plain; for the _when_ and -the _where_ are not efficiently produced by God’s eternity and immensity, -for these divine attributes do not connote action. Their origin is not -to be traced to action, but to resultation, as we have explained in -our preceding articles. The entity of every creature, on the contrary, -proceeds from God as efficient cause--that is, it does not merely result -from the existence of other things, but it is actively produced; and, -since an act produced must have some degree of perfection, creatures are -more or less perfect as to their entity, and therefore have in their own -act a greater or less power of acting, according to the degree of their -entitative perfection. This explains why it is that there is intensity in -all action and in all act produced, whereas there is no intensity in the -_when_ and the _where_. - -But, apart from this special feature, the questions regarding active -powers, actions, and the acts produced are entirely similar to those -which we have answered in treating of space and of duration. Nay, more, -the same questions may be viewed under three distinct aspects--viz., -first, with reference to the divine power and its causality of contingent -things; secondly, with reference to second causes, their actions, and -the momentums produced by them; and, thirdly, with reference to these -momentums themselves and the local movements resulting from them. This -third view of the subject is the only one immediately connected with -the notions of space and of time, and we might limit ourselves to its -consideration. Nevertheless, to shed more light on the whole treatise, -we propose to say something of the other two also; for, by tracing -the actions and the phenomena of the material world to their original -sources, we shall discover that all different grades of reality are -linked with their immediate principles in such a manner as to exhibit -a perpetual analogy of the lower with the higher, till we reach the -highest--God. - -To ascertain the truth of this proposition, let us recall to mind the -main conclusions established by us with respect to space. They were as -follows: - -1st. There is void space--that is, a capacity which does not imply the -presence of anything created. - -2d. Void space is an objective reality. - -3d. Void space was not created. - -4th. Absolute space is the virtuality, or extrinsic terminability, of -God’s immensity. - -5th. Absolute space is not modified by the presence of matter in it--that -is, by its extrinsic termination. - -6th. Ubications are extrinsic terms of absolute space, and their -relations have in space itself an extrinsic foundation. - -A similar series of conclusions was established in regard to duration. -They were: - -1st. There is a standing duration--that is, an actuality which does not -imply succession. - -2d. Standing duration is an objective reality. - -3d. Standing duration is not created. - -4th. Standing duration is the virtuality, or extrinsic terminability, of -God’s eternity. - -5th. Standing duration is not modified by the existence in it of created -things--that is, by its extrinsic termination. - -6th. The _whens_ of creatures are extrinsic terms of standing duration, -and their relations have in standing duration their extrinsic foundation. - -Before we give the analogous conclusions concerning active powers and -their causality, we have to premise that all power ready to act is -said to be _in actu primo_, or in the “first act,” with respect to its -termination and term, or act, which it is ready to produce. Its action -is its termination, and it consists in the causation of a _second act_. -This second act, inasmuch as it exists in its proper term, potency, or -subject, is called _actio in facto esse_--that is, an action wholly -complete, though the action proper is always _in fieri_; for it consists -in the very production of such a second act, as we have just stated. The -result of this production is the existence of a new reality, substantial -or accidental, according to the nature of the act produced. This -well-known terminology we shall use here for the parallel development of -the three classes of questions which we have to answer. - -_Origin of Power._--First, then, with regard to the primary origin of -active and moving powers, we lay down the following conclusions: - -1st. There is some absolute power--that is, a first act which has no need -of producing any second act. - -2d. Absolute power is an objective reality. - -3d. Absolute power is uncreated. - -4th. Absolute power is the virtuality, or extrinsic terminability, of the -act by which God is. - -5th. Absolute power is not modified by the production of effects--that -is, by its extrinsic termination. - -6th. The beings thus produced are extrinsic terms of God’s power; and -although, owing to their intrinsic perfection, which may be greater or -less, they can be related to one another by an intrinsic foundation, yet -their “entitative distances” have only an extrinsic foundation--to wit, -God’s omnipotence. - -Some of these propositions are so obvious that they might have been -omitted but for the object we have in view of pointing out the -parallelism of absolute power with space and duration. - -The first of these conclusions is proved thus: All first act which -naturally needs to produce some second act has an intrinsic and natural -ordination to something distinct from itself; for all effect is really -distinct from its efficient principle. But it cannot be admitted without -absurdity that every first act has such an intrinsic and natural -ordination; for, if everything were thus ordained to something else, -all things would tend to some subordinate end, while there would be no -supreme end at all; for nothing that is ordained to something else can -rank as the supreme end. On the other hand, no subordinate ends can be -admitted without a supreme end. And therefore there must be some first -act which has no intrinsic necessity of producing any second act. Such a -first act is altogether absolute. - -The second conclusion is evident. For what we call here “a first act” -is not an imperfect and incomplete act, since it needs no termination; -nor is it a result of mental abstraction and analysis, but a perfect -principle of real operations; for the epithet “first,” by which we -characterize it, does not imply that it lacks anything in its entity, -but, on the contrary, it means that it already contains eminently the -whole reality of the effects which it is competent to produce. Hence it -is clear that, if such effects are objective realities, the first act on -which their production depends is an objective reality, and a much better -one too. - -The third conclusion needs no proof, it being evident that whatever -is created must tend to the end of its creation, which is the -manifestation of the perfections of its creator. This manifestation -implies action--viz., a transition of the first act to its second act. -Accordingly, a first act which has no necessary ordination to second acts -cannot be created. - -The fourth conclusion follows from the third, since an uncreated act can -be nothing else than the act by which God is. This act, inasmuch as it -eminently contains the reality of all possible things, is extrinsically -terminable, and as thus terminable it exhibits itself as a “first” act. -But, since God has no need of creatures, such a first act has no need -of extrinsic terminations, and, as first, it constitutes omnipotence, -or God’s absolute power. This power in its infinite simplicity has an -infinite range, as it extends to all conceivable reality. - -The fifth conclusion will be easily understood by reflecting that the -extrinsic termination of active power consists in giving existence to -contingent things by efficient action. Now, to act efficiently does not -bring about any intrinsic change in the agent; for all intrinsic change -follows from passion, which is the opposite of action. Nor does God, when -giving existence and active powers to any number of creatures, weaken -his own power. For the power imparted to creatures is not a portion of -the divine power, but a product of creation, and nothing, in fact, but -the created act itself. For, as all contingent things are created for -the manifestation of God’s perfections, all creatures must be active; -and as everything acts as it is in act, the act being the principle of -the acting, it follows that all act produced by creation is an active -power of greater or less perfection according to the part it is destined -to fill in the plans of its Maker. This shows that the act by which a -creature is, bears a resemblance to the act by which God is, inasmuch as -it virtually contains in itself all those acts which it is fit to produce -according to its nature. But, since all contingent act is extrinsic -to God, divine omnipotence is not entitatively and intrinsically more -actuated by creation than by non-creation; though, if God creates any -being, from the term produced he will acquire the real denomination of -Creator. Thus the existence of a contingent being is the existence of a -real term, which extrinsically terminates the virtuality of God’s act, in -which it is eminently contained. Its relation to its Creator is one of -total dependence; whilst God’s relation to it is that of first causality. -The foundation of this relation is the action which proceeds from God -and terminates in the creature. - -The first part of the sixth conclusion, that beings produced by creation -are extrinsic terms of God’s power, has just been explained. But we say, -moreover, that the entitative distances between such beings have an -extrinsic foundation in God’s omnipotence. By “entitative distance” we -mean the difference in degree between distinct beings--_v.g._, between -a man and a tree--as we have explained in another place.[154] And we -say that, as the distance between two material points in space has its -extrinsic foundation in the virtuality of God’s immensity, so also the -entitative distance of two beings has its extrinsic foundation in the -virtuality of God’s infinite act--that is, in divine omnipotence. In -fact, the different degrees of entity conceivable between the tree and -the man are all virtually contained in God’s omnipotence, just as all the -distinct ubications possible between two points are virtually in God’s -immensity. Hence the foundation of such entitative distances is extrinsic -to the beings compared in the same manner as the foundation of local -distances. - -But the terms produced by creative action, inasmuch as they possess a -greater or less perfection in their individual constitution, can be -compared with one another according to the relative degree of their -intrinsic reality; and thus, besides the extrinsic relation just -mentioned, they have a mutual relativity arising from an intrinsic -foundation. The relative degree of reality of a contingent being becomes -known to us through the relative intensity of its active power; which -implies that the beings compared have powers of the same species. If they -are not of the same species, the comparison will give no result. - -_Remarks._--Before leaving this part of our subject, we have to notice -that, as the ubication, so also the act produced by creation, can be -considered both absolutely and respectively. A created act, considered -absolutely, is an act intrinsically completed by its essential potency, -and constitutes the being as it is _in actu secundo_. The same act, -considered respectively, or as ordained to something else, is a power -ready to act, and thus it is _in actu primo_ with regard to all the acts -which it is able to produce. - -The essential act of a contingent being, be it considered absolutely or -respectively, bears no proportion to the perfection of its Creator, no -more indeed than a point in space to immensity, or a _now_ of time to -eternity. Hence all contingent act or power, whatever be its perfection -or intensity, as compared with God, is like nothing. It is only when -a created act or power is compared with another of the same kind that -we can establish a proportion between them as to degrees of perfection -and of intensity. These degrees are measured by comparing the relative -intensities of the effects produced by distinct causes of the same kind, -acting under the same conditions. - -The quantity of efficient power may be conceived as a virtual sum of -degrees of power. In this particular the quantity of power differs -entirely from the quantity of distance; because this latter cannot be -conceived as a virtual sum of ubications. The reason of this difference -is that ubications, as being simple points, have no quantity, and -therefore cannot by addition make up a continuous quantity; whereas the -degrees of power always possess intensity, and are quantities; hence -their sum is a quantity of the same kind. - -It may be useful to remark that all continuous quantity has a necessary -connection with the quantity of power, and that all extension owes its -being to the efficacy of some motive principle. In fact, all intervals, -whether of space or of time, are reckoned among continuous quantities -only on account of the quantity of continuous movement which can be -made, or is actually made, in them, as we have explained in a preceding -article; but the quantity of movement is itself to be traced to the -intensity of the momentum produced by the agent, and the momentum to the -intensity of the motive power. As soon as movement is communicated to -a point, its ubication begins to shift and to extend a continuous line -in space; and its _now_, too, for the same reason begins to flow and to -extend continuous time. - -When the quantity of power is expressed by a number, its value is -determined, as we have stated, by the intensity of its efficiency in -a given time and fixed conditions. The unit of intensity by which the -amount of the effect produced is measured is arbitrary; for there is -no natural unit for the degrees of intensity, it being evident that -such degrees can be divided and subdivided without end, just like the -continuum. Hence the numbers by which we express degrees of intensity are -only virtually discrete, just as those by which we express continuous -quantities. The ordinary unit assumed for the measure of intensity is -that degree of intensity which causes a unit of weight to measure a unit -of distance in a unit of time. As all these units are arbitrary, it is -evident that such is also the unit of intensity. - -Let us remark, also, that the power of natural causes has in its action a -twofold continuity--that is, with regard both to space and to duration. -As long as a natural cause exists, it acts without interruption, owing -to its intrinsic determination, provided there be, as there is always in -fact, some subject capable of being acted upon by it. This constitutes -the continuity of action with regard to duration. On the other hand, -the motive power of such natural causes is exerted, according to the -Newtonian law, throughout an indefinite sphere, as we have shown in -another place;[155] and this constitutes the continuity of action through -space. Moreover, if the point acted upon approaches the agent or recedes -from it, the continuous change of distance will be accompanied by a -continuous change of action; and thus the intensity of the act produced -by the agent will increase or decrease in a continuous manner through -infinitesimal degrees corresponding to the infinitesimal changes of local -relations occurring in infinitesimal instants of time. This relation of -changes is the base of dynamics. But enough on this point. - -_Origin of movement._--We may now pass to the conclusions concerning -movement as dependent on its proximate cause. The power by which the -natural causes produce momentums of movement is called “motive power.” -This power is to be found both in material and in spiritual beings; but -as in spiritual substances the exercise of the motive power is subject -to their will, and consists in the application of a nobler power to the -production of a lower effect, we do not and cannot consider the power of -spiritual beings as merely “motive,” for it is, above all, intellective -and volitive. Material things, on the contrary, because they possess -no other power than that of moving, are characterized by it, and are -naturally determined to exercise it according to a law which they cannot -elude. It is of these beings in particular that the following conclusions -are to be understood. - -1st. There is in all material creatures a motive power--that is, a first -act of moving--which, considered in its absolute state, has no need of -extrinsic termination, that is, of producing a momentum of movement. - -2d. This motive power is an objective reality. - -3d. The same power is nothing accidentally superadded to the being of -which it is the power. - -4th. This power is the virtuality, or extrinsic terminability, of the act -by which the agent is. - -5th. This power is not modified by the production of momentums in -extrinsic terms. - -6th. The momentums thus produced are second acts of the motive power, -extrinsic to it; and though, owing to their intensity, which may be -greater or less, they can be related to one another through an intrinsic -foundation, yet their entitative distances have only an extrinsic -foundation--to wit, the agent’s power. - -Some of these propositions are quite evident; but our present object is -not only to explain what may require a special discussion, but also, -and principally, to dissect our subject in such a manner as to make -it manifest that a perpetual analogy exists between the conditions and -the principles of all kinds of continuum, and that in all of them the -transition from the absolute to the relative, from the cause to the -effect, and from the formal reason to its formal result, is made through -a like process and through similar degrees. For this reason we think that -even those conclusions which seem too obvious to deserve mention become -interesting and serve a good purpose; for in the parallel treatment -of analogous subjects, those things which are clearer throw light on -those which are more abstruse, and about which we often feel a certain -hesitation. - -The first of our present conclusions needs only a short explanation. When -we say that in every creature there is a motive power which, _considered -in its absolute state_, has no need of producing a momentum, we mean that -in every creature there is an act which is a principle of activity, but -that the exercise of this activity is not required for the substantial -perfection and essential constitution of the creature itself, though -it may be required for some other reason, as we shall see presently. -In fact, every substance has its own complete being independently of -accidents; and since the exertion of motive power is an accident, every -substance is entitatively independent of it. We conceive that if God had -created nothing but an element of matter, such an element would indeed -(on its own part) be ready to act and to produce a momentum of movement; -but, as there would be no subject capable of receiving a momentum, the -motive power would remain _in actu primo_--that is, without actual -exertion. And yet it is evident that the non-existence of other elements -can have no bearing on the intrinsic constitution and substantial -perfection of the element in the question. Therefore the power of an -element of matter is a first act, which, as far as the entity of the -element itself is concerned, has no need of producing any second act. - -Nevertheless, since all creatures must in some manner glorify God -as long as they exist, because such is the true and highest end of -their existence, hence to every created power some proportionate term -or subject corresponds, in which its exertion is received without -interruption. In the same manner as the understanding never lacks an -intelligible object, and the sense never lacks a sensible term, about -which to exercise itself by immanent operation, the motive power -of inferior beings never fails to meet a proportionate--that is, -movable--term and to impress upon it a momentum of a certain intensity. -Hence, when we regard, not the substance of natural things as such, -but the natural necessity they are under of tending constantly to the -ultimate end of their creation, we see that their first act of moving -must always entail some second act, or momentum, in all the terms which -it can reach according to its natural determination. - -The second conclusion is self-evident; for, if the principle of real -movement were not an objective reality, a real effect would proceed from -an unreal cause--which is absurd. Nor does it matter that the power is -only a “first” act. For, as we have explained above, it is first as -compared with the acts which it can produce, but it is intrinsically -complete in the entity of the agent, as it is terminated to its -substantial term. - -The third conclusion is nothing but a corollary of the well-known axiom -that in all things the principle of operation is the substantial act: -_Forma est id quo agens agit_, and _Principium essendi est principium -operandi_. We have proved in another place[156] that no natural accident -possesses active power or is actually concerned in any of the effects -produced by the agent. This truth should be well understood by the modern -scientists who very commonly mistake the conditions of the action for -the active principle. Of course no creature can act independently of -accidental conditions; but these conditions have no bearing on the active -power itself--they only determine (formally and not efficiently) the -mode of its application according to a constant law. Thus the distance -of two material points has no _active_ influence on their motive power -or on their mutual action, but only constitutes the two points in a -certain relation to one another; and when such a relation is altered, the -action is changed, not because the power is modified, but because its -determination to act--that is, its very nature--demands that it should -in its application follow the Newtonian law of the inverse ratio of the -squared distances. - -The philosophers of the old school admitted, but never proved, that, -although the substantial form is the main principle of activity in -natural things, nevertheless this principle was in need of some -accidental entity, that it might be proximately disposed to produce its -act. This opinion, too, originated in the confusion of active power -with the conditions on which the mode of its exertion depends. What -they called “active qualities” is now acknowledged to be, not a new -kind of active power superadded to the substantial forms, but merely a -result of the concurrence of many simple powers acting under determinate -conditions. The accidental change of the conditions entails the change -of the result and action, but the active powers evidently remain the -same. The ancients said also that the substantial forms were the active -principles of substantial generations, whereas the “active qualities” -were the active principles of mere alterations. As we have shown that -the whole theory of substantial generations, as understood by the -peripatetic school, is based on assumption and equivocation, and leads to -impossibilities,[157] we may be dispensed from giving a new refutation of -the opinion last mentioned. - -Our fourth conclusion directly follows from the general principle that -the act by which a thing has its first being is its principle of action: -_Quo aliquid primo est, eo agit_. The substantial act, considered as to -its absolute entity, does not connote action, but simply constitutes the -being of which it is the act. In order to conceive it as an active power, -we must refer to the effects which it virtually contains--that is, we -must consider its virtuality. In this manner what is a second act with -regard to the substance of the agent, will be conceived as a first act -with reference to the effects it can produce, according to a received -axiom: _Actus secundus essendi est actus primus operandi_. - -The fifth conclusion, notwithstanding the contrary opinion of many -philosophers, is quite certain. For all intrinsic modification is the -result of passive reception or passion. Now, to produce a momentum of -movement is action, not passion. Therefore, when such a momentum is -produced, no other subject is intrinsically modified by it except the one -which passively receives it. It is therefore the being which is acted -on, not that which acts, that acquires an intrinsic modification. The -power of the agent is not entitatively and intrinsically more actuated -by action than by non-action. Its action is an extrinsic termination, -and gives it nothing but the real denomination of agent, by which it is -really related to the term acted on. The patient, by its reception of -the momentum, becomes similarly related to the agent, as is evident. And -the relation consists in this: that the patient acquires formally an -act which the agent virtually contains. This relation is of accidental -causality on the one side and of accidental dependence on the other. The -foundation of the relation is the accidental action as coming from the -one and terminating in the other. - -As everything that is in movement must have received the motion from -a distinct agent, according to the principle _Omne quod movetur, ab -alio movetur_, it follows that whatever is in movement is accidentally -dependent on an extrinsic mover; and, since all material elements are -both movers and moved, they all have a mutual accidental causality and -dependence. - -Our sixth conclusion is sufficiently clear from what has been said -concerning the sixth conclusion of the preceding series. The momentum -of movement is evidently the second act of the motive power--that is, -the extrinsic term of its exertion. The entitative distance between two -momentums produced by the same mover is an extrinsic relation; for its -foundation is the virtuality of the act by which the agent is, as has -been explained above. But the same momentums, as possessing greater or -less intensity, can also be compared with one another according to their -intrinsic entity or degree; and thus they will be found to have a mutual -relation arising from an intrinsic foundation. - -_Remarks._--As the ubication, so also the momentum produced by accidental -action, can be considered both absolutely and respectively. The momentum, -considered absolutely, is an act received in a subject--an absolute -momentum, an extrinsic term of the virtuality of the motive principle; -and, as such a momentum is only one out of the innumerable acts which -can proceed from the agent, it has an entity infinitely less than that -of the agent. It is evident, in fact, that between a substantial and -an accidental act there must be an infinite entitative disproportion, -both because no substance can be substantially changed by its accidents, -and because the substantial act can never be exhausted, and not even -weakened, by the production of accidental acts, as we have established in -another place.[158] The momentum is considered respectively when it is -compared with another momentum, in which case we can find the relation of -the one to the other as to intensity. This intensity is measured by the -quantity of the movement to which they give rise when not counteracted. - -The unit of intensity is arbitrary in the momentums, as in their -principles, for the same reason--that is, because in neither case a -natural unit of intensity can be found. The number expressing the -relative intensity of a momentum is only virtually discrete, because -the momentum is only virtually compounded, since it is not a number of -distinct acts, but one act equivalent to many. - -_Movement and its affections._--The production of a momentum entails -movement. The general definition of movement, according to Aristotle and -S. Thomas, is _Actus existentis in potentia ut in potentia_, or, as we -would say, an actual passage from one potential state to another. Now, -all created being is potential in two manners: first, on account of its -passive receptivity; secondly, on account of its affectibility, which is -a consequence of its passivity, as we have explained in the “Principles -of Real Being.”[159] Hence the momentum of movement, inasmuch as it is -received in the patient, actuates its passive potency; and inasmuch as -its reception entails a certain mode of being, it affects its resultant -potentiality. But besides this double potentiality, which is intrinsic to -the subject, there is another potentiality which refers to an extrinsic -term, and for this reason movement is considered both as it is a -modification of its subject, _ratione subjecti_, and as it points at an -extrinsic term, _ratione termini_. - -With regard to its subject, movement is usually divided into _immanent_ -and _transient_. It is called immanent when it results from immanent -acts, as when the soul directs its attention to such or such an object -of thought; and it is called transient when it brings about a change in -a subject distinct from the agent, as when a man moves a stone, or when -the sun moves the earth. But this is inaccurate language; for what is -transient in these cases is the _action_, not the _movement_. - -With regard to its term, movement is divided into two kinds--that is, -movement to a place, _motus ad ubi_, and movement towards a certain -degree of perfection or intensity of power, _motus virtutis_.[160] The -first is called _local_ movement, of which we will speak presently. The -second is subdivided into _intension_, _remission_, and _alteration_. -Intension and remission are the acquisition or loss of some degree of -perfection or of intensity with regard to power and qualities; alteration -is the passage from one kind of quality or property to another. Thus, in -water, heat is subject to intension and remission; but when the cohesive -force of the molecules is superseded by the expansive force of vapor, -there is alteration. - -It is important to notice that there is no _motus virtutis_ in primitive -elements of matter. The exertion of their power varies indeed according -to the Newtonian law, but the power itself is always exactly the same, -as its principle is the substantial act, which cannot be modified by -accidental action. It is only in material compounds that the _motus -virtutis_ can be admitted, for the reason that the active powers and -qualities in them are a result of composition; hence a change in the -mode of the composition brings about a change in the resultant. So also -in spiritual substances there is no _motus virtutis_, because their -active faculties are always substantially the same. True it is that the -intellect has also its passivity with regard to intelligible species, -and that it acts by so much the more easily and perfectly in proportion -as it is better furnished with intelligible species distinctly expressed -and arranged according to their logical and objective connection. But -this cannot mean that the active power of the intellect can be increased, -but only that it can be placed in more suitable conditions for its -operations. And the like is to be said of all acquired habits; for they -give a greater facility of acting, not by intensifying the intrinsic -power, but by placing the active faculty in such conditions as are more -favorable for its operation. - -But let us revert to local movement. This movement may be defined as _the -act of gliding through successive ubications_. Such a gliding alters the -relations of one body to another, as is evident, but it involves no new -intrinsic modification of the subject. As long as the subject continues -to move under the same momentum, its intrinsic mode of being remains -uniformly the same, while its extrinsic relations to other bodies are -in continual change. Hence the local movement of any point of matter -merely consists in the act of extending from ubication to ubication, or, -as we may say, in _the evolution of the intensity of the momentum into -continuous extension_. The reason of this evolution is that the momentum -impressed on a subject has not only a definite intensity, but also a -definite direction in space; whence it follows that the subject which -receives the momentum receives a determination to describe a line in a -definite direction, which it must follow, owing to its inertia, with an -impetus equal to the intensity of the momentum itself. And in this manner -a material point, by the successive flowing of its ubication, describes a -line in space, or evolves the intensity of its momentum into extension. - -Hence, of local movement we can predicate both _intensity_ and -_extension_. The intensity is the formal principle, which, by actuating -the inertia or mobility of the subject, evolves itself into extension. -The extension is the actual evolution of the momentum, and constitutes -the essence of local movement, which is always _in fieri_. And this -is what is especially pointed out in Aristotle’s words: _Motus est -actus existentis in potentia, ut in potentia_. The _actus_ refers to -the intensity, which is not _in fieri_, but has a definite actuality; -whilst the _in potentia ut in potentia_ clearly refers to the evolution -of extension, which is continually _in fieri_ under the influx of said -act. Accordingly, local movement is both intensive and extensive. But -this last epithet is to be looked upon as equivalent to “extending,” not -to “extended”; for it is the line drawn, or the track of the movement -already made, that is properly “extended,” whereas the movement itself is -the act of extending it. - -The formal intensity of local movement is called _velocity_. We say the -_formal_ intensity, because movement has also a _material_ intensity. -The formal intensity regards the rate of movement of each element of -matter taken by itself, and it is greater or less according as it evolves -a greater or a less extension in equal times. The material intensity -regards the quantity of matter which is moving with a given velocity, and -is measured by the product of the velocity into the mass of the moving -body. This product is called the momentum of the body, or its quantity of -movement. - -Local movement is subject to three affections--viz., _intension_, -_remission_, and _inflexion_. In fact, since local movement consists -in extending with a certain velocity in a certain direction, it is -susceptible of being modified either by a change of velocity, which -will intensify or weaken it, or by a change of direction--that is, by -inflexion. So long, however, as no agent disturbs the actual movement -already imparted to a body, the movement must necessarily continue in -the same direction and with the same velocity; for matter, owing to its -inertia, cannot modify its own state. This amounts to saying that the -tendency uniformly to preserve its rate and its direction is not an -accidental affection, but the very nature, of local movement. - -This being premised, we are going to establish a series of conclusions, -concerning movement and its affections, parallel to that which we have -developed in the preceding pages respecting power and its exertions. The -reader will see that the chain of our analogies must here end; for, since -movement is not action, it affects nothing new, and produces no extrinsic -terms, but only entails changes of local relations. On the other hand, -the affections of local movement are not of a transient, but of an -immanent, character, and thus they give rise to no new entity, but are -themselves identified with the movement of which they are the modes. Our -conclusions are the following: - -1st. There is in all local movement something permanent--that is, a -general determination of a lasting character, which has no need of being -individuated in one manner more than in another. - -2d. This constant determination is an objective reality. - -3d. This same determination is nothing accidentally superadded to local -movement. - -4th. This determination is the virtuality of the momentum of movement, or -the act of evolving extension in a definite direction. - -5th. This determination is not intrinsically modified by any accidental -modification of local movement. - -6th. The affections of local movement are intrinsic and intransitive -modes, which identify themselves with the movement which they modify. - -The first of these conclusions is briefly proved thus: whatever is a -subject of real modifications has something permanent. Local movement -is a subject of real modifications. Therefore, local movement involves -something permanent. - -The second conclusion is self-evident. - -The third conclusion, too, is evident. For whatever is accidentally -superadded to a thing can be accidentally taken away, and therefore -cannot belong to the thing permanently and invariably. Hence the constant -and fixed determination in question cannot be an accident of local -movement. - -The fourth conclusion is a corollary of the third. For nothing is -necessarily permanent in local movement, except that which constitutes -its essence. Now, its essence lies in this: that it must evolve -extension at the rate and in the direction determined by the momentum -of which it is the exponent. Therefore the permanent determination of -which we are speaking is nothing else than the virtuality of the momentum -itself as developing into extension. And since the momentum by which the -moving body is animated has a determinate intensity and direction, which -virtually contains a determinate velocity and direction of movement, -it follows that the permanent determination in question consists in -the actual tendency of movement to evolve uniformly and in a straight -line--_uniformly_, because velocity is the form of movement, and the -velocity determined by the intensity of the actual momentum is actually -one; _in a straight line_, because the actual momentum being one, it -gives but one direction to the movement, which therefore will be straight -in its tendency. Whence we conclude that it is of the essence of local -movement to have _an actual tendency to evolve uniformly in a straight -line_. - -Some will object that local movement may lack both uniformity and -straightness. This is quite true, but it does not destroy our conclusion. -For, as movement is always _in fieri_, and exists only by infinitesimal -instants in which it is impossible to admit more than one velocity and -one direction, it remains always true that within every instant of its -existence the movement is straight and uniform, and that in every such -instant it tends to continue in the same direction and at the same -rate--that is, with the velocity and direction it actually possesses. -This velocity and direction may, of course, be modified in the following -instant; but in the following instant, too, the movement will tend to -evolve uniformly and in a straight line suitably to its new velocity -and direction. Whence it is manifest that, although in the continuation -of the movement there may be a series of different velocities and -directions, yet the tendency of the movement is, at every instant of its -existence, to extend uniformly in a straight line. This truth is the -foundation of dynamics. - -Our fifth conclusion is sufficiently evident from what we have just -said. For, whatever be the intensity and direction of the movement, its -determination to extend uniformly in a straight line is not interfered -with. - -Our last conclusion has no need of explanation. For, since the affections -of local movement are the result of new momentums impressed on the -subject it is plain that they are intrinsic modes characterizing a -movement individually different from the movement that preceded. The -tendency to evolve uniformly in a straight line remains unimpaired, -as we have shown; but the movement itself becomes entitatively--viz., -quantitatively--different. - -_Remarks._--Local movement is divided into _uniform_ and _varied_. -Uniform movement we call that which has a constant velocity. For, as -velocity is the form of movement, to say that a movement is uniform is -to say that it has but one velocity in the whole of its extension. We -usually call “uniform” all movement whose apparent velocity is constant; -but, to say the truth, no rigorously uniform movement exists in nature -for any appreciable length of time. In fact, every element of matter lies -within the sphere of action of all other elements, and is continually -acted on, and continually receives new momentums; the evident consequence -of which is that its real movement must undergo a continuous change of -velocity. Hence rigorously uniform movement is limited to infinitesimal -time. - -Varied movement is that whose rate is continually changing. It is divided -into _accelerated_ and _retarded_; and, when the acceleration or the -retardation arises from a constant action which in equal times imparts -equal momentums, the movement is said to be _uniformly_ accelerated or -retarded. - -_Epilogue._--The explanation we have given of space, duration, and -movement suffices, if we are not mistaken, to show what is the true -nature of the only continuous quantities which can be found in the -real order of things. The reader will have seen that the source of all -continuity is motive power and its exertion. It is such an exertion -that engenders local movement, and causes it to be continuous in its -entity, in its local extension, and in its duration. In fact, why is the -local movement continuous _in its entity_? Because the motive action -strengthens or weakens it by continuous infinitesimal degrees in each -successive infinitesimal instant, thus causing it to pass through all -the degrees of intensity designable between its initial and its final -velocity. And again: why is the local movement continuous _in its local -extension_? Because it is the property of an action which proceeds from -a point in space and is terminated to another point in space, to give a -local direction to the subject in which the momentum is received; whence -it follows that the subject under the influence of such a momentum must -draw a continuous line in space. Finally, why is the local movement -continuous _in its duration_? Because, owing to the continuous change of -its ubication, the subject of the movement extends its absolute _when_ -from _before_ to _after_, in a continuous succession, which is nothing -but the duration of the movement. - -Hence absolute space and absolute duration, which are altogether -independent of motive actions, are not _formally_ continuous, but only -supply the extrinsic reason of the possibility of formal continuums. -It is matter in movement that by the flowing of its _ubi_ from _here_ -to _there_ actually marks out a continuous line in space, and by the -flowing of its _quando_ from _before_ to _after_ marks out a continuous -line in duration. Thus it is not absolute space, but the line drawn in -space, that is _formally_ extended from _here_ to _there_; and it is not -absolute duration, but the line successively drawn in duration, that is -_formally_ extended from _before_ to _after_. - -With regard to the difficulties which philosophers have raised at -different times against local movement we have very little to say. An -ancient philosopher, when called to answer some arguments against the -possibility of movement, thought it sufficient to reply: _Solvitur -ambulando_--“I walk; therefore movement is possible.” This answer was -excellent; but, while showing the inanity of the objections, it took no -notice of the fallacies by which they were supported. We might follow the -same course; for the arguments advanced against movement are by no means -formidable. Yet we will mention and solve three of them before dismissing -the subject. - -_First._ If a body moves, it moves where it is, not where it is not. But -it cannot move where it is; for to move implies not to remain where it -is, and therefore bodies cannot move. The answer is, that bodies neither -move where they are nor where they are not, but _from_ the place where -they are _to_ the place where they are not. - -_Second._ A material element cannot describe a line in space between -two points without gliding through all the intermediate ubications. -But the intermediate ubications are infinite, as infinite points can -be designated in any line; and the infinite cannot be passed over. The -answer is that an infinite multitude cannot be measured by one of its -units; and for this reason the infinite multitude of ubications which may -be designated between the terms of a line cannot be measured by a unit -of the same kind. Nevertheless, a line can be measured by movement--that -is, not by the ubication itself, but _by the flowing_ of an ubication; -because the flowing of the ubication is continuous, and involves -continuous quantity; and therefore it is to be considered as containing -in itself its own measure, which is a measure of length, and which may -serve to measure the whole line of movement. If the length of a line -were an infinite sum of ubications--that is, of mathematical points--the -objection would have some weight; but the length of the line is evidently -not a sum of points. The line is a continuous quantity evolved by the -flowing of a point. It can therefore be measured by the flowing of a -point. For as the line described can be divided and subdivided without -end, so also the time employed in describing it can be divided and -subdivided without end. Hence the length of a line described in a finite -length of time can be conceived as an infinite virtual multitude of -infinitesimal lengths, just in the same manner as the time employed in -describing it can be conceived as an infinite multitude of infinitesimal -instants. Now, the infinite can measure the infinite; and therefore it -is manifest that an infinite multitude of infinitesimal lengths can be -measured by the flowing of a point through an infinite multitude of -infinitesimal instants.[161] - -_Third._ The communication of movement, as we know by experience, -requires time; and yet time arises from movement, and cannot begin before -the movement is communicated. How, then, will movement be communicated? -The answer is that time and movement begin together, and evolve -simultaneously in the very act of the communication of movement. It is -not true, then, that all communication of movement requires time. Our -experience regards only the communication of _finite_ movement, which, -of course, cannot be made except the action of the agent continue for a -finite time. But movement is always communicated by infinitesimal degrees -in infinitesimal instants; and thus the beginning of the motive action -coincides with the beginning of the movement, and this coincides with the -beginning of its duration. - -And here we end. The considerations which we have developed in our -articles on space, duration, and movement have, we think, a sufficient -importance to be regarded with interest by those who have a philosophical -turn of mind. The subjects which we have endeavored so far to investigate -are scarcely ever examined as deeply as they deserve by the modern -writers of philosophical treatises; but there is no doubt that a clearer -knowledge of those subjects must enable us to extricate ourselves -from many difficulties to be met in other parts of metaphysics. It is -principally in order to solve the sophisms of the idealists and of the -transcendental pantheists that we need an exact, intellectual notion of -space and of time. We see how Kant, the father of German idealism and -pantheism, was led into numerous errors by his misconception of these two -points, and how his followers, owing to a like hallucination, succeeded -in obscuring the light of their noble intellects, and were prompted to -deny and revile the most certain and fundamental principles of human -reasoning. In fact, a mistaken notion of space lies at the bottom of -nearly all their philosophical blunders. If we desire to refute their -false theories by direct and categorical arguments, we must know how far -we can trust the popular language on space, and how we can correct its -inaccuracies so as to give precision to our own phraseology, lest by -conceding or denying more than truth demands we furnish them with the -means of retorting against our argumentation. This is the main reason -that induced us to treat of space, duration, and movement in a special -series of articles, as we entertained the hope that we might thus help in -cutting the ground from under the feet of the pantheist by uprooting the -very germ of his manifold errors. - - -NOT YET. - - Methought the King of Terrors came my way: - Whom all men flee, and none esteem it base. - But lo! his smile forbidding me dismay, - I stood--and dared to look him in the face. - “So soon!” the only murmur in my heart: - For I had shaped the deeds of many years-- - Ambitioning atonement, and, in part, - To reap in joy what I had sown in tears. - Then, turning to Our Lady: “O my Queen! - ’Twere very sweet already to have won - My crown, and pass to see as I am seen, - And nevermore offend thy Blessed Son: - Yet would I stay--and for myself, I own:-- - To stand, at last, the nearer to thy throne.” - - -SONGS OF THE PEOPLE. - -Without going back to abstruse speculations on the origin of music in -England (there is a mania in our century for discovering the “origin” -of everything, and theorizing on it, long before a sufficient number of -facts has been collected even to make a pedestal for the most modest and -limited theory), we gather from the mention of it in old English poems, -and books on ballads and songs, glees and catches, that it existed in a -very creditable form at least eight hundred years ago. Indeed, there was -national and popular music before this, and the Welsh songs, the oldest -of all, point far back to a legendary past as the source of their being. -The first foreign song that mingled with the rude music of the early -Britons was doubtless that of the Christian missionaries in the first -century of our era, and after that there can have been little music among -the converted Britons but what was more or less tinged with a foreign -and Christian element. We know, too, that at various times foreign monks -either came or were invited to the different kingdoms in England to -teach the natives the ecclesiastical chant. Gardiner, in his _Music of -Nature_, says that “as the invaders came from all parts of the Continent, -our language and music became a motley collection of sounds and words -unlike that of any other people; and though we have gained a language of -great force and extent, yet we have lost our primitive music, as not a -single song remains that has the character of being national.” He also -says that before music was cultivated as an art, England, in common with -other countries, had its national songs, but that these, with the people -who sang them, were driven by the conquerors into Ireland, Scotland, -and Wales. This assertion is rather a sweeping one, and the recognized -formula about the ancient inhabitants of Britain being _all_ crowded -into certain particular districts is one that will bear modifying and -correcting. The British Anthropological Society has, during the last ten -years, made interesting researches in the field of race-characteristics -in different parts of England, and an accumulation of facts has gone far -to prove the permanence of some Gaelic, Cymric, and Celtic types in other -parts, exclusive of Wales and Cornwall. Dr. Beddoe and Mr. Mackintosh -have published the result of their observations, and the latter concludes -that “a considerable portion of the west Midland and southwestern -counties are scarcely distinguishable from three of the types found in -Wales--namely, the British, Gaelic, and Cymrian. In Shropshire, and -ramifying to the east and southeast, the Cymrian type may be found in -great numbers, though not predominating.… In many parts of the southwest -the prevailing type among the working classes is decidedly Gaelic.… North -Devon and Dorset may be regarded as its headquarters in South Britain.” -Then, again, the district along the borders of Wales, especially between -Taunton and Oswestry, and as far east as Bath, shows a population more -naturally intellectual than that of any other part of England, and that -without any superiority of primary education to account for it. The -people are what might be called Anglicized Welsh, and there is among -them a greater taste for solid knowledge than in the heart of England. -Lancashire is to a great extent Scandinavian, and also somewhat Cymrian, -as we have seen, and there the people are known as a shrewd, hardy race, -thoughtful and fond of study, and great adepts in music. - -At a large school in Tiverton, Devonshire, nine-tenths of the boys -presented the most exaggerated Gaelic physiognomy; while at another, near -Chichester, the girls were all of the most unmistakable Saxon type. We -need not go further in this classification, and only introduced it to -show that massing together all British types in Wales and Cornwall is a -fallacy, such as all hasty generalizations are. It is not so certain, -therefore, that there exists no indigenous element in the old songs that -have survived, though in many an altered form, in some of the rural -districts of England. Then, again, how is the word “national” used--in -the sense of indigenous, or of popular, or of exclusively belonging to -one given country? English music was, before the Commonwealth, at least -as indigenous as the English language, as that gradually grew up and -welded itself together. As to popularity, there was a style of song--some -specimens of which we shall give--which was known and used by the -poorest and humblest, and a style, too, far removed from the plebeian, -though it may have been rather sentimental. Then glees and catches are, -though of no very great antiquity, essentially English, and are scarcely -known in any other country. If “national” stands for “political,” as many -people at this day seem to take for granted, then, indeed, England has -not much to boast of. That music is born rather of oppression and defeat, -and loves to commemorate a people’s undying devotion to their own race, -laws, customs, and rulers. Irish and Welsh and Jacobite songs exhibit -that style best, though only the first of the three have any present -significance, the two other kinds having long ago become more valuable -for their intrinsic or historical merit than for their political meaning. -Certain modern English songs, such as “Ye Mariners of England,” “Rule -Britannia,” “The Death of Nelson,” might be called national songs in the -political sense; but “God Save the King,” though patriotic and loyal, is -thoroughly German in style and composition, and therefore hardly deserves -the title national. - -The Welsh have kept their musical taste pure. Mr. Mackintosh, in his -paper on the _Comparative Anthropology of England and Wales_, says of -the quiet and thoughtful villagers of Glan Ogwen, near the great Penrhyn -slate quarries, that “their appreciation of the compositions of Handel -and other great musicians is remarkable; and they perform the most -difficult oratorios with a precision of time and intonation unknown in -any part of England, except the West Riding of Yorkshire, Lancashire, -Worcester, Gloucester, and Hereford.” The three latter are towns where -the musical festivals are so frequent that the taste of the people -cannot help being educated up to a good standard. Hereford, too, is -very near the Welsh border. “The musical ear of the Welsh is extremely -accurate. I was once present in a village church belonging to the late -Dean of Bangor, when the choir sang an anthem composed by their leader, -and repeated an unaccompanied hymn-tune five or six times without the -slightest lowering of pitch. The works of Handel, Haydn, Beethoven, and -Mozart are republished with Welsh words at Ruthin and several other -towns, and their circulation is almost incredible. At book and music -shops of a rank where in England negro melodies would form the staple -compositions, Handel is the great favorite; and such tunes as ‘Pop goes -the Weasel’ would not be tolerated. The native airs are in general very -elegant and melodious. Some of them, composed long before Handel, are in -the Handelian style; others are remarkably similar to some of Corelli’s -compositions. The less classical Welsh airs, in 3-8 time, such as ‘Jenny -Jones’ are well known. Those in 2-4 time are often characterized by a -sudden stop in the middle or at the close of a measure, and a repetition -of pathetic slides or slurs.” - -Much of this eulogium might be equally applied to the people of -Lancashire, especially the men, who know the great oratorios by heart, -and sing the choruses faultlessly among themselves, not only at large -gatherings, but in casual reunions, whenever three or four happen to -meet. Their part-singing, too, in glees, both ancient and modern, is -admirable, and they have scarcely any taste for the low songs which are -only too popular in many parts of England. - -The songs of chivalry were another graft on the stock of English music, -and the honor paid to the bards and minstrels was a mingling of the love -of a national institution at least as old as the Druids--some say much -older--and of the enthusiasm produced by the metrical relation of heroic -feats of arms. The Crusades gave a great impulse to the troubadours’ -songs, while the ancient British custom of commemorating the national -history by the oral tradition and the music of the harpers, seemed to -merge into and strengthen the new order of minstrels. Long before the -bagpipe became the peculiar--almost national--instrument of Scotland, -the harp held that position, as it has not yet ceased to do, in Ireland -and Wales. The oldest harp now in Great Britain is an Irish one, which -was already old in 1064. It is now in the museum of Trinity College, -Dublin. These ancient instruments were very different from the modern -ones on which our grandmothers used to display their skill before the -pianoforte became, to its detriment, the fashionable instrument for young -ladies; and even now the Irish and Welsh harps are made exactly on the -old models, and have no pedals. But the use of the harp was not confined -to the Welsh, and in the reign of King John, in the XIIth century, on -the occasion of an attack made on the old town of Chester by the Welsh -during the great yearly fair, it is recorded in the town annals that the -commandant assembled all the minstrels who had come to the place upon -that occasion, and marched them in the night, with their instruments -playing, against the enemy, who, upon hearing so vast a sound, were -filled with such terror and surprise that they instantly fled. In memory -of this famous exploit, no doubt suggested by the Biblical narrative of -Gideon’s successful stratagem, a meeting of minstrels is annually kept up -to this day, with one of the Dutton family at their head, to whom certain -privileges are granted. In the reign of Henry I. the minstrels were -formed into corporate bodies, and enjoyed certain immunities in various -parts of the kingdom. Gardiner[162] says that “the most accomplished -became the companions and favorites of kings, and attended the court -in all its expeditions.” Perhaps we may refer the still extant office -of poet-laureate to this custom of retaining a court minstrel near the -person of the sovereign. In the time of Elizabeth the profession of -a harper had become a degraded one, only embraced by idle, low, and -dissolute characters; and so it has remained ever since, through the -various stages of ballad-monger, street-singer and fiddler, in which the -memory of the once noble office has been merged or lost. In Scotland the -piper, a personage of importance, has taken the place of the harper since -the time of Mary, Queen of Scots, who introduced the pipes from France; -but in Wales the minstrel, with his harp, upheld his respectability much -longer, and even now most of the old families, jealous and proud of their -national customs, retain their bard as an officer of the household. The -writer has seen and heard one of these ancient minstrels, in the service -of a family living near Llanarth, the mistress (a widow) making it her -special business to promote the keeping up of all old national customs. -She was an excellent farmer, too, and had a pet breed of small black -Welsh sheep, whose wool she prepared for the loom herself, and with which -she clothed her family and household. In the neighboring town she had got -up an annual competition of harpers and choirs for the performance of -Welsh music exclusively. The concert was always the occasion of a regular -country festivity, ending with a ball, and medals and other prizes were -given by her own hand to the best instrumental and vocal artists. - -In Percy’s _Reliques_ a description is given of the dress and appearance -of a mediæval bard, as personated at a pageant given at Kenilworth in -honor of Queen Elizabeth. The glory of the brotherhood was already so -much a thing of the past that it was thought worth while to introduce -this figure into a mock procession. This very circumstance is enough -to mark the decline of the art in those days, but already a new sort -of popular song had sprung up to replace the romances of chivalry. “A -person,” says Percy, “very meet for the purpose, … his cap off; his head -seemly rounded tonsure-wise, fair-kembed [combed], that with a sponge -daintily dipt in a little capon’s grease was finely smoothed, to make it -shine like a mallard’s wing. His beard smugly shaven; and yet his shirt, -after the new trink, with ruffs fair starched, sleeked and glittering -like a pair of new shoes; marshalled in good order with a setting stick -and strut, that every ruff stood up like a wafer.[163] A long gown of -Kendal-green gathered at the neck with a narrow gorget, fastened afore -with a white clasp and a keeper close up to the chin, but easily, for -heat, to undo when he list. Seemly begirt in a red caddis girdle; from -that a pair of capped Sheffield knives hanging at two sides. Out of his -bosom was drawn forth a lappet of his napkin [handkerchief] edged with a -blue lace, and marked with a true-love, a heart, and _D_ for Damain; for -he was but a bachelor yet. His gown had long sleeves down to mid-leg, -lined with white cotton. His doublet-sleeves of black worsted; upon them -a pair of poynets [wristlets, from _poignet_] of tawny chamlet, laced -along the wrist with blue threaden points; a wealt towards the hand of -fustian-a-napes. A pair of red neather stocks, a pair of pumps [shoes] on -his feet, with a cross cut at the toes for corns; not new, indeed, yet -cleanly blackt with soot, and shining as a shoeing-horn. About his neck -a red riband suitable to his girdle. His harp in good grace dependent -before him. His wrest [tuning-key] tyed to a green lace, and hanging -by. Under the gorget of his gown, a fair chain of silver as a squire -minstrel of Middlesex, that travelled the country this summer season, -unto fairs and worshipful men’s houses. From his chain hung a scutcheon, -with metal and color, resplendent upon his breast, of the ancient arms of -Islington.” The peculiarities marking his shoes no doubt referred to the -long pedestrian tours of the early minstrels. - -Chaucer, in the XIVth century, makes frequent mention of music, both -vocal and instrumental. Of his twenty-nine Canterbury Pilgrims, six could -either play or sing, and two, the Squire and the Mendicant Friar, could -do both. Of the Prioress he quaintly says: - - “Ful wel she sangé the service devine, - Entunéd in hire nose ful swetély.” - -Dr. Burney thinks that part-singing was already known and practised in -Chaucer’s time, and draws this inference from the notice the poet takes -in his “Dream” of the singing of birds: - - “… for some of them songe lowe - Some high, and all of one accorde”; - -and it is certain that this kind of music was a great favorite with the -English people at a very early period, and was indebted to them for many -improvements. The same writer says that the English, in their secular -music and in part-singing, rather preceded than followed the European -nations, and that, though he could find no music in parts, except church -music, in foreign countries before the middle of the XVIth century, yet -in England he found Masses in four, five, and six parts, as well as -secular songs in the vulgar tongue in two or three parts, in the XVth and -early part of the XVIth centuries. Ritson, it is true, in his _Ancient -Songs from the Time of King Henry III. to the Revolution_, disputes -this, but Hawkins is of the same opinion as Burney. Mr. Stafford Smith, -at the end of the last century, made a collection of old English songs -written in score for three or four voices; but though the oldest music -to such songs is scarcely intelligible, the number collected proves how -popular that sort of music was in early times. (Perhaps the illegibility -of the music is due to the old notation, in use before the perfected -stave of four lines became general--the pneumatic notation, supposed by -Coussemaker, Schubiger, Ambros, and other writers on music to have been -developed out of the system of accents of speech represented by signs, -such as are still used in French.) - -Landini, an Italian writer of the XVth century, in his _Commentary -on Dante_, speaks of “many most excellent musicians” as coming from -England to Italy to hear and study under Antonio _degli organi_ (a name -denoting his profession); while another writer, the choir-master of the -royal chapel of Ferdinand, King of Naples, mentions the excellence of -the English vocal music in parts, and even (incorrectly) calls John of -Dunstable (a musician of the middle of the XVth century) the “inventor of -counterpoint.” - -One of the oldest compositions of this kind is a manuscript score in the -British Museum, a canon in unison for four voices, with the addition -of two more voices for the _pes_, as it is called, which is a kind of -ground, and is the basis of the harmony. The words, partially modernized, -are as follows (they are much older than the music, which is only four -hundred years old): - - “Summer is a-coming in, - Loud sing cuckoo; - Groweth seed - And bloweth mead, - And springeth the weed new. - Ewe bleateth after lamb; - Loweth after calf, cow; - Bullock sterteth [leaps], - Buckè verteth [frequents green places], - Merry sing cuckoo; - Nor cease thou ever now.” - -Dr. Burney says of this song that the modulation is monotonous, but -that the chief merit lies in “the airy, pastoral correspondence of the -melody with the words”--a merit which many modern compositions of the -“popular” type are very far from possessing. Under the Tudors music made -rapid strides. Dr. Robert Fairfax was well known as a composer in those -days, and a collection of old English songs with their music (often in -parts), made by him, has been preserved to this day. Besides himself, -such writers as Cornyshe, Syr Thomas Phelyppes, Davy, Brown, Banister, -Tudor, Turges, Sheryngham, and William of Newark are represented. Of -these, Cornyshe was the best, and Purcell, two hundred years later, -imitated much of his rondeau style, most of these composers being -entirely secular. Henry VIII. himself wrote music for two Masses, and -had them sung in his chapel; and to be able to take a part in madrigals, -and sing at sight in any piece of concerted music, was reckoned a part -of a gentleman’s education in those days. The invention of printing gave -a great impulse to song-writing and composing, though for some time -after the words were printed the music was probably still copied by hand -over the words; for the printing of notes was of course a further and -subsequent development of the new art. A musician and poet of the name -of Gray became a favorite of Henry VIII. and of the Protector Somerset -“for making certain merry ballades, whereof one chiefly was ‘The hunt is -up--the hunt is up.’”[164] - -“A popular species of harmony,” says Ritson, “arose in this reign; it was -called ‘King Henry’s Mirth,’ or ‘Freemen’s Songs,’ that monarch being -a great admirer of vocal music. ‘Freemen’s Songs’ is a corruption of -‘Three-men’s Songs,’ from their being generally for three voices.” Very -few songs were written for one voice. - -Ballads were very popular, and formed one of the great attractions at -fairs. An old pamphlet, published in the reign of Elizabeth, mentions -with astonishment that “Out-roaring Dick and Wat Winbars” got twenty -shillings a day by singing at Braintree Fair, in Essex. It does seem -a good deal, considering that the sum was equal to five pounds of -the present money, which again is equivalent to about thirty dollars -currency. These wandering singers, the lowly successors of the proud -minstrels, were in their way quite as successful; but, what is more -wonderful, their songs were for the most part neither coarse nor vulgar. -Good poets wrote for music in those days; _now_, as a general rule, it -is only rhymers who avowedly write that their words may be set to music. -As quack-doctors, fortune-tellers, pedlers, etc., mounted benches and -barrel-heads to harangue the people, and thus gained the now ill-sounding -name of mountebanks, so too did these singers call over their songs and -sing those chosen by their audience; and they are frequently called -by the writers of those times _cantabanchi_, an Italian compound of -_cantare_ (to sing) and _banchi_ (benches). Among the headings given of -these popular songs are the following: “The Three Ravens: a dirge”; “By -a bank as I lay”; “So woe is me, begone”; “Three merry men we be”; “But -now he is dead and gone”; “Now, Robin, lend me thy Bow”; “Bonny Lass -upon a green”; “He is dead and gone, Lady,” etc. There is a quaint grace -and sadness about the titles which speaks well for the manners of those -who listened and applauded. Popular taste has certainly degenerated in -many parts of England; for such titles _now_ would only provoke a sneer -among an average London or Midland county audience of the lower classes. -Gardiner says: “The most ancient of our English songs are of a grave -cast, and commonly written in the key of G minor.” - -Among the composers of the reigns of Elizabeth and James I. was Birde, -who wrote a still popular canon on the Latin words “Non nobis, Domine,” -and set to music the celebrated song ascribed to Sir Edward Dyer, a -friend of Sir Philip Sidney, “My Mind to me a Kingdom is.” - -Birde’s scholar, Morley, produced a great number of canzonets, or short -songs for three or more voices; and Ford, who was an original genius, -published some pieces for four voices, with an accompaniment for lutes -and viols, besides other pieces, especially catches of an humorous -character. George Kirbye was another canzonet composer, and Thomas -Weelkes has been immortalized by the good-fortune which threw him in -Shakspere’s way, so that the latter often wrote words for his music. -Yet doubtless the fame of the one, as that of the other, was chiefly -posthumous; and poet and musician, on a par in those days, may have -starved in company, unknowing that a MS. of theirs would fetch its weight -in gold a hundred years after they were in their graves. - -“The musical reputation of England,” says a writer in an old review of -1834, “must mainly rest on the songs in parts of the period between 1560 -and 1625.” And Gardiner says: “If we can set up any claim to originality, -it is in our glees and anthems.” The gleemen, who were at first a class -of the minstrels, are supposed to have been the first who performed vocal -music in parts, according to set rules and by notes, though the custom -must have existed long before it was thus technically sanctioned. The -earliest pieces of the kind _upon record_ are by the madrigal writers, -and were, perhaps, founded upon the taste of the Italian school; but -there soon grew up a distinction sufficient to mark English glee-music -as a separate species of the art. It is said that glee-singing did not -become generally popular till about the year 1770, when glees formed -a prominent part of the private concerts of the nobility; but their -being adopted into fashionable circles only at that date is scarcely -a proof of their late origin. The canzonets for three or four voices -must have been closely allied to glees, and a family likeness existed -between these and the madrigals for four or five voices, the ballets, or -fa-las, for five, and the songs for six and seven parts, which are so -prodigally mentioned in a list of works by Morley within the short space -of only four years--1593 to 1597. The number of these songs proves their -wonderful popularity, and we incline to think, with the writer we have -quoted, that the English, in the catches and glees, the works of the -composers of the days of Elizabeth and James I., and those of Purcell, -Tallis, Croft, Bull, Blow, Boyce, etc., at a later period, possess a -music essentially national and original--not imitative, as is the modern -English school, and not more indebted to foreign sources than any other -progressive and liberal art is to the lessons given it by its practisers -in other civilized communities. For if _national_ is to mean isolated -and petrified, by all means let us forswear nationalism. - -Shakspere’s songs are scattered throughout his works, and were evidently -written for music. Both old and new composers have set them to music, -and of the latter none so happily as Bishop Weelkes and John Dowland, -his contemporaries and friends; the latter, the composer of Shakspere’s -favorite song (not his own), “Awake, sweet Love,” often wrote music -for his words. In his plays Shakspere has introduced many fragments of -_old_ songs and ballads; but Ritson says of him: “This admirable writer -composed the most beautiful and excellent songs, which no one, so far as -we know, can be said to have done before him, nor has any one excelled -him since.” This statement is qualified by an exception in favor of -Marlowe, a predecessor of Shakspere, and the author of the “Passionate -Shepherd to his Love”; and besides, it means that he was the first great -poet among the song-writers, who, in comparison with him, might be called -mere ballad-mongers. Shakspere’s love for the old, simple, touching music -of his native land, shown on many occasions throughout his works, is most -exquisitely expressed in the following passage from _Twelfth Night_: - - “Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, - That old and antique song we had last night: - Methought it did relieve my passion much, - More than light airs and recollected terms - Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times. - … - O fellow, come, the song we had last night. - Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain; - The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, - And the free maids that weave their thread with bones,[165] - Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth, - And dallies with the innocence of love, - Like the old age.” - -Though Shakspere’s plays were marked with the coarseness of speech -common in his time, and therefore not, as some have thought, chargeable -to him in particular, his songs, on the contrary, are of singular -daintiness. They are too well known to be quoted here, but they breathe -the very spirit of music, being evidently intended to be sung and -popularly known. The chorus, or rather refrain, of one, beginning, “Blow, -blow, thou winter wind,” runs thus: - - “Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly; - Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. - Then heigh ho! the holly! - This life is most jolly!” - -The “Serenade to Sylvia” is lovely, chaste and delicate in speech as it -is playful in form; and the fairy song “Over hill, over dale,” is like -the song of a chorus of animated flowers. The description of the cowslips -is very poetic: - - “The cowslips tall her pensioners be, - In their gold coats spots you see-- - Those be rubies, fairy favors; - In those freckles live their savors. - I must go seek some dew-drops here, - And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.” - -Bishop Hall, in 1597, published a satirical poem in which he complains -that madrigals and ballads were “sung to the wheel, and sung unto the -pail”--that is, by maids spinning and milking, or fetching water; and -Lord Surrey, in one of his poems, says (not satirically, however): - - “My mother’s maids, when they do sit and spin, - They sing a song.” - -Now, we gather what was the style of these songs of peasant girls and -laborers from the writings of good old Izaak Walton, who mentions, as a -common occurrence, that he often met, in the fields bordering the river -Lee, a handsome milkmaid who sang like a nightingale, her voice being -good and the ditties fitted for it. “She sang the smooth song which was -made by Kit Marlowe, now at least fifty years ago, and the milkmaid’s -mother sang the answer to it which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in -his younger days.… They were old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good; I -think much better than that now in fashion in this critical age.”[166] He -wrote in the reign of Charles I., and already deplored the influx of more -pretentious songs; but those he mentions with such commendation were the -famous “Passionate Shepherd to his Love” and the song beginning “If all -the world and love were young,” two exquisite lyrics of an elegance much -above what is now termed the taste of the vulgar. - -Izaak Walton was as fond of music as of angling, and quotes many of the -popular songs of his day. He was a quiet man, and only describes the -pastimes of humble life. He used to rest from his labors in an “honest -ale-house” and a “cleanly room,” where he and his fellow-fishermen, and -sometimes the milkmaid, whiled away the evenings by singing ballads and -duets. Any casual dropper-in was expected to take his part; and among the -music mentioned as common in these gatherings are numbers of “ketches,” -or, as we should say, catches. The music of one of his favorite duets, -“Man’s life is but vain, for ’tis subject to pain,” is given in the old -editions of his book. It is simple and pretty; the composer was Mr. H. -Lawes. Other songs, favorites of his, were “Come, shepherds, deck your -heads”; “As at noon Dulcina rested”; “Phillida flouts me”; and that -touching elegy, “Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,” by George -Herbert. This is as full of meaning as it is short: - - “Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, - The bridal of the earth and sky, - Sweet dews shall weep thy fall to-night - For thou must die. - - “Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, - Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, - Thy root is ever in its grave, - And thou must die. - - “Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, - A box where sweets compacted lie, - My music shows you have your closes - And all must die. - - “Only a sweet and virtuous soul, - Like seasoned timber never gives, - But, when the whole world turns to coal, - Then chiefly lives.” - -Sir Henry Wotton’s song for the poor countryman, beginning-- - - “Fly from our country pastimes, fly, - Sad troops of human misery! - Come, serene looks, - Clear as the crystal brooks, - Or the pure, azured heaven that smiles to see - The rich attendance on our poverty!” - -and some verses of Dr. Donne (both these writers being contemporaries -of James I.), are also mentioned by Walton as popular among the lower -classes in his day. Here is another instance of the power of song over -the peasantry in the early part of the XVIIth century. In the spring -of 1613, on the occasion of Queen Anne of Denmark’s return from Bath, -where she had gone for her health, she was met on Salisbury Plain by the -Rev. George Fereby, vicar of some obscure country parish, who entreated -that her majesty would be pleased to listen to a concert performed by -his people. “When the queen signified her assent, there rose out of the -ravine a handsome company, dressed as Druids and as British shepherds -and shepherdesses, who sang a greeting, beginning with these words, to a -melody which greatly pleased the musical taste of her majesty: - - “‘Shine, oh! shine, thou sacred star, - On seely[167] shepherd swains!’ - -We should suppose, from the commencing words, that this poem had -originally been a Nativity hymn pertaining to the ancient church; and -it is possible that the melody might be traced to the same source.… -The music, the voices, and the romantic dresses, so well corresponding -with the mysterious spot where this pastoral concert was stationed, -greatly captivated the imagination of the queen.”[168] Anne of Denmark -admired and patronized the genius of Ben Jonson, the writer of several -musical masques often performed at court by the queen and her noble -attendants. The really classical time of English poetry and music was -before the Commonwealth, and popular music certainly received a blow -during the Puritan rule. Songs and ballads were forbidden as profane; -and in 1656 Cromwell enacted that “if any of the persons commonly called -fiddlers or minstrels shall at any time be taken playing, fiddling, -and making music in any inn, ale-house, or tavern, or shall be taken -proffering themselves, or designing or entreating any to hear them play -or make music in any of the places aforesaid,” they should be “adjudged -and declared to be rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars.” Fines and -imprisonments were often the penalties attached to a disregard of these -ordinances; but this opposition only turned the course of popular song -into political channels, and it became a point of honor among the -Royalists to listen to, applaud, and protect the veriest scamp who -called himself a minstrel. Songs were written with no poetical merit, -but full of political allusions, bitter taunts and sneers; and it was -the delight of the Cavaliers to sing these doggerel rhymes and make the -wandering fiddlers sing them. Many a brawl owed its origin to this. Even -certain tunes, without any words, were considered as identified with -political principle, and led to dangerous ebullitions of feeling, or -kept alive party prejudices in those who heard them. Popular music has -always been a powerful engine for good or bad, in a political sense. -Half the loyalty of the Jacobites of Scotland in the XVIIIth century -was due to inflammatory songs; Körner’s lyrics fired German patriotism -against Napoleon; and there has never been a party of any kind that did -not speedily adopt some representative melody to fan the ardor of its -adherents. - -But if music and poetry were proscribed by the over-rigorous Puritans, -a worse excess was fostered by the immoral reign of Charles II. The -Restoration polluted the stream which the Commonwealth had attempted to -dam up. Just as, in a spirit of bravado and contradiction, the Cavaliers -had ostentatiously made cursing and swearing a badge of their party, to -spite the sanctimoniousness of the Roundheads, so they affected to oppose -to the latter’s psalm-singing roaring and immodest songs. Ritson says -that Charles II. tried his hand at song-writing, and quotes a piece by -him, beginning: - - “I pass all my hours in a shady old grove.” - -“Though by no means remarkable for poetical merit,” says the critic, “it -has certainly enough for the composition of a king.” Molière was not -more severe on the attempts of Louis XIV. But though the general spirit -of the age was licentious, many good songs were still written. Sedley, -Rochester, Dorset, Sheffield, and others wrote unexceptionable ones, -and the great Dryden flourished in this reign. One of his odes, “On S. -Cecilia’s Day,” is thoroughly musical in its rhythm, the refrains at the -end of each stanza having the ring of some of the old German Minnesongs -of the XIIth and XIIIth centuries. But his verses were scarcely simple -or flowing enough to become popular in the widest sense, which honor -rather belonged to the less celebrated poets of his day. Lord Dorset, -for instance, was the author of a sea-song said to have been written the -night before an engagement with the Dutch in 1665, and which, from its -admirable ease, flow, and tenderness, became at once popular with all -classes. The circumstances under which it was supposed to be written had, -no doubt, something to do with its popularity; but Dr. Johnson says: -“Seldom any splendid story is wholly true. I have heard from the late -Earl of Orrery, who was likely to have good hereditary intelligence, -that Lord Dorset had been a week employed upon it, and only retouched -or finished it on the memorable evening. But even this, whatever it -may subtract from his facility, leaves him his courage.” The anonymous -writer to whom we have referred[169] tells us that “the shorter pieces -of most of the poets of the time of Charles II. had a rhythm and cadence -particularly well suited to music. They were, in short, what the Italians -call _cantabile_, or fit to be sung.… In the succeeding reigns, with -the growth of our literature, there was a considerable increase in -song-writing; most of our poets of eminence, and some who had no eminence -except what they obtained in that way, devoting themselves occasionally -to the composition of lyrical pieces. Prior, Rowe, Steele, Philips, -Parnell, Gay, and others contributed a stock which might advantageously -be referred to by the composers of our own times.” Prior was a friend -and _protégé_ of Lord Dorset, who sent him to Cambridge and paid for his -education there. Parnell was an Irishman. His “Hymn to Contentment” is a -sort of counterpart to the old song “My Mind to me a Kingdom is”: - - “Lovely, lasting peace, appear; - This world itself, if thou art here, - Is once again with Eden blest, - And man contains it in his breast.” - -Gay, the elegant, the humorous, and the pathetic, shows to most advantage -in this group. He it was who wrote the famous ballad “Black-eyed Susan,” -and many others which, though less known at present, are equally -admirable. One of them was afterwards set to music by Handel, and later -on by Jackson of Exeter. But music did not keep pace with poetry; and -though Purcell, Carey, and one or two other composers flourished in the -latter part of the XVIIth and beginning of the XVIIIth centuries, they -kept mostly to sacred music, and the new songs of the day were generally -set to old tunes. Gay’s _Beggar’s Opera_, a collection of seventy-two -songs, could not boast of a single air composed for the purpose. The -music was all old, but the stage, says Dr. Burney, ruined the simplicity -of the old airs, as it invariably does all music adapted to dramatic -purposes. Indeed, we, in our own day, sometimes have the opportunity -of verifying this fact, when old airs or ballads are introduced into -operas to which they are unfitted. The “Last Rose of Summer” put into -the opera of _Martha_ is an instance in point; but, worse than that, -the writer once heard “Home, Sweet Home” sung during the music-lesson -scene in the _Barbier de Seville_. Adelina Patti was the _prima donna_, -and any one who has seen and heard her can imagine the contrast between -the simple, pathetic air and words, and the kittenish, coquettish, -Dresden-china style of the singer! Add to this the costume of a Spanish -_señorita_ and the stage finery of Rosina’s boudoir, not to mention the -absurd anachronism involved in a girl of the XVIIth century singing -Paine’s touching song. Of course the audience applauded vigorously; -for an English audience at the opera goes into action in the spirit of -Nelson’s words, “England expects every man to do his duty,” and the -incongruousness of the scene never troubles its mind. - -Carey tried to stem the downfall of really good popular music by writing -both the words and music of the well-known ballad of “Sally in our -Alley,” which attained a popularity (using the word in its proper sense) -that it has never lost and never will lose. The song was soon known -from one end of the country to the other, and, like the old songs, was -“whistled o’er the furrowed land” and “sung to the wheel, and sung unto -the pail.” Addison was no less fond of it than the common people; but the -song was an exception in its time, and the poetry of the day never again -made its way among the great body of the people, as it had done under -the Tudors and the early Stuarts. Music and poetry both grew artificial -under the Hanoverian dynasty, and the mannerisms and affectations of -rhymers and would-be musical critics were sharply satirized by Pope and -Swift. In the reign of Queen Anne the Italian opera was introduced into -London, and the silly rage for foreign music, _because_ it was foreign, -soon worked its way among all classes. Handel brought about the first -salutary return to natural and simple musical expression, and, setting -many national and pastoral pieces to music, diffused the taste for good -music through the intermediate orders of the people, especially the -country gentry, but the masses still clung to interminable ballads, -with monotonous tunes and no individuality either of sense or of form. -Although England could boast of some good native composers and poets in -the XVIIIth century--for instance, among the former, Boyce, Arne, Linley, -Jackson, Shield, Arnold, etc.--still no good music penetrated into the -lower strata of society; for these musicians mostly confined themselves -to pieces of greater pretension than anything which was likely to become -popular. Wales and the North of England still kept up a better standard, -but the general taste of the nation was decidedly vitiated. Dibdin’s -sea-songs broke the spell and reached the heart of the people; but this -was rather a momentary flash than a permanent resurrection of good taste -and discernment. The custom of writing the majority of songs for one -voice, we think, had had much to do with destroying the genuine love of -music among the people. It seemed to shift the burden of entertainment -upon one member of a social gathering, instead of assuming that music -was the welcome occupation and pastime of the greater number; and -besides this, it no doubt fostered an undue rage for melody, or, as it -is vulgarly called, _tune_. We have often had occasion to notice how -bald and meagre--trivial, indeed--a mere thread of melody can sound -when sung by one voice, which, if sung in parts, acquires a majestic -and full tone. The fashion of solo-singing, which obtains so much -in our day, has another disadvantage: it encourages affectation and -self-complacency in the singer. The solo-singer is very apt to arrogate -to him or herself the merit and effect of the piece; to think more of the -individual performance than of the music performed; and to spoil a good -piece by interpolating runs and shakes to show off his or her powers of -vocal gymnastics. All this was impossible in the old part-songs, where -attention and precision were indispensable. - -There are hopeful indications at present that England is not utterly -sunk into musical indifference, but, strange to say, wherever the good -leaven _does_ work, it does so from below upwards. The lower classes in -the North of England have mainly given the impulse; the higher are still, -on the whole, superficial in their tastes and trivial and mediocre in -their performances. Even as far back as 1834, the writer in the _Penny -Magazine_ already quoted gives an interesting account of a surprise he -met with at a small village in Sussex. (This, be it remembered, is an -almost exclusively Saxon district of the country.) Being tired of the -solitude of the little inn and the dulness of a country newspaper, he -walked down the street of the village, and, in so doing, was brought to a -pause before a small cottage, nowise distinguished from the other humble -homesteads of the place, from which proceeded sounds of sweet music. The -performance within consisted, not of voices, but of instruments; and -the piece was one of great pathos and beauty, and not devoid of musical -difficulty. When it was finished, and the performers had rested a few -seconds, they executed a German quartet of some pretensions in very -good style. This was followed by variations on a popular air by Stephen -Storace, which they played in excellent time and with considerable -elegance and expression. Several other pieces, chosen with equal good -taste, succeeded this, and the stranger enjoyed a musical treat where -he little expected one. On making inquiries at the inn, he found that -the performers were all young men of the village, humble mechanics and -agricultural laborers, who, for some considerable time, had been in the -habit of meeting at each other’s houses in the evening, and playing -and practising together. The taste had originated with a young man of -the place who had acquired a little knowledge of music at Brighton. He -had taught some of his comrades, and by degrees they had so increased -in number and improved in the art that now, to use the words of the -informant, “there were eight or ten that could play by book and in -public.” - -At that time, and in that part of the country, this was an unusual and -remarkable proof of refinement and good taste; but at present, though -still the exception, it is no longer quite so rare to find uneducated -people able to a certain degree to appreciate good music. Much has -been written to vindicate English musical taste within the last thirty -or forty years; but still the fact can scarcely be overlooked that, -notwithstanding all efforts to the contrary, the standard of taste among -the masses is lower than it was in Tudor days. - -Every one is familiar with the choral unions, the glee-clubs, the -carol-singing, Leslie’s choir, and Hullah’s methods, which all go far to -raise the taste of the people and enlist the vocal powers of many who -otherwise would have been tempted to leave singing to the “mounseers” -and other “furriners,” as the only thing those benighted individuals -could be good for. There is, as there has been for many generations, the -Chapel Royal, a sort of informal school of music; there is the Academy -of Music; there are “Crystal Palace” and “Monday Popular Concerts”; -musical festivals every year in the various cathedrals, oratorios in -Exeter Hall; and there soon will be a “National School of Music,” which -is to be a climax in musical education, the pride of the representative -bodies of wealthy and noble England (for princes and corporations have -vied with each other in founding scholarships); but with all this, the -palmy days of the Tudors are dead and gone beyond the power of man to -galvanize them into new activity. True, every young woman plays the -pianoforte; you see that instrument in the grocer’s best parlor and the -farmer’s keeping-room; but the sort of music played upon it is trivial -and foreign, an exotic in the life of the performer, a boarding-school -accomplishment, not a labor of love. You can hear “Beautiful Star,” and -“Home, Sweet Home,” and Mozart’s “Agnus Dei” sung one after the other, -with the same expression, the same “strumminess,” the same stolidity, -or the same affected languor, and you will perceive that, though the -singer may _know_ them, she neither feels nor understands them. Moore’s -melodies, too, you hear _ad nauseam_, murdered and slurred over anyhow; -but both the delicacy of the poetry and the pathos of the music are a -dead-letter to the performer. But though a few songs by good writers are -popular in the middle classes--for instance, Tennyson’s “Brook” and “Come -into the garden, Maud,” the immortal and almost unspoilable “Home, Sweet -Home”--yet there is also a dark side to the picture in the prevalence of -comic songs, low, slangy ballads, sham negro melodies (utterly unlike the -real old pathetic plantation-song), and other degrading entertainments -classed under the title of “popular music.” The higher classes give -little countenance or aid to the upward movement in music, and still look -upon the art as an adjunct of fashion. With such disadvantages, it is a -wonder that England has struggled back into the ranks of music-lovers -at all, even though, as yet, she can take but a subordinate place among -them. - - -PIOUS PICTURES. - -A great deterioration having been observable for some time past in -the multitudinous little pictures published in Paris, ostensibly with -a religious object, some of the more thoughtful writers in Catholic -periodicals have on several recent occasions earnestly protested against -the form these representations are taking. Their remonstrances are, -however, as yet unsuccessful. The “article” continues to be produced on -an increasing scale, and is daily transmitted in immense quantities, -not only to the farthest extremities of the territory, but far beyond, -especially to England and America, to ruin taste, sentimentalize piety, -and “give occasion to the enemy to” _deride_ if not to “blaspheme.” - -The bishops of France have already turned their attention to this -unhealthy state of things in what may be called pictorial literature -for the pious, and efforts are being made in the higher regions of -ecclesiastical authority to arrest its deterioration. In the synod lately -held at Lyons severe censure was passed on the objectionable treatment -of sacred things so much in vogue in certain quarters; and, still more -recently, Father Matignon, in his conference on “The Artist,” condemned -these “grotesque interpretations of religious truths, which render -them ridiculous in the eyes of unbelievers, and corrupt the taste of -the faithful.” The eloquent preacher at the same time recommended the -Catholic journalists to denounce a species of commerce as ignorant as it -is mercenary, and counselled the members of the priesthood to “declare -unrelenting war against this school of _pettiness_, which is daily -gaining ground in France, and which gives a trivial and vulgar aspect to -things the most sacred.” - -This appeal has not been without effect. There appears in the _Monde_, -from the pen of M. Léon Gautier, the author of several pious and learned -works, a Letter “Against Certain Pictures,” addressed “to the president -of the Conference of T----,” in which the absurdity of these silly -compositions is attacked with much spirit and good sense. The _Semaine -Religieuse de Paris_ reproduces this letter, with an entreaty to its -readers to enroll themselves in the crusade therein preached by the -eminent writer--a crusade the opportuneness of which must be only too -evident to every thoughtful and religious mind. M. Léon Gautier writes as -follows: - - You have requested me, dear friend, to purchase for you a - “gross” of little pictures for distribution among your poor and - their children.… - - As to the selection of these pictures I must own myself - greatly perplexed, and must beg to submit to you very humbly - my difficulties, and not only my difficulties, but also my - distress, and, to say the truth, my indignation. I have before - my eyes at this moment four or five hundred pictures which - have been sold to me as “pious,” but which I consider as in - reality among the most detestable and irreverent of any kind of - merchandise. A great political journal the other day gave to - one of its leaders the title of _L’Ecœurement_.[170] I cannot - give a title to my letter, but, were it possible to do so, I - should choose this one in preference to any other. I am in the - unfortunate state of a man who has swallowed several kilograms - of adulterated honey. I am suffering from an indigestion of - sugar; and what sugar! Whilst in the act of buying these - little horrors, I beheld numberless purchasers succeed each - other with feverish eagerness in the shops, which I will not - specify. Yes, I had the pain of meeting there with Christian - Brothers and with Sisters of Charity, who made me sigh by their - simple avidity and ingenuous delight at the sight of these - frightful little black or rose-colored prints. They bought them - by hundreds, by thousands, by ten thousands; for schools, for - orphanages, for missions. Ah! my dear friend, how many souls - are going to be well treacled in our hapless world! It is the - triumph of confectionery. “Why are you choosing such machines - as these?” I asked of the good Brother Theodore, whom, to my - great astonishment, I found among the purchasers; “they are - disagreeable.” “Agreed.” “They are stupid.” “I know it.” “They - are dear.” “My purse is only too well aware of the fact.” “Then - why do you buy them?” “Because I find that these only are - acceptable.” And thereupon the worthy man told me that he had - the other day distributed among his children pictures taken - from the fine head of our Saviour attributed to Morales--a - _chef-d’œuvre_. The children, however, perceiving that there - was no gilding upon them, had thrown them aside, gaping. - Decidedly, the evil is greater than I had supposed, and it is - time to consider what is to be done. - - In spite of all this, I have bought your provision of pictures; - but do not be uneasy--I am keeping them myself, and will - proceed to describe them to you. I do not wish that the taste - of your beloved poor should be vitiated by the sight of these - mawkish designs; but I will take upon myself to analyze them - for your benefit, and then see if you are not very soon as - indignant as myself. - - In the first place we have the “symbolical” pictures, and these - are the most numerous of all. I do not want to say too much - against them. You know in what high estimation I hold true - symbolism, and we have many a time exchanged our thoughts on - this admirable form of the activity of the human mind. A symbol - is a comparison between things belonging to the physical and - things belonging to the immaterial world. Now, these two worlds - are in perfect harmony with each other. To each phenomenon of - the moral order there corresponds exactly a phenomenon of the - visible order. If we compare these two facts with each other, - we have a symbol. There is a life, a breath, a whiteness, - which are material. Figurative language is nothing else than a - vast and wonderful symbolism, and you remember the marvellous - things written on this subject by the lamented M. Landriot. - In the supernatural order it is the same, and all Christian - generations have made use of symbolism to express the most - sacred objects of their adoration. There has been the symbolism - of the Catacombs; there has been also that of the Middle Ages. - The two, although not resembling, nevertheless complete, each - other, and eloquently attest the fact that the Christian race - has never been without the use of symbols. - - Thus it is not symbolism which I condemn, but this particular - symbolism of which I am about to speak, and which is so - odiously silly. I write to you with the proofs before me. I am - not inventing, but, mirror-wise, merely reflecting. I am not - an author, but a photographer. - - Firstly, here we have a ladder, which represents “the way of - the soul towards God.” This is very well, although moderately - ideal; but then who is mounting this ladder? You would never - guess. It is a dove! Yes; the poor bird is painfully climbing - up the rounds as if she were a hen getting back to roost, - and apparently forgetting that she owns a pair of wings. But - we shall find this dove elsewhere; for our pictures are full - of the species, and are in fact a very plentifully-stocked - dove-cote. I perceive down there another animal; it is a - roe with her fawn, and with amazement I read this legend: - “The fecundity of the breast of the roe is the image of the - abundance and sweetness of grace.” Why was the roe selected, - and why roe’s milk? Strange! But here again we have a singular - collection. On a heart crowned with roses is placed a - candlestick (a candlestick on a heart!), and this candelabrum, - price twenty-nine sous, is surmounted by a lighted candle, - around which angels are pressing. This, we are told underneath, - is “good example.” Does it mean that we are to set one for the - blessed angels to follow? Next, what do I see here? A guitar; - and this at the foot of the cross. Let us see what can be the - reason of this mysterious assemblage; the text furnishes it: - _Je me délasserai à l’abri de la Croix_--“I will refresh myself - in the shelter of the cross”--from whence it follows that one - can play the guitar upon Golgotha. Touching emblem! And what do - you say of this other, in which our Saviour Jesus, the Word, - and, as Bossuet says, the Reason and Interior Discourse of - the Eternal Father, is represented as occupied in killing I - know not what little insects on the leaves of a rose-bush? “The - divine Gardener destroys the caterpillars which make havoc in - his garden,” says the legend. I imagine nothing, but merely - transcribe, and for my part would gladly turn insecticide to - this collection of _imagerie_. - - This hand issuing out of a cloud I recognize as the hand of my - Lord God, the Creator and Father of all, who is at the same - time their comforter, their stay, and their life. I admit - this symbol, which is ancient and truly Christian; but this - divine hand, which the Middle Ages would most carefully have - guarded against charging with any kind of burden; this hand, - which represents Eternal Justice and Eternal Goodness--can - you imagine what it is here made to hold? [Not even the fiery - bolt which the heathen of old times represented in the grasp - of their Jupiter Tonans, but] a horrible and stupid little - watering-pot, from the spout of which trickles a driblet - of water upon the cup of a lily. Further on I see the said - watering-pot is replaced by a sort of jug, which the Eternal - is emptying upon souls in the shape of doves; and this, the - legend kindly informs me, is “the heavenly dew.” Heavenly - dew trickling out of a jug! And there are individuals who - can imagine and depict a thing like this when the beneficent - Creator daily causes to descend from his beautiful sky those - milliards of little pearly drops which sparkle in the morning - sunshine on the fair mantle of our earth! Water, it must be - owned, is scarcely a successful subject under any form with our - picture-factors. Here is a poor and miserably-painted thread - lifting itself up above a basin, while I am informed underneath - that “the jet of water is the image of the soul lifting itself - towards God by meditation.” - - I also need to be enlightened as to how “a river turned aside - from its course is an image of the good use and of the abuse - of grace.” It is obscure, but still it does not vulgarize and - debase a beautiful and Scriptural image, like the next I will - mention, in which, over the motto, “Care of the lamp: image of - the cultivation of grace in our hearts,” we have a servant-maid - taking her great oily scissors and cutting the wick, of which - she scatters the blackened fragments no matter where. - - The quantity of ribbon and string used up by these - symbol-manufacturers is something incalculable. Here lines of - string unite all the hearts of the faithful (doves again!) - to the heart of Our Blessed Lady; there Mary herself, the - Immaculate One and our own incomparable Mother, from the height - of heaven holds in leash, by an interminable length of string, - a certain little dove, around the neck of which there hangs a - scapular. This, we are told, means that “Mary is the directress - of the obedient soul.” Elsewhere the string is replaced by - pretty rose-colored or pale-blue ribbons, which have doubtless - a delicious effect to those who can appreciate it. Here is a - young girl walking along cheerfully enough, notwithstanding - that her heart is tied by one of these elegant ribbons to - that of the Blessed Mother of God, apparently without causing - her the slightest inconvenience. Her situation, however, is, - I think, less painful than that of this other young person, - who is occupied in carving her own heart into a shape - resembling that of Mary. Another young female has hoisted this - much-tormented organ (her own) on an easel, and is painting - it after the same pattern. But let us hasten out of this - atelier to breathe the open air among these trees. Alas! we - there find, under the form and features of an effeminate child - of eight years old, “the divine Gardener putting a prop to a - sapling tree,” or “grafting on the wild stock the germ of good - fruits.” This is all pretty well; but what can be said of this - ciborium which has been energetically stuck into a lily, with - the legend, “I seek a pure heart”? These gentlemen, indeed, - treat you to the Most Holy Eucharist with a free-and-easyness - that is by no means fitting or reverent. It is forbidden to the - hands of laics to touch the Sacred Vessels, and it is only just - that the same prohibition should apply to picture-makers. They - are entreated not to handle thus lightly and irreverently that - which is the object of our faith, our hope, and our love. - - Hitherto I have refrained from touching upon that very delicate - subject which it is nevertheless necessary that I should - approach--namely, the representation of the Sacred Heart. And - here I feel myself at ease, having beforehand submitted to all - the decisions of the church, and having for long past made it - my great aim to be penetrated with her spirit. Like yourself, - I have a real devotion to the Sacred Heart, nor do I wish to - conceal it. When any devotion takes so wide a development in - the Holy Church, it is because it is willed by God, who watches - unceasingly over her destinies and the forms of worship which - she renders to him. All Catholics are agreed upon this point. - It is true that certain among them regard the Sacred Heart - as the symbol of Divine Love, and that others consider it - under the aspect of a very adorable part of the Body of the - God-Man, and, if I may so express it, as a kind of centralized - Eucharist. Well, I hold that to be accurate one ought to admit - and harmonize the two systems, and therefore I do so. You - are aware that it is my belief that physiology does not yet - sufficiently understand the mechanism of our material heart, - and I await discoveries on that subject which shall establish - the fact of its necessity to our life. The other day, at - Baillère’s, I remained a long time carefully examining a fine - engraving representing the circulation of the blood through the - veins and arteries, and I especially contemplated the heart - the source and receptacle of this double movement, and said - to myself, “The worship of the Sacred Heart will be one day - justified by physiology.” But why do I say this, when it is so - already? Behold me, then, on my knees before the Sacred Heart - of my God, in which I behold at the same time an admirable - symbol and a yet more admirable reality. But is this a reason - for representing the Sacred Heart in a manner alike ridiculous - and odious? I will not here enter upon the question as to - whether it is allowable to represent the Sacred Heart of Jesus - otherwise than in his Sacred Breast, and I only seek to know - in order to accept unhesitatingly whatever with regard to this - may be the thought of the church. But that which to my mind is - utterly revolting is the sight of the profanations of which - these fortieth-rate picture-manufacturers are guilty. What - right have they, and how do they dare, to represent hundreds - of consecrated Hosts issuing from the Sacred Heart, and a - dove pecking at them as they are dropping down? What right - have they to make the Heart of our Lord God a pigeon-house, a - roosting-place for these everlasting doves, or into a vase out - of which they are drinking? What right have they to insert a - little heart (ours) into the Divine Heart of Jesus? What right - have they to represent to us [a Pelion, Ossa, and Olympus on - a small scale] three hearts, the one piled upon the other, - and cascades of blood pouring from the topmost, which is that - of Our Lord; upon the second, which is that of his Blessed - Mother; and thence upon the third, which is our own? What right - have they to make the Sacred Heart shed showers of roses, or - to give its form to their “mystic garden”? Lastly, what right - have they to lodge it in the middle of a full-blown flower, and - make the latter address to it the scented question, “What would - you desire me to do in order that I may be agreeable to you?” - Ye well-meaning picture-makers! beware of asking me the same - question; for both you and I very well know what would be the - answer. - - The truth is that these clumsy persons manage to spoil - everything they touch, and they have dishonored the symbolism - of the dove, as they have compromised the representations of - the Sacred Heart. The dove is undoubtedly one of the most - ancient and evangelical of all the Christian symbols; but a - certain discretion is nevertheless necessary in the employment - of this emblem of the Holy Spirit of God. This discretion - never failed our forefathers, who scarcely ever depicted the - dove, except only in the scene of Our Lord’s baptism and in - representations of the Blessed Trinity. In the latter the - Eternal Father, vested in pontifical or imperial robes, holds - between his arms the cross, whereon hangs his Son, while the - Holy Dove passes from the Father to the Son as the eternal love - which unites them. This is well, simple, and even fine. But - there is a vast difference between this and the present abuse - and vulgarization of the dove as an emblem, where it is made - use of to represent the faithful soul. No, truly, one is weary - of all this. Do you see this flight of young pigeons hovering - about with hearts in their beaks? The beaks are very small and - the hearts very large, but you are intended to understand by - this that “fervent souls rise rapidly to great perfection.” - These other doves, lower down, give themselves less trouble and - fatigue; they are quietly pecking into a heart, and I read this - legend: “The heart of Love is inexhaustible; let us go to it in - all our wants.” The pigeon that I see a little farther off is - not without his difficulties; he is carrying a stout stick in - his delicate beak, and--would you believe it?--the explanation - of this remarkable symbol is, “Thy rod and thy staff have - comforted me.” Here again are carrier-pigeons, bringing us in - their beaks nicely-folded letters in charming envelopes. One of - these birds [who possibly may belong to the variety knows as - tumbler pigeons] has evidently fallen into the water; for he is - shown to us standing to recover himself on what appears to be a - heap of mud in the middle of the ocean, with the motto, “Saved! - he is saved!” Next I come upon a party of doves again--always - doves!--whose occupation is certainly no sinecure. Oars have - been fitted to their feeble claws, and these hapless creatures - are rowing. Here is another unfortunate pigeon. She is in - prison with a thick chain fastened to her left foot, and we are - told that she is “reposing on the damp straw of the dungeon.” - Further on appears another of this luckless species, on its - back with its claws in the air. It is dead. So much the better. - It is not I who will encourage it to be so unwise as to return - to life. True, in default of doves, other symbols will not - be found lacking. Here are some of the tender kind--little - souvenirs to be exchanged between friend and friend, wherein - one finds I know not what indescribable conglomerations of - religious sentiment and natural friendship. Flowers, on all - sides flowers: forget-me-nots, pansies, lilies, and underneath - all the treasures of literature: “It is a friend who offers - you these”; “Near or far away, yours ever”; “These will pass; - friendship will remain.” “C’est la fleur de Marie Que je vous - ai choisie.” (N.B.--This last is in verse.) - - I know not, my dear friend, whether you feel with me on this - point. While persuading myself that all these playfulnesses are - very innocent, I yet find in them a certain something which - strikes me as interloping, and I do not like mixtures. - - We have also the politico-religious pictures. Heaven forbid - that I should speak evil of the _fleurs-de-lys_ which embalmed - with their perfume all the dear Middle Ages to which I have - devoted so much of my life; but we have in these pictures of - which I am speaking mixtures which are, to my mind, detestable, - and I cannot endure this pretty little boat, of which the sails - are covered with _fleurs-de-lys_, its mast is the Pontifical - Cross, and its pilot the Sacred Heart. Is another allusion to - legitimacy intended in this cross surrounded with flowers and - bearing the legend, “My Beloved delights himself among the - lilies”? I cannot tell; but if we let each political party - have free access to our religious picture-stores, we shall see - strange things, and then _Gare aux abeilles!_--“Beware of the - bees.” - - One characteristic common to all these wretched picturelings is - their insipidity and petty childishness. They are a literature - of nurses and nursery-maids. The designers must surely belong - to the female portion of humanity; for one is conscious - everywhere of the invisible hand of woman. One is unwilling - to conceive it possible that any one with a beard on the chin - could bring himself to invent similar meagrenesses. These - persons are afraid of man, and have wisely adopted the plan of - never painting him, and of making everybody under the age of - ten years. Never have they had any clear or serious idea of the - Word, the God made man--of him, the mighty and terrible One, - who pronounced anathema on the Pharisees and the sellers in the - Temple. They can but represent a little Jesus in wax, or sugar, - or treacle; and alarmed at the loftiness of Divinity, and being - incapable of hewing his human form in marble, they have kneaded - it in gingerbread. - - And yet our greatest present want is manliness. Truly, truly, - in France we have well-nigh no more men! Let us, then, have no - more of these childishnesses, but let us behold in the divine - splendor and perfect manhood of the Word made flesh the eternal - type of regenerated humanity. - - -SUMMER STORMS. - - Summer storms are fleeting things, - Coming soon, and quickly o’er; - Yet their wrath a shadow brings - Where but sunshine dwelt before. - - On the grass the pearl-drops lie - Fresh and lovely day appears; - Yet the rainbow’s arch on high - Is but seen through falling tears. - - For, though clouds have passed away, - Though the sky be bright again, - Earth still feels the transient sway - Of the heavy summer rain. - - Broken flow’rs and scattered leaves - Tell the short-lived tempest’s power; - Something still in nature grieves - At the fierce and sudden shower. - - There are in the human breast - Passions wild and deep and strong, - Bearing in their course unblest - Brightest hopes of life along. - - O’er the harp of many strings - Often comes a wailing strain, - When the hand of anger flings - Discord ’mid its soft refrain. - - Tears may pass, and smiles again - Wreathe the lip and light the brow; - But, like flowers ’neath summer’s rain, - Some bright hope lies crushed and low. - - Some heart-idol shattered lies - In the temple’s inner shrine: - Ne’er unveiled to human eyes, - Sacred kept like things divine. - - Speak not harshly to the loved - In your holy household band; - Days will come when where they moved - Many a vacant chair will stand. - - To the erring--oh, be kind! - Balm give to the weary heart; - Soft words heal the wounded mind, - Bid the tempter’s spell depart. - - Let not passion’s storm arise, - Though it pass like summer showers; - Clouds will dim the soul’s pure skies, - Hope will weep o’er broken flowers. - - Speak, then, gently; tones of strife - Lightly breathed have lasting power; - Memories that embitter life - Often rise from one rash hour. - - -THE KING OF METALS - -FROM THE FRENCH. - -There once lived a widow named Mary Jane, who had a beautiful daughter -called Flora. The widow was a sensible, humble woman; the daughter, -on the contrary, was very haughty. Many young persons desired her in -marriage, but she found none to please her; the greater the number of -her suitors, the more disdainful she became. One night the mother awoke, -and, being unable to compose herself again to sleep, she began to say her -rosary for Flora, whose pride gave her a great deal of disquietude. Flora -was asleep near her, and she smiled in her sleep. - -The next day Mary Jane inquired: - -“What beautiful dream had you that caused you to smile in your sleep?” - -“I dreamed that a great lord conducted me to church in a copper coach, -and gave me a ring composed of precious stones that shone like stars; and -when I entered the church, the people in the church looked only at the -Mother of God and at me.” - -“Ah! what a proud dream,” cried the widow, humbly drooping her head. - -Flora began to sing. That same day a young peasant of good reputation -asked her to marry him. This offer her mother approved, but Flora said to -him: - -“Even were you to seek me in a coach of copper, and wed me with a ring -brilliant as the stars, I would not accept you.” - -The following night Mary Jane, being wakeful, began to pray, and, looking -at Flora, saw her smile. - -“What dream did you have last night?” she asked Flora. - -“I dreamed that a great lord came for me in a coach of silver, gave me a -coronet of gold, and when I entered the church those present were more -occupied in looking at me than at the Mother of God.” - -“O poor child!” exclaimed the widow, “what an impious dream. Pray, pray -earnestly that you may be preserved from temptation.” - -Flora abruptly left her mother, that she might not hear her remonstrances. - -That day a young gentleman came to ask her in marriage. Her mother -regarded this proposal as a great honor, but Flora said to this new -aspirant: - -“Were you to seek me in a coach of silver and offer me a coronet of gold, -I would not wed you.” - -“Unfortunate girl!” cried Mary Jane, “renounce your pride. Pride leads to -destruction.” - -Flora laughed. - -The third night the watchful mother saw an extraordinary expression on -her child’s countenance, and she prayed fervently for her. - -In the morning Flora told her of her dream. - -“I dreamed,” she said, “that a great lord came to seek me in a coach of -gold, gave me a robe of gold, and when I entered the church all there -assembled looked only at me.” - -The poor widow wept bitterly. The girl left her to escape seeing her -distress. - -That day in the court-yard of the house there stood three equipages, -one of copper, the other of silver, and the third of gold. The first -was drawn by two horses, the second by four, the third by eight. From -the first two descended pages clothed in red, with green caps; from the -third descended a nobleman whose garments were of gold. He asked to marry -Flora. She immediately accepted him, and ran to her chamber to decorate -herself with the golden robe which he presented to her. - -The good Mary Jane was sorrowful and anxious, but Flora’s countenance -was radiant with delight. She left her home without asking the maternal -benediction, and entered the church with a haughty air. Her mother -remained on the threshold praying and weeping. - -After the ceremony, Flora entered the golden equipage with her husband, -and they departed, followed by the two other equipages. - -They drove a long, a very long distance. At last they arrived at a rock -where there was a large entrance like the gate of a city. They entered -through this door, which soon closed with a terrible noise, and they were -in midnight darkness. Flora was trembling with fear, but her husband said: - -“Reassure yourself; you will soon see the light.” In truth, from every -side appeared little creatures in red clothes and green caps--the dwarfs -who dwell in the cavities of the mountains. They carried flaming torches, -and advanced to meet their master, the King of Metals. - -They ranged themselves around, and escorted him through long valleys and -subterranean forests. But--a very singular thing--all the trees of these -forests were of lead. - -At last the cortége reached a magnificent prairie or meadow; in the -midst of this meadow was a château of gold studded with diamonds. “This,” -said the King of Metals, “is your domain.” Flora was much fatigued and -very hungry. The dwarfs prepared dinner, and her husband led her to a -table of gold. But all the meats and all the food presented to her were -of this metal. Flora, not being able to partake of this food, was reduced -to ask humbly for a piece of bread. The waiters brought her bread of -copper, of silver, and of gold. She could not bite either of them. “I -cannot give you,” her husband said, “the bread that you wish; here we -have no other kind of bread.” - -The young woman wept, and the king said to her: - -“Your tears cannot change your fate. This is the destiny you have -yourself chosen.” - -The miserable Flora was compelled to remain in this subterranean abode, -suffering with hunger, through her passion for wealth. Only once a year, -at Easter, she is allowed to ascend for three days to the upper earth, -and then she goes from village to village, begging from door to door a -morsel of bread. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - AN EXPOSITION OF THE CHURCH IN VIEW OF RECENT DIFFICULTIES AND - CONTROVERSIES, AND THE PRESENT NEEDS OF THE AGE. London: Basil - Montagu Pickering, 196 Piccadilly. 1875. New York: THE CATHOLIC - WORLD, April, 1875. - -(From _Le Contemporain_.) - -I. _Renewed Working of the Holy Spirit in the World._--We are, in a -religious, social, and political point of view, in times of transition -which we are not able to understand, for the same reason that no one -can follow the movements of the battle-field who is in the midst of the -engagement. - -To judge from appearances, especially those which are nearest at hand, we -are on the brink of an abyss. The Catholic religion, openly persecuted -in Germany, prostrated now for several years in Italy and Spain by the -suppression of the religious congregations, attacked in all countries, -abandoned by all sovereigns, appears, humanly speaking, to be on the -brink of destruction. There are not wanting prophets who predict the -collapse of Christianity and the end of the world. There are, however, -manly souls who do not allow themselves to be discouraged, and who see -grounds for hope in the very events which fill ordinary hearts with -terror and consternation. - -Of this number is an American religious, Father Hecker, who has -just issued a pamphlet in English, wherein, without concealing the -difficulties of the present, he avows his expectation of the approaching -triumph of religion. - -His motives are drawn from the deep faith he professes in the action of -the Holy Spirit in the church, outside of which he does not see any real -Christianity. It is the Holy Spirit whom we must first invoke; it is -the Holy Spirit of whom we have need, and who will cure all our ills by -sending us his gifts. - -“The age,” he says, “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 -captured 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 ways 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.” - -The men to whom these gifts have been accorded are those of whose -services our age has need. A single man with these gifts could do more -than ten thousand who possessed them not. It is to such men, if they -correspond with the graces which have been heaped upon them, that our age -will owe its universal restoration and its universal progress. This being -admitted, since, on the other hand, it is of faith that the Holy Spirit -does not allow the church to err, ought we not now to expect that he will -direct her on to a new path? - -Since the XVIth century, the errors of Protestantism, and the attacks -upon the Catholic religion of which it gave the signal, have compelled -the church to change, to a certain extent, the normal orbit of her -movement. Now that she has completed in this direction her line of -defence,[171] it is to be expected that she will resume her primitive -career, and enter on a new phase, by devoting herself to more vigorous -action. It is impossible to dispute the fresh strength which the -definition lately promulgated by the Council of the Vatican has bestowed -upon the church. It is the axis on which now revolves the church’s -career--the renewal of religion in souls, and the entire restoration of -society. - -Do we not see an extraordinary divine working in those numerous -pilgrimages to authorized sanctuaries, in those multiplied novenas, and -those new associations of prayer? And do they not give evidence of the -increasing influence of the Holy Spirit on souls? - -What matter persecutions? It is they which purify what remains of the too -human in the church. It is by the cross we come to the light--_Per crucem -ad lucem_. - -A little farther on the author explains in what the twofold action of the -Holy Spirit consists. - -He acts at one and the same time in an intimate manner upon hearts, and -in a manner quite external on the church herself. - -An indefinite field of action conceded to the sentiments of the heart, -without a sufficient knowledge of the end and object of the church, -would open the way for illusions, for heresies of every kind, and would -invite an individual mysticism which would be merely one of the forms of -Protestantism. - -On the other hand, the exclusive point of view of the external authority -of the church, without a corresponding comprehension of the nature of -the operations of the Holy Spirit within the heart of every one of the -faithful, would make the practice of religion a pure formalism, and would -render obedience servile, and the action of the church sterile. - -Moreover, the action of the Holy Spirit made visible in the authority of -the church, and of the Holy Spirit dwelling invisibly in the heart, form -an inseparable synthesis; and he who has not a clear conception of this -double action of the Holy Spirit runs the risk of losing himself in one -or other of the extremes which would involve the destruction and end of -the church. - -In the external authority of the church the Holy Spirit acts as the -infallible interpreter and the criterion of the divine revelation. He -acts in the heart as giving divine life and sanctification. - -The Holy Spirit, who, by means of the teachings of the church, -communicates divine truth, is the same Spirit which teaches the heart to -receive rightly the divine truth which he deigns to teach. 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. -Whence the saying of S. Augustine: _Quantum quisque amat ecclesiam Dei, -tantum habet Spiritum Sanctum_. - -It is remarkable that no pope has done so much for the despised rights of -human reason as Pope Pius IX.; that no council has done better service -to science than that of the Vatican, none has better regulated its -relations to the faith; that none has better defined in their fundamental -principles the relations of the natural and the supernatural; and the -work of the pontiff and of the council is not yet finished. - -Every apology for Christianity must henceforth make great account of the -intrinsic proofs of religion, without which people of the world would be -more and more drawn to see the church only on her human side. - -The Holy Spirit, by means of the sacraments, consummates the union of -the soul of the believer with God. It is this end which true religion -should pursue. The placing in relief the internal life, and the -constitution of the church, and the intelligible side of the mysteries -of the church--in short, the intrinsic reasons of the truths of the -divine revelation combined with the external motive of credibility--will -complete the demonstration of Christianity. Such an exposition of -Christianity, founded on the union of these two categories of proofs, -will have the effect of producing a more enlightened and intense -conviction of religion in the souls of the faithful, and of stimulating -them to more energetic action; and it will have, as its last result, -the opening of the door to their wandering brethren, and gathering them -back into the bosom of the church. With the vigorous co-operation of the -faithful, the ever-augmenting action of the Holy Spirit will raise the -human personality to such an intensity of strength and greatness that -there will result from it a new era for the church and for society--an -admirable era, which it would be difficult to describe in human -expressions, without having recourse to the prophetic language of the -inspired Scriptures. - -II. _The Mission of Races._--In pursuing his study upon the action of the -Holy Spirit in the world, the author says that a wider and more explicit -exposition of the dogmatic and moral verities of the church, with a view -to the characteristic gifts of every race, is the means to employ in -order to realize the hopes he has conceived. - -God is the author of the different races of men. For known reasons of -his providence, he has impressed on them certain characteristic traits, -and has assigned to them from the beginning the places which they should -occupy in his church. - -In a matter in which delicate susceptibilities have to be carefully -handled, it is important not to exaggerate the special gifts of every -race, and, on the other hand, not to depreciate them or exaggerate their -vices. - -It would, however, be a serious error, in speaking of the providential -mission of the races, to suppose that they were destined to mark with -their imprint religion, Christianity, or the church. It is, on the -contrary, God who makes the gifts and qualities with which he has endowed -them co-operate in the expression and development of the truths which he -created for them. - -Nevertheless, no one can deny the mission of the Latin and Celtic races -throughout the greater part of the history of Christianity. The first -fact which manifested their mission and established the influence they -were to exercise was the establishment of the chair of S. Peter at -Rome, the centre of the Latin race. To Rome appertained the idea of the -administrative and governmental organization of the whole world. Rome was -regarded as the geographical centre of the world. - -The Greeks having abandoned the church for schism, and the Saxons having -revolted against her by heresy in the XVIth century, the predominance -which the Latin race, united later on to the Celtic race, assumed in her -bosom, became more and more marked. - -This absence of the Greeks and of a considerable part of the -Saxons--nations whose prejudices and tendencies are in many respects -similar--left the ground more free for the church to complete her action, -whether by her ordinary or normal development, or by the way of councils, -as that of Trent and that of the Vatican. - -That which characterizes the Latin and Celtic races, according to our -author, is their hierarchical, traditional, and emotional tendencies. - -He means, doubtless, by this latter expression, that those races are very -susceptible to sensible impressions--to those which come from without. - -As to the hierarchical sentiment of the Celtic and Latin races, it -appears to us that for upwards of a century it has been much weakened, if -it be not completely extinct. - -In the following passage the author is not afraid to say of the Saxon -race: - - “It is 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 might have feared, perhaps, a kind of hardihood arising from a -certain national partiality in regard to which the author would find it -difficult to defend himself against his _half-brethren_ of Germany, if he -had not added: - - “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. - - “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 the 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!” - -It would be impossible to enter into the idea of the Bismarckian policy -in a manner more ingenious, more exact, and more striking. - -It is by presenting to Germany this monstrous counterfeit of the church -that they have succeeded in provoking its hatred of her, and the new -empire proposes to be itself the resolution of a problem which can be -only formulated thus: “Either adapt Latin Christianity, the Romish -Church, to the Germanic type of character and to the exigences 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.” - -This war against the Catholic religion is formidable, and ought not to -leave us without alarm and without terror. - -Truth is powerful, it is said, and it will prevail. But truth has no -power of itself, in so far as it is an abstraction. It has none, except -on the condition of coming forth and showing itself living in minds and -hearts. - -What is to be done, then? - -No thought can be entertained for a moment of modifying Catholic dogmas, -of altering the constitution of the church, or of entering, to ever so -small an extent, on the path of concessions. What is needed is to present -religious truth to minds in such a manner as that they shall be able to -see that it is divine. It is to prove to them that our religion alone -is in harmony with the profoundest instincts of their hearts, and can -alone realize their secret aspirations, which Protestantism has no power -to satisfy. For that, the Holy Spirit must be invoked in order that he -may develop the interior life of the church, and that this development -may be rendered visible to the persecutors themselves, who hitherto see -nothing in her but what is terrestrial and human. Already a certain -ideal conception of Christianity exists amongst non-Catholics of England -and of the United States, and puts them in the way of a more complete -conversion. As to the Saxons, who, in these days, precipitate themselves -upon an opposite course, we should try to enlighten their blindness. -Already we have seen the persecutors, whether Roman or German, become -themselves Christian in their turn. We shall see the Germans of our days -exhibiting the same spectacle. It is a great race, that German race. Now, -“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.” - -Already we can perceive a very marked return movement amongst the -demi-Saxons, or Anglo-Saxons. It is a great sign of the times. - -At different epochs there have been movements of this kind in England. -But none exhibited features so serious as that of which we are witnesses -in these days. Conversions to the church multiply without number, above -all amongst the most intelligent and influential classes of the nation; -and that in spite of the violent cry of alarm raised by Lord John -Russell, and in spite of the attacks of the ex-minister Gladstone, who -has the reputation of being the most eloquent man in England. - -The gravitation towards the Catholic Church exhibits itself in a manner -still more general and more clear in the bosom of the United States. - -The Catholics in that country amounted to scarcely a few hundreds at the -commencement of this century. They form now a sixth of the population of -the United States. They number about 7,000,000. And the Catholic is the -only religion which makes any real progress. - -It is, then, true “that the Catholic religion flourishes and prospers -wherever human nature has its due liberty. Let them but give to the -church rights only equal to those of other confessions, and freedom of -action, and we should see her regain Europe, and, with Europe, the world.” - -Now, might we not conclude that these two demi-Saxon nations, England -and the United States, are predestined by Providence to lead the Saxons -themselves in a vast movement of return towards the Catholic Church? - -Before concluding, the author returns to the Latin and Celtic nations, -and directs towards them a sorrowful glance. - -As for France, he regrets that a violent reaction against the abuses of -the ancient régime, of which he gives a somewhat exaggerated picture, has -brought about an irreligious revolution and a political situation which -oscillates ceaselessly between anarchy and despotism, and despotism and -anarchy. He deplores still more that the progressive movement has been -diverted from its course in Spain and in Italy by the evil principles -imported from France. - -“At this moment,” says the author, “Christianity is in danger, on the one -hand, of being exterminated by the persecution of the Saxon races; on the -other, of being betrayed by the apostasy of the Celto-Latins. This is the -great tribulation of the church at the present time. Between these two -perils she labors painfully.” - -According to human probabilities, the divine bark should be on the point -of perishing. But perish it cannot. God cannot abandon the earth to the -spirit of evil. “Jesus Christ came to establish the kingdom of God on the -earth, as a means of conducting men to the kingdom of God in heaven.” - -It is thus, in his last chapter, our author surveys 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.” - -The zealous religious who is the author of this important manifesto -traversed the seas in order to submit it to the Holy Father. [A mistake. -Father Hecker went to Europe for other reasons, and took advantage of -the opportunity to submit his pamphlet to the examination of the Roman -censors and other eminent theologians.] If we are well informed, the -Roman Curia found in it neither error nor rashness.[172] It is a complete -plan of action proposed to the apostolate of the church for the future. -The old era would close, a new one would open. - -On this ground all ancient differences should disappear. Bitter and -useless recriminations would be laid aside. All would be moving towards -the same future, in accord not only as to the end, but as to the means. - -(From _Le Monde_.) - -The _Culturkampf_ advances daily. Its war-cry in precipitating itself -upon the church, bent upon her destruction, is: “The doctrine of -infallibility has made spiritual slaves of Catholics, who are thus a -hindrance to civilization.” In presence of so furious an attack, every -voice which suggests means of safety deserves our best attention. - -Of this kind is a pamphlet published lately in London, and which has been -already translated into French, German, and Italian, and of which the -journals of different countries, of the most opposite views, have given -very favorable opinions. - -The lamented M. Ravelet would, had he been spared, have introduced it -to the readers of the _Monde_; for he had met its author at Rome, and -knew how to appreciate the breadth of his views. Father Hecker, its -author, the founder of the Paulists of New York, is celebrated in his -country for a style of polemics admirably adapted to the genius of his -fellow-countrymen. Does he understand Europe, to which he has made -prolonged visits, equally well? On that point our readers will soon be -able to judge. - -How is it that the Catholic religion, which reckons more adherents -than any other Christian religion, does not succeed in making itself -respected? Evidently because many Catholics are not on a level with the -faith which they profess. “We want heroes,” said J. de Maistre at the -beginning of our century. At this moment is not the demand the same? -There is no lack of religious practices; a number of exterior acts of -exterior piety are performed; but the interior life of souls is not -exalted; they seem to be afflicted with a kind of spiritual dyspepsia. -The crises which threaten terrify them, instead of inflaming beforehand -their courage and their confidence in God. It is in the sources of -religion itself we shall find energy; it is to them we must betake -ourselves to reinvigorate our strength, in the direct action of God -upon our consciences, and in the operation of the Holy Spirit upon our -souls. From this source issues the true religious life, and our external -practices are availing only so far as they are inspired by this internal -principle, itself inspired by the Spirit of God. Herein are the primal -verities of Christianity. At every epoch of decadence the voices of -saints remind the world of them; the spirit of the church inclines us to -them; but, distracted by external agitations, we forget to correspond -with its suggestions. We do not possess enough of God! Here is our -weakness. A little more of divinity within us! Lo, the remedy! - -Father Hecker has well written upon the gifts of the Holy Spirit, and -upon the men our age wants. Intelligences illuminated from on high, -wills divinely strengthened--is not that what is wanted to maintain the -struggle? Is he not right when he asserts that one soul adorned with -these gifts would do more to promote the kingdom of God than a thousand -deprived of them? - -This urgent call to a more intensely spiritual life will touch Christian -hearts. But the pamphlet foresees an objection. Does not this development -of our faculties and of our initiative under the divine influence expose -us to some of the dangers of Protestantism? Do we not run the risk of the -appearance of strong individualities who, filled with their own ideas, -will think themselves more enlightened than the church, and so be seduced -into disobeying her authority? - -This eternal question of the relation of liberty to authority! Catholics -say to Protestants: “Liberty without the control of the divine authority -of the church leads insensibly to the destruction of Christianity.” -Protestants reply: “Authority amongst you has stifled liberty. You have -preserved the letter of the dogmas; but spiritual life perishes under -your formalism.” We are not estimating the weight of these reproaches; we -merely state the danger. The solution of the religious problem consists -in avoiding either extreme. - -No Catholic is at liberty to doubt that the Holy Spirit acts directly in -the soul of every Christian, and at the same time acts in another way, -indirect, but no less precious, by means of the authority of the church. -Cardinal Manning has written two treatises on this subject, one on the -external, the other on the internal, working of the Holy Spirit. It is -these two workings which Father Hecker endeavors to connect in a lofty -synthesis, and this is the main object of his work. - -The first step of the synthesis is the statement that it is one and the -same spirit which works, whether by external authority or by the interior -impulse of the soul, and that these two workings, issuing from a common -principle, must agree in their exercise and blend in their final result. -The liberty of the soul should not dispute the authority of the church, -because that authority is divine; the church, on the other hand, cannot -oppress the liberty of the soul, because that liberty is also divine. -The second step is to prove that the interior action of the Holy Spirit -in the soul alone accomplishes our inward sanctification and our union -with God. The authority of the church, and, generally, the external -observances of religion, having only for their aim to second this -interior action, authority and external practices occupy only a secondary -and subordinate place in the Catholic system, contrary to the notion of -Protestants, who accuse us of sacrificing Jesus Christ to the church, -and of limiting Christianity to her external action. The completion of -the synthesis is in the following: The individual has not received for -his interior life the promise of infallibility; it is to Peter and his -successors--that is to say, to the church--that Jesus Christ has conceded -this privilege. The Christian thus cannot be sure of possessing the Holy -Spirit, excepting in so far as he is in union with the infallible church, -and that union is the certain sign that the union of the two workings of -the Holy Spirit is realized in him. - -We have no doubt that this theory is one of the most remarkable -theological and philosophical conceptions of our age. Father Hecker is no -innovator, but he seizes scattered ideas and gathers them into a sheaf of -luminous rays; and this operation, which seems so simple, is the result -of thirty years’ laborious meditation. One must read the pamphlet itself -to appreciate its worth. The more we are versed in the problems which -agitate contemporary religious thought, the better we shall understand -the importance of what it inculcates. - -We shall briefly dispose of the application the author makes of his -synthesis. One most ingenious one is that Protestantism, by denying the -authority of the church, obliges her to put forth all her strength in -its defence. - -If Luther had attacked liberty, the church would have taken another -attitude, and would have defended with no less energy the free and direct -action of the Holy Spirit in souls. It is this necessary defence of -divine authority which gave birth to the Jesuit order, and which explains -the special spirit which animates that society. If, however, the defence -of assailed authority has been, for three centuries, the principal -preoccupation of the church, she has not on that account neglected the -interior life of souls. It is sufficient to name the spirituality, so -deep and so intense, of S. Philip Neri, S. Francis of Sales, S. John of -the Cross, and S. Teresa. Moreover, does not the support of authority -contribute to the free life of souls by maintaining the infallible -criterion for testing, in cases of doubt, the true inspirations of the -Holy Spirit? - -The church, in these days, resembles a nation which marches to its -frontiers to repel the invasion of the foreigner and protect its national -life; its victory secured, it recalls its forces to the centre, to -continue with security and ardor the development of that same life. - -According to Father Hecker, the church was in the last extremity of -peril. He sees in the proclamation of the infallibility of the Pope the -completion of the development of authority provoked by the Reformation, -and believes that nothing now remains but its application. - -If, since the XVIth century, external action has predominated in the -church, without, however, ever becoming exclusive, so now the internal -working will predominate, always leaving to the external its legitimate -share. Only, this new phase will be, in a way, more normal than the -preceding, because, in religion as in man, the internal infinitely -surpasses the external, without, however, annihilating it, as does -Protestantism. This internal is the essence of Christianity; it is the -kingdom of heaven within us, and whose frontiers it is our duty to -extend. It is the treasure, the hidden pearl, the grain of mustard-seed, -of the Gospel. It is to this interior of the soul that our Lord addressed -the beatitudes of the Sermon on the Mount. The external church--the -priesthood, the worship, the sacraments--are only means divinely -instituted to help the weakness of man to rise to the worship in spirit -and in truth announced by our Saviour to the Samaritan woman. And the -time has come for a fuller expansion of this internal life, for the more -general development of the spirit of S. Francis of Sales and of the other -saints of whom we spoke above. - -As to those outside the church, they will never believe in this -evolution, because they suppose that the doctrine of infallibility has -condemned us to a kind of petrifaction. But if they study the actual -situation, events will undeceive them from this present moment. - -The persecutions which deprive the church of her temporalities, of her -exterior worship, of her religious edifices, which go the length even of -depriving the faithful of their priests and bishops, which suppress as -far as they can the external part of Catholicity, do they not reveal the -power of its interior? - -In the parts of Switzerland and Germany where the populations are robbed -of their clergy and worship, do we not see faith developing in sacrifice, -and piety becoming more serious and fervent in the privation of all -external aid? This example is an additional proof of the opportuneness -of Father Hecker’s pamphlet. If God wills that the persecution should -increase, we must be prepared to do without the external means which he -himself has instituted, and which he accords to us in ordinary times. For -we must not forget that no human power can separate us from God, and that -so long as this union exists religion remains entire as to its substance. - -The merit of the Christian is in the intention which inspires his acts. -Religion exists only in the idea which clothes its rites; the sacraments, -the channels of grace, are only effective in us as they are preceded by -the dispositions of our soul. For a religion not to degenerate, it must -perpetually renew the internal life, in order to resist the encroachments -of routine. - -Here the author asks what is the polemic best suited to help the people -of these times to escape from their unbelief, which often proceeds from -regarding the church as having fallen into formalism and into a debasing -authoritativism. He believes they might be undeceived by disclosing -to them the inner life of religion and the internal proofs of her -divinity--an idea he shares with the most illustrious writers of our -age. Lacordaire wrote to Mme. Swetchine that he had reversed the point -of view of the controversy in scrutinizing matters from within, which -manifested truth under a new aspect. - -Father Hecker quotes in this sense the striking words of Schlegel: “We -shall soon see, I think, an exposition of Christianity appear which will -bring about union among all Christians, and convert the unbelieving -themselves.” Ranke said with no less decision: “This reconciliation -of faith and science will be more important, as regards its spiritual -results, than was the discovery, three centuries ago, of a new -hemisphere, than that of the true system of the universe, or than that of -any other discovery of science, be it what it may.” - -The pamphlet ends with a philosophy of race. And here the author, whilst -acknowledging his fear of wounding susceptibilities, expresses the hope -that none of his views will be exaggerated. He inquires what natural -elements the several races have offered to the church in the successive -phases of her history; and, starting from the principle that God has -endowed the races with different aptitudes, he examines in what way those -aptitudes may co-operate in the terrestrial execution of the designs of -Providence. The Latin-Celtic races, who almost alone remained faithful -to the church in the XVIth century, have for authority and external -observances tastes which coincide with the more special development of -the church since that epoch. - -On the contrary, the Anglo-Saxon races have subjective and metaphysical -instincts which, in a natural point of view, should attract them to the -church in the new phase on which she is entering. Father Hecker has been -accused with some asperity of predicting that the direction of the church -and of the world will pass into the hands of the Saxon races, whose -conversion, sooner or later, he anticipates. But he does not in any sense -condemn the Latin races to inferiority. He merely gives it as his opinion -that the Latin races can only issue from the present crisis by the -development of that interior life of independent reason and deliberate -volition which constitutes the force of the Saxon races. God has not -given the church to the Latin races. He has not created for nothing the -Saxon, Sclavonic, and other races which cover the surface of the globe. -They have their predestined place in the assembly of all the children of -God, and are called to serve the church according to their providential -aptitudes. - -Father Hecker and Dr. Newman are not the only ones who think that the -absence of the Saxon races has been, for some centuries, very prejudicial -to the church. J. de Maistre, whose bias cannot be suspected, expressed -himself even more explicitly to that effect. The Latin genius, under the -inspiration of the Holy Spirit, has been and will continue to be of the -utmost value to the church. Under the divine influence, the Saxon genius -will, in its way, effect equally precious conquests. - -In conclusion, we summarize thus the ideas of Father Hecker: - -1. We have need of a spiritual awakening. - -2. The definition of infallibility has lent such strength to the church -that henceforth personality may become as powerful as possible without -the risk, as in the XVIth century, of injuring unity. - -3. This definition having completed the external system of Catholicity, -the initiative of the church proceeds logically to concentrate itself on -the aggrandizement of the interior life, which is the essence of religion. - -4. This is proved by the persecutions, which augment and strengthen the -religious life of Catholics. - -5. The result of these persecutions will be to unveil to Protestants and -unbelievers the interior view of Catholicity, and to prepare the way for -religious unity. - -6. This unity will be effected when Protestants and unbelievers see -that Catholicity, far from being opposed to the aspirations of their -nature, understands them and satisfies them better than Protestantism and -free-thinking. - -7. This expansion of Catholicity advances slowly, because it meets few -souls great enough to admit of the full development of its working, and -of showing what it is capable of producing in them. - -8. The way to multiply these souls is to place ourselves more and more -under the influence of the Holy Spirit. - -Whatever opinion may be formed of certain details, on the whole, this -work manifests a high grade of philosophical thought and theological -insight. But to appreciate it fully it must be read and studied. - -Exceptions have been taken to it, on the ground that one meets nothing in -it but theories, without any practical conclusion. Yet what can be more -practical than the exhortation which confronts us on every page, to seek -in all our religious acts, in sacraments, worship, and discipline, the -divine intention involved therein? What more practical than to urge us to -develop all the forces of our nature under the divine influence, and to -tell us that the more conscientious, reasonable, and manly we are, the -more completely men we are, so much the more favorable ground will the -church find within us for her working? - -Far from urging any abrupt change, Father Hecker recommends that -everything should be done with prudence, consideration being had for -the manners of every country. He is persuaded that, by placing more -confidence in the divine work in souls, they will become insensibly -stronger, and will increase thus indefinitely the force and energy of -the whole body of the church. Such a future will present us with the -spectacle of the conversion of peoples who at present are bitterly -hostile to her--a future which we shall purchase at the cost of many -sacrifices. But our trials will be full of consolations if we feel -that they are preparing a more general and abundant effusion of divine -illumination upon the earth. _Per crucem ad lucem._ - - PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF LAMB, HAZLITT, AND OTHERS. The - Bric-à-Brac Series. Edited by R. H. Stoddard. New York: - Scribner, Armstrong & Co. 1875. - -This volume is a compendium of one of those books of memoirs or -personal recollections bequeathed to us by the survivors of the -English Renaissance of the beginning of the century--_My Friends and -Acquaintances_, by P. G. Patmore. This the editor has supplemented, in -the case of Hazlitt, by some letters and reminiscences culled from the -_Memoirs_ published by his grandson, W. Carew Hazlitt. These works, -it might be fairly supposed, would be of themselves light enough -for the most jaded and flippant appetite. However, the aid of the -“editor” is called in--heaven forgive the man who first applied that -title, honored by a Scaliger and a Bentley, to the modern compiler of -scandal!--the most entertaining and doubtfully moral tidbits are picked -out; and the result is the class of books before us, which is doing -for the national intellect what pastry has done for its stomach. The -mutual courtesies--honorable enough when rightly understood--existing -between publishers and the periodical press make honest criticism seem -ungracious; and thus the public judgment is left uninstructed by silence, -or its frivolous tastes are confirmed by careless approval. - -The motives impelling the awful scissors of the “editor” not only deprive -the original works which fall under them of the modicum of value they may -possess, but affirmatively they do worse. They give an absolutely false -impression of the persons represented. Thus, in the case before us the -character and genius of Lamb are as ridiculously overrated as his true -merits are obscured; and the same may be said with even more justice -of the portrait given of Hazlitt. Singularly enough, though the editor -derives all he knows, or at least all he presents to the reader, from Mr. -Patmore and Mr. Carew Hazlitt, he speaks in the most contemptuous terms -of both. One he pronounces “not a man of note,” and the other he terms, -with a delightful unconsciousness of self-irony, “a bumptious bookmaker, -profusely addicted to scissors and paste”; and both he bids, at parting, -to “make room for their betters.” If such be the character of Mr. Patmore -and Mr. Hazlitt, what opinion, we may ask, is the reader called upon to -entertain of the “editor” who is an accident of their existence? Nor -is it in relation only to the authors after whom he gleans that the -“editor” shows bad taste and self-sufficiency. The immortal author of the -_Dunciad_, speaking of a kindred race of authors, tells us, - - “Glory and gain the industrious tribe provoke, - And gentle Dulness ever loves a joke.” - -“The ricketty little papist, Pope,” is the witticism the editor levels at -the brightest and most graceful poet of his age--a master and maker of -our English tongue, and a scourge of just such dunces as himself. - -Of the writers whose habits and personal characteristics are treated -of in this volume we have little or no room to speak, nor does the -work before us afford any sufficient basis to go upon. Lamb occupies -a niche in the popular pantheon, as an essayist, higher than posterity -will adjudge him. His essays are pleasing and witty, and the style is -marvellously pure; but they want solidity; they are idealistic, humorous, -subjective; they fail to present that faithful transcript of manners, or -to teach in sober tones those lessons of morality, which make the older -essayists enduring. Lamb’s other works are already forgotten. He was an -amiable man in the midst of unhappy surroundings, and his unassuming -manners have enshrined his name with affection in the works of his -contemporaries. - -Hazlitt’s was not a character to be admired, nor in many ways even to be -respected. He was devoured with vanity and grosser passions. His work was -task-work, and therefore not high. ’Tis true Horace tells us, - - “… paupertas impulit audar - Ut versus facerem.” - ---poverty has often been the sting which urged genius to its grandest -efforts. But Hazlitt, though undoubtedly a man of genius, was not gifted -with that genius of the first order, which abstracts itself wholly from -the miserable circumstances about it. The great body of his work is -criticism, brilliant, entertaining, even instructive at the moment in -which it was produced, but substantially only the fashion of a day. - -Of the poet Campbell and Lady Blessington it would be an impertinence to -say anything on the slight foundation this volume gives us. - -The editor of the “Bric-à-Brac” Series has placed on the cover of each -volume this motto: - - “Infinite riches in a little room.” - -We will suggest one that will take up even less room: - - “Stultitiam patiuntur opes.” - - THE CIVIL GOVERNMENT OF THE STATES, AND THE CONSTITUTIONAL - HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES. By P. Cudmore, Esq., - Counsellor-at-Law, Author of the _Irish Republic_, etc., etc. - New York: P. Cudmore. 1875. - -The author of this work informs us in the preface that his object -has been to condense into one volume the colonial, general, and -constitutional history of the United States. This volume professes to be -a digest of the writings and speeches of the fathers of the Constitution -of the United States, the statutes of the several States, the statutes of -the United States, of the writings and speeches of eminent American and -foreign jurists, the journals and annals of Congress, the _Congressional -Globe_, the general history of the United States, the decisions -of the Supreme Courts of the several States, the opinions of the -attorneys-general of the United States, and the decisions of the Supreme -Court of the United States; of extracts from De Tocqueville, the Madison -Papers, the _Federalist_, Elliott’s _Debates_, the writings of Jefferson, -Adams, Hamilton, and Vattel, and of extracts from Jefferson and other -eminent authors on parliamentary law. The platforms of political parties -are also given. This list is copied _verbatim_ from the author. It will -be seen, therefore, that Mr. Cudmore has set himself no contemptible -task to accomplish, and, as he has executed it in a thin octavo of 254 -pages, it may reasonably be conjectured that he possesses a talent -for condensation that Montesquieu might have envied. Mr. Vallandigham -finds a powerful advocate in this author, and his philippics against -Mr. Stanton are proportionately severe. Mr. Cudmore has a fondness for -notes of exclamation; and such is the ardor of constitutionalism with -which he pursues this latter-day “tyrant of the blackest dye” (we quote -Mr. Cudmore) that it often takes three notes of admiration to express -his just abhorrence of his measures. The bulk of the work is taken up -by a civil and military history of the late conflict, and the disputes -that preceded it. If we might venture a hint to Mr. Cudmore, we would -say that his tone is a little too warm for this miserably phlegmatic -age, which affects a fondness for impartiality in great constitutional -writers. The fact is, the questions which the author discusses with the -greatest spirit are dead issues. They still preserve a faint vitality -for the philosopher and speculative statesman, but they have sunk out of -sight for the practical politician and man of to-day. The _vis major_ has -decided them. We might as usefully begin to agitate for a re-enactment of -the Agrarian Laws. Mr. Cudmore’s Chapters IV. and V., containing a digest -of State and Federal law, show much meritorious industry. The history of -land-grants, the homestead law, and the laws pertaining to aliens and -naturalization, will be found useful. - - THE YOUNG CATHOLIC’S ILLUSTRATED TABLE-BOOK AND FIRST LESSONS - IN NUMBERS. New York: The Catholic Publication Society, 9 - Warren St. 1875. - -This is a very simple and attractive little book, designed to make -the beginning of arithmetic, which certainly is rather a dry study in -itself, interesting and capable of fixing the attention of the very young -children for whose use the work is intended. We do not remember having -seen any prettier or more practical little text-book for beginners, and -cannot recommend it too highly. It is also very nicely illustrated. - - SADLIER’S EXCELSIOR GEOGRAPHY, Nos. 1, 2, 3. New York: Wm. H. - Sadlier. 1875. - -As a first attempt in this country to prepare a series of geographies -adapted to Catholic schools this is deserving of great praise. The type -is clear, the maps and illustrations, and the mechanical execution -generally, are excellent. It is based, to some extent, on a geographical -course originally known as Monteith’s, and adapted by the insertion -of additional matter interesting to Catholics. What we should have -preferred, and hope eventually to see, is a series of geographies and -histories entirely original, and written from the Catholic point of view, -and pervaded by the Catholic tone which we find in this. - - SEVENOAKS: A Story of To-day. By J. G. Holland, author of - _Arthur Bonnicastle_. New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co. 1875. - -It gives us great pleasure to express, with slight qualifications, our -entire approval of this work, so far as its moral purport is concerned. -Its plot and incidents are all within the range of ordinary life and -experience, and therefore not calculated to foster in the youthful reader -extravagant anticipations in regard to his own future. There are many -good hits at the weaknesses and inconsistencies of human nature, and -faithful pictures of the vices and miseries to which an unscrupulous -ambition leads. Selfishness and injustice prosper for a time, but -eventually reap their reward; while integrity and true manliness, even in -the rude and uncultivated, are recognized and appreciated. - - THE ILLUSTRATED CATHOLIC FAMILY ALMANAC FOR 1876. New York: The - Catholic Publication Society. - -“Almanac,” when applied to this publication, seems to us a misnomer. -The popular notion of an almanac is a thin, badly-printed pamphlet, -containing incomprehensible astrological tables, delusive prophecies -as to the weather, tradesmen’s advertisements, and a padding of stale -jokes or impracticable recipes gathered from country newspapers; whereas -the _Illustrated Catholic Family Almanac_ is an annual of 144 pages, -containing each year enough solid, well-digested information to furnish -forth an ordinary volume of three hundred pages, to say nothing of the -many fine engravings--and this, too, at a price which should extend its -circulation to equal that of the once-famous _Moore’s Almanac_ (published -in England about the beginning of the XVIIIth century), which is said at -one time to have sold annually more than four hundred thousand copies. - -The several volumes of the _Family Almanac_ form a valuable manual for -Catholics, containing, as they do, articles of great interest to the -literary student, the antiquarian, and the archæologist. Much of the -information could be gathered only from exceedingly well-furnished -libraries; some of it appears here for the first time in print. - -In the _Almanac_ for 1876, among other good things, we find an extended -and very interesting biographical sketch of His Eminence Cardinal -McCloskey; also, biographical sketches of Cardinals Wiseman and Altieri, -of Bishops Bruté and Baraga, of Rev. Father Nerinckx and the Cura -Hidalgo--the Washington of the Mexican revolution--and of Eugene O’Curry, -the eminent Irish scholar--all of these being illustrated with portraits. -The approaching centenary has not been forgotten, for in “Centennial -Memorials” is shown the part--a glorious one, which received the public -endorsement of the “Father of his Country,” as will be seen by perusal -of the article--taken by Catholics of Irish origin in the Revolutionary -struggle. In the same article are numerous statistics showing the -temporal growth of our country during the century just closing; the -article closes with an account of the wonderful growth of the Catholic -Church during the same period--the whole being valuable for future -reference. “About the Bible” and “The Bible in the Middle Ages” contain -information of interest to every Christian, and which is to be got -elsewhere only by much reading; the latter article also contains an ample -refutation of the old slander that the Catholic Church of the middle -ages kept the Scriptures from the laity. Besides the foregoing, there is -much curious and entertaining prose and verse, and several pictures of -churches and other edifices (among them one of old S. Augustine’s Church, -Philadelphia, destroyed in the riots of 1844, and toward the building of -which, in 1796, Washington contributed $150; Stephen Girard, $40; George -Meade, father of Gen. Meade, $50; and Commodore Barry, $150), a complete -and authentic list of the Roman pontiffs translated from the Italian, -the American hierarchy, and the usual astronomical and church calendars, -postal guide, etc. - - MADAME RÉCAMIER AND HER FRIENDS. From the French of Madame - Lenormant. By the translator of Madame Récamier’s _Memoirs_. - Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1875. - -This volume will doubtless be welcome to those already familiar with the -_Memoirs_ previously published. The work is largely made up of letters -which are of no particular interest, except so far as they throw light -on the character of the writers. Endowed by nature with extraordinary -beauty, and possessing that knowledge of public events and skill in their -interpretation which seems a special gift of Frenchwomen, Mme. Récamier -became the centre of an admiring group of statesmen and _littérateurs_ -who sought the benefit of her intuitive wisdom. - -A very strong testimony to Mme. Récamier’s many virtues is found in the -warm friendship which existed between herself and other ladies holding -a similar position in French society; in the loving devotion of the -child of her adoption, who subsequently became her biographer; and--in -the fear and jealousy of the First Napoleon, who paid her the compliment -of a temporary exile. The personal attention she gave to her adopted -daughter’s education is worthy of imitation. - - WAYSIDE PENCILLINGS, WITH GLIMPSES OF SACRED SHRINES. By the - Rev. James J. Moriarty, A.M. Albany: Van Benthuysen Printing - House. 1875. - -Father Moriarty’s work has one merit on which editors place a high -value--brevity. A book of travels is not properly a history or topography -of the countries visited, and a bird’s-eye view of the most salient -features is all that we can reasonably ask at the traveller’s hand. -The interlarded extracts with which some authors swell their volumes -are often wearisome reading. In the above work the reverend traveller -narrates all the important incidents of his journey, with descriptions of -the various shrines on his route, in so picturesque a manner, and in so -few words, that the reader will have no difficulty in laying up in his -memory many pleasant subjects for reflection. - - EIGHT COUSINS; OR, THE AUNT-HILL. By Louisa M. Alcott. Boston: - Roberts Brothers. 1875. - -An entertaining volume for youthful readers, and one which conveys many -useful lessons. The same charming freshness which won for _Little Women_ -its wide reputation will render this volume a favorite, notwithstanding -its defects--one of which is a spirit of self-assertion in the heroine -which is only too true to nature in the average American girl. However -reluctant we may be to acknowledge the fact, we cannot fail to see -that our so-called progress has had a tendency to weaken veneration -for age and respect for authority. Miss Alcott shows her sympathy with -this fault by sometimes placing age in a ludicrous light before her -juvenile readers. The young people of this generation do not need any -encouragement in the belief that age does not always bring wisdom, and we -the more regret this mistake in a book otherwise commendable. Destroy -the confidence and veneration with which childhood looks up to those -placed over it, and you rob parents of that which constitutes a great -charm in their offspring, and go far to break down the chief bulwark of -society--the family. - - MANUAL OF THE SISTERS OF CHARITY. A Collection of Prayers - compiled for the use of the Society of Sisters of Charity in - the Diocese of Louisville, Kentucky. Adapted to general use. - Baltimore: J. Murphy & Co. 1875. - -This is a new volume added to the already large devotional literature of -the church. As its title imports, it was prepared especially with a view -to the wants of the daughters of St. Vincent, though adapted to those of -other religious, and of persons in the world. As it bears the imprimatur -of the Archbishop of Baltimore, and has the approval of the Bishop -of Louisville, and, in addition, has had the benefit of Mr. Murphy’s -careful _proofreading_--a matter the importance of which can scarcely be -over-estimated in devotional works--we deem further comment unnecessary. -We would, however, suggest whether the use of a somewhat thinner paper -would not make a better proportioned volume. - - MISCELLANEA: Comprising Reviews, Lectures, and Essays on - Historical, Theological, and Miscellaneous Subjects. By M. J. - Spalding, D.D., Archbishop of Baltimore. Sixth Edition, revised - and greatly enlarged. 1875. - -The publishers have added to the value of this edition by incorporating -in it a number of papers not contained in previous editions, and which -had received the author’s last corrections. Few writers of the present -century in the English language have done more to popularize Catholic -themes and relieve Protestants from the misconceptions which they had -previously entertained regarding the history and doctrines of the church, -than the late Archbishop of Baltimore. Those who have not previously -possessed themselves of his admirable works have a new motive in the -improvements now made. - - A FULL COURSE OF INSTRUCTION IN EXPLANATION OF THE CATECHISM. - By Rev. J. Perry. St. Louis: P. Fox. 1875. - -The present edition of Perry’s _Instructions_ differs from the original -one in the addition of questions, thus making it a text-book for advanced -classes, whereas its use was heretofore limited in a great measure to -teachers. The editor (Rev. E. M. Hennessey) has also incorporated an -explanation of the doctrines of the Immaculate Conception and Papal -Infallibility. - - -BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS RECEIVED. - - From P. Donahoe, Boston: Theologia Moralis Novissimi Ecclesiæ - Doctoris, S. Alphonsi, in Compendium Redacta et Usui - Venerabilis Cleri Americani Accommodata, Auctore A. Konings, - C.SS.R. Pars Tertia: Continens tractatus de Sacramentis, de - Censuris, de Irregularitatibus, et de Indulgentiis. 8vo, paper, - pp. x., 433. - - From P. O’Shea, New York: Lives of the Saints, with a practical - Instruction on the Life of each Saint for every day in the - year. By F. X. Weninger, D.D., S.J. Part iv., 8vo, pp. 127, - flexible cloth.--Life and Letters of Paul Seigneret, Seminarist - of S. Sulpice, translated from the French by N. R. 12mo, pp. - 311. - - From the Author: The Sunday Laws: A Discussion of Church and - State, etc. By S. B. McCracken. 8vo, pp. 8, paper. - - From P. F. Cunningham, Philadelphia: Life of S. Benedict, - surnamed “The Moor.” The Son of a Slave. From the French of M. - Allebert. 18mo, pp. 213. - - - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XXII., No. 130.--JANUARY, 1876. - -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 PRESIDENT’S SPEECH AT DES MOINES. - -The utterances of any person occupying so lofty a station as that of -President of the United States demand attention and respect, by reason -of the source from whence they emanate. The deliberate judgments of -such a man as President Grant have in themselves a special claim to -the consideration of his fellow-citizens. He has had opportunities to -study the length and breadth of the land. His private convictions have -matured amidst the most varied experience of all classes and sections of -our people--first in a profession affording ample leisure and abundant -means of observation from an independent stand-point, and afterwards -in commercial life, which placed him in the midst of daily events, no -longer as a theorist, but as one actively concerned in their course and -development. His position in military affairs has been that of one of the -most celebrated commanders of the age, and his political career has been -that of an independent statesman, always wielding supreme influence, and -quite beyond the need of vulgar trickery, in order to maintain its power. -Having almost completed an illustrious public life, he is now able to -express the results of his observations, and no one can lightly question -the validity of his conclusions. The country is prepared to receive -anything he may have to say to it, with solicitous, intelligent, and -earnest consideration. - -Those who may differ from him in political convictions, or who may retain -a partiality for some of his less successful competitors for the highest -prize of military glory, and even those who go so far as to question his -greatness--all must admit that he is a true American, formed and moulded -by the events in which he has moved, and truly representing the country -and the times. - -We are disposed, therefore, to attach the fullest importance to his -words, whether spoken officially or from the convictions of his heart, -and to ponder them respectfully and thoughtfully. - -On the 29th of September last His Excellency attended, at Des Moines, -the capital city of Iowa, a convention of the “Army of the Tennessee,” -one of those military organizations composed of veterans of the late war. -The nature of these and kindred associations is not political. Their aim -is to keep up a brotherly spirit among those who formerly stood shoulder -to shoulder on the battle-field. Nevertheless, the gallant men, who thus -risked life and limb for the integrity of the national government, are -supposed to retain their patriotism, and to look with pride and zeal -upon the continuance and healthy growth of those institutions, which are -vitally connected with the nation’s greatness. - -In the midst of such an assembly, composed of men of all creeds, our -chief magistrate felt called upon to utter a prophetic warning, which has -excited much comment at home, and has been extensively published abroad. -We print his speech, delivered at the evening session of the “Army of the -Tennessee,” as currently reported in the daily press. President Grant, -being called for, came forward and said: - - “COMRADES: It always affords me much gratification to meet - my comrades in arms of ten and fourteen years ago, and to - tell over again from memory the trials and hardships of - those days--of hardships imposed for the preservation and - perpetuation of our free institutions. We believed then, and - we believe now, that we have a government worth fighting for, - and, if need be, dying for. How many of our comrades paid the - latter price for our preserved Union! Let their heroism and - sacrifice be ever green in our memory. Let not the result - of their sacrifices be destroyed. The Union and the free - institutions for which they died should be held more dear for - their sacrifices. We will not deny to any of those who fought - against us any privilege under the government which we claim - for ourselves. On the contrary, we welcome all such who come - forward in good faith to help build up the waste places, and to - perpetuate our institutions against all enemies, as brothers - in full interest with us in a common heritage; but we are not - prepared to apologize for the part we took in the war. - - “It is to be hoped that like trials will never again befall - our country. In this sentiment no class of people can more - heartily join than the soldier who submitted to the dangers, - trials, and hardships of the camp and the battle-field, - on whichever side he fought. No class of people are more - interested in guarding against a recurrence of those days. Let - us, then, begin by guarding against every enemy threatening - the prosperity of free republican institutions. I do not - bring into this assemblage politics, certainly not partisan - politics; but it is a fair subject for the soldiers, in their - deliberations, to consider what maybe necessary to secure the - prize for which they battled. In a republic like ours, where - the citizen is the sovereign and the official the servant, - where no power is exercised except by the will of the people, - it is important that the sovereign, the people, should foster - intelligence--that intelligence which is to preserve us as a - free nation. If we are to have another contest in the near - future of our national existence, I predict that the dividing - line will not be Mason and Dixon’s, but between patriotism and - intelligence on the one side, and superstition, ambition and - ignorance on the other. - - “Now, the centennial year of our national existence, I - believe, is a good time to begin the work of strengthening - the foundations of the structure commenced by our patriotic - forefathers one hundred years ago at Lexington. Let us all - labor to add all needful guarantees for the security of free - thought, free speech, a free press, pure morals, unfettered - religious sentiments, and of equal rights and privileges to all - men, irrespective of nationality, color, or religion. Encourage - free schools, and resolve that not one dollar appropriated - for their support shall be appropriated to the support of any - sectarian schools. Resolve that neither the State nor nation, - nor both combined, shall support institutions of learning other - than those sufficient to afford every child growing up in the - land the opportunity of a good common-school education, unmixed - with sectarian, pagan, or atheistical dogmas. Leave the matter - of religion to the family altar, the church, and the private - school, supported entirely by private contributions. Keep the - church and the state for ever separate. With these safeguards, - I believe the battles which created the Army of the Tennessee - will not have been fought in vain.” - -Taking all things into consideration, the speech is fully equal to any -written production of the President. It is direct. It is plain. It is -manly and vigorous, and far superior to any other oration which we -have heard of from the same distinguished quarter. Beyond all things -it expresses, better than many imagine, the common sentiments of the -American people. - -We have not been surprised at the general applause with which it has been -greeted; and we think that all our readers will agree in the judgments -which we are about to express with regard to it. - -An impression has been spread abroad that the views of President Grant -are hostile to the Catholic Church, and that the speech was fulminated by -his zeal against it. It has been averred that he was talked into making -a public manifestation of his feelings by the mayor of the city of Des -Moines, who called his attention to the political campaign in Ohio, -where Catholics were vainly struggling for equal rights in the matter -of the public schools. His Excellency is said to have been strongly -moved, and hastened home from his ride, in order to prepare his speech -for the evening. We have no means of definitely ascertaining the motives -of the President’s speech. If he meant to hurl a thunderbolt at us, we -honor him for using language, in the main, so just and courteous. But if -his friends have sought to make use of him to stir up feeling against -us, they must be sadly disappointed at his words; for, if they now -repeat them too freely, for the purpose of injuring us, they will find -themselves “hoist by” their “own petard.” - -Trying as hard as we can to lash ourselves into fury; trying to fancy -ourselves insulted, by representing to ourselves that the head of this -nation has gone out of his way and abased his dignity, in order to cast -an aspersion at a large and respectable class of the community, we are -forced to give it up, and to lay down our pen; for we find nothing in the -oration with which we are in the least disposed to take issue. On the -contrary, we are prepared to join our tribute to the burst of applause -which echoes through the land. We are convinced that, if it meets with -the attention which it merits, the country at large, and Catholics in -particular, will treasure the “Des Moines speech” among the “Sayings -of the Fathers.” Like Washington’s Farewell, and Webster’s mighty -peroration, and Lincoln’s noble and pathetic Inaugural, it will pass from -the vulgar atmosphere of party strife into the pure and serene empyrean -of immortality. - -We have given the speech at length. We now propose to explain our -decision with regard to it, and to examine at greater length those -portions of it which seem to us most true, most wise, and most remarkable. - -“ENCOURAGE FREE SCHOOLS,” the President says, “AND RESOLVE THAT NOT ONE -DOLLAR APPROPRIATED FOR THEIR SUPPORT SHALL BE APPROPRIATED FOR THE -SUPPORT OF ANY SECTARIAN SCHOOLS.” - -Do we hear aright? Does the President of the United States maintain the -proposition which has brought us so much contempt and derision? - -WHAT IS A FREE SCHOOL? A free school is one in which every scholar -can obtain an education without violating the honest convictions of -conscience, or--to use the words of the President--a free school is -one where education can be obtained “unmixed with sectarian, pagan, or -atheistical dogmas.” - -ARE OUR SO-CALLED COMMON SCHOOLS FREE? Let us glance at the general -history of the controversy concerning them. As soon as the public -schools had ceased to be purely charitable institutions, a new policy -was inaugurated by our people. The government assumed that it was bound -to ensure an intelligent use of the franchise, by encouraging the mental -activity of its citizens. To this all Catholics agreed, and still agree. -But our Protestant fellow-citizens, rightly desiring that some religious -instruction should be given their children, wrongly insisted upon having -the Bible read in the schools. The government might have permitted such -a custom to continue, when no protest was made against it. But it soon -became evident that the schools were essentially Protestant institutions, -and served as an instrument to prevent the growth of “Popery.” This was -no secret. It was openly preached. - -About this time Catholics began to see what everybody else was rejoicing -over, and were, naturally, alarmed. They had assisted to found and build -up the republic, or they had immigrated under the assurance of equal -rights. To find it proclaimed a Protestant country was news to them. -They insisted that the Government was bound to deny this imputation, and -they registered an universal protest against the design of the falsely -so-called “common” schools. - -We have demanded either that we be relieved from taxation for these -sectarian schools, or that such arrangement be devised as shall render -them equally desirable for Catholics and non-Catholics. - -We were not called upon to explain why we so earnestly desired this. It -was nobody’s business but our own. The public schools are not held to -be eleemosynary institutions. They are ostensibly for the benefit of -all. And even if they were places for the confinement of criminals, or -almshouses, both criminals and paupers have consciences, however dull or -uninformed. What, then, is the objection to our having a right to direct -the policy on which public institutions are to be conducted? None. But if -we were to have taken such a position as this, we should, at once, have -been indicted, for an insidious and damnable conspiracy. - -Therefore we have openly stated the grounds of our convictions, relying -on the inherent force of truth to secure our rights. We regard morality -as inseparable from religion. In this we merely echo the sentiments -of the greatest American statesmen, and notably, of the Father of -our republic. We say that, if we are to pay for the education of our -children, we should like to have the worth of our money. What fairer -demand can a Yankee make? We ask nothing to which every citizen has -not a right. We have never met a fair reply to our demands, or a fair -discussion of their merits. First we were greeted with silent scorn. -The practical operation of the laws was found to force our children -into Protestant schools. We proclaimed claimed them to be Protestant -schools. It was unblushingly denied. We put the question to the test, by -endeavoring to stop the Protestant Bible from being read in them. There -was not enough power in our voice, nor enough fairness in our opponents, -to enforce even an appearance of consistency. The schools were pronounced -“un-sectarian,” a Protestant service was daily carried out, and we were -bidden to hold our tongues, and to be thankful. And, now, that we are not -willing, either to hold our peace, or to be grateful to those who deny us -our equal rights, a loud outcry is raised, and every manner of evil is -predicted, unless we are forcibly restrained. The party of malevolence -seeks to create an issue where none exists, and to force us into a -strife, in which it can avail itself of superior numbers to strike us a -cruel and unjust blow. Now, neither this design nor the clamor with which -it is urged, can be defended by any true or just plea. And we venture to -predict that there is too much intelligence and love of fair play in the -American people, to allow it to succeed in its sinister purpose. - -What is our position once more? Here we stand, on the same basis with -all other American citizens. Is it not so? Where, then, is any legal -disability proved against us? We ask for nothing which we are not willing -to concede to all our fellow-citizens--viz., the natural right to have -their children brought up according to their parents’ conscientious -convictions. We want, and we will have, our children brought up -Catholics. It can be done in various ways. The state can pay the salaries -of our teachers, and the cost of our buildings, and other expenses, -securing proper guarantees that the money will be honestly laid out, and -the children receive their due amount of secular instruction. Again, the -state may pay a _pro rata_, and allow teachers to compete for scholars. -This is done in Protestant England and Prussia, as well as in Catholic -France and Austria, and is, obviously, most in harmony with democratic -principles. Other ways may be devised which will secure justice to all -parties. There is no practical difficulty, except in the smallest country -school districts. These are always settled by the citizens themselves. -Or, we can educate our children, without the state. The state may let us -alone, and may do away entirely with public education, except for those -who are utterly without means--in other words, change the common schools -into charitable institutions, and let parents provide. But this, we are -persuaded, is full of practical difficulties. - -But the plan actually adopted has been to tax all alike for the common -good, and yet maintain a system, which perfectly suits Protestants, -but to which Catholics cannot honestly or conscientiously agree. OUR -SO-CALLED COMMON SCHOOLS ARE NOT FREE. Millions of the people rise up and -proclaim it. Let those who like them send their children to them. Let -those support them who like them by their “private contributions.” Then -all honor to President Grant when he says “that not one dollar should be -appropriated to the support of any sectarian schools.” - -The President further says: - - “RESOLVE THAT NEITHER STATE NOR NATION, NOR BOTH COMBINED, - SHALL SUPPORT INSTITUTIONS OF LEARNING OTHER THAN THOSE - SUFFICIENT TO AFFORD EVERY CHILD GROWING UP IN THE LAND THE - OPPORTUNITY OF A GOOD COMMON-SCHOOL EDUCATION, UNMIXED WITH - SECTARIAN, PAGAN, OR ATHEISTICAL DOGMAS.” - -Now, what is it that Catholics complain of, except that the state has -supported, and does support, “institutions of learning” mixed “with -sectarian, pagan, and atheistical dogmas”? - -There is no doubt about this fact. Protestants insist upon having the -Bible read in the public schools, lest they become irreligious. Catholics -maintain that the version used is garbled, and that, even if it were not, -no one has a right to teach it, except those who have compiled it, and -are to-day the only responsible witnesses to its true meaning. The Jews -maintain that the New Testament part of it is not true. Infidels deny it -altogether. What right has any school board, or any other purely human -institution to decide this controversy; and what right has any man under -the Constitution to enforce his religious views or his denial of religion -upon others? It is an outrage. It is an inconsistency, which cannot be -stated in any terms without transparently manifesting its absurdity. -Under the Constitution, and according to the spirit of our government, -all men are equal. Under the present system of common schools, and, -according to the spirit of those who uphold them, men are not equal, and -there is no such thing as regard for conscience; but every majority has -a right to enforce upon any minority, no matter how large, its peculiar -ideas of instruction, involving, as this always does, the question of -religion itself. We have repeated our protest, until we are almost -sick and tired of hearing the outrage mentioned; we have never seen our -position manfully approached within beat of drum; and, yet, we have -constantly been forced to ask ourselves, “Will the American people never -see this? Can it be that our enemies are, as some of them hold themselves -to be, totally depraved?” - -Some time ago, after considerable agitation, the Chicago School Board -prohibited the reading of the Sacred Scriptures in the public schools of -that city. - -Undoubtedly the protest of Catholics had something to do with this. But -the action of the board was certainly based upon the idea, that the -reading of the Protestant Bible made the schools Protestant, “sectarian” -institutions, and therefore unjust towards all other religious bodies. -Let it be thoroughly understood, that we fully appreciate the desire of -our Protestant fellow-citizens, to hallow secular instruction. But the -reading of the Scriptures as a public ceremony is as distinctive to them, -as the celebration of Mass would be to Catholics. No one can evade the -argument which forces this conclusion. “Such schemes are glass; the very -sun shines through them.” And yet it is not a little remarkable, how -slowly the light breaks in upon the seat of the delusion. - -It is a satisfaction, however, to note the few acknowledgments, tardy and -incomplete as they are, of the principle which we have always maintained. -Prof. Swing, alluding to the action of the Chicago School Board to which -we have referred, gives voice to the following observations of common -sense: - - “The government has no more right to teach the Bible than it - has to teach the Koran. My idea is that the government did, - in its earlier life, run according to a sort of Christian - common law; but now the number of Jews, Catholics, and infidels - has become so greatly increased, the government has to base - itself squarely upon its constitutional idea that all men - are religiously equal. Even if the genius of the country - permitted the teaching of the Bible, I should doubt the - propriety of continuing the custom, because no valuable moral - results can ever come from reading a few verses hurriedly in a - school-house, and social strifes will be continually springing - up out of the practice.” - -The government, then, according to the professor, has no rights in the -spiritual domain--a proposition which we have been condemned to universal -derision for maintaining, and yet one that is self-evident to any person -who will pause for a moment to consider our institutions. - -An ardent advocate of what are called liberal principles, commenting -upon the position of Prof. Swing, very properly styles it the only -one defensible. The purpose of the Liberal League is, unquestionably, -to procure the complete secularization of our public schools, which -would, of course, be as unjust towards Catholic tax-payers as any other -system. This class is no less hostile to justice and true liberty than -any other set of meddlers. Nevertheless, it is not a little amusing -to see the unmistakable fear with which it regards the issue of the -present anti-Catholic policy. It waves, as its flag of hostility to the -Catholics, the threadbare pretext, that we are secretly opposed to all -education. It is not necessary for us to repeat the indignant denial and -protest, with which we have ever met this gratuitous calumny. We quote -from the Boston _Index_ of Oct. 28: - - “The public-school system is to-day in the greatest danger, - not so much from the fact that it is openly attacked from - without by the Catholics, as from the fact that a great - inherent injustice to all non-Protestants is made part and - parcel of it by its distinctively Protestant character. What is - built on wrong is built on the sand; and our school system will - certainly fall in ruins by and by, unless it can be grounded on - equal justice to all.” - -When the avowed heathen, who reap the fullest harvest, fear for the -destruction of our present unjust system of education, on the ground -that it is too iniquitous to last, is it not time, for people who call -themselves Christians, to give a moment’s heed to the petition, which we -have for years addressed to them, as most advantageous to all of us, and -as doing injustice to none? - -It appears, however, that this idea has infiltrated into other minds. -_Zion’s Herald_, a Methodist journal, quoted by the liberal paper to -which we have referred, says: - - “The state deals only with temporal affairs, and does not - attempt to usurp spiritual functions. Therefore the objects - and methods of public education are wholly secular, but by no - means necessarily, or at all, immoral or irreligious. On the - contrary, they are decidedly favorable to piety and morality. - But composed denominationally as the American people is, the - state ought not to impart religious education. The moment such - an attempt should be made, the community would be in conflict - as to what form it should take. It may be conceded, without - danger perhaps, that the state should not teach ethics, except - so far as the great fundamental principles of morals and - politics, as to which all Americans are agreed, are concerned. - _The religious education of children may and should be remitted - to the family, the Sabbath-school, and the church_--the natural - and divinely-appointed guardians of religion and ethics.” - -In the face of this growing acknowledgment of the “sectarian” character -of our public schools, and knowing that they must give religious -instruction or else be “pagan and atheistical,” we are pleased to hear -the demand that “neither the State nor nation, nor both combined,” shall -support such schools. - -The fact is, that a people cannot wholly escape from its national -traditions, without forgetting its language, or undergoing some violent -revolution. If our fellow-citizens will study the meaning of the terms -which they habitually use, they will not lose their traditions of freedom -and equal rights, nor will they throw themselves into a violent, perilous -departure from them. But we hasten to comment upon another sentence, -which is frequently quoted from the President’s oration: - -“LEAVE THE MATTER OF RELIGION TO THE FAMILY ALTAR, THE CHURCH, AND THE -PRIVATE SCHOOL SUPPORTED BY PRIVATE CONTRIBUTIONS.” - -Precisely so. If it must come to this; if no arrangement can be made, by -which religion and morality can be taught in the public schools, then, -leave the matter to the family altar and the church, and allow it to be -done by private contributions. - -In other words, either furnish the people with that which you pretend to -tax them for--viz., a fair and equitable system of public schools--or -allow them to provide for themselves. But, whatever you do, keep your -hands off the sacredness of the “family altar.” Do not set foot into -the hallowed precincts of the domestic sanctuary. The family, though -subordinate, is not to be violated by the state. Parents have rights, -which no government can usurp. You have no more right to force the -education of their children out of their hands, than to define the number -of offspring by law. You have no more right to establish a system, to -which you will endeavor to secure their conformity by violent measures, -than you have to establish public wet-nurseries, or, require that voters -shall be brought up on government pap and be fed out of a government -spoon. - -Keep from meddling with religion; you have no authority to teach it. - -What a bitter rebuke these words of the President contain for that party, -small and contemptible in itself, but powerful by reason of the times, -which has ever sought to widen the gulf between us and our true-hearted -countrymen! It is not enough that we should be estranged by the -traditions of three hundred years. It is not enough to whisper into the -popular ear every stale and loathed calumny. It is not enough to bring -our holiest rites and beliefs into the obscene literature now circulating -amongst the depraved youth of our country. It is not enough to drown with -a thousand noisy, insolent tongues, every attempt we make at explanation. -It is not enough for this malignant, persecuting power to drop its poison -into every crevice of our social and religious system, from the parlor -to the sewer, from the temple to the lupanar; but the nation must be -organized against us. Our religion must, in some way or other, be dragged -into politics. For shame! we cry, with the President. In a country of -such varied religious beliefs as ours, there is but one way to order and -peace--“KEEP THE CHURCH AND THE STATE FOR EVER SEPARATE.” - -To sum up: We agree with the President: - -1st. No “sectarianism” in our common schools; and, therefore, “not one -dollar” to our present system of schools, because they are sectarian. - -2d. “Not one dollar” to “pagan” schools, in which God is ignored. - -3d. “Not one dollar” to “atheistical” schools, in which God is denied in -the name of “science falsely so-called.” - -We now turn to consider the prophecy in which the President warns the -American people of its future dangers: - - “IF WE ARE TO HAVE ANOTHER CONTEST IN THE NEAR FUTURE OF OUR - NATIONAL EXISTENCE, I PREDICT THAT THE DIVIDING LINE WILL NOT - BE MASON AND DIXON’S, BUT BETWEEN PATRIOTISM AND INTELLIGENCE - ON THE ONE SIDE, AND SUPERSTITION, AMBITION, AND IGNORANCE ON - THE OTHER.” - -What is meant by superstition? - -Formerly it meant seeking for power or knowledge, by dealing with the -impure spirits. - -Does the President mean to warn us against the delusions and uncleanness -of modern spiritism? If so, we are agreed. - -But we do not really suppose that the President means any such thing. -What does he mean? - -We find in the dictionary four other meanings of the word which he has -used. Superstition means “an excessive reverence or fear of that which -is unknown or mysterious.” But, we observe no such phenomenon among -our people; if anything, rather the reverse. Or it means “The worship -of false gods.” We see no signs of this except in the “Joss Houses” -of San Francisco. Nor do we behold any great belief “in the agency of -superior powers in certain extraordinary or singular events, or in -omens, or prognostics.” Nor, further, do we behold any “excessive nicety -or scrupulous exactness,” as an alarming feature of our present moral -condition. There remains but one meaning (and this, we are persuaded, -is the sense which the President intended to convey): “Especially, an -ignorant or irrational worship of the supreme Deity.” - -An ignorant worship of God is one which knows not what to believe -concerning him, or one which is unable to state what it does believe; -or, further, one which can give no conclusive reason for believing -anything. But, outside the Catholic Church, there is no religious body -which can tell precisely what it ought to believe, or precisely what it -does believe, or precisely why it ought to believe anything. Again, an -irrational belief in God is one which recognizes his existence, and, at -the same time, denies his attributes. For instance, it is an irrational -belief in God, which denies his wisdom; which asserts, that he has not -chosen means adequate to accomplish his ends; which represents him, when -he has made a revelation to man, as leaving his divine truth in scattered -and mysterious writings in an obscure language, requiring men to find -them, collect them, and believe their true meaning in order to be saved; -or which fancies that reading daily a few pages from these writings, to -little children, will be sufficient to prepare them for the duties of -life. It is an irrational belief in God which represents him as immoral, -as creating man simply to damn him, or, which denies his justice, by -wickedly imagining that he will not punish oppression and calumny and -those who sow discord in the midst of a free and happy people. - -Here again we agree with the President in denouncing such impiety, and -in predicting that, if the liberties and institutions of this republic -are soon to be jeopardized, it will be by irreverence towards God and -the contempt of charity and justice towards men, ever practised by this -“ignorant and irrational worship of the supreme Deity.” - -Another item of danger which the President foresees in the near future -is “ignorance.” Here, again we find him sounding the note of warning, to -which we have always given voice. His Excellency says: “In a republic -like ours, … where no power is exercised except by the will of the -people, it is important that the sovereign, the people, should foster -intelligence--that intelligence which is to preserve us as a free -nation.” The liberties of this republic will not be maintained, we say, -by an ignorant, debauched, and corrupted generation. Our common people -must be educated. They must possess “that intelligence which is to -preserve us as a free nation.” They must know something more than simply -how to read and write and “cipher.” Nor will it be sufficient, to add -to this a knowledge of music. They must have a sound and thorough moral -training. Their conscientious convictions must be grounded on truth daily -taught and daily enforced. They must be daily taught to control their -passions; they must be taught honesty, and be required to give back that -which is unjustly gotten. They must be taught the true purpose of life. - -But this training, as the President affirms, belongs not to the state, -but to the “family altar and the church.” Either assist _all_ families -and _all_ churches, or else encourage them to help themselves. These are -our sentiments. But when sectarian bigotry has gotten hold of a system of -the falsely so-called “common schools,” and with obstinate purpose, and -clamorous intensity and ever-swelling declamation, manifests its resolve -to maintain this system, even though it conflicts with the conscientious -rights of millions of the people of our country; when, further, it is -determined to force a large minority to accept this state of things, -or to go without instruction, we, as American citizens, denounce the -system as tyrannous; in the full sense of the word, as a reckless and -immoral oppression. We assert that those who uphold it, do not desire -intelligence, but prefer ignorance; that their aim is not to promote -knowledge, but to destroy the religious convictions of our children, and -to keep us from growing in the land. We affirm that such self-delusion -originates in ignorance, is perpetuated by ignorance, tends to still -deeper degradation of ignorance; and we predict that it will bring forth -the fruits of ignorance, not only in morality, but in the lower sciences. - -We, for our part, will never relax our efforts to show up the dishonesty -of this party; we will never withdraw our protest, until justice has been -done; and knowing to what lengths men can go when they start without -principle, we fully share in the alarm of our chief magistrate, as to the -danger of “ignorance.” Have we not, therefore, reason to hope that, in -the midst of the struggle, which his sagacious mind perceives to be at -hand, we shall find him on the side of patriotism and intelligence, with -all true Americans, against that “superstition” and “ignorance,” whose -aim is to destroy the “security of unfettered religious sentiments and -equal rights” of his fellow-citizens? - -There is another item of the future contest, which, according to our -President, is - -“AMBITION.” WHAT IS AMBITION? - -A man has been elected to the highest office in the gift of a free -people, the limits of which have been fixed by a custom handed down by -the fathers of the nation, and which, to the minds of true patriots, -has the force of law. When such a trust does not satisfy the honored -recipient, and he, yielding to personal motives, strains every nerve, -and seeks by every means at his command, to break down all barriers to -continuation of power, thereby abusing the dignity of his post and the -confidence of the people--that is ambition. - -We do not fully share the apprehension with which the President foresees -this threat to the “near future” of our national welfare. But if it be -true, we fully agree with him when he says: “Now, the centennial year of -our national existence, I believe, is a good time to begin the work of -strengthening the foundations of the structure commenced by our patriotic -forefathers one hundred years ago at Lexington.” - -“Language,” according to a great diplomatist, “was given to man, in order -that he might conceal his ideas.” But this maxim has never been accepted -by honorable men. In examining, thus briefly, the “Des Moines speech,” -we have followed that other canon of criticism, which requires that -words shall be interpreted in their literal sense, as far as possible. -Submitted to this just criticism, the language appears to us immortal, -and worthy of the high place which is even now being prepared for it. -Some may marvel, and may wonder how the President came to be filled with -so high a degree of the prophetic spirit. Like Balaam, the son of Beor, -he was expected to curse us; unlike Balaam, he was not stayed, but rather -urged on by the faithful servant with whom he previously conversed. But -there is no mystery about it. He has grown up with the instincts of a -true American, and he has spoken accordingly. Not only are the words -on which we have commented true, but they are in accordance with sound -Catholic principles. We are ready to take him at his word, and his -words in their true meaning. To those who will join us we say, without -disguise or reserve: “Gentlemen, you will never regret having trusted -us, and dealt fairly with us, according to the laws and Constitution of -this country.” We believe with the President, that, if the only honest -meaning of his language be as honestly carried out, “the battles which -created the Army of the Tennessee” (which, by the way, a Catholic general -once commanded and in whose ranks hundreds of Catholic hearts bled)--we -believe, we say, that these battles “will not have been fought in vain.” -The children of the soldiers of the Union will at least be the peers of -those whom their fathers overcame. The nations’ heroes will not look -down, to see their heirs defrauded of equal rights in “the Union and the -free institutions for which they died.” The President will yield to his -comrades in arms, at least as much as he is so ready to accord to his -late opponents. And as for our countrymen throughout the Union, we are -prepared to wait, trusting that when fully enlightened, they will agree -to our obtaining, independently of all political agitations or party -organizations, our just and equal rights as American citizens. - - -SONNETS IN MEMORY OF THE LATE SIR AUBREY DE VERE, BART. - -BY AUBREY DE VERE. - - I. - - To-night upon thy roof the snows are lying; - The Christmas snows lie heavy on thy trees; - A dying dirge that soothes the year in dying - Swells from thy woodlands on the midnight breeze. - Our loss is ancient; many a heart is sighing - This hour a late one, or by slow degrees - Heals some old wound, to God’s high grace replying-- - A time there was when thou wert like to these! - Where art thou? In what unimagined sphere - Liv’st thou, sojourner, or a transient guest? - By whom companioned? Access hath she near, - In life thy nearest, and beloved the best? - What memory hast thou of thy loved ones here? - Hangs the great Vision o’er thy place of rest? - - II. - - “Sweet-sounding bells, blithe summoners to prayer!”[173] - The answer man can yield not ye bestow: - Your answer is a little Infant, bare, - Wafted to earth on night-winds whispering low. - Blow him to Bethlehem, airs angelic, blow! - There doth the Mother-Maid his couch prepare: - His harbor is her bosom: drop him there - Soft as a snow-flake on a bank of snow. - Sole Hope of man! Sole Hope for us--for thee! - “To us a Prince is given; a Child is born!”-- - Thou sang’st of Bethlehem, and of Calvary, - The Maid immaculate, and the twisted thorn - Where’er thou art, not far, not far is He - Whose banner whitens in yon Christmas morn! - - -A MESSAGE. - -Is there anything more tantalizing than to be caught with a toothache -and swelled face just at Christmas time, when one’s hands are full of -work that must be finished, of plans that have been begun in time and -carried on prosperously to within a few days of their fulfilment? This -is just what befell Mr. Stephen Walpole on the 20th of December in the -year of grace 1870. You remember what a terrific winter that was? How the -bleak north wind blew over ice and snow, and added tenfold horrors to the -poor soldiers fighting in that terrible Franco-German war--how all our -hearts shuddered in pity for them, as we sat stitching and knitting in -their service by the glow of our Christmas fires! This 20th of December -was, perhaps, the bitterest day of the whole season. The snow was deep -on the ground, the ice hung in long spikes from rails and roofs, and the -east wind blew cruelly over all. Stephen Walpole ought to have been out -breasting it, but, instead of this, he sat at home moaning, in a voice -that sounded like a fog-bell at sea, through poultices, wadding, and -miles of flannel that swelled his head out of all human proportions. - -“To think of a man being knocked down by a thing no bigger than a pin’s -point!” he grumbled. “A prick of that miserable atom one calls a nerve -turns the seat of one’s intellect into a monster calf’s head, and makes -one a spectacle to gods and men. I could whip myself for being such a -milksop as to knock under to it. I’d rather have every tooth in my head -pulled out than play the woman like this.… Och! Whew!” - -“Serves you right, sir, for your impertinence!” protested Nelly Walpole, -bridling up and applying a fresh hot poultice to her brother’s cheek, -which she bade him hold; but Stephen, in his manly inability to bear the -toothache with composure, dropped the soft mess under a sudden sting that -jerked it out of his hand. - -“What an unmanageable baby it is!” cried Nelly, catching the poultice in -time to save her pretty violet cashmere dress. “I told you to hold your -cheek while I fastened the bandage; make haste now before it cools.” - -“O my unfortunate brother! Ill-fated man! Is this how I find you, bound -and poulticed in the hands of the Philistines?” - -This was from Marmaduke, Nelly’s younger brother, who entered while -the operation was going on, and stood surveying the victim in serene -compassion. - -“Yes,” cried Stephen, “and all the pity a poor devil gets is being -bullied for not holding his jaw.” - -“Oh! come, you’re not so bad, since there’s vice enough in you for a -pun!” said Marmaduke. “How did you catch the thing?” - -“What thing--the pun?” - -“The toothache.” - -“It caught me,” said Stephen resentfully. - -“Then it caught you in some of those villanous cut-throat places where -you go pottering after beggars and blackguards and the Lord knows what!” -said Marmaduke with airy contempt, drawing his slim, beringed fingers -gracefully through a mass of remarkably fine curls that clustered over -his high, white forehead, and gave a boyish look to his handsome young -face, and added to its attractions. He was extremely prepossessing, -this perfumed, patent-leather-booted young gentleman of two-and-twenty. -You could not look at him without liking him. His eye was as clear as a -child’s, his smile as frank, his laughter as joyous and catching. Yet, -as it sometimes happens with the graces of childhood, these things were -a deceptive promise. The frankness and the joy were genuine; but there -was a cold gleam of contempt, a cold ring of selfishness, in the bright -eyes and the merry voice that were very disappointing when you found -them out. But people were slow to find them out. Even those who lived -with Marmaduke, and thus had ample opportunities of judging, remained -under the spell of his attractive manners and personal charms until some -accident revealed their worthlessness. A false coin will go on passing -current through many hands, until one day some one drops it to the -ground, and the glittering sham is betrayed. He had not a bad heart; he -was kind even, when he could be brought to forget himself for a moment -and think of others. But it required a shock to do this; and shocks are, -happily, rare in every-day life. So Marmaduke slept on undisturbed in -his egotism, hardening unconsciously in self-absorbed enjoyment. He had -never taken trouble about anything, made a genuine effort of any sort -except for his amusement. He had just the kind of brains to enable him -to get through college with a decent amount of success easily--tact, -ready repartee, a quick, retentive memory that gave the maximum of result -for the minimum of work. He would pass for clever and well informed where -an awkward, ugly youth, who had ten times his intellect and studied ten -times harder, would pass for knowing nothing. Stephen was eight years -older than he, and had not yet discovered his brother’s real value. -Perhaps this arose partly from Stephen’s not being of a particularly -observant or analytical turn of mind. He took people pretty much at their -own valuation, as the world is rather apt to do. Marmaduke set a very -high price on his handsome face and limited attainments, and his brother -had never dreamed of disputing it. He would sometimes naïvely express his -surprise that people were so fond of Duke when he did so little to please -them; and wonder how popular he was, considering that he never gave -himself the smallest trouble to oblige or humor people. - -“I suppose it’s his handsome face that mankind, and womankind in -particular, find so taking,” Stephen would remark to Nelly. “He certainly -has a wonderful knack for getting on with people without caring twopence -whether they like him or not. I wish I knew his secret. Perhaps it’s his -high spirits.” - -Nelly would sometimes suggest that Marmaduke’s fine temper might count -for something in the mystery. And Stephen never contradicted her. His -temper was not his best point. He had a heart of gold; he had energy, -patience, and endurance to any extent--except in case of toothache; he -was unselfish and generous; but he was sensitive and exacting. Like -most persons who dispense liberally, he was impatient of the selfishness -and ingratitude of men who take all they can get and return nothing. -Marmaduke had no such accounts to square with human beings, so he never -felt aggrieved, never quarrelled with them. Stephen was working hard -at his profession--he was an engineer--and so far he had achieved but -moderate success. Marmaduke had been called to the bar, but it was a -mere formality so far; he spent his time dawdling about town, retailing -gossip and reading poetry, waiting for briefs that never came--that -never do come to handsome young gentlemen who take it so easy. His elder -brother laid no blame on him for this want of success. He was busy all -day himself, and took for granted that Marmaduke was busy on his side. -The law was up-hill work, besides; the cleverest and most industrious men -grew gray in its service before they made a name for themselves; and Duke -was after all but a boy--he had time enough before him. So Stephen argued -in his brotherly indulgence, in ignorance of the real state of things. - -Nelly was, as yet, the only person who had found out Marmaduke, who knew -him thoroughly. She knew him egotistical to the core, averse to work, -to effort of every sort, idle, self-indulgent, extravagant; and the -knowledge of all this afforded much anxious thought to her little head -of nineteen years. They lived alone, these three. Nelly was a mother to -the two young men, watching and caring for them with that instinctive -child-motherhood that is so touching in young girls sometimes. She was a -spirited, elfin little creature, very pretty, blessed with the sweetest -of tempers, the shrewdest of common sense, and an energy of character -that nothing daunted and few things resisted. Marmaduke described this -trait of Nelly’s in brother-like fashion as “a will of her own.” He -knew his was no match for it, and, with a tact which made one of his -best weapons of defence, he contrived to avoid clashing with it. This -was not all policy. He loved his pretty sister, and admired her more -than anything in the world except himself. And yet he knew that this -admiration was not mutual; that Nelly knew him thoroughly, saw through -him as if he were glass; but he was not afraid of her. His elder brother -was duped by him; but he would have staked his life on it that Nelly -would never undeceive him; that she would let Stephen go on believing -in him so long as the deceiver himself did not tear off the mask. Yet -it was a source of bitter anxiety to the wise little mother-maiden to -watch Marmy drifting on in this life of indolence and vacuity. Where was -it to end? Where do such lives always end? Nothing but some terrible -shock could awake him from it. And where was the shock to come from? -Nelly never preached--she was far too sensible for that--but when the -opportunity presented itself she would say a few brief words to the -culprit in an earnest way that never irritated him, if they worked no -better result. He would admit with exasperating good-humor that he was -a good-for-nothing dog; that he was unworthy of such a perfection of a -sister and such an irreproachable elder brother; but that, as nature had -so blessed him, he meant to take advantage of the privilege of leaving -the care of his perfection to them. - -“If I were alone on my own hook, Nell, I would work like a galley-slave,” -he protested once to her gentle upbraiding. “But as it is, why need I -bother myself? You will save my soul, and pray me high and dry into -heaven; and Stephen--Stephen the admirable, the unimpeachable, the pink -of respectability--will keep me out of mischief in this.” - -“I don’t believe in vicarious salvation for this world or the next, and -neither do you, Marmy. You are much too intelligent to believe in any -such absurdity,” replied Nelly, handing him a glove she had been sewing a -button into. - -Marmaduke did not contradict her, but, whistling an air from the -_Trovatore_, arranged his hat becomingly, a little to one side, and, with -a farewell look in the glass over the mantel-piece, sauntered out for his -morning constitutional in the park. Nelly went to the window, and watched -the lithe young figure, with its elastic step, until it disappeared. -She was conscious of a stronger solicitude about Marmaduke this morning -than she had ever felt before. It was like a presentiment. Yet there -was nothing that she knew of to justify it. He had not taken to more -irregular hours, nor more extravagant habits, nor done anything to cause -her fresh anxiety; still, her heart beat as under some new and sudden -fear. Perhaps it was the ring of false logic in his argument that sounded -a louder note of alarm and warned her of worse danger than she had -suspected. One might fear everything for a man starting in life with the -deliberate purpose of shifting his responsibility on to another, setting -his conscience to sleep because he had two brave, wakeful ones watching -at his side. - -“If something would but come and wake him up to see the monstrous folly, -the sinfulness, of it!” sighed Nelly. “But nothing short of a miracle -could do that, I believe. He might, indeed, fall ill and be brought to -death’s door; he might break his leg and be a cripple for life, and that -might serve the purpose; but oh! dear, I’m not brave enough to wish for -so severe a remedy.” - -Two months had passed since this little incident between the brother and -sister, and nothing had occurred to vindicate Nelly’s gloomy forebodings. -Marmaduke rose late, read the newspaper, then Tennyson, Lamartine, or -the last novel, made an elaborate toilet, and sauntered down to the -courts to keep a lookout for the coming briefs. But it was near Christmas -now, and this serious and even tenor of life had been of late broken -in upon by the getting up of private theatricals in company with some -bachelor friends. What between learning his own part, and hearing his -fellow-actors and actresses theirs, and overseeing stage arrangements, -Marmaduke had a hard time of it. His hands were full; he was less at home -than usual, seldom or never of an evening. He had come in very late some -nights, and looked worn and out of spirits, Nelly thought, when he came -down to his late breakfast. - -“I wish those theatricals were over, Marmy. They will kill you if they -last much longer,” she said, with a tender, anxious look on her pretty -little face. This was the day he came home and found Stephen in the hands -of the Philistines. - -“’Tis hard work enough,” assented the young man, stretching out his long -limbs wearily; “but the 26th will soon be here. It will be too bad if you -are laid up and can’t come and applaud me, Steevy,” he added, considering -his elder brother’s huge head, that looked as if it would take a month to -regain its natural shape. - -“Humph! That’s the least of my troubles!” boomed Stephen through his -poultice. - -“Civil! Eh, Nell? I can tell you it’s as bad as any toothache, the -labor I’ve had with the business--those lazy dogs, Travers and Milford, -throwing all the weight of it on me, under pretext of never having done -that sort of thing before.” - -“That’s always the fate of the willing horse,” said Stephen, without -the faintest idea of being sarcastic. “That’s just what I complain of -with those idle fellows X---- and W----; they throw the burden of all -the business on me, because, forsooth, I understand things better! I do -understand that people can’t get work done unless they bestir themselves -and attend to it.” - -“I wouldn’t be such an ass as to let myself be put on in that way,” said -Marmaduke resentfully. “I would not be fooled into doing the work of -three people instead of one.” - -“And yet that’s what you are doing at present,” replied Stephen. - -“Oh! that’s different; it is only _en passant_,” explained Marmaduke; -“and then, you see, it.…” - -“Amuses you,” Nelly had it on the tip of her tongue to say; but she -checked herself, and finished the sentence for him with, “It is not the -same thing; people cannot make terms for a division of labor, except it -be in the case of real business.” - -“Of course not,” assented Stephen. Marmaduke looked at his boots, and -inwardly voted Nelly “no end of a trump.” - -Did she guess this mental vote, and did she take advantage of it to ask -him a favor? - -“Perhaps Marmy would go and see that poor man for you, Stephen?” she said -in the most natural way possible, without looking up from her work. - -“I wish he would; I should be ever so much obliged to him. Would you mind -it, Duke?” - -“Mind what?” - -“Taking a message for me to a poor fellow that I wanted badly to go and -see to-day.” - -“Who is he? Where does he hang out?” - -“His name is John Baines, and he hangs out in Red Pepper Lane, ten -minutes from here, at the back of the square.” - -“Some abominable slum, no doubt.” - -“The locality is not Berkeley Square or Piccadilly, but it would not kill -you to walk through it once,” rejoined Stephen. - -“Do go, there’s a dear boy!” coaxed Nelly, fixing her bright eyes on -Marmaduke’s face, with a smile that would have fascinated a gorilla. - -Marmaduke rose, stretched his arms, as if to brace himself for an effort. - -“Who’s your friend John Baines?” he said. “A ticket-of-leave man?” - -“Nothing so interesting; he’s only a rag-and-bone man.” - -Marmaduke said nothing, but his nose uttered such an unmistakable -_pshaw!_ that Nelly, in spite of herself, burst out laughing. - -“What the deuce can make him cultivate such company?” he exclaimed, -appealing to Nelly, and joining good-humoredly in her merriment. - -“To help them and do them good; what else?” she replied. - -“Every man to his taste; I confess I have none for evangelizing -rag-and-bone men, or indeed men of any station, kind, or degree,” -observed Marmaduke emphatically. - -“Then you won’t go?” said Stephen. - -“I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I don’t mind devoting myself for once to oblige -you. What’s your message for John Baines? Not a leg of mutton or a bottle -of port? I won’t bargain for carrying that sort of article.” - -“I don’t want you to carry anything that will encumber you,” replied -the elder brother. “Tell him I cannot get to see him to-day, and why, -and that I am very sorry for it. Meantime, you can say I have done his -commission. See if he wants anything, and, if so I will send it at once.” - -“What ails him?” enquired Marmaduke with a sudden look of alarm. - -“Poverty: hunger, and cold, and misery.” - -“Oh! that’s all! I mean it’s not a case of typhus or small-pox. I should -not care to imperil my valuable life by running in the way of that sort -of thing,” observed Marmaduke. - -“Have no fear. The complaint is not catching,” replied his brother. -“Whatever good he may do you, he’ll do you no harm.” - -“Dear Marmy! it’s very good of you!” whispered Nelly, as she tripped -down-stairs after the reluctant messenger, and helped him on with his fur -coat in the hall. - -“It’s not a bit good; it’s an infernal bore, and I’m only doing it to -please you, Nell,” protested Marmaduke. “What a fool’s errand it is! I -sha’n’t know from Adam what to say to the man when I get there. _What_ am -I to say to him?” - -“Oh! anything,” suggested Nelly. “Say you have come to see him because -Stephen is ill, and ask him how he is. You’re never at a loss for -something to say, you know that right well; and whatever you say is sure -to be right.” - -“When I know who I’m talking to; but I don’t know this interesting party, -or what topics of conversation he particularly affects. He won’t expect -me to preach him a sermon, eh?” And Marmaduke faced round with a look of -such comical terror at the thought that Nelly again burst out laughing. - -“Heaven forbid! That’s the last thing you need dream of,” she cried. “He -is much more likely to preach to you.” - -“Oh! indeed; but I didn’t bargain for that. I would very much rather be -excused,” protested Marmaduke, anything but reassured. - -“You foolish boy! I mean that he will preach to you as the poor always -do--by example; by their patience, and their gratitude for the least -thing one does for them.” - -“I’m not going to do anything for John Baines that I can see; only -bothering him with a visit which he would very likely rather I spared -him.” - -“You will give him Stephen’s message,” suggested Nelly, “and then let him -talk. There is nothing poor people enjoy so much as a good listener. They -are quite happy when they can pour out their grievances into a willing -ear. The sympathy of the rich is often a greater comfort to the poor than -their alms.” - -“Humph! That’s lucky, anyhow,” grunted Marmaduke. “Well, I’ll let the -old gentleman have his head; I’ll listen till he pulls up of his own -accord.” He had his hand on the door-latch, when Stephen’s muffled tones -were heard calling from the room above. Nelly bounded up the stairs, and -was back in an instant. - -“He says you are to give Baines half a sovereign from him; he had nearly -forgotten it.” - -“Where is it?” said Marmaduke, holding out his hand. - -“Stephen has not his purse about him, so he begs you will give it for -him.” - -“Neither have I mine,” said the young man. - -“Well, run up for it; or shall I? Where is it?” inquired willing Nelly. - -Marmaduke hesitated for a moment, and then said abruptly: “It doesn’t -matter where it is; there’s nothing in it.” - -“What have you done with your money? You had plenty a few days ago!” -exclaimed Nelly in childlike surprise. - -“I have lost it; I haven’t a brass farthing in the world!” He said this -in a reckless, dogged sort of way, as if he did not care who knew it; and -yet he spoke in an undertone. For one moment Nelly looked at him in blank -astonishment. - -“Lost it?” she repeated, and then, the truth flashing on her suddenly, -she cried in a frightened whisper: “O Marmaduke! you have not been -gambling? Oh! tell me it’s not true.” She caught hold of his arm, and, -clinging to it, looked into his face, scared and white. - -“Nonsense, Nell! I thought you were a girl of sense,” he exclaimed -pettishly, disengaging himself and pushing back the bolt. “Let me be -off; tell Stephen I had not change, so his friend must wait till he can -go and tip him himself.” - -“No, no; he may be hungry, poor man. Stay, I think I have ten shillings -here,” said Nelly; and she pulled out her porte-monnaie, and picked four -half-crowns from the promiscuous heap of smaller coins. “Take these; I -will tell Stephen you will give the ten shillings.” - -Her hand trembled as she dropped the money into Marmaduke’s pocket. He -was about to resist; but there was something peremptory, a touch of that -will of her own, in her manner that deterred him. - -“I’m sorry I said anything about it; I should not if I thought you would -have minded it so much,” he observed. - -“Minded it? O Marmaduke! Minded your taking to gambling?” - -“Tush! Don’t talk nonsense! A man isn’t a gambler because once in a way -he loses a twenty-pound note.” - -And with this he brushed past her, and closed the hall-door with a loud -bang. - -Nelly did not sit down on one of the hall chairs and cry. She felt -mightily inclined to do so; but she struggled against the weakness and -overcame it. Walking quietly up the stairs, she hummed a few bars of a -favorite air as she passed the door of Stephen’s sitting-room, and went -on to her own room on the story above. But even here, safe and alone, -the tears were bravely held back. She would not cry; she would not be -seen with red eyes that would betray her brother; she would do her very -utmost to rescue him, to screen him even now. While she is wrestling and -pleading in the silence of her own room, let us follow the gambler to Red -Pepper Lane. - -Marmaduke had described the place accurately when he called it an -abominable slum. Red Pepper Lane was one of those dismal, frightful dens -of darkness and dirt that cower at the back of so many of our wealthy -squares and streets--poison-pits for breeding typhus and every social -plague that desolates great cities. The houses were so high and the lane -so narrow that you could at a stretch have shaken hands across from -window to window. There was a rope slung half-way down the alley, with -a lantern hanging from it which looked more like a decoration or a sign -than a possible luminary; for the glass was too thickly crusted with dirt -to admit of the strongest light piercing it. In the middle of the lane -was a gutter, in which a few ragged, begrimed, and hungry-looking little -mortals were playing in the dirty snow. The east wind whistled through -the dreary tenements with a sharp, pitiless cry; the sky was bright -outside, but here in Red Pepper Lane its brightness did not penetrate. -Nothing but the wind could enter, and that came with all its might, -through the crannies in the walls, through the rickety doors, through -the window-frames glazed with brown paper or battered old hats--any -rag that could be spared to stuff the empty panes. Not a head was seen -anywhere protruding from windows or doors; the fierce blast kept every -one within who had a roof to cover them. If it were not for the sooty -little objects disporting themselves in the gutter, the lane might have -been the precincts of the jail, so deserted and silent was it. Marmaduke -might have wandered up and down for an hour without meeting any one whom -he could ask to direct him to where John Baines lived, but luckily he -recognized the house at once by Stephen’s signal of an old broom nailed -over the door. He searched for a knocker or a bell; but seeing neither, -he sounded a loud rat-ta-ta-tat with the gold knob of his walking-stick, -and presently a voice called out from somewhere to “lift the latch!” -He did so, and, again left to his own devices, he followed Stephen’s -injunctions and went straight up to the second story, where he knocked, -and in obedience to a sharp “Come in!” entered. - -The gloom of the lane had prepared him gradually for the deeper gloom -of the room, and he at once distinguished a person, whom he rightly -surmised to be the rag-and-bone man, sitting at the farther end, near -the fire-place, wrapped up in a brown blanket, with his feet resting -on the hearth-stone, as if he were toasting them. If he was, it was in -imagination; for there was no fire--only the ghost of one as visible in -a mass of gray ashes, and they did not look as if even a glow of the -late warmth remained in them. He had his back to the door, and, when -it opened, he turned his head in that direction, but not sufficiently -to see who came in. Marmaduke, as he stood on the threshold, took in -the surroundings at a glance. There was a bed on the floor in one -corner, with no bed-clothes to speak of, the blanket being just now in -requisition as a cloak; a miserable-looking table and two chairs--an -unoccupied one and the one Baines sat in; a bag and a basket were flung -under the window, and some dingy old utensils--a saucepan, kettle, -etc.--lay about. There was nothing particularly dreadful in the scene; -it was, compared with many such, rather a cheerful one on the whole; but -Marmaduke, who had no experience of the dwellings of the poor, thought -it the most appalling picture of misery and desolation that could be -conceived. He was roused from the stupor of horror into which the sudden -spectacle had thrown him by hearing the figure in the blanket ask rather -sharply a second time “Who’s there?” - -“I beg your pardon,” said Marmaduke, advancing within a step of the -chair. “My name is Walpole; I have come to see if there is anything I can -do for you--anything that you … that …” he stammered, not knowing how to -put it. - -“Oh! Mr. Walpole, I am obliged to you for calling, sir. I want nothing; -but I am glad to see you. It is very kind of you. Pray take a chair. You -must excuse me for not getting up; my leg is still very painful.” - -“I am only the brother of the Mr. Walpole whom you know,” said Marmaduke, -surprised beyond measure at the good address of the man. “My brother is -laid up with a violent face-ache. He was greatly put out at not being -able to keep his appointment with you this afternoon, and sent me to see -how you were getting on, and to tell you he had done something that you -commissioned him to do.” - -“Your brother is extremely kind,” said the man. “I am sorry to hear he is -ill. This weather is trying to everybody.” - -“You seem to be a severe sufferer from it,” remarked Marmaduke. He had -opened his fur coat, and sat back in the rickety chair, in mortal fear -all the while that it would go to smash under him. This was the most -extraordinary specimen of the rag-and-bone tribe--he could not say that -he had ever known, for he had never known one in his life, but--that -he could have imagined. He spoke like an educated man, and, even in -his blanket, he had the bearing of a gentleman. If it were not for his -swollen nose and the glare of his red eye-balls, which were decidedly not -refined, there was nothing in his appearance to indicate that he belonged -to the very dregs of human society. It was impossible to say how old he -was, but you saw at a glance that he was more broken than aged. - -“Yes, I am suffering rather severely just now,” he replied in a quiet, -conversational way; “I always do when the cold sets in. But, added to my -chronic complaint of sciatica, I slipped on the ice some time ago, and -sprained my left foot badly. Your brother made my acquaintance at the -hospital where I was taken to have it set right.” - -“And has it been set right?” - -“Yes; I can’t get about easily yet, but it will be all right by and by.” -And then, dismissing the selfish subject, he said: “I am distressed, sir, -that you should have had the trouble of coming to such a place as this; -pray don’t let me detain you longer.” - -“I’m in no hurry,” replied Marmaduke, whose interest and curiosity were -more and more excited. “Is there nothing I can do for you? It’s dismal -work sitting here all day with a sprained ankle, and having nothing to -do; would you care to have some books?” It did not occur to him to ask -if he knew how to read; he would as soon have inquired if he knew how to -speak. - -Baines looked at him with a curious expression. - -“I don’t look like a man to lend books to, do I?” he said. “There’s not -much in common between books and a rag-and-bone man.” - -“Quite as much, I should say, as there is between some men and rags and -bones,” retorted Marmaduke, meeting the man’s eyes with a responsive -question in his own. - -Baines turned away with a short laugh. Perhaps it was mere accident -or the force of habit that made him look up at the space over the -mantel-piece; but there was something in the deliberate glance that made -Marmaduke follow it, and, doing so, he saw a faded but originally good -engraving of Shakspere hung in a frame against the wall. Repressing the -low whistle which rose involuntarily to his lips, he said, looking at the -portrait: - -“You have a likeness of Shakspere, I see. Have you read his plays?” - -“Ay, and acted them!” - -“Acted them! You were originally on the stage, then? I saw at once that -you were not what you seem to me,” said Marmaduke, with that frankness -that seemed so full of sympathy and was so misleading, though never less -so, perhaps, than at this moment. “Would it be disagreeable to you to -tell me through what chapters of ill-luck or other vicissitudes you came -to be in the position where I now see you?” - -The man was silent for a few minutes; whether he was too deeply offended -to reply at once, or whether he was glancing over the past which the -question evoked, it was impossible to say. Marmaduke fancied he was -offended, and, vexed with himself for having questioned him, he stood up, -and laying Nelly’s four half-crowns on the chimney-piece, “I beg your -pardon if I seemed impertinent; I assure you I did not mean it,” he said. -“I felt interested in you, and curious to know something more of you; but -I had no right to put questions. Good-morning.” He made a step towards -the door, but Baines, rousing himself, arrested him by a sign. - -“I am not offended,” he said. “I saw quite well what made you ask it. You -would have every right to catechise me if I had come to you for help; as -it is, your kindness and your brother’s makes a claim which I am in no -mind to dispute. If you don’t mind shivering in this cold place for half -an hour, pray sit down, and I will tell you my story. I have not a cigar -to offer you,” he added with a laugh, “but perhaps you don’t affect that -vice?” - -“I do indeed very considerably,” said Marmaduke, and, pulling out a -handsome cigar-case, he handed it to Baines, and invited him to help -himself; the rag-man hesitated just for a moment, and then, yielding to -the instinct of his good-breeding, took one. - -“It’s not an amusing story,” he began, when they had sent up a few warm -puffs from their fragrant weeds, “but it may not be uninteresting to you. -You are very young; would it be rude to ask how young?” - -“Two-and-twenty next week, if I live so long,” replied Marmaduke. - -“Humph! I was just that age when I took the fatal turn in the road that -led to the honorable career in which I am now embarked. My father was an -officer in the line. He had no fortune to speak of; a couple of thousand -pounds left him by an aunt was all the capital he possessed. When he was -still young, he married, and got three thousand pounds with his wife. I -was their only child. My father died when I was ten years old, and left -me to the sole care of my mother, who made an idol of me and spoiled me -to my heart’s content. I was not a bad boy, I had no evil propensities, -and I was not deficient in brains. I picked up things with little or no -effort, and got on better at school than many who had twice the brains -and four times the industry. I was passionately fond of poetry, learned -pages of Byron and Shelley by heart, and declaimed with a good deal of -power. There could not have been a greater curse than such a gift to -a boy of my temperament and circumstances. When I left school, I went -to Oxford. My poor mother strained every nerve to give me a university -education, with a view to my becoming a barrister; but instead of -repaying her sacrifices by working hard, I spent the greater part of my -time acting. I became infatuated about Shakspere, and took to private -theatricals with a frenzy of enthusiasm. As ill-luck would have it, I -fell in with a set of fellows who were drama-mad like myself. I had one -great chum named Hallam, who was stark mad about it, and encouraged me -in the folly to the utmost. I soon became a leading star in this line. -I was sought for and asked out by everybody in the place, until my head -got completely turned, and I fancied I had only to walk on to the stage -to take Macready’s place and achieve fame and fortune. The first thing -that roused me from the absurd delusion was seeing Charles Kean in -Macbeth. I felt utterly annihilated under the superiority of his acting; -it showed me in an instant the difference there is between ordinary taste -and talent and the divine afflatus of genius. And yet an old friend who -happened to meet me in the theatre that night assured me that the younger -Kean was not a patch upon his father, and that Macready outshone the -elder Kean. I went back to Oxford a crestfallen man, and for a time took -refuge from my disappointment in real work. I studied hard, and, when -the term came for going up for my degree, I was confident of success. It -was a vain confidence, of course. I had only given myself to study for -a period of two months or so, and it would have been little short of a -miracle if I had passed. My mother was terribly disappointed; the sight -of her tears cut me up more than the failure on my own account, and I -determined to succeed or die in the effort, if she consented to let me -make one more. She did consent, and I succeeded. That was the happiest -day of my life, I think.” He drew a long breath, and repeated in an -undertone, as if he forgot Marmaduke’s presence, and were speaking aloud -to himself: “Yes, the happiest day of my life!” - -“You worked very hard to pull up for lost time!” observed Marmaduke. - -“Lost time! Yes, that was it--lost time!” said Baines, musing; then -he continued in his former tone: “My poor mother was very happy. She -declared I had repaid her amply for all her sacrifices. She saw me -already at the top of my profession, a Q.C., a judge, the chief of all -the judges, seated in robes on the woolsack. I came home, and was in due -time called to the bar. I was then just twenty-four. We lived in a pretty -house on the road to Putney; but my mother thought it now desirable -to move into London, that I might have an office in some central -neighborhood, where my clients would flow in and out conveniently. I -remember that I strongly opposed the plan, not from dislike, but from -some feeling like a presentiment, a dread, that London would be a -dangerous place for me, and that I was taking the road to ruin by leaving -the shelter of our secluded home, with its garden and trees, away from -a thousand temptations that beset a young man in the great city. But -my mother’s heart was set on it. She was convinced my character had -thoroughly changed, that I had broken off for ever from old habits and -old propensities, and that I was strong enough to encounter any amount -of temptation without risk. Poor mother! It was no fault of hers if she -was blinded by love. The fault was all mine. I fed her with false hopes, -and then I betrayed them. She gave in so far to my wishes as to consent -only to let the house, instead of selling it, as she first intended; so -that our removal to London took the appearance more of an essay than a -permanent arrangement. I was thankful for this, and set about the change -in high spirits. We were soon comfortably settled in a very small house -in Wimpole Street. I found it rather like a bird-cage after our airy, -roomy abode in the suburbs; but it was very snug, and my mother, who had -wonderful taste, soon made it bright and pretty. She was the brightest -and prettiest thing in it herself; people used to take her for my elder -sister when she took me to parties of an evening. I was very proud of -her, and with better reason than she was of me.” - -He paused again, looking up at the Shakspere print, as if he saw his -mother’s likeness there. The sunken, red eyes moistened as he gazed on it. - -“It is a great blessing to have a good mother,” said Marmaduke. “I lost -mine when I was little more than a child.” - -“So much the better for both of you,” retorted Baines bitterly; “she -did not live for you to break her heart, and then eat out your own with -remorse. But I am talking wildly. You would no doubt have been a blessing -to her; you would have worked like a man, and she would have been proud -of you to the end. It was not so with me. I was never fond of work. I -was not fond of it then; indeed, what I did was not worthy of being -called work at all. I moped over a law-book for an hour or so in the -morning, and then read Shakspere or some other favorite poet, by way of -refreshing myself after the unpalatable task, and getting it out of my -head as quickly as possible. I went down regularly to the courts; but -as I had no legal connection, and nothing in myself to make up for the -want of patronage, or inspire confidence in my steadiness and abilities, -the attorneys brought me no business; and as I was too lazy, and perhaps -too proud, to stoop to court them, I began to feel thoroughly disgusted -with the profession, and to wish I had never entered it. I ceased to go -through the farce of my law-reading of a morning, and devoted myself -entirely to my dilettante tastes, reading poetry, and occasionally -amusing myself with writing it. My old longing for the stage came back, -and only wanted an opportunity to break out actively. This opportunity -was not far off. My mother suspected nothing of the way I was idling my -time; she knew the bar was up-hill work, and was satisfied to see me kept -waiting a few years before I became famous; but it was matter of surprise -to her that I never got a brief of any description. She set it down to -jealousy on the part of my rivals at the courts, and would now and then -wax wroth against them, wondering what expedient could be devised for -showing up the corrupt state of the profession, and forcing my enemies to -recognize my superiority as it deserved. Don’t laugh at her and think her -a fool; she was wise on every subject but this, and I fear I must have -counted for something in leading her to such ridiculous conclusions. I -held very much to preserving her good opinion, but, instead of striving -to justify it by working on to the fulfilment of her motherly ambition, -I took to cheating her, first tacitly, then deliberately and cruelly. -Things were going on in this way, when one day, one ill-fated day, I -went out as usual in the afternoon, ostensibly to the courts, but really -to kill time where I could--at my club, in the Row, or lounging in Pall -Mall. I was passing the Army and Navy Club, when I heard a voice call out: - -“‘Halloo, Hamlet!’ (This was the name I went by at Oxford, on account of -my success in the part.) ‘How glad I am to see you, old boy! You’re the -very man I’ve been on the look-out for.’ - -“‘Hallam!’ I cried, returning his friendly grasp, and declaring how -delighted I was to see him. - -“‘I’ve been beating about for you ever since I came to town, ten days -ago,’ he said. ‘I wrote to your old address, but the letter was sent back -to me. Where have you migrated to; and what are you doing?’ - -“I told him the brief history of my existence since we had parted at -Oxford, he to enter the army, I to begin my course of dinners-eating at -the Temple. He was now on leave; he had just come from the north, where -his regiment was quartered, and he was in high spirits at the prospect -of his month’s holiday. I asked him what it was he had been wanting me so -particularly for. - -“‘I wanted to see you, first of all, for your own sake, old boy,’ he -answered heartily; ‘and in the next place I want you badly to help us -to get up some private theatricals at the Duchess of B----’s after -Easter. I suppose you are a perfect actor--a Garrick and Charles Mathews -combined--by this time. You have had plenty of practice, I’ll be bound.’ - -“I assured him that I had not played since the last time he and I had -brought down the house together. He was immensely surprised, and loudly -deplored my mistake in burying such a talent in the earth. He called me a -conceited idiot to have let myself be crushed by Kean, and vowed a year’s -training from a professional would bring me out a better actor than ever -Kean was. Amateur acting was all very well, but the finest untaught -genius ever born could no more compete successfully with a man who had -gone through the regular professional drill than a civilian could with a -trained soldier in executing a military manœuvre. - -“‘I told you before, and I tell you again,’ he continued, as arm in arm -we paced a shady alley of the park--‘I tell you that if you went on the -stage you would cut out the best actor we have; though that is not saying -much, for a more miserable, ignorant lot of drivelling idiots no stage -ever saw caricaturing the drama than our English theatres can boast at -this moment.’ - -“My heart rose high, and my vanity swelled out like a peacock’s tail, -pluming itself in this luxurious air of flattery. I knew Hallam meant -what he said; but I knew that he was a light-headed young fellow, not at -all competent to judge dramatic power, and still less to counsel me. Yet -such is the intoxicating effect of vanity that I swallowed his praise as -if it had been the purest wisdom. I opened my whole heart to him, told -him how insufferably bored I was at the bar, that I had no aptitude for -it, that I was wasting my time waiting for briefs that never came--I did -not explain what pains I took to prevent their coming--until, kindling -with my own exaggerated statement as I went on, I ended by cursing the -day I took to the bar, and declaring that if it were not for my mother I -would abandon the whole thing and try my luck on the stage to-morrow. - -“‘And why should you let your mother stand in your way?’ said Hallam. ‘If -she is too unreasonable to see the justice of the case, why, then … well, -I can’t for the life of me see why your happiness and fortune should be -sacrificed to it.’ - -“He was not a bad fellow--far from it. He did not mean to play the -devil’s advocate. I am certain he thought he was giving me excellent -advice, using his superior knowledge of the world for my benefit. But he -was a fool--an ignorant, silly, well-meaning fool. Such men, as friends, -are often worse than knaves. If he had proposed anything obviously -wicked, dishonest, or unprincipled, I should have scouted it indignantly, -and walked off in contempt. But he argued with a show of reason, in a -tone of considerate regard for my mother’s wishes and feelings that -deceived and disarmed me. He represented to me the folly of sticking to -a life that I hated and that I had next to no chance of ever succeeding -in; he had a score of examples at his fingers’ ends of young fellows -teeming with talent, patient as asses, and hard working as negroes, who -had gone for the bar and given it up in despair. My mother, like all -fond mothers, naturally expected me to prove an exception to the general -rule, and to turn out a lord chancellor of the romantic sort, rising by -sheer force of merit, without patronage, without money, without any of -the essential helps, by the power of my unaided genius. ‘This is simply -bosh, my dear fellow--innocent maternal bosh,’ persisted Hallam, ‘but as -dangerous as any poison. Cut the bar, as your better genius prompts you -to do, and take to your true calling--the drama.’ - -“‘For aught I know, I may have lost any talent I had,’ I replied; ‘it is -two years, remember, since I acted at all.’ - -“‘That is very easily ascertained,’ said my friend. ‘You will take a part -in these theatricals we are going to get up, and we will soon see whether -your talent has evaporated or not. My own impression is that it will come -out stronger than ever; you have studied, and you have seen something, if -not very much, of life since your last attempts.’ - -“‘My mother has a horror of the theatre,’ I said, unwilling to yield -without a show of resistance; ‘it would break her heart to see me take to -the stage.’ - -“‘Not if you succeed; hearts are never broken by success.’ - -“‘And how if I fail?’ - -“‘You are sure not to fail,’ he urged. ‘But look here: do nothing rashly. -Don’t say anything about this business until you have tried your hand at -it in private. We have not settled yet what the play is to be; they left -it to me to select, and I will choose one that will bring out your powers -best--not tragedy; that never was your line, in my opinion. At any rate, -you must for the present confine yourself to light parts, such as.…’ - -“I interrupted him in high dudgeon. - -“‘Why, if I’m not tragic, I’m nothing!’ I exclaimed. ‘Every one who ever -saw me in Hamlet declared they had never seen the part so well rendered! -And you said many a time that my Macbeth was.…’ - -“‘First-rate--for an amateur; and I will say it again, if you like,’ -protested Hallam; ‘but since then, I have seen real acting.…’ - -“‘Then mine was not real? I can’t for the life of me see, then…’ I broke -in. - -“‘Don’t get so infernally huffy,’ said Hallam, shaking my arm with -good-humored impatience. ‘If you want to know what real, trained, -professional acting is, you must go abroad, and see how the actors of the -Théâtre Français, for instance, study and train and drill. If you will -start with the English notion that a man can take to the stage as he does -to the saddle, give up the plan at once; you will never rise above an -amateur. But to come back to our present purpose; we will select a part -to suit you, and if the rehearsals promise a genuine success--as I have -not a doubt they will--we will invite your mother to come and see you, -and she will be so proud of your triumph that the cause will be won.’ - -“‘My dear Hallam, it was some good fairy sent you in my way assuredly -this morning!’ I cried, grasping his arm in delight. - -“I was highly elated, and took to the scheme with enthusiasm. We spent -the afternoon discussing it. It was settled that the play should be _The -Taming of the Shrew_; the part of Benedict would suit me to perfection, -Hallam declared, and I was so subdued by the amount of worldly wisdom and -general knowledge of life which he had displayed in his arguments about -my change of profession that I yielded without difficulty, and consented -to forego tragedy for the present. - -“For the next week I was in a whirl of excitement. He took me to the Army -and Navy Club, and introduced me to a number of swells, all military men, -who were very agreeable and treated me with a soldier-like cordiality -that charmed me. I fancied life must be a delightful thing in such -pleasant, good-natured, well-bred company; that I was now in my proper -sphere; and that I had been hitherto out of place amidst rusty lawyers -and hard-working clerks, etc. In fact, I was a fool, and my head got -turned. I spent all my time in the day lounging about with Hallam and his -aristocratic captains and colonels, and the evenings I devoted to the -business of rehearsal, which was carried on at Lady Arabella Daucer’s, -the married daughter of the duchess at whose house the theatricals were -to be performed. I had been very graciously received by her grace, and -consequently all the lords and ladies who composed her court followed -suit. I was made as much of as if I had been ‘one of them,’ and my -acting soon established me as the leading star of the select company. -I suppose Hallam was right in saying that more mature reading and so -on had improved my dramatic talent; for certainly it came out with a -brilliancy that surprised myself. The artistic, high-bred atmosphere -that surrounded me seemed to infuse fresh vigor into me. I borrowed or -revealed a power that even my vanity had never suspected. Hallam was -enchanted, and as proud of my success as if it had been his own. - -“‘I can fancy how your mother will enjoy this!’ he exclaimed one evening, -as I walked home with him to his chambers in Piccadilly. ‘She will be -beside herself with pride in you, old fellow. Fancy what it will be the -night of your first public representation! I expect a seat in her box, -mind!’ - -“It was just two days before the grand night, and we were having our -last rehearsal--the final one--in the theatre at B---- House, which was -lighted up and filled with a select few, in order to judge of the general -effect for the following night. I was in great spirits, and acted better -than I had done yet. The audience applauded warmly, the ladies clapping -their white-kid hands and shaking their handkerchiefs, that filled the -air with the perfumes of Arabia, while the gentlemen, more audible in -their demonstrations, cheered loudly. - -“When it was over, we sat down to supper, about a hundred, of us. I sat -next the duchess, and my beautiful Katharina on the other side of me. -She was a lovely girl of twenty, a cousin of the duchess. I had been -struck by her beauty at the first, but the more I saw of her the less she -pleased me; she was a vain, coquettish young lady, and only tolerated -me because I was useful as a good set-off to her acting, which, to be -just, was excellent. I never saw anything so good off the stage, and -very seldom saw it equalled even there. Flushed with her recent triumph, -which had borrowed additional lustre from mine she was more gracious -and conversational than I had yet known her. I was flattered, though I -knew perfectly how much the caprice was worth, and I exerted myself to -the utmost to be agreeable. We were altogether a very merry party; the -champagne flowed freely, and with it the spirits of the guests rose to -sparkling point. As we rose from the table, some one called out for a -dance before we broke up. The musicians had gone to have refreshments -after the rehearsal, but they were still in the house. The duchess, a -good-natured, easy-going person, who always agreed with everybody all -round, at once ordered them in; people began to engage partners, and all -was laughing confusion round the supper-table. I turned to my pretty -neighbor, and asked if she was engaged; she replied, laughing, that being -neither a sibyl nor a clairvoyant, she could not have known beforehand -that there was to be dancing. ‘Then may I have the honor of claiming -you for the first dance, whatever it may be?’ I said; and she replied -that I might. I offered her my arm, and we took our way back into the -theatre, which was still brilliantly illuminated. We were to dance on the -stage. As we were pushing on with the crowd, I felt a strong hand laid -on my arm, and, before I had time to prevent it, Lady Caroline’s hand -was withdrawn, and the intruder stood between us. He was a square-built, -distinguished-looking man, not very young, but handsome and with the -_beau_ stamped all over him. - -“‘Excuse my want of ceremony,’ he said in an easy, supercilious tone to -me. ‘I claim the first dance with Lady Caroline.’ - -“‘On what grounds?’ I demanded stiffly. We were still moving on, carried -with the crowd, so it was impossible to make him stand aside or to regain -my post next Lady Caroline. - -“‘On the grounds of her promise,’ he replied haughtily. - -“Lady Caroline uttered a laughing ‘O Lord George!’ but did not draw away -the hand which he had so unceremoniously transferred from my arm to his. - -“‘Lady Caroline made no engagement before she came here to-night,’ I -said, ‘and she promised this dance to me. I refer you to herself whether -this be true or not.’ - -“‘Gentlemen are not in the habit of catechising ladies as to their -behavior--not, at least, in our set; and while you happen to be in it you -had better conform to its customs,’ observed Lord George, without looking -towards me. - -“I felt my blood boil so that it was an effort not to strike him. Two -ladies near me who had heard the passage between us cried, ‘Shame! No -gentleman would have said that!’ This gave me courage to maintain my -self-command. We were now in the theatre; the orchestra was playing a -brilliant prelude to a waltz, and Lord George, as if he had forgotten all -about me, prepared to start. I laid my hand peremptorily on his arm. - -“‘In my set,’ I said, and my voice shook with agitation, ‘gentlemen don’t -tolerate gratuitous impertinence; you either make me an apology, or I -shall exact reparation of another kind.’ - -“‘Oh! indeed. I shall be happy to hear from you at your convenience,’ -sneered Lord George, with a low bow. He turned away, and said in a voice -loud enough to be heard by me or any one else near, ‘The puppy imagines, -I suppose, that I would meet him in a duel. The next thing will be we -shall have our footmen sending us challenges. Capital joke, by Jove! -Come, we are losing time, Lady Caroline! The waltz is half over.’ - -“They were starting this time, when a voice behind me called out -imperiously: ‘A moment, Lord George Halberdyne! The gentleman whom you -have insulted is a friend of mine and a guest of the Duchess of B----; -two conditions that qualify him, I think, to be an adversary of yours.’ - -“‘Oh! he’s a friend of yours, is he?’ repeated Lord George, facing -around. ‘That’s a natural phenomenon that I shall not stop to investigate -just now; but it certainly puts this gentleman in a new light. -Good-evening, sir. I shall have the pleasure, probably, of seeing you -to-morrow.’ - -“‘You shall, my lord,’ I replied; and allowing Hallam to link my arm -in his and draw me away, I turned my back on the brilliant scene, and -hurried out of the house, feverish, humiliated, desperate. - -“‘The idiot! The snob! You shall give him a lesson that he’ll not forget -in a hurry,’ said Hallam, who seemed nearly as indignant and excited as -myself. ‘Are you a good shot? Have you ever stood fire?’ - -“I answered both questions in the negative. He was evidently put out; but -presently he said in a confident tone: - -“‘Well, it does not so much matter; you are the offended party, and -consequently you have the choice of weapons. It shall be swords instead -of pistols. I suppose you’re a pretty good swordsman?’ - -“‘My dear Hallam,’ I said, ‘you forget that these things are not in my -line at all. I never handled a sword since we flourished them in the -fencing hall at Oxford. In fact, if the choice be mine, as you say it is, -I think I would do better to choose pistols. I have a chance with them; -and if Lord George be a swordsman, I have none with the other.’ - -“Hallam seemed seriously disconcerted. - -“‘It’s not quite such an affair of chance as you appear to imagine,’ -he said. ‘Halberdyne is one of the best shots in the service; he never -misses his mark; and he is a first-rate swordsman. ’Pon my honor I don’t -know what to advise you.’ - -“‘I must stand advised by myself then, and here goes for pistols,’ I -said, trying to put a bold face on it, though I confess I felt anything -but cheerful at the prospect. ‘You will stand by me, Hallam, will you -not?’ - -“‘Of course I will! I’ve committed myself to as much already,’ he -answered cordially; but I saw he was uncomfortable. ‘I shall take your -card to the scoundrel to-morrow morning. I wonder who he’ll have for -second--that bully Roper, very likely,’ he went on, talking more to -himself than to me. - -“‘Is the meeting to take place to-morrow morning?’ I inquired; and a -sudden rush of anguish came on me as I put the question. I thought of my -mother, of all that might be in store for her so soon. - -“‘We must try and put it off for a day,’ said Hallam. ‘It is deucedly -awkward, you see, if it comes off to-morrow, because of the play. You -may get hit, and it would be a terrible business if you were _hors de -concours_ for the evening.’ There was something so grimly comical in the -earnestness with which he said this that, though I was in no merry mood, -I burst out laughing. - -“‘A terrible business indeed!’ I said. ‘How exceedingly unpleasant for -Lady Caroline particularly to be left in the lurch on such an occasion! -However, if I go to the wall, and Lord George comes off safe, he might -get up the part in a hurry and replace me, eh?’ I had hit the mark -without knowing it. It was jealousy that had provoked Lord George to the -gratuitous attack. I suppose there was something sardonic in my voice -that struck Hallam with the inappropriateness of his previous remarks. He -suddenly stopped, and grasping my arm warmly-- - -“‘I’m used to this sort of thing, my dear fellow,’ he said; ‘but don’t -fancy from that that my feelings are turned to stone, or that I forget -all that is, that may be, unpleasant in the matter. But there is no use -talking of these things; they unman a fellow, and he wants all his nerves -in working order at a moment like this. Take my advice and go home now, -and cool yourself by a quiet night for to-morrow’s work, if it is to be -to-morrow. You may have some letters to write or other things to attend -to, and they had better be done at once.’ - -“I replied that I had no letters to write and no business instructions -to leave. The idea of facing my home, passing my mother’s door, and then -going to bed as if the world had not turned right round; as if all life, -the present and the future, were not revolutionized--this was what I did -not, at this moment at least, feel equal to, and I said so. - -“‘I would rather go for an hour to the club,’ I said, ‘if you don’t mind, -and we will have a game of billiards. I don’t feel inclined to go home, -and I should not sleep if I went to bed.’ - -“‘Just as you like,’ he said; ‘but the night is so fine we may as well -take a few more turns in the open air. It does one good after those -heated rooms.’ - -“It did me no good. I felt the most miserable man in this miserable -world. I would have given any happiness the world could have offered me -to undo this night’s work, to be as I was an hour ago, free, guiltless -of projected murder or suicide. I repeated to myself that it was not -my fault; that I had been gratuitously provoked beyond endurance; that -as a gentleman I could not have done otherwise; but these sophistries -neither calmed nor strengthened me. Truer voices rose up and answered -them in clear and imperious tones that drowned the foolish comforters. -Why had I ever entered the society where my position exposed me to such -results? What business had I there? What good could it do myself or any -one else to have been tolerated, even courted, as I fancied I was, by -these fine people, who had nothing of any sort in common with me? I had -forsaken my legitimate place, the profession that my mother had made -such heavy sacrifices to open to me. I had deliberately frittered away -my life, destroyed my prospects of honorable success; and this is what -it had brought me to! I was going either to shoot a man who had done me -no graver injury than offend my pride and punish my folly, or to be shot -down by him--and then? I saw myself brought home to my mother dangerously -wounded, dead perhaps. I heard her cry of agony, I saw her mortal -despair. I could have cried out loud for pity of her. I could have cursed -myself for my folly--for the mad, sinful folly that had rewarded her by -such an awakening. - -“There is an electric current that runs from mind to mind, communicating -almost like an articulate voice the thoughts that are passing within us -at certain moments. I had not spoken for several minutes, as we paced up -and down Pall Mall, puffing our cigars in the starlight; but this current -I speak of had passed from my brain to Hallam’s, and informed him of what -my thoughts were busy on. - -“‘Don’t let yourself down, old boy,’ he said good-naturedly. ‘No harm -may come of it after all; I’ve known a score of duels where both sides -came off with no more than a pin-scratch, sometimes with no scratch at -all. Not that I suspect you of being faint-hearted--I remember what a -dare-devil you were at Oxford--but the bravest of us may be a coward for -others.’ - -“I felt something rise in my throat as if it would choke me. I could not -get a word out. - -“‘Who knows?’ continued Hallam in his cheeriest tone; ‘you may be -bringing down the house to-morrow night, and your mother may be the -proudest woman in London, seeing you the king of the company, cheered and -complimented by “fair women and brave men!” I feel as sure of it, do you -know, as if I saw it in a glass.’ - -“He spoke in kindness, but the levity of his tone, the utter hollowness -of his consolations, were intolerable. They mocked my misery; every word -pierced me like a knife. What evil genius had led me across this man’s -path? Only a few weeks ago I said it was the work of an angel, a good -fairy, or some absurdity of the sort. It was more likely a demon that -had done it. If I had never met him, I said to myself, I would never -have known this hour; I should have been an innocent and a happy man. -But this would not do either. I was neither innocent nor happy when I -met him. I was false to my duty, wasting my life, and sick to death of -both; only longing for the opportunity which Hallam had brought me. If I -had not met him, I should have met or sought out some other tempter, and -bitten greedily at the bait when it was offered. Still, I felt embittered -toward Hallam. I accused him, as if he had been the sole author of my -misfortune; as if I had been a baby or an idiot without free-will or -responsibility. - -“‘Come into the club,’ I said, dropping his arm and throwing away the end -of my cigar. - -“He did not notice the impatient movement, but readily crossed over, and -we entered the club. The lofty, spacious rooms were blazing with light -and filled with groups of men. Some were lounging on luxurious couches, -reading the evening papers, some were chatting, some were playing cards. -An air of easy grandeur, prosperity, and surface happiness pervaded the -place. I felt horribly out of keeping with it all. I had no business -amongst these wealthy, fashionable men; I was like a skeleton stalking -into the feast. I believe it was nothing but sheer human respect, the -fear of making myself ridiculous, that prevented me from turning on my -heel and rushing straight out of the house. I mechanically took up the -_Globe_, which a member tossed on to a table near me, and sat down as if -I were going to read it. - -“‘Leave that alone, and come into the billiard-room,’ said Hallam. And he -whipped the paper out of my hands with brotherly unceremoniousness. - -“I rose and followed him like a dog. I would have gone anywhere, done -anything, he or anybody else suggested. Physically, I was indifferent to -what I did; my brain on fire, I felt as if I were walking in a dream. - -“We were passing into the billiard-room when a gentleman who was seated -at a card-table cried out to Hallam to come and join them. It was Col. -Leveson, a brother officer and great friend of his. Hallam replied that -he was going on to have a pull at the balls; but he strolled over to see -how the game was going. I mechanically followed him. Some of the players -knew me, and greeted me with a friendly nod. They were absorbed in the -game; it was lansquenet. I knew very little about cards; but lansquenet -was the one game that interested me. I had lost a few sovereigns a night -or two before at it, and, as the luck seemed set in against the banker, -it flashed over me I could not do better than to take a hand and win them -back now. I did not, however, volunteer to join the game. In my present -state of smarting pride I would not run the risk of being made to feel -I was an intruder. Unluckily, Hallam’s friend, reading temptation on my -countenance perhaps, said, holding up his cards to me: “I’m in splendid -vein, but I must be off. I’ll sell you my hand for half a sovereign, if -you like.” - -“‘Done!’ I said; and paying the half-sovereign, I sat down. I had -scarcely taken his place when there was a noise in the adjoining room -announcing fresh arrivals. I recognized one loud, domineering voice above -the others, and presently Lord George Halberdyne came in. - -“‘Going, Leveson?’ he said. ‘Luck against you, I suppose?’ - -“‘On the contrary, never was in better vein in my life,’ replied the -colonel. ‘I sold my hand for a song, because I have an appointment that I -can’t forego.’ - -“‘Who’s the lucky dog you sold it to?’ asked Lord George. - -“‘Mr. Botfield,’ said Col. Leveson. (My real name is Botfield; I only -took the name of Baines when I fell into disgrace and misery.) - -“Lord George muttered an exclamation of some sort--whether of surprise or -vexation I could not tell--and advanced to the table. - -“‘Do you mind my joining you?’ he said, appealing to nobody in -particular. There was a general assent, and he sat down. Hallam would not -take a hand. He hated cards; his passion was for billiards, and he played -nothing else. He came and stood behind me to watch the game. I felt him -lay his hand on my shoulder, as if to encourage me and remind me that he -was there to stand by me and take my part against my late bully, if needs -be. It did not seem as if he was likely to be called upon to do so. My -late bully was as gracious as man could be--at least he intended to be -so; but I took his familiar facetiousness for covert impertinence, and it -made my blood boil quite as fiercely as his recent open insult had done. -I was not man of the world enough to understand that Lord George was only -doing his duty to society; that he was in fact behaving beautifully, with -infinite tact, like an accomplished gentleman. I could not understand -that the social canons of his ‘set’ made it incumbent on a man to joke -and laugh and demean himself in this lively, careless fashion towards -the man whom he was going to shoot in a few hours. I grew inwardly -exasperated, and it was nothing but pride and an unprecedented effort -of will that enabled me to keep my temper and remain outwardly cool. For -a time, for about twenty minutes, the luck continued in the same vein; -my half-sovereign had been paid back to me more than fifty times. Col. -Leveson was right when he said he had sold his hand for a song. Hallam -was all this time standing behind my chair, smoking his cigar, and -throwing in a word between the puffs. The clock struck two. - -“‘Come off now, Botfield,’ he said, tapping me on the shoulder--‘come off -while your star is shining; it is sure to go down if you stay too long.’ - -“‘Very likely, most sage and prudent mentor,’ retorted Lord George; -‘but that cuts both ways. Your friend has been pocketing our money up -to this; it’s only fair he should give us a chance of winning it back -and pocketing a little of his. That is a law _universally_ recognized, I -believe.’ As he said this, he turned to me good-humoredly enough; but I -saw where the emphasis pointed, and, stung to the quick, I replied that I -had not the least intention of going counter to the law; I would remain -as long as the game lasted. - -“‘Halloo! That’s committing yourself somewhat rashly,’ interposed Hallam. -‘You don’t know what nefarious gamblers these fellows are; they’re -capable of keeping it up till morning!’ - -“‘If they do, I shall keep it up with them,’ I replied recklessly. I was -desperate, and my luck was good. - -“Hallam said no more, but sauntered to the other side of the table, where -I _felt_ his eyes fixed on me warningly, entreatingly. - -“I looked up at last, and met them fastened on me in a mute, impatient -appeal. I answered it by a peremptory nod. He saw I would not brook -farther interference, so he took himself off to the billiard-room, and -did not reappear for an hour. - -“I cannot recall clearly what passed during the interval. The luck had -turned suddenly against me; but, nothing daunted, I went on playing -desperately, losing as fast as I had been winning, only in much heavier -sums; for the stakes had risen enormously on the change of luck. There -was a large pool, immense it seemed to me--some two hundred pounds. I -lost again and again. At last terror sobered me. I began to realize the -madness of my conduct, and wanted to withdraw; but they cried out against -it, reminded me that I had pledged myself to remain and see the game out. -Lord George was loudest in protesting that I must remain. ‘One can’t have -luck always,’ he said, ‘A man must put up with it when the tide turns. It -is of good omen for you, Mr. Botfield,’ he added pointedly; ‘you will be -in splendid luck to-morrow.’ - -“I shuddered. I can remember the horrible, sick sensation that ran -through me as he said this, lightly, pleasantly, as if he alluded to a -rowing-match I had in view. I saw my mother’s pale face beckoning me to -come away--to stop before I ruined her utterly. I almost made a movement -to rise, but something glued me to the chair. The game went on. I again -held the bank, and again lost. I had no money about me except the forty -pounds or so I had won at the outset; but several leaves out of my -pocketbook were strewn about the table bearing I. O. U.’s for nine times -that sum. I suppose by this time I had quite lost my senses. I know that -I went on betting like a maniac, with the feverish, triumphant impulse of -a man in delirium. I was losing tremendously. I remember nothing except -the sound of my own voice and Lord George’s calling _banco!_ again and -again, and how the cry ran through me like a blade every time, and how I -hastily tore out fresh leaves and wrote down the sums I lost, and tossed -them to the winner, and went on. All this time we had been drinking -deeply of brandy and water. I was naturally abstemious, but to-night I -drank recklessly. The wonder was--and I was going to say the pity--that -it had not stupefied me long ago, and so made me physically incapable -of continuing my insane career. But excitement acted, I suppose, as an -antidote, and prevented the alcohol from taking effect as it otherwise -must have done. At last Hallam came back. I have a vague recollection -of hearing him exchange some remarks in an undertone with one of the -players, who had given up and was now watching the game with a number -of others who had dropped in from adjoining rooms. I then heard him -say, ‘Good God! he is ruined twice over!’ I heard nothing more. I had -fallen back insensible in my chair. Everybody started up; the cards were -dropped, and all was confusion and terror. It appears that at the first -moment they thought I was dead. A young guardsman present declared I -was, and that it was disease of the heart; a young kinsman of his had -dropped down on parade only a month ago just in the same way. There was -a cry for a doctor, and two or three ran out to fetch one. Before he -arrived, however, I had given signs of returning consciousness. Up to -this moment Lord George had been anxiously looking on, silent and pale, -they said. He had borne me with Hallam to a couch in the next room, where -the air was free from cigar-fumes, and had opened the window to admit -the fresh night-breeze. He had done, in fact, what any humane person -would have done under the circumstances; but he had done it in a manner -that betokened more than ordinary interest. He drew an audible breath of -relief the moment he saw my eyelids quiver and heard me breathe like a -man awaking to life. Hallam signed to him to leave the room; he did not -wish his face to be the first I saw on opening my eyes. Lord George no -doubt understood; for he at once withdrew into the card-room. He drew the -door after him, but he did not quite close it, so that I heard dreamily, -yet distinctly, all that was said. Lord George’s second for the morrow’s -meeting, the Hon. Capt. Roper, inquired eagerly how I was going on. ‘Oh! -he’ll be all right presently,’ was the reply, spoken in Lord George’s -off-hand way. ‘There was nothing to make such a fuss about; the poor -devil was scared to see how much money he had lost, and fainted like a -girl--that’s all.’ - -“‘Hallam says he is quite cleared out by to-night’s ill-luck,’ observed -some one. - -“‘Served him right,’ said Lord George; ‘it will teach puppies of his kind -not to come amongst us and make fools of themselves.’ - -“‘And do you mean to shoot him to-morrow?’ inquired the same voice. - -“‘I mean to give him a chance of shooting me; unless,’ he continued--and -I saw in imagination, as vividly as if my bodily eyes had seen it, -the cold sneer that accompanied the remark--‘unless he shows the white -feather and declines fighting, which is just as likely.’ - -“While this little dialogue had been going on in subdued tones close by -the door which opened at the head of the sofa where I lay, Hallam was -conversing in animated whispers with two gentlemen in the window. He was -not more than a minute absent, when he returned to my side, and, seeing -my eyes wide open, exclaimed heartily: ‘Thank God! he’s all right again!’ - -“I grasped his hand and sat up. They gave me some sal-volatile and water -to drink, and I was, as he said, all right again. But it was not the -stimulant that restored me, that gave me such sudden energy, and nerved -me to act at once, to face my fate and defy it. I took his arm, and led -him, or let him lead me, to some quieter place near, and then I asked him -how much he thought I had lost. - -“‘Don’t think of that yet, my dear fellow,’ he said; ‘you are too done up -to discuss it. We will see what can be done to-morrow.’ - -“‘Five thousand pounds!’ I said. ‘Do you hear that? Five thousand pounds! -That means that I am a beggar, which an’t of much consequence; and that -I’ve made a beggar of my mother. She will have to sell the bed from under -her to pay it, to save my honor. A curse upon me for bringing this blight -upon her!’ - -“‘Tut! tut! man, don’t take on like a woman about it!’ said Hallam. -‘These things can be arranged; no need to make matters out worse than -they are. I’ll speak to Lord George, and see what terms we can make with -him.’ - -“He made me light a cigar, and left me alone, while he went back to -parley with the man who held my fortune, my life, my all in his hands. -I never heard exactly all that passed between them. I only know that in -answer to Lord George’s question, put in a tone of insulting haughtiness, -‘Has the fellow pledged himself for more than he’s worth? _Can’t_ he -pay?’ Hallam replied: ‘He can, but it will ruin him’; upon which the -other retorted with a laugh, ‘What the devil is that to me?’ and turned -his back on my second, who had nothing left but to take Capt. Roper aside -and arrange for the morrow’s meeting. He came back, and told me all was -settled; that Halberdyne was behaving like a brute, and would be tabooed -in the clubs and every decent drawing-room before twenty-four hours. This -thought seemed to afford him great satisfaction. It gave me none. Anguish -had drowned resentment. I could think of nothing except that I was a -ruined man, that I had beggared my mother, and that I was going to fight -a duel in a few hours. Richmond Park--6 A.M.--pistols at thirty paces! -This was how the appointment was notified by our seconds to both of us. -Suddenly a light burst on me--a ray of hope, of consolation: I might be -killed in this duel, and, if so, surely my honor would be saved and my -debt cancelled. Lord George would not pursue my mother for the money. -She should know nothing of this night’s work until after the meeting. If -I escaped with a wound, I would tell her; if I died, who would have the -cruelty to do so? I told Hallam of this sudden thought as he walked home -with me. He approved of it, and cheered me up by almost assuring me that -I should be shot. Halberdyne was a dead-shot; it was most likely that I -should not leave the field alive. - -“The night passed--the few hours of it that must elapse before the time -named for the meeting. 0 God! how did I live through them? And yet this -was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to what was yet in store for -me.… - -“The duel took place. Lord George wounded me in the hip. He escaped -unhurt; I fired in the air. I was carried home on a door, insensible. -Hallam had gone before to prepare my mother. For some weeks it was feared -I would not live. Then amputation was talked of. I escaped finally with -being a cripple for life. Before I was out of danger, Hallam’s leave -expired, and he went to rejoin his regiment. He had been very assiduous -in calling to inquire for me, had seen my mother, and, judging by her -passionate grief that I was in a fair way not to recover, he had forborne -mentioning anything about the five thousand pounds. She promised to write -and let him know when any change took place. Meantime, she had found out -my secret. I had talked incessantly of it in my delirium, and with an -accuracy of iteration that left no doubt on her mind but that there was a -foundation of truth in the feverish ravings. The doctor was of the same -mind, and urged her to give me an opportunity of relieving my mind of the -burden, whatever it was, as soon as this was possible. - -“The first day that I was strong enough to bear conversation she -accordingly broached the subject. I inferred at once that Hallam had told -her everything, and repeated the miserable story, only to confirm what I -supposed he had already said. - -“My mother was sitting by my bedside. She busied herself with teaseling -out linen into lint for my wound, and so, purposely no doubt, kept her -face continually bent or averted from mine. - -“Seeing how quietly she took it, I began to think I had overrated the -misfortune; that we had larger resources in some way than I had imagined. -‘Then it is possible for us to pay this horrible debt and save my honor, -and yet not be utterly beggared, mother?’ I said eagerly. She looked at -me with a smile that must surely have been the reflex of some angel near -her whom I could not see. ‘Yes, my boy; he shall be paid, and we shall -not be beggars,’ she said gently, and pressed my hand in both her own. -‘You should have told me about it at once; it has been preying on your -mind and retarding your cure all this time. I will see Mr. Kerwin to-day, -and have it arranged at once. Promise me now, like a good boy, to forget -it and think no more of it until you are quite well. Will you promise?’ - -“I did not answer, but signed with my lips for her to kiss me. She rose -and twined her arms around me, and let me sob out my sorrow and my love -upon her breast. - -“It was about three days after this that she handed me a letter to read; -it was from Lord George to Mr. Kerwin, and ran thus: - - “SIR: I beg to acknowledge the receipt of the sum of five - thousand pounds which you have forwarded to my lawyers in the - name of Mr. Botfield. I make this acknowledgment personally in - order to express my sincere satisfaction at the happy progress - of Mr. Botfield’s recovery, and beg you will convey this - sentiment to him.--I remain, etc., - - “HALBERDYNE.” - -“‘Mother! mother!’ I cried out, and opened my arms to her in a passion -of tears. But she laid her finger smilingly on my lips, and made me be -silent. In a month hence, when I was well, we should talk it all over, -but not now. - -“Before the month was out, _she was dead_!”… - - * * * * * - -Marmaduke started to his feet with a cry of horror, and Botfield, unable -to control the anguish that his own narrative evoked, dropped his head -into his hands, and shook the room with his sobs. - -“O dear God! that I should have lived to tell it!--to talk over the -mother that I murdered! Brave, tender, generous mother! I killed you, I -broke your heart, and then--then I brought shame upon your memory! O God! -O God! why have I outlived it?” He rocked to and fro, almost shouting in -his paroxysm of despair. Marmaduke had never beheld such grief; he had -never in his life been so deeply moved with pity. He did not know what to -say, what to do. His heart prompted him to do the right thing: he fell on -his knees, and, putting his arms around the wretched, woe-worn man, he -burst into tears and sobbed with him. - -Botfield suffered his embrace for a moment, and then, pressing his horny -palm on the young man’s blond head, he muttered: “God bless you! God -bless you for your pity!” - -As soon as they were both calmed, Marmaduke asked him if he would not -prefer finishing the story to-morrow. But he signed to him to sit down; -that he would go on with it to the end. - -“What is there more to tell?” he said, sadly shaking his head. - -“I was lying a cripple on my bed when she was carried to her grave. -I was seized with a violent brain fever, which turned to typhus, and -they took me to the hospital. The servants were dismissed; they had -received notice from my mother. She had foreseen everything, taken every -necessary step as calmly as if the catastrophe I had brought upon her -had been a mere change of residence for her own convenience. All we had -was gone. That brave answer of hers to my question about our resources -was a subterfuge of her love. If ever a sin was sinless, assuredly that -half-uttered falsehood was. She had directed the lawyer to raise the -money immediately, at every sacrifice. She meant to work for her bread, -and trusted to me to make the task light and short to her. I would have -done it had she been spared to me. So help me God, I would! But now that -she was gone, I had nothing to work for. I left the hospital a cripple -and a beggar. I did not even yet know to what an extent. I went straight -to our old house, expecting to find it as I had left it--that is, before -all consciousness had left me. I found it dismantled, empty; painters -busy on scaffolding outside. I went to Mr. Kerwin, and there learned the -whole truth. Nothing remained to me but suicide. Nothing kept me from it, -I believe, but the prayers of my mother.” - -“You were a Christian, then?” interrupted Marmaduke in a tone of -unfeigned surprise. - -“I ought to have been. My father was, and my mother was; I was brought up -as one, until I went to the university and lost what little belief I had. -For a moment it seemed to come back to me when I found myself alone in -the world. I remember walking deliberately down to the river’s side when -I left the lawyer’s office, fully determined to drown myself. But before -I reached the water, I heard my mother’s voice calling so distinctly to -me to stop that I felt myself arrested as by some visible presence. I -heard the voice saying, ‘Do you wish never to see me again even in the -next world?’ Of course it was the work of imagination, of my over-wrought -feelings; but the effect was the same. I stopped, and retraced my steps -to Mr. Kerwin’s.” - -“It was your guardian angel, perhaps your mother’s, that saved you,” said -Marmaduke. - -“Oh! I forgot,” said Botfield. “Your brother is a Catholic; I suppose you -are too?” - -Marmaduke nodded assent; he felt that his Catholicity was not much -to boast of. Like the poor outcast before him, he had lost his faith -practically, though he adhered to it in name. - -“Yes, it was an angel of some sort that rescued me,” said Botfield; “it -was no doubt my own fault if the rescue was not complete. I went back -to Mr. Kerwin, and asked him to give me, or get me, something to do. -My chance on the stage was at an end, even if I could have turned to -that: I was dead lame. He got me a situation as clerk in an office; but -the weariness of the life and the pressure of remorse were more than -I could bear. I took to drink. They forgave me once, twice; the third -time I was dismissed. But of what use is it to go over that disgusting, -pitiable story? Step by step I went down, lower and lower, sinking each -time into fouler depths, drinking more loathsome draughts, wallowing in -mire whose very existence such as you don’t dream of. I will spare you -all those details. Enough that I came at last to what you see me. One -day when hunger was gnawing me, and even the satanic consolation of the -public-house was shut against me for want of a sixpence to pay for a -glass of its diabolical elixir, I fell in with a man of the trade; he -offered me work and bread. Hunger is not a dainty counsellor. I closed -with the offer, and so sank into the last slough that humanity can take -refuge in.… - -“Now, Mr. Walpole, you have heard my history; it was a pain, and yet, -somehow, a relief, to me to tell it. It has not been a very pleasant -one for you to listen to; still, I don’t regret having inflicted it on -you. You are very young; you are prosperous and happy, and, most likely, -perfectly free from any of the temptations that have been the bane of my -life; still, it never hurts a young man starting in life to hear an older -man’s experience. If ever temptation should come near you, dash it from -you with all your might; scorn and defy it from the first; hold no parley -with it; to treat with perdition is to be lost.” - -“You have done me a greater service than you know of,” said Marmaduke, -rising and preparing to take leave of his singular entertainer. “Perhaps -one day I may tell you.…” He took a turn in the narrow room, and then, -coming back to Botfield, resumed in an agitated manner: “Why should I not -own it at once? You have trusted me with all; I will tell you the truth.” - -Botfield looked up in surprise, but said nothing. - -“I stand on the very brink of the abyss against which you warn me. Like -you, I am a barrister; like you, I hate my profession, and spend my time -reading poetry and playing at private theatricals. They are my passion. -A few nights ago I tried my luck at cards, and won. This tempted me; I -played last night and lost--precisely the sum of twenty pounds.” - -Botfield started and uttered a suppressed exclamation. - -“I am in debt--not much--a mere trifle, if it lead to no worse! You see -now what a service you may have done me; who knows? Perhaps my mother’s -guardian angel prompted you to tell me your story as a warning, to save -me before it was too late! I know that I came here to-day at the bidding -of an angel; and reluctant enough I was to take the message!” - -“I never thought to be of use to any one while I lived,” said Botfield -with emotion. “I bless God, anyhow, if my wretched example proves a -warning to you. Who sent you to me? I understood it was your brother?” - -“So it was; but it was to please my sister that I consented to come. She -is one of those angels that people talk about, but don’t often see. You -will let her come and see you, Mr. Botfield, will you not?” - -He held out his delicate lavender kid hand, and pressed Botfield’s grimy -fingers cordially. - -When Marmaduke got home, he inquired at once where his sister was, and, -hearing she was in her room, he crept up quietly to the door and knocked. -He entered so quietly that Nelly had scarcely time to jump off her knees. -Marmaduke saw at once that he had taken her by surprise; he saw also that -her eyes were red. - -“What is the matter?” she asked, with a frightened look. “Has anything -happened? You have been away so long! What kept you, Marmaduke? Where -have you been?” - -“Where you sent me.” - -“To Stephen’s poor man? Why, you have been out nearly two hours! It did -not take all that time to give your message?” said incredulous Nelly, and -her heart beat with recent apprehension. - -“No; but Stephen’s poor man had a message for me. Sit down here, and -I will tell you what it was. But how cold you are, darling! You are -positively perished! Where have you been?” - -“Here,” said Nelly. - -“Ever since I went out?” - -“Ever since you went out.” - -“What were you doing?” he persisted, fixing a strange look on her. - -She blushed, hesitated, and then said simply, “I was praying for you, -Marmaduke.” - -He folded her in his arms, and whispered, “I was right to say it was an -angel sent me.” - -Then, taking a warm shawl that he saw hanging up, he wrapped her in it, -and sat down beside her, and told the story as it had been told to him. -When it was over, Nelly’s head was on his breast, and the brother’s tears -of penitence were mingling with the sister’s tears of joy. - -“Let us go down now and tell Stephen,” said Marmaduke, when he had -finished. - -“Will you tell him everything?” asked Nelly. - -“Yes, everything.” - -“Dear Marmy! I am so happy I could sing for joy,” she said, smiling -through her tears. “Let us kneel down here and say one little prayer -together; will you?” - -And he did. - -“How did you thaw the man and break up the ice he seemed to be buried -under?” was Stephen’s amazed inquiry when other more precious and -interesting questions were exhausted. - -“I merely did what Nelly told me,” said Marmaduke: “I listened to him.” - -On Christmas morning Marmaduke announced his intention of dining out. -It was a sacrifice to all three, but no one opposed him. Nelly made -up a store of provisions, including a hot plum-pudding, which was put -with other steaming hot dishes into the ample basket that the gay young -man carried off in a cab with him to Red Pepper Lane. There he found a -clean hearth, a blazing fire, and a table spread with a snowy cloth, and -all necessaries complete. Some fairy had surely been at work in that -gloomy place. The host was clean and brushed, looking like an eccentric -gentleman in his new clothes amidst those incongruous surroundings. -He and Marmaduke unpacked the basket with many an exclamation at its -inexhaustible depths. That was the happiest, if not the very merriest, -Christmas dinner that ever Marmaduke partook of. - -When it was over, and they were puffing a quiet cigar over the fire, -steps were heard on the rickety stairs, and then a knock at the door, and -a silvery voice saying: “May we come in?” It was Stephen and Nelly. - -“I don’t see why you should have all the pleasure to yourself,” said -Nelly, with her bright laugh; “you would never have been here at all if I -had not teased you into taking the message!” - - * * * * * - -If this were a romance instead of a true episode, the story should end by -the some-time rag-and-bone man becoming a Catholic, rising to wealth and -distinction, and marrying Nelly. But the events of real life don’t adjust -themselves so conveniently to the requirements of the story-teller. -Stephen Walpole got Mr. Botfield a situation in the post-office, where, -by good conduct and intelligent diligence, he rose gradually to a -position of trust, which was highly paid. He never married. Who knows? -Perhaps he had his little romance, and never dared to tell it. - - -THE PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL CHURCH CONGRESS. - -The second annual Congress of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the -United States was held at Philadelphia during the early part of November. -Church congresses are new things in this country, and the Episcopalians -are not yet quite at home in them. Their first experiment, made at New -York in 1874, was not wholly successful. Some of their leading bishops -and presbyters treated it rather cavalierly, apparently in the fear that -it was going to weaken the bonds of ecclesiastical discipline, and open -vexatious questions which the church for years had been expending all its -learning and ingenuity in trying _not_ to answer. But church congresses -seemed to be very proper and respectable things for every denomination -which laid claim to antiquity: they are common in the mother-church of -England; they are efficient and interesting organizations in what our -Anglican friends are pleased to call the Roman branch of the church of -Christ; Dr. Döllinger has them regularly in the Old-Catholic “branch”; -and so the originators of the movement in the American “branch” have -persevered in their attempt to establish them here. The meeting in -Philadelphia appears to have been all that its promoters could have -reasonably expected. The denominational papers of various shades of -opinion concur in believing that the permanency of the Congress as an -annual institution is now nearly secured; and we find one of these -journals rejoicing that the meeting passed off with “entire cordiality,” -and that nothing in the proceedings “elicited prejudice or excited -hostile action.” This indeed was something to boast of. Perhaps it would -have been still more gratifying had not the same paper explained that -this unexpected peaceableness of the Congress arose “from the fact that -no resolutions were adopted, no legislation proposed, no elections held. -When any of these are distinctly in view, those who participate range -themselves into parties, and it is almost impossible not to resort to -measures to ensure victory which generate unkind feelings and provoke -exaggerated statements.” All which gives us a queer idea of the manner -in which the Holy Ghost is supposed to operate in the councils of the -Protestant Episcopal Church. But no matter. Let us be glad, for the -sake of propriety, that this was merely a meeting for talk, and not -for action. The strict rules applicable to conventions, synods, and -other business meetings were not in force. The topics of discussion were -not so much points of doctrine as minor questions of discipline and -methods of applying the machinery of the church to the every-day work -of religion. And with the knowledge that no vote was to be taken upon -any subject whatever, the Congress unanimously agreed to let every man -say what he pleased. The great variety of irreconcilable things which it -accordingly pleased the gentlemen to say seems to have attracted remark, -and denominational papers point to it with pride as a proof of the large -toleration allowed within the bosom of the church. If they like it, far -be it from us to interfere with their enjoyment. - -The Episcopal Church is one of the largest and richest of the Protestant -sects. Its clergy are popularly supposed to boast of more general -culture and enjoy fuller opportunities for study than those of the other -religious bodies, and its people are found in large numbers among the -educated and well-to-do classes. A congress of this church, gathered -from all parts of the country, representing all shades of opinion, and -possessing almost unbounded facilities for talk and deliberation, ought -therefore to have elicited a great deal that was worth remembering. The -programme of the sessions was stated in an alluring manner by Bishop -Clarke, of Rhode Island, who made the introductory address. “We come,” -said he, “to consider how the doctrine and organization of the church can -be brought most effectually to sanctity”; and then he went on to speak -briefly of the particular things, in our daily experience, which the -church ought to purify and bless--our business affairs, our amusements, -our care of the poor, our family relations, the marriage tie--practical -points all of them, and points, too, in which the church and the state -are more or less in contact. - -Well, having laid out this plan of work, how did the Congress address -itself to it? The first session gave a rather curious illustration of -the practical spirit of the assemblage; for the reverend gentlemen, -by way of “bringing the doctrine and organization of the church most -effectually to sanctity,” rushed straightway with hot haste into the -subject of “ultramontanism and civil authority,” and pounded upon the -doors of the Vatican the whole afternoon. The Rev. Francis Wharton, D.D., -of Cambridge, Mass., was careful in the outset to distinguish between -ultramontanism and the Roman Catholic Church in the United States. The -mass of us, he believes, have always been loyal to the territory of whose -population we form a part, but our loyalty has no connection with our -religion. If we followed the teachings of our church, Dr. Wharton thinks -we should be a dangerous set of people. “Ultramontanism teaches that the -Pope, a foreign prince, deriving his support from a foreign civilization, -is entitled to set aside governments which he considers disloyal, and to -annul such institutions as he does not approve.” We confess that we do -not know what Dr. Wharton means by the Pope deriving his support from a -foreign civilization. If he means his physical support, then the doctor -is both wrong and right; for that is derived from the faithful of the -whole world. If he means that his authority is derived from a foreign -civilization, then the doctor is apparently irreverent; for the papal -authority is derived from the institution of Our Lord Jesus Christ, and -surely a respectable Cambridge divine would not call that a foreign -civilization. - -As for the distinction which is drawn between American and ultramontane -Catholics, let us repudiate it with all possible warmth before we go -any further. Ultramontanism is an objectionable word, because it was -invented to localize a school of religious doctrine which is the only -_catholic_ school--the school acknowledged all over the world; but if it -be understood as defining that spirit of faith and piety which yields -all love and obedience to the Vicar of Christ, accepts all the Vatican -decrees gladly and without reserve, is not afraid of paying too much -respect to the Holy See, or showing too much humility before God, or -believing one little particle more than we are commanded to believe -under pain of anathema, then the Catholics of America are ultramontane -Catholics to a man. Probably there are no Catholics in any country of -the world less disposed to compromise in matters of religious duty, -and more thoroughly imbued with filial reverence and love for the Head -of God’s church on earth, than the Catholics of the United States. The -spirit of the church in Rome is the spirit of the church in America; and -when Dr. Wharton asserts that “the political tenets of ultramontanism -are repudiated by the leading Catholic statesmen of our land,” he makes -an utterly erroneous statement, against which American Catholics will -be the first to protest. It is very true that with the fictitious -ultramontanism conceived of his fears and prejudices neither Americans -nor any other sensible people have the slightest sympathy. But show us -what Rome teaches, and there you have precisely what the church in the -United States accepts. If it is true, therefore that the Pope claims -authority “to set aside governments which he considers disloyal, and -to annul such institutions as he does not approve,” it must be true -that America upholds his pretensions. Dr. Wharton may live in the fear -that His Holiness will some day send the Noble Guard to set aside the -government of Gen. Grant whenever it becomes “disloyal”; while he may -well feel an absolute certainty that our common-school system, our -constitutional prohibition of the establishment of a state church, our -laws against sectarian appropriations, and various other wicked and -heretical provisions found on our statute-books, will sooner or later be -“annulled” by a decree from the Vatican. He need not flatter himself that -any superior enlightenment among the Catholics of America will save the -Protestant community from the miserable fate in store for it. We are not -a bit wiser or better than the Pope. - -The possible interference of the Vatican with our Congresses and -ballot-boxes Dr. Wharton evidently regards as a very remote danger. There -are points, however, he thinks, where the Vatican clashes every day with -the civil power, and where it ought to be resisted with all the energy -at our command. And just at this part of the reverend doctor’s address -we should like very much to have seen the face of Bishop Clarke. In his -introductory remarks Bishop Clarke told the Congress that one of the -most important subjects for churchmen to consider was the influence or -authority of the church over the family relations. “The Gospel obtained -hold of the family before it touched the state. How does the condition -of the marriage bond stand to-day? In some of our States it is as easy -to solve it as it is to join it. Is this the religion of which we have -made such boast?” But here, before the echoes of the bishop’s words -have fairly died away, is the Rev. Dr. Wharton on his feet denouncing -as a crime the very interference which Bishop Clarke inculcated as a -duty. It is one of the usurpations of ultramontanism, says the Cambridge -doctor, to annul civil marriages which the state holds binding, and to -treat as invalid divorces which the state holds good. This is one of -the most serious conflicts between the state and the Vatican, and it -is one, if we understand aright the somewhat imperfect report of his -remarks, in which Protestant Episcopalians must prepare themselves to -take an earnest part, remembering that, while their church is free, it -is “a free church within a free sovereign state, and that this state, -in its own secular sovereignty, is supreme.” Here, then, we have a -distinct declaration that the family relation is not a proper subject of -religious regulation. If the state sees fit to make it as easy to loose -the marriage bond as to tie it, the church has no right to object; it -is a secular matter, and the free sovereign state is supreme in its own -secular sovereignty. If the state sanctions an adulterous connection, the -Protestant Episcopal Church must revise its Bible and bless the unholy -tie; it is a secular matter, and the free sovereign state is supreme -in its own secular sovereignty. The sanctity of the family relation is -under the protection of the church, says Bishop Clarke. No such thing, -replies Dr. Wharton--that is an insolent ultramontane pretension; the -Protestant Episcopal Church knows its place, and does not presume to -interfere with the legislature. “The Gospel obtained hold of the family -before it touched the state,” says the bishop. “Oh! well, we have changed -all that,” rejoins the doctor; the glory of the Protestant Episcopal -gospel nowadays is that it lets the family alone. In point of fact, -Episcopalianism is not quite so bad as this hasty advocate would have -us believe; for it does censure, in a mild way, the laxity of some of -the divorce laws, and does not always lend itself to the celebration of -bigamous marriages. But Dr. Wharton is correct in his main position--that -his church leaves to the state the control of the family relation; -and if she shrinks from the logical consequences of her desertion of -duty, that is only because a remnant of Catholic feeling remains to her -in the midst of her heresies and contradictions. The time must come, -however, when these illogical fragments of truth will be thrown away, -and the Protestant Episcopal Church will take its place beside the other -Protestant bodies in renouncing all right to be heard on one of the most -important points of contact between the law of God and the concerns of -every-day life. It is impossible to allow the civil power to bind and -loose the family tie at pleasure, without admitting that the subject is -entirely outside the domain of ecclesiastical supervision. The attempt of -the Episcopal Church to compromise on adultery is an absurdity, and in -the steady course of Protestant development it will surely be abolished. - -Is there any particular in which the Protestant Episcopal Church fairly -takes hold of the family? We have seen that she abandons to politicians -the sacred tie between the parents; what has she to do with the next -domestic concern--the education of the child? Dr. Wharton holds it to -be one of her distinguishing claims to public favor that she abandons -this duty also to the secular power. The right to control education, -according to him, is, like the right to sanction the marriage tie, one of -the insolent pretensions of the Vatican usurper. The state, he thinks, -is bound not only to educate all its subjects, but to decide what points -a secular education shall cover, while the church may only add to this -irreligious training such pious instruction as the child may have time -and strength to receive after the more serious lessons are over. “The -church,” he says, “concedes to the state the right and duty to require -a secular education from all, while for itself it undertakes, as a free -church in a free state, the right and duty to give a religious education -to all within its reach.” Expressed in somewhat plainer English, this -means that thirty hours a week ought to be given to the dictionary -and multiplication table, and one hour to the catechism and the ten -commandments. Send your children to schools all the week where they -will hear nothing whatever of religion, where that most vital of all -concerns will be a forbidden subject, where the idea will be practically, -if not in so many words, impressed upon their tender minds that it is -of no consequence whether they are Christians, or Jews, or infidels, -so long as they master the various branches of worldly knowledge which -promote success in the secular affairs of life; and then get them -into Sunday-school if you can, for a wild and ineffectual attempt to -counteract the evil tendencies of the previous six days’ teachings. -This is trying to give a Christian education without the corner-stone -of Christian doctrine; building a house upon the sand, and then running -around it once a week with a hatful of pebbles and a trowel of mud to -put a foundation under the finished structure. Dr. Wharton seems to -embody in his own person a surprising variety of the inconsistencies for -which the Protestant Episcopal Church has such a peculiar celebrity. -For here, after he has claimed credit for his church as the champion of -a secular education, he tells the Congress that secularism is one of -the great dangers of the age, against which the church must fight with -all her strength. “The battle with secularism has to be fought out.” It -must be fought “by the church, and eminently by our own church. Our duty -therefore is to fit ourselves for the encounter, and we must do this -with the cause of religion, undertaking in its breadth and embracing -all branches of religious, spiritual, and ethical culture.” Well, but, -dear sir, you have just said that during the most important period of -man’s intellectual development, when the mind is receiving impressions -which are likely to last through life, the church ought to stand aside -and let the state _teach_ secularism without hindrance. Are you going to -cultivate secularism in the young until it becomes firmly rooted, and -then fight against it with sermons and essays which your secularized -young men will not listen to? How do you expect to impart religious, -spiritual, and ethical culture when you have formally renounced your -inestimable privilege and your sacred duty as a guide and teacher of -children? You propose to wait until your boys have come to man’s estate -before you attempt to exercise any influence upon them; and then, when -they have grown up with the idea that religious influence ought to be -avoided as one avoids pestilence, you wonder and complain that they -are indifferent to the church and will not hear you. “The battle with -secularism has to be fought out.” Your way of fighting is to abandon the -outposts, leave front and rear and flanks unprotected, and throw away -your arms. - -It was one of the peculiarities of the Congress that whatever error -was promulgated in the essays and debates, somewhere in the course -of the sessions an antidote was sure to be furnished--this being an -illustration, we suppose, of the extreme toleration of opinion to -which Bishop Clarke referred as “somewhat singular” in a church “so -fixed in its doctrines.” Hence we need not be surprised to find in -the second day’s proceedings a refutation of the educational theories -propounded during the first. Dr. Wharton made use of the principle of -secular schooling as a weapon of offence against the Vatican. But when -the delegates had relieved their minds and vindicated their Protestant -orthodoxy by giving the poor Pope about as much as he could stagger away -with, they turned their attention to their own condition, and one of -their first subjects of inquiry was what secular education had done for -them. The topic of consideration on the second morning was “The Best -Methods of Procuring and Preparing Candidates for the Ministry.” Dr. -Schenck of Brooklyn began by stating that the supply of candidates for -holy orders was not only inadequate to the needs of the church, but it -was falling off--a smaller number offering themselves to-day than six -or seven years ago. This, said he, should excite the gravest concern of -the church; and nobody seemed disposed to contradict him. Dr. Edward -B. Boggs indeed presented some uncomfortable statistics which tell the -whole story. In 1871, the number of resident presbyters of the Episcopal -Church in the United States was 2,566; in 1874, it was only 2,530. Here, -then while the population increases the clergy are diminishing. A great -many reasons were suggested for the phenomenon. One thought the question -of salary was at the bottom of the evil. Another blamed mothers for not -giving their boys a taste for the ministry while they were young. A third -believed the trouble was too little prayer and too much quarrelling -over candles and ecclesiastical millinery. And more than one hinted in -the broadest terms that the ministry was discredited by having too many -fools in it.[174] The truth, however, which had been vaguely suggested by -some of the earlier speakers, was plumply told by Dr. Edward Sullivan of -Chicago. “The church,” said he, “must learn to supply the ranks of the -ministry from her own material”--that is to say, by giving the children -of the church a Christian education. He lamented the exclusion of the -Bible from some of the common schools as a national calamity--not, if we -understand him, because he has any overweening faith in the efficacy of -Bible-reading _per se_, but because he knows that when positive religious -teaching is banished from the school, the children can hardly fail to -grow up without any religious feeling whatever. “_Until we establish -parochial church schools_,” he continued, “_we can never solve this -problem._” And he might have added that if the teaching of secularism -is to be continued for a generation or two longer, the problem will -solve itself: there will be no need of preachers when there cease to be -congregations. - -If such an alarming phenomenon as an actual falling off in the numbers -of the clergy were noticed in our own holy church, it would perhaps -occur to good Catholics to inquire whether the bishops were doing all -that they ought to do for the souls of their people. But the Episcopal -Congress at Philadelphia seems to have been vexed with the idea that the -bishops were doing entirely too much. Looking at the assemblage from -the outside, we cannot pretend to see the under-currents of opinion, or -to comprehend the denominational politics; but it was plain both from -the tone of the addresses in the session set apart for considering the -“Nature and Extent of Episcopal Authority” and from the manner in which -some of the remarks of the speakers were received, that a jealousy of -episcopal authority prevailed with considerable bitterness. Dr. Vinton -of Boston drew a parallel between the government of the church and the -government of the state; both were ruled by executives appointed by -law and controlled by law, and in each case the chief officer acted by -the assumed authority of those he governed. The bishops therefore, we -infer, have just as much power as the people choose to give them, and -we see no reason why the congregations should not enlarge and restrict -that power at pleasure--make a new constitution, if they wish, every -year, and treat their prelates as the savage treats his idol, which he -sets upon an altar for worship in the morning, and if things go not well -with him, kicks into the kennel at night. Indeed, since the foundation -of the Anglican Church the episcopate has always been treated with scant -ceremony. Dr. Vinton tells us that it is a reflex of the political -organization, and as that has varied a great deal in England and America, -and is not unlikely in the course of time to vary a great deal more, -we must not be surprised to find the system undergoing many strange -modifications and holding out the promise of further change indefinitely. -In the primitive church, the episcopacy was a despotism. In the Anglican -Church, it is “merely an ecclesiastical aristocracy.” In the Protestant -Episcopal Church of America, where the exigencies of politics have to be -considered, it is--well, that is just what the Congress tried in vain to -determine. For one thing, Dr. Vinton and other speakers after him laid -great stress upon the fact that its authority was carefully circumscribed -by statute, and that the church was a corporation--though whence it -derived its charter nobody was good enough to tell us. In truth, we did -not find the day’s proceedings edifying. Dr. Vinton declared that an -organic evil of the church constitution, “boding more of mischief and -sorrow to the body of Christ than any or all of the evils besides that -our age makes possible,” was the liability of bishops to grow arrogant -of power, to make their authority troublesome, to put on idle pomp, and -set themselves “in conspicuous difference from the taste, the traditions, -the educated and intelligent convictions which the providence of God has -caused to rule in this land.” Dr. Fulton of Indianapolis inveighed with -warmth against any bishop who ventured to intrude into another man’s -diocese, and remarked that “some bishops were never at home unless they -were abroad.” A bishop, continued the doctor, is subject to civil law. -He should be tried for violation of the ninth commandment if he wilfully -slander a clergyman either in or out of his own diocese. Bishops must not -affect infallibility in doctrinal utterances. They must remember that in -more than one respect they and their presbyters are equals. A bishop who -would be respected must respect the rights of other bishops--not being -an episcopal busybody in other men’s sees. Dr. Goodwin of Philadelphia -thought that what our Lord meant to have was “a moderate episcopate.” -Dr. Washburn of New York believed that even the powers granted to the -apostles were not exclusive, and that ever since the apostolic age these -powers had been gradually more and more distributed, until now, we -should think, they must be so finely divided that no fragment of them is -anywhere visible in the Episcopal Church. - -Dr. J. V. Lewis convulsed the house with laughter by a speech in which he -declared that the bishops had been so “tied hand and foot by conventions -and canons that it was wonderful they had time to do anything but find -out what they must not do”; and he called upon the church to “cut those -bands and let the bishops loose.” We quote from the report of his remarks -in the _Church Journal_: “What will they do? He would tell them what they -would do. He had at home in his yard six chickens about half-grown. He -had placed among them a turkey big enough to eat any of them up. But they -all flew at him. One little fellow pecked him and spurred him savagely. -The turkey looked on in perfect astonishment, apparently; but at length -he spread out his wings and literally _sat down_ upon him. From that day -to this, whenever that turkey stirs, these chickens cannot be kept from -following him. And this is just what will happen in the church, if we -will only let our bishops loose.” All this was the cause of much innocent -hilarity among the brethren; but we fear that it was to Dr. Lewis that -the _Churchman_ referred the next week in the following solemn strain: -“It is a sad circumstance that the ministry has in it, here and there, -a professional joker and cheap story-teller and anecdote-monger, one -of the most tedious and least estimable types of foolishness that try -Christian endurance and vex religious families. It is to be hoped no -such melancholy-moving buffoon will ever propose himself as clown to the -Church Congress; and, short of that, will it be wise to confer the award -of the heartiest and loudest applause on a sort of comic pleasantry and -‘jesting not convenient’ which, at best, is outdone in its own line in -whole columns of daily newspapers? We may smile, because it cannot be -helped, but we can surely reserve our plaudits--if they must be given at -all--for that species of superiority which manifests a chaste refinement -and suits tastes that are intellectual rather than jovial.” - -Clearly there was a great deal more in these essays on the limitations -of episcopal authority than met the profane eye. Who are the trespassers -upon other men’s sheepfolds, and the busybodies, and the slanderers, -and the pompous bishops, and the infallible bishops, and the bishops -who think themselves better than their presbyters, it is not for us to -inquire. Neither perhaps would it be decorous to ask how the ten or -twelve bishops in the Congress--none of whom opened their mouths during -the debate--enjoyed the session. But there is excellent reason to believe -that the presbyters had a very pleasant day, singing the opening hymn -in the morning, “Come, gracious Spirit, heavenly dove,” with peculiar -unction, and joyously dismissing their right reverend fathers in the -afternoon with the verses, “Go forth, ye heralds, in my name.” - -If the bishops are in disrepute and the inferior clergy are falling -away, it can hardly be necessary to tell us that the church has no real -hold upon the people; that follows as a matter of course. Accordingly, -the most interesting of the debates were on the best methods of giving -vitality to the work of the church--on ministrations to the laboring -classes, on free churches and free preaching, on the abuses of the new -system, and on the need of something equivalent to the preaching Orders -and Congregations of our own church. Of all the papers read at the -Congress the only one which was received with what we may fairly call -enthusiasm was an essay by Mr. Francis Wells, editor of the Philadelphia -_Evening Bulletin_, on the “Parochial System and Free Preaching,” at the -close of which one of the reverend delegates jumped upon a bench and led -the assembly in three cheers. We have seen no report which gives a fair -abstract of Mr. Wells’ paper, or even explains what practical suggestions -he had to offer, so that it is impossible to understand what it was that -moved the feelings of the Congress. But if he drew a faithful picture -of the average Episcopal Church of our day he may well have startled -his audience. “The chief trouble,” he said, “lies in the spirit of -exclusiveness which eyes the fashion of the dress and warns off strangers -with a cold stare.” He was quite right in holding that the renting of -pews and the expenditure of large sums of money for the adornment of the -house of God are not necessarily obstacles to the influence of the church -over the masses. Our own experience proves that. What poor and ragged -sinner was ever repelled from a Catholic Church by imposing architecture, -or gorgeous windows, or the blazing magnificence of lighted altars, or -the strains of costly music? The rich have their pews--at least in this -country, where it is only by pew-rents that we can meet the necessary -expenses of the parish--but the most wretched beggar feels that he is -welcome at all times in the splendid temple, and he may kneel there, -feasting the senses, if he pleases, as well as refreshing the soul, -without fear that his more comfortable neighbor will stare at his humble -garments. Whatever the character of our churches, it is always the poor -who fill them. It never occurs to a Catholic that the people who pay -pew-rents acquire any proprietorship in the house of God, or have any -better right there than those who pay nothing. The sermons are never made -for the rich, and the Holy Sacrifice is offered for all indiscriminately. -But in the Episcopal Church how different it is! - -Imagine the feelings of a mechanic who approaches one of the luxurious -Fifth-Avenue temples in his patched and stained working trowsers and -threadbare coat. Carriages are setting down the _haut ton_ at the door, -every lady dressed in the extreme of fashion, every gentleman carefully -arrayed by an expensive tailor. A high-priced sexton, with rather more -dignity than an average bishop, receives the distinguished arrivals just -inside the lobby, and scrutinizes strangers with the air of an expert who -has learned by long experience in the highest circles just what kind of -company every casual visitor has probably been in the habit of keeping. -The interior of the church somehow suggests a Madison-Avenue parlor, -furnished in the latest style of imitation antique. The upholstery is -a marvel of comfort. The pleasantly subdued light suits the eyes and -softens the complexions of Christians who have been up late dancing. A -decorous quiet pervades the waiting congregation, broken only by the -rustle of five-dollar silks sweeping up the aisles. Such a handsome -display of millinery can be seen nowhere else for so little money. What -is a working-man to do in such a brilliant gathering as this? He looks -timidly at the back seats, and he finds there perhaps two or three old -women, parish pensioners, Sunday-school boys, or young men who keep -near the door in order to slip out quietly when they are tired of the -services, but nobody of his class. The prosperous people all around -him listen to the choir, and the reader, and the preacher, with an -indescribable air of proprietorship in all of them. The sermon is an -elaborate essay addressed to cultivated intellects, not to his common -understanding. He goes away with the uncomfortable consciousness that -he has been intruding, and feels like a shabby and unkempt person who -has strolled by mistake into the stockholders’ row at the Italian Opera, -and been turned out by a high-toned box-keeper. “It is indeed hard to -imagine,” said _The Nation_ the other day, “anything more likely to -make religion seem repelling to a poor man than the sight of one of the -gorgeous edifices in which rich Christians nowadays try to make their -way to heaven. Working out one’s salvation clothed in the height of -the fashion, as a member of a wealthy club, in a building in which the -amplest provision is made for the gratification of all the finer senses, -must seem to a thoughtful city mechanic, for instance, something in the -nature of a burlesque. Not that the building is too good for the lofty -purpose to which it is devoted, for nobody ever gets an impression of -anything but solemn appropriateness from a great Catholic cathedral, but -that it is the property of a close corporation, who, as it might be said, -‘make up a party’ to go to the Throne of Grace, and share the expenses -equally, and fix the rate so high that only successful businessmen can -join.” - -But we heed not enlarge upon the prevalence of this evil. The speakers -at the Congress recognized it frankly, and they are undoubtedly aware, -though they may not have deemed it prudent to confess, that the case is -growing more and more serious all the time. As wealth concentrates in -the large cities and habits of luxury increase, the Protestant Episcopal -Church is continually becoming colder and colder towards the poor. No -remedy that has been proposed holds out the faintest promise of stopping -this alarming decline. No remedy proposed even meets the approbation of -any considerable number of the Episcopal clergy. One speaker proposes a -greater number of free congregations, and is met by the obvious objection -that the result would be a still more lamentable separation between -rich and poor, with a different class of churches for each set. Another -recommends the bishops to send missionary preachers into every parish -where there seems to be need of their labor, but does not tell us where -the missionaries are to be found, and forgets that almost every parish -in the United States would have to be supplied in this way before the -evil could be cured. A third advises the rich and poor to meet together, -and fraternize and help each other; and a fourth calls for more zeal -all around. All these proposals are merely various ways of stating the -disease; they do not indicate remedies. Perhaps it may occur to some -people that if the Catholic Church and the Episcopal Church correspond so -closely in their outward operations, both striving to celebrate divine -worship with all possible splendor, both building costly churches and -supporting them by pew-rents, both employing highly paid choirs, both -keeping up a system of parishes, and if all the while the one gathers -people of every rank and condition into her fold, offering health and -consolation to all alike, while the other is constantly losing the -affections of the multitude and becoming a lifeless creature of forms and -fashions, the explanation of the difference after all may be that the -Holy Ghost lives and works in the one, while the other is only the device -of man. - - -YULE RAPS. - -_A CHRISTMAS STORY._ - -We once saw a picture of a wide, undulating snow-landscape, overspread -with a pale rosy tint from the west, and we thought it a fancy picture of -an Arctic winter. It hung in a pretty room in a Silesian country-house. -The weather was lovely, warm but temperate; it was mid-June, and the -woods were full of wild strawberries, and the meadows of forget-me-nots. -Yet that landscape was simply Silesia in the winter; the same place, -six months later, becomes a wilderness of snow. What shall we say of -Mecklenburg, then, so much farther to the north of Silesia? But even -there winter brings merriment; and as in these snow-bound countries there -is less work to be got through in the winter, their people associate the -ideas of pleasure and holiday with the cold rather than the warm weather. -In Mecklenburg spring, summer, and autumn mean work--ploughing, sowing, -haying, harvesting; winter means fun and frolic, peasants’ dances, -farmers’ parties, weddings, christenings, harvest-homes, Christmas, New -Year’s, and Epiphany presents, gatherings of friends, fireside talk, -innocent games, and general merriment. - -In a little village in this province the house of Emanuel Köhler was -famous for its jollity. Here were old customs well kept up, yet always -with decorum and a regard to higher matters. Emanuel was virtually -master of the estate of Stelhagen, the absentee owner of which was a gay -young officer who never wrote to his agent, except for a new supply -of money. Clever and enlightened an agriculturist as old Köhler was, -it was sometimes difficult for him to send the required sums, and yet -have enough to farm the estate to his satisfaction. In the language of -the country, he was called the inspector, and his house, also according -to the local custom, was a kind of informal agricultural school. At -the time of our story he had four young men under him--who were in all -respects like the apprentices of the good old time--and two of his own -relatives, his son and his nephew. His only daughter was busy helping -her mother, and learning to be as efficient a housekeeper as the young -men to be first-rate farmers; and this nucleus of young society, added -to the good Köhler’s hearty joviality and the known good-cheer always -provided by Frau Köhler, naturally made the large, cosey, rambling -house a pleasant rendezvous for the neighborhood. The Köhler household -was a host in itself, yet it always loved to be reinforced on festive -occasions by the good people of the village and farms within ten miles -round. So also the children, whether poor or pretty well off, were all -welcome at old Emanuel’s, and knew the way to the Frau Inspectorin’s -pantry as well as they knew the path to the church or the school. All the -servant-girls in the neighborhood wanted to get a place in this house, -but there was scarcely ever a vacancy, unless one of the dairy-maids or -the house-girls married. Frau Köhler and her daughter did all the kitchen -work themselves, and the latter, a thoughtful girl, though she was only -fifteen, studied books and maps between-whiles. But her studies never -interfered with the more necessary knowledge that a girl should have -when, as Rika,[175] she has to depend upon herself for everything. In -the country, in the Mecklenburg of even a very few years ago, everything -was home-made, and a supply of things from the large town twenty or -thirty miles off was the event of a life-time. Such things came as -wedding-gifts; and though fancy things came every Christmas, even they -were carefully and sacredly kept as tokens of that miraculous, strange, -bewildering world outside, in which people wore their silk dresses every -day, and bought everything they wanted at large shops a few steps from -their own houses. Frau Köhler often wondered what other women did who -had no farm-house to manage, no spinning, or knitting, or cooking, or -dairy-work to do; and when her daughter Rika suggested that they probably -read and studied, she shrugged her shoulders and said: “Take care, child; -women ought to attend to women’s work. Studying is a man’s business.” - -The honest soul was a type of many an old-fashioned German house-mother, -of whose wisdom it were well that some of our contemporaries could avail -themselves; and when Rika gently reminded her of the story of Martha and -Mary, she would energetically reply: - -“Very well; but take my word for it, child, there was a woman more -blessed than _that_ Mary, and one who was nearer yet to her Lord; and -we do not hear of _her_ neglecting her house. I love to think of that -house at Nazareth as just a model of household cleanliness and comfort. -You know, otherwise, it could not have been a fitting place for _Him_; -for though he chose poverty, he must needs have surrounded himself with -spotless purity.” - -And Rika, as humble and docile as she was thoughtful, saw in this -reverent and practical surmise a proof that it is not learning that comes -nearest to the heart of truth, but that clearer and directer knowledge -which God gives to “babes and sucklings.” - -This particular Christmas there was much preparation for the family -festival. The kitchen was in a ferment for a week, and mighty -bakings took place; gingerbread and cake were made, and various -confectionery-work was done; for Frau Köhler expected a friend of her -own early home to come and stay with her this last week of the year. -This was the good old priest who had baptized her daughter; for neither -mother nor daughter were natives of Mecklenburg, though the latter had -grown up there, and had never, since she was six months old, gone beyond -the limits of the large estate which her father administered. Frau Köhler -was a Bavarian by birth, and had grieved very much when her Mecklenburg -husband had taken her to this northern land, where his position and wages -were so good as to make it his duty to abide and bring up his family. But -the worthy old creature had done a wonderful deal of good since she had -been there, and kept up her faith as steadfastly as ever she had at home. -Frederika had been her treasure and her comfort; and between the mother’s -intense, mediæval firmness of belief, and the child’s naturally deep and -thoughtful nature, the little farm-maiden had grown up a rare combination -of qualities, and a model for the young Catholic womanhood of our stormy -times. The old priest whom Frau Köhler had looked up to before her -marriage as her best friend, and whom Rika had been taught to revere from -her babyhood, had been very sick, and was obliged to leave his parish -for a long holiday and rest. His former parishioner was anxious that -he should see Christmas kept in the old-fashioned northern style, more -characteristic than the Frenchified southern manners would now allow, -even in her remote native village. Civilization carries with it the -pick-axe and the rule; and when young girls begin to prefer Manchester -prints and French bonnets to homespun and straw hats, most of the old -customs slip away from their homes. - -In the sturdy Mecklenburg of twenty years ago, even after the temporary -stir of 1848, things were pretty much as they had been for centuries, and -it was Emanuel’s pride that his household should be, if needful, the last -stronghold of the good old usages. He heartily acquiesced in his wife’s -invitation to the southern guest, and resolved to have the best Christmas -that had been known in the country since he had undertaken the care of -the Stelhagen estate. In truth, he lived like a patriarch among his -work-people; his laborers and their families were models of prosperity -and content, and the children of all the neighborhood wished he were -their grandfather. Indeed, he was godfather to half the village babies -born during his stay there. - -The sleighs of the country were the people’s pride. Some were plain -and strong, because their owners were not rich enough to adorn them, -but others were quite a curiosity to the visitor from the south. They -partook of the same quaintness as the old yellow family coaches that -took the farmers to harvest-homes and weddings before the early snows -came on. Lumbering, heavy-wheeled vehicles these were, swinging on high -like a cradle tied to a couple of saplings in a storm; capacious as -the house-mother’s apron-pockets on a baking day; seventy years old at -least, barring the numerous patchings and mendings, new lining or new -wheel, occasionally vouchsafed to the venerable representative of the -family dignity. The sleighs were much gayer and a little less antiquated, -because oftener used, and therefore oftener worn out; besides, there were -fashions in sleighs even in this remote place--fashions indigenous to -the population, each individual of which was capable of some invention -when sleighs were in question. On Christmas Eve, long before it grew -dark, many of these pretty or curious conveyances clattered up to the -farm-house door. Some were laden with children two rows deep, all wrapped -in knitted jackets, blankets, boas, etc., and here and there covered with -a fur cap or furred hood; for knitting in this neighborhood supplied all -with warm winter wraps, even better than woven or machine-made stuffs do -nowadays. There were no single sleighs, no tiny, toy-like things made -to display the rich toilet of the occupant and the skill of the fast -driver by her side; here all were honest family vehicles, full of rosy -faces like Christmas apples; hearty men and women who at three-score -were almost as young as their grandchildren on their bridal day; and -young men and maidens who were not afraid to dance and move briskly in -their plain, loose, home-spun and home-made clothes, nor to fall in -love with German downrightness and honest, practical intentions. Most -of these sleighs were red, picked out with black, or black liberally -sprinkled with red; some were yellow and black, some yellow and blue, -and in most the robe and cushions were of corresponding colors. Some of -these robes had eagles embroidered in coarse patterns and thick wool, -while others were of a pattern something like those used for bed-quilts; -and some bore unmistakable witness to the thrift of the house-mother, -and were skilfully pieced together out of carpet, curtain, blanket, and -dress remnants, the whole bordered with some inexpensive fur. One or two -sleighs bore a sort of figure-head--the head of a deer, or a fox, or a -hawk--carved and let into the curling part of the front; while one party, -who were gazed upon with mingled admiration and disapproval, went so far -as to trail after them, for three or four feet behind the sleigh, and -sweeping up the snow in their wake, a thick scarlet cloth of gorgeous -appearance, but no very valuable texture. This was the doing of a young -fellow who had lately been reading one or two romances of chivalry, and -been much pleased with the “velvet housings of the horses, sweeping the -ground as the knight rode to the king’s tournament.” His indulgent old -mother and admiring sisters had but faintly remonstrated, and this was -the consequence. The horses were not less bedecked than the vehicles. -Silver bells hung from their harness and belted their bodies in various -places; shining plates of metal and knobs driven into the leather made -them as gay as circus-horses; while horse-cloths of variegated pattern -were rolled up under the feet of their masters, ready for use whenever -they stopped on the road. - -Emanuel himself had gone to the nearest town at which a stage-coach -stopped, to welcome his wife’s friend and special guest, and entertained -him with a flow of agricultural information and warm eulogy of the -country through which they were speeding on their way home. He arrived -at Stelhagen before the rush of country visitors, and was triumphantly -taken through every part of the well-kept farm, while his meal was -being prepared by Rika and the maids. But more than all, Frau Köhler, -in her delight, actually made him “free” of the sacred, secret chamber -where stood the _Christbaum_, already laden but unlighted, among its -attendant tables and dishes. The old man was as innocently charmed as a -seven-year-old child; it reminded him so of his own Christmas-tree in -days when the simple customs of Germany were still unimpaired, and when -it was the fashion to give only really useful things, with due regard to -the condition and needs of the recipients. - -“But at the feasts to which my people ask me now,” said he, “I see -children regaled with a multitude of unwholesome, colored _bonbons_ in -boxes that cost quite as much as the contents, and servants given cheap -silks or paste jewelry, and the friends or the master and mistress -themselves loaded with pretty but useless knick-knacks, gilded toys that -cost a great deal and make more show than their use warrants. Times are -sadly changed, Thekla, even since you were married.” - -“Well, Herr Pfarrer, I have had little chance, and less wish, to see -the change; and up here I think we still live as Noah’s sons after they -came out of the ark,” said good Frau Köhler, with a broad smile at her -own wit. As the day wore on, she and Rika left the _Pfarrer_ (_curé_) -to Emanuel’s care, and again busied themselves about the serious -coming festivity. She flew around, as active as a fat sparrow, with -a dusting-cloth under her arm, whisking off with nervous hand every -speck of dust on the mantel-piece or among the few books which lay -conspicuously on the table in the best room; giving her orders to the -nimble maids, welcoming the families of guests, and specially petting -the children. Emanuel took the men under his protection, and gave them -tobacco and pipes, and talked farming to them, while his own young -home-squad whispered in corners of the coming tree and supper. - -At last Rika came out from the room where the mystery was going on, and, -opening the door wide, let a flood of light into the dark apartment -beyond. There was a regular blaze. The large tree stood on a low table, -and reached nearly up to the ceiling. There were only lights, colored -ribbons, and gilded walnuts hung upon it, but it quite satisfied the -expectation of the good folk around it. Round the room were tables and -stands of all kinds, crowded together, and barely holding all the dishes -apportioned to each member of the party. The guests had secretly brought -or sent their mutual presents; one family generally taking charge of its -neighbor’s gifts, and _vice-versa_, that none might suspect the nature -of their own. The tree, too, was a joint contribution of the several -families; all had sent in tapers and nuts, and this it was that made it -so full of bright things and necessitated its being so tall. - -On the middle table, under the tree itself, were dishes for the Köhler -household, each one having a liberal allowance of apples, nuts, and -gingerbread. Besides these, there were parcels, securely tied, laid by -the dishes, and labelled with the names of their unconscious owners. -Köhler was seized upon by his wife and daughter before anyone else was -allowed to go forward--for in this old-fashioned neighborhood the head of -the house is still considered in the light of an Abraham--and a compact -parcel was put into his hands by Rika, while Thekla kissed him with -hearty loudness. Next came the guest, whom Rika led to the prettiest -china dish, and presented with a small, tempting-looking packet. Leaving -him to open it at his leisure, she joined her young friends, and a -good-natured scramble now began, each looking for his own name in some -familiar handwriting, finding it, and opening the treasure with the -eagerness of a child. It would be impossible to describe every present -that thus came to view; but though many were pretty and elaborate, none -were for mere show. Presently Frau Köhler was seen to take possession of -her husband, and, pulling off his coat, made him try on the dressing-gown -he had just drawn from his parcel. She turned him round like a doll, and -clapped her hands in admiration at the perfect fit; then danced around to -the other end of the room, and called out to the maids: - -“Lina! Bettchen! it is your turn now; you have not been forgotten. Those -are your dishes where the silver dollars are sticking in the apples.” -The maids opened their parcels, and each found a bright, soft, warm -dress, crimson and black. Then came George, the man who did most of the -immediate work round the house, and found a bright red vest with steel -buttons in his parcel. Frau Köhler was busy looking at other people’s -things, when her husband slipped a neat, long packet on her dish, and, -as she turned and saw the addition, she uttered an exclamation of joy. -Rika helped her to unfold the stiff, rustling thing, when it turned out -to be a black silk dress. Not every housewife in those days had one, and -her last was nearly worn out. Then the old priest came forward to show -the company his Christmas box; and what do you think it was? There was no -doubt as to where it came from. It was a set of missal-markers, and in -such taste as was scarcely to be expected in that time and neighborhood. -Rika had designed it, and her mother had worked it; but many an anxious -debate had there been over it, as the Frau Inspectorin had been at first -quite vexed at what she called its plainness. It was composed of five -thick _gros-grain_ ribbons, two inches wide and fifteen long. There was -a red, a green, a white, a purple, and a black ribbon; and on each was -embroidered a motto--on the red and green, in gold; on the white, in red; -and on the black and purple, in silver. The letters were German, though -the mottoes were in Latin, and each of the five referred to one of these -events: our Lord’s birth, death, Resurrection, and Ascension, and the -Coming of the Holy Ghost. At the end of each ribbon, instead of fringe -or tassels, hung a cross of pure silver, into the ring of which the -ribbon was loosely gathered. Every one crowded round this novel Christmas -gift, and examined it with an admiration equally gratifying to the giver -and the receiver. But Emanuel’s jolly voice soon broke the spell by -saying: - -“These fine presents are very delightful to receive, no doubt, and the -women-folk would not have been happy without some such thing; but we are -all mortal, and I have not forgotten that my guest has feet and hands, -and needs warmth and comfort as much as we of grosser clay.” - -And with this he thrust a large parcel into the _Pfarrer’s_ arms. Every -one laughed and helped him to open it; every one was curious to see its -contents. They were, indeed, of a most substantial and useful kind: a -foot-muff of scarlet cloth, lined and bordered with fur, and a pair of -huge sealskin gloves. - -Scarcely had the parcel been opened when a hum of measured sound was -heard outside, and presently a Christmas carol was distinctly audible. -Everyone knew the words, and many joined in the song before the singers -became visible. Then the door opened, and a troop of children came in, -dressed in warm white furs and woollen wrappings, and carrying tapers and -fir-branches in their hands. They sang a second carol, quaint and rustic -in its words, but skilfully set to anything but archaic music, and then, -in honor of their southern guest, they began _the_ song of the evening, -a few stanzas from the “Great Hymn” to the Blessed Virgin, by the -Minnesinger, Gottfried of Strasburg, the translation of which, according -to Kroeger, runs thus: - - XXV. - - “God thee hath clothed with raiments seven; - On thy pure body, drawn from heaven, - Hath put them even - When thou wast first created. - The first one Chastity is named; - The second is as Virtue famed; - The third is claimed - As Courtesy, well mated; - The fourth dress is Humility; - The fifth is known as Pity; - The sixth one, Faith, clings close to thee; - The seventh, noble Modesty, - Leads gratefully - Thee in the path of duty. - - XXVII. - - “Thou sun, thou moon, thou star so fair, - God took thee from his own side there, - Here to prepare - The birth of Christ within thee. - For that his loved Child and thine, - Which is our life and life’s sunshine, - Our bread and wine, - To stay chaste, he did win thee; - So that sin’s thorns could never touch - Thy fruitful virtue’s branches. - His burning love for thee did vouch, - He kept thee from all sins that crouch: - A golden couch, - Secured by his love’s trenches. - - XLVII. - - … - “Rejoice now, thou salvation’s throne, - That thou gavest birth to Him who won - Our cause, thy Son, - Our Saviour and our blessing. - … - - XLVIII. - - “Rejoice now, O thou sunshine mild, - That on thy blessed breasts there smiled - God’s little Child-- - Its earthly destination. - Rejoice that then drew near to thee - From foreign lands the wise kings three, - Noble and free, - To bring their adoration - To thee and to that blessed Child, - With many a graceful off’ring. - Rejoice now, that the star beguiled - And to that place their pathway smiled - Where, with thy Child, - They worshipped thy sweet suff’ring.” - -“You are not so utterly unknowing of all gentle and learned pursuits as -you would have had me believe,” said the _Pfarrer_ to Frau Köhler. “It -is not every child in Bavaria that could sing so well this Old-World -poem, so graceful in its rhyming and so devout in its allusions. Our -old XIIth-century poetry, the most national--_i.e._, peculiar to our -country--is too much superseded by noisy modern rhymes or sentimental -ballads copied from foreign models. Have you any unknown scholar among -your farmers and agents, who, you told me, made up a hearty but not a -learned society here?” - -“Well,” said Frau Köhler, “there is the school-master, Heldmann, who is -always poring over old useless books, but never can have a good dinner -unless his friends send it to him, poor man! He is a bachelor, and -cannot afford to have a housekeeper. And then there is one of our young -gentlemen, who Köhler says is always in the clouds, and who spends all -his spare time with Heldmann, while the other boys spend theirs with -their pretty, rosy neighbors. By the way, Heldmann is coming to-night; -but he said he could not come till late, as he had some important -business which would detain him for an hour or two.” - -“You forget our Rika, mother,” said Emanuel, not heeding the last part -of his wife’s sentence; “she is as wise as any of them, though she says -so little. She knows all the old legends and poetry, and more besides, I -warrant.” - -“Rika designed that missal-marker,” said the Frau Inspectorin proudly -(she had found out, since it had been so admired, that her daughter’s -instinct had guided her aright in the design). - -But Rika, hearing her name mentioned, had slipped away among the -white-wrapped children, and was laying their tapers and fir-branches -away, preparatory to giving them cakes and fruit. This was quite a -ceremony, and when they were ready Frau Köhler, handing the large dish -of nuts to the _Pfarrer_, begged him to distribute them, while she took -charge of the gingerbread and Rika of the apples. - -It was funny to see the solemn expectancy with which the children -brought out dishes, mugs, pitchers, etc., in which to receive these -Christmas gifts. Some of the girls held out their aprons, as more -convenient and capacious receptacles than anything else they could lay -hands on. One boy brought a large birthday cup, and another a wooden -milk-bowl; another a small churn, while a fourth had carried off his -father’s peck-measure, and a fifth calmly handed up a corn-sack, which he -evidently expected to get filled to the brim. As Frau Köhler came to one -of the children, she said: - -“Fritz, I saw you in the orchard last autumn stealing our apples. Now, -naughty boys must not expect to get apples at Christmas if they take them -at other times; so, Rika, don’t give him any. He shall have one piece of -gingerbread, though.” A piteous disclaimer met this sentence; but the -_Pfarrer_ thrust a double quantity of nuts into the culprit’s basket, and -passed on. Then once again Frau Köhler stopped and said; “Johann, didn’t -I see you fighting with another boy in the churchyard two weeks ago, -and told you that Santa Claus would forget you when he came to fill the -stockings on Christmas night? I shall not give you any gingerbread.” - -“Franz knows we made it up again,” whined the boy, and Franz, with a -roguish look, peeped out from his place in the row and said: “Yes, we -did, Frau Inspectorin”; so both got their gingerbread. At last, this -distribution being over, the children, laden with their gifts, went home -to their own various firesides, not without many thanks to the “stranger -within the gates” and his parting reminder, as he showed them the stars: - -“Look up at God’s own Christmas-tree, lighted up with thousands of -tapers, children, and at the smooth, white snow spread over the fields. -That is the white table-cloth which he has spread for the beautiful gifts -which spring, and summer, and autumn are going to bring you, all in his -own good time.”[176] - -Then came another batch of visitors--the old, sick, and infirm people of -the village; the spinning-women, the broom-tyers, the wooden bowl and -spoon carvers, and the makers of wooden shoes; and some who could no -longer work, but had been faithful and industrious in their time. They -had something of the old costume on: the men wore blue yarn stockings and -stout gray knee-breeches (they had left their top-boots outside; for the -snow was deep and soft, and they needed them all the winter and through -most of the spring); and the women had large nodding caps and black silk -handkerchiefs folded across their bosoms. Each of these old people got a -large loaf of plain cake and some good stout flannel; and these things, -according to the local etiquette, the inspector himself delivered to -them as the representative of his young master. This distribution was -an old custom on the Stelhagen estate, and, though the present owner -was careless enough in many things, he wished this usage to be always -kept up. Even if he had not, it is not likely that as long as Köhler -was inspector the old people would not have been able to rely on the -customary Christmas gift. After this some bustle occurred, and two or -three people went and stationed themselves outside the door. Presently -the expectant company within were startled by a loud rap, and the door -flew open, a parcel was flung in, and a voice cried out: - -“Yule rap!” - -This was a pair of slippers for the inspector. No one knew where they -came from; no one had sent them. Yule raps are supposed to be magical, -impersonal causes of tangible effects; so every one looked innocent and -astonished, as became good Mecklenburgers under Christmas circumstances. - -“Yule rap!” again, and the door opened a second time; a smoking-cap, -embroidered with his initials, was evolved out of a cumbrous packet by -one of the young apprentices, and scarcely had he put it on than another -thundering knock sounded on the door. - -“Yule rap!” was shouted again, and in flew a heavy package. It was a -book, with illustrations of travel scenes in the East, and was directed -to Rika. - -“Yule rap!” - -This time it was only a little square envelope, with a ticket referring -Frau Köhler to another ticket up in the bureau drawer in her bedroom; but -when one of the boys found it, that referred again to another ticket in -the cellar; and when another boy brought this to light, it mysteriously -referred her to her husband’s pocket. Here, at last, the hidden thing was -revealed--an embroidered collar, and a pair of larger cuffs to match. -Köhler had no idea what sprite had put it there, so he said. - -“Yule rap!” and this time it was for the guest--a black velvet skull-cap, -warm and clinging. Then came various things, all heralded by the same -warning cry of “Yule rap!” and a knock at the door, generally in George’s -strong voice. The two maids got the packages ready, and peeped in at -the keyhole to see when it was time to vary the sensation by throwing in -another present. Again, a breakfast-bell came rolling in, ringing as it -bounded on, with just a few bands of soft stuff and silver paper muffling -its sound. Once a large meerschaum pipe was laid gently at the threshold -of the door, and one of the apprentices fetched it as carefully. Then -a violin was pushed through the half-open door, and the eager face of -the one for whom it was intended peeped anxiously over his neighbor’s -shoulder, wondering if any one else were the happy destined one, and as -much surprised as delighted when he found it was himself. That violin has -since been heard in many a large and populous town, and, though its owner -did not become as world-known as Paganini or Sivori, he did not love his -art less faithfully and exclusively. We cannot enumerate all the gifts -which Yule brought round this year; but before the evening was over, a -different voice cried out the magic words, “Yule rap!” and the door being -slightly opened and quickly closed again, a tiny, white, silky dog stood -trembling on the carpet. Rika jumped up and ran to take it in her arms; -then pulling open the door, “Herr Heldmann! Herr Heldmann!” she cried. “I -know it is you!” - -The schoolmaster came forward, his rough face glowing with the cold -through which he had just come. - -“I promised you a dog, Rika,” he said rather awkwardly, “but they would -not let me have it till this very day, and I had no time to go for it but -this evening. I kept it under my coat all the time; so it is quite warm. -It is only two months old.” - -Rika was in ecstasies. She declared this was worth all her Christmas -presents, and then rewarded Herr Heldmann by telling him how well -the children had done their part, and how delightfully surprised the -_Pfarrer_ had been. The two men were soon in a deep conversation on -subjects dear and familiar to both, and the company gradually dissolved -again into little knots and groups. Many took their leave, as their -homes were distant and they did not wish to be too late; but for all an -informal supper was laid in the vast kitchen, and by degrees most of -the good things on the table were sensibly diminished. The host’s wife -and daughter, and the Herr Pfarrer, with half a dozen others and a few -children, did not leave the Christmas-tree, whose tapers were constantly -attended to and replaced when necessary. Other “Christmas candles” were -also lighted--tall columns of yellow wax, made on purpose for this -occasion. As the household and its inmates were left to themselves, -the children began asking for their accustomed treat--the stories that -all children have been fond of since the world began. No land is so -rich in the romance of childhood as Germany, both north and south. -There everything is personified, and as an English writer lately said, -wonderful histories are connected with the fir-trees in the forests, -the beloved and venerated _Christbaum_. “Though it be yet summer, -the child sees in fancy the beautiful _Weihnachtsbaum_, adorned with -sparkling things as the Gospel, is adorned with promises and hopes; rich -in gifts as the three kings were rich; pointing to heaven as the angel -pointed; bright as those very heavens were bright with silver-winged -messengers; crowned with gold as the Word was crowned; odorous like the -frankincense: sparkling like the star; spreading forth its arms, full of -peace and good-will on every side, holding out gifts and promises for -all.” - -_Weihnacht_, the blessed, the hallowed, the consecrated night, is the -child-paradise of Germany. That land of beautiful family festivals has -given Christmas a double significance, and merged into its memories all -the graceful, shadowy legends of the dead mythology of the Fatherland. -The German child is reared in the midst of fairy-tales, which are only -truths translated into child-language. Besides the old standard ones, -every neighborhood has its own local tales, every family its own new-born -additions or inventions. Every young mother, herself but a step removed -from childhood, with all her tender imaginations still stirring, and her -child-days lifted into greater beauty because they are but just left -behind, makes new stories for her little ones, and finds in every flower -a new fairy, in every brook a new voice. - -And yet the old tales still charm the little ones, and the yearly coming -of King Winter brings the old, worn stories round again. So Emanuel -Köhler told the fairy-tale which the children had listened to every -Christmas with ever-new delight, about the journey of King Winter from -his kingdom at the North Pole, and how he put on his crown with tall -spikes of icicles, and wrapped himself in his wide snow-mantle, which to -him is as precious and as warm as ermine. - -“And now,” said the host, “there is some one here who can tell you a far -more beautiful story than mine. Some One, greater than the Winter-King, -comes too every year--a snow-Child, the white Christ whom our ancestors, -the old Norse and Teutonic warriors, learned to see and adore, where -they had only seen and worshipped the God of War and the God of Thunder -before. Ask him to tell you a story.” - -And the old, white-haired _Pfarrer_ stroked the head of the child nearest -to him, as the little one looked shyly up into his face, mutely endorsing -Emanuel’s appeal. He told them that they must already know the story of -the first Christmas night, and so he would only tell them how the news -that the angels told the shepherds on the hills came long centuries -after to others as pure-minded as the shepherds, and by means almost -as wonderful. He repeated to them from memory the words of an English -prose-poet, which he said he had loved ever since he came across them, -and which made the picture he best loved to talk on at Christmas-time: -“That little infant frame, white as a snow-drop on the lap of winter, -light almost as a snow-flake on the chill night air, smooth as the -cushioned drift of snow which the wind has lightly strewn outside the -walls of Bethlehem, is at this moment holding within itself, as if it -were of adamantine rock, the fires of the beatific light.… The little -white lily is blooming below the greater one; an offshoot of its stem, -and a faithful copy, leaf for leaf, petal for petal, white for white, -powdered with the same golden dust, meeting the morning with the same -fragrance, which is like no other than their own!”[177] - -There was a more marvellous tale than any they had heard about -talking-flowers. The _Christkind_ was a flower, and his blessed Mother -was a flower--holy lilies in the garden of God, blossoming rods like -Aaron’s, fruitful roots, stately cedars, and fruit-giving palm-trees. -It was a very happy thing to know and feel all this, as we do; but -many millions of men know nothing of it, and centuries ago even our -forefathers in these forests knew nothing of it. “But,” he continued, -“there was a distant island, where men of our race lived, which did -not receive the faith till long after Germany and France and Britain -were Christian, and even had cathedrals and cloisters and schools -in abundance. It was two hundred years after Charlemagne, who was a -Frankish, and therefore a German, sovereign, founded the Palatine schools -and conferred with the learned English monk, Alcuin. This distant, pagan -island was Iceland. The Norsemen there were a wild, fierce, warlike -people, free from any foreign government, and just the kind of heroes -that their old mythology represented them as becoming in their future, -disembodied life. They had their scalds, or saga-men, their bards, who -were both poets and historians, who kept up their spirit by singing wild -songs about their ancestors and the battles they had won. They were all -pagans, and thought the forgiveness of injuries very mean. Well, one day, -the eve of Yule-tide, when it was terribly cold and cheerless, an old -scald sat in his rough hut, with a flickering light before him, chanting -one of his wild, heathen songs, and his daughter, a beautiful girl, sat -at the plank table near him, busy with some woman’s work. During an -interval of his song she raised her eyes and said to him: - -“‘Father, there must be something beyond all that--something greater and -nobler.’ - -“‘Why, child,’ said the old man, with a kind of impatient wonder, ‘why -should you think so? Many things different there may be, just as there -are different kinds of men, and different kinds of beasts, and different -kinds of plants; some for mastery and some for thraldom; some for the -chase, and some for the kitchen or the plough; some for incantations -and sacrifices, and some for common food. But anything nobler than our -history there could not be; and as for our religion, if there were -anything different, or even better, it would not suit our people, and so -would be no concern of ours.’ - -“‘But if it were true, father, and ours not true, what then?’ - -“‘Why ask the question, child? What was good enough for the wise and -brave Northmen who fled here that they might be free to fight and worship -according to their fancy, is good enough for their descendants.’ - -“‘But you know yourself, father,’ persisted the maiden, ‘that those -whom our poetical traditions call gods were men, heroes and patriots -who taught our forefathers various arts, and guided them safely across -deserts and through forests in their long, long migration--but still -only men. Our chieftains of to-day might as well become gods to our -great-grandchildren, if the old leaders have become so to us. Wise as -they were, they could not command the frozen seas to open a way for their -ships, nor make the sun rise earlier in the long winter, nor compel the -cutting ice-wind to cease. If they could not do such things, they must -have been very far from gods.’ - -“‘It is true,’ said the old man, ‘that those great chieftains were, in -the dim ages we can scarcely count back to, men like us; but the gods -who taught them those very arts took them up to live with them as long as -their own heaven might last, and made them equal to themselves. You know -even Paradise itself is to come to an end some day.’ - -“‘So our legends say, father; but that, too, makes it seem as if these -gods were only another order of mortal beings, stronger but not better -than we are, and hiding from us the true, changeless heaven far above -them. For surely that which changes cannot be divine. And then our -legends say that evil is to triumph when heaven and earth come to an end. -True, they say there will be a renewal of all things after that, and -that, no doubt, means that good will be uppermost; very likely all the -things spoken of in our Eddas are only signs of other things which we -could not understand.’ - -“The daughter continued these questionings and speculations, the scald -answering them as best he could. - -“He had listened with evident admiration and approval to her impassioned -speech, but he was willing to test her faith in her own womanhood to the -utmost. She now seemed wrapt in her own thoughts, but after a short pause -said: - -“‘It would not be another’s inspiration in which I should believe; it -would be a message from Him who has put this belief already into my -heart. Some One greater than all has spoken to my inmost heart, and I am -ready to believe; but the messenger that is to put it into words and tell -me what to do has not come.’ - -“There was a silence, and the wind and the sea roared without. The -old man shaded the flickering light with his hand, and gazed at his -daughter, who was sitting with her hands clasped in her lap. He thought -that she herself must have received some divine illumination; for the -Norsemen believed in the prophetic gifts of some of their women. His -own mind, more cultivated than that of the warrior’s, saw through the -symbolic character of many of the very myths he sang, and tended vaguely -to belief in a higher and hidden circle of things infinite, true, and -eternal. But then the northern mind was naturally simple, not prone to -metaphysical distinctions, not analytical and subtle, dividing as with -the sword that pierceth between soul and spirit; and the old man saw no -use in raising theological problems for which he could offer no rational -solution, save through the dreams of a young girl. Presently the old man -rose, shaking off his meditations, and said: - -“‘It is time for me to go to the Yule-night festival, and I shall have -a stormy trudge of it to the castle. I must leave you alone here till -to-morrow night. But, my child, I know that there is safety for the -scald’s daughter wherever she may be; the very sea would not hurt her, -and the wildest men would kneel before her; so farewell, and a father’s -blessing be upon you.’ - -“His daughter rose and fetched his cloak and staff, wrapped the former -around him, and fastened it over the rude musical instrument that -answered the purpose of lyre and harp; but I am not very learned in such -things, and cannot tell you exactly what it was. The young girl stood -long on the threshold of the hut, shading the light, and looking out -after her father into the darkness. The wind was sharp and icy, and -blew from the frozen sea. As she held the light, she thought she heard -a cry come from the direction of the sea. She lingered before closing -the door, although the wind was very chill; for the cry seemed repeated, -and she thought it was a human voice calling. A moment’s reflection told -her it could not be so; for the whole sea was frozen for miles outward, -and no boat or wreck could come so near land. She sat down again to her -work, and mused on the conversation she had held with her father. He had -studied their national books all his life, and she was not yet twenty. He -must know best. Was she likely to be right? She had little experience of -the way in which the old system worked; only her own dreams and fancies -showed her any other possibility; and yet--she could not shake off the -thought: she thirsted for another revelation. The far-off, unknown -Godhead must have some means of communicating with men; why should he not -speak to her, who so passionately and blindly longed for a message, a -command, from him? - -“The cry from the sea sounded again. Surely, this time there could be -no mistake; the voice was human, and it had come nearer since she had -left the door. She took up the light again, and went outside, shouting -as loud as she could in return. She was answered, and a strange awe came -upon her as she heard this cry. Was it that of a man or a spirit? The -latter supposition seemed to her unsophisticated mind quite as likely -as the former, but it did not frighten her, as it would most of her -countrywomen. She went in again, wrapped a thick fur cloak around her, -and, taking another on her arm, sallied out once more with another -stronger light. It was barely possible to keep the resinous torch -alight, and she looked anxiously out towards the sea, to try and catch -some glimpse of a human figure. The cries came again at intervals; but -she knew that in the clear air a seemingly near sound might yet be far -distant. She had to walk briskly up and down the shore, in the beaten -path between walls of snow, to keep herself warm, and occasionally she -lifted the flaring torch and waved it as a signal. She could do no more, -but she longed to see her unknown visitor, and to go out to meet him on -the frozen waters. Was it some wrecked sailor, who had clambered from -ice-floe to ice-floe, in the desperate hope of reaching land before he -died of cold and hunger, or some unearthly messenger from an invisible -world? If he were a mere man, from what coast could he have drifted. -No Icelander would be out at this time and place; it was Yule-tide, -and there were no wandering boats out among the ice-cliffs and floes. -At last she thought she could discern a shadowy form, blacker than the -surrounding darkness, but surely no human form; it was like a moving -cross, one upright shape, and one laid across near the top, and both -dark and compact. But the cry was repeated, though in a more assured -and joyful tone, and the maiden waited with bated breath, wondering -what this marvel could mean. A field of unbroken ice stretched between -her and the advancing figure, which now hastened its steps, and came on -like a swift-sailing bird, cleaving the darkness. She thought she could -distinguish a human face above the junction of the two arms of the cross, -and she held up the light, still uncertain what kind of visitant this -approaching form might be. At last it flashed upon her that it was a -man bearing a child. But why so rigid? Why did he not hug him close to -his bosom to keep him warm, to keep him alive? Was the child dead? And -a shuddering awe came upon her, as she thought of its dead white face -upturned to heaven, and of the faithful man who had not forsaken it, or -left it to the seals and wolves on the ice, or buried it in the chill -waters beneath the ice-floes. What a cold it must have struck to the -heart of the man carrying it; how his hands must be well-nigh frozen in -supporting this strange burden! - -“She hardly knew whether she was still imagining what might be, or -witnessing real movements, when the figure came straight up to her, and, -stooping, laid the child at her feet. She lowered the torch, and, as the -glare fell on the little face, she saw that it was no breathing one; -the man had sunk down beside it, hardly able to stir, now the supreme -effort was over and his end was accomplished. She dropped the cloak she -held over the little body, and caught up a handful of snow, wherewith -she energetically rubbed the face and hands of the stranger, then half -dragged, half supported him to the door of the hut. He had only spoken -once, just as he dropped at her feet, but she did not understand him: -he spoke in a foreign tongue. Once more she went out and brought in the -stiffened, frozen body of the child, which she laid on a fur robe just -outside the hut; for it was warm within the small, confined dwelling. It -was an hour before the stranger’s eye told her that her simple, quick -remedies had succeeded. He was not very tall, but immensely strong and -powerful, and there was a fire in his dark gray eye that gave the clew -to his strange, weird pilgrimage over the ice-floes. His hair was dark -brown, with a reddish tinge, but already mixed with a few gray streaks; -it had been shorn close to his head some time since, as appeared from its -irregular growth at present. Beneath his cloak he wore a long black robe, -with a leathern girdle round the waist. The child was very beautiful, -even in death; his eyes were closed, but his black, curling hair hung -round his neck, and the lips had a sweet though somewhat proud outline. -The scald’s daughter set some simple food before her silent guest, and -made him a sign to eat. He was evidently very hungry, but before he -began he moved his lips and made the sign of the cross on his forehead, -lips, and breast. She asked him in her own language what that ceremony -meant, not hoping to make him understand her speech, but trusting to her -inquiring looks for some explanatory sign that she might interpret as -best she could to herself. To her surprise, he answered in a few, slow, -labored words, not in Icelandic to be sure, but in some dialect akin -to it; for she could make out the meaning. It was, in fact, the Norse -dialect that was spoken in the Orkney Islands, but she did not know that. -As he spoke, her guest pointed upwards, and she knew that he referred -to God. A great longing came into her heart, and she asked again if his -God were the same the Icelanders worshipped. He shook his head, and she -eagerly questioned farther, but grew so voluble that he could not follow -her, and the conversation ceased. Then the stranger rose and went out -to the little corpse, which he addressed in impassioned terms in his -own language, making over it the same sign that had drawn the maiden’s -attention before. He then described to her--mostly in pantomime, and with -a few Norse words to help him on, and a few slowly-pronounced questions -on her part--how the boy and he had been in a boat that was wrecked many -days’ journey from their own country, and how he had carried him and fed -him for three or four days, and then seen him die in his arms. The boy -was the only son of a great chief, and he was taking him to his uncle in -the North of Scotland. His own country was south of Scotland, a large -island like Iceland, but green and beautiful, and there was no ice there. - -“The girl made him understand that she was alone for a day or two, but -when her father came back he would help him. He evidently understood her -better than she did him. - -“The next morning, when she again set food before him, she imitated his -sign of the cross, and said she wished to believe in the true God; and -if his God were the true one, she would believe in him. She looked so -earnest and anxious that he again began to try to explain; but the few -words he could command, though they sufficed to hint at his worldly -adventures, and made clear to her that he had been wrecked, were scarcely -adequate to tell her of the new religion she longed to understand. - -“But at noon that day another guest and traveller passed by the scald’s -dwelling. He was hurrying to the same castle where the girl’s father had -gone in his capacity of minstrel, but a violent snow-storm had come on -that morning, and he had lost his way. He stopped a moment to refresh -himself, and noticed the stranger. He was himself known as a great -traveller, and the figure in the coarse black robe seemed not unfamiliar -to him. He addressed the stranger in the latter’s language, guessing him -at once to be an Irish monk. He said he had seen such men in the Scottish -islands, where he had been storm-driven with his ship two years ago, and -he had picked up a little of their speech. When the maiden discovered -that in this stray guest she had found an interpreter, she pressed him, -implored him, almost commanded him, to stay. - -“‘I must ask him the questions my father could not solve yesterday,’ she -said; ‘and my father’s friend will not refuse to speak in my name, for I -believe that the unknown God has answered my prayer in sending this holy -man over the sea to my very feet.’ And she told him how the stranger had -come to her, out of the darkness, in the shape of a cross--the same sign -he made to propitiate his God. - -“‘Ask him to tell us what he believes,’ she said impetuously; and the -interpreter, compelled by some instinct that he could not resist, began -his office willingly. - -“‘Tell him,’ she said, ‘that yesterday, before he came, I was all day -thinking that the high, true, unknown God had a message for me, and a -truer faith to teach me, because he had put into my heart a longing for -something higher than what our books and songs have taught us. And tell -him that I believe God sent him in answer to my doubts and prayers.’ - -“‘The traveller faithfully translated all this. The monk’s face glowed -as he replied, in his own language, which he used with the grace and -skill of a poet: - -“‘Tell the maiden that she is right; the true God _did_ send me, and now -I know why such things happened to me; why I was wrecked with my lord’s -only son, a precious freight, a sacred deposit, which the Lord of lords -has now taken upon himself to account for to the earthly father, bereaved -of his one hope. But God sent me here because to this pure-hearted virgin -I was to explain the faith he had already put into her heart. It is not -I who bring her the true faith, but God himself who has spoken to her -and inclined her to believe; me he has sent to put this message into -practical form. Tell her that this is the birthday of the Lord, and that -a thousand years ago, almost at the same hour when I set my dead burden -at her feet, a living Child, God’s own Child, lay at the feet of a pure -Virgin in a little village far away in the land of the rising sun. And as -this maiden’s torch which I saw over the wild, frozen sea, and followed, -was an emblem of the faith that dwelt already in her heart, so, too, a -marvellous star led three wise men, the scalds of the East, to where this -Child lay, and the star was the emblem of their firm faith, which led -them to cross rivers and deserts to reach the Child. And tell her that -the way in which this wonderful birth was celebrated was by a song which -held all the essence of truth in it: “Glory to God on high, and on earth -peace to men of good-will.”’ - -“All this the interpreter told the maiden, and both marvelled at it. The -stranger told them more and more of that wonderful tale, so familiar -to us, but which once sounded to our warlike forefathers like the -foolishness of babes and sucklings, or at most like some Eastern myth -good enough for philosophers to wrangle over, but unfit for sturdy men -of the forest. To the Icelandic maiden it seemed but the fulfilment of -her own dreams; and as she listened to the story of the Child, grown to -be a wise but obedient Boy, and then a wandering, suffering Man, her -soul seemed to drink in the hidden grandeur of the relation, to pierce -beyond the human stumbling-blocks which confronted the wise and learned -of other lands, and go at once to the heart of the great mystery of love, -personified in the Man-God. All the rest seemed to her to be the fitting -garment of the central mystery, the crown of leaves growing from the -fruitful trunk of this one doctrine. All day long the three sat together, -the two Icelanders hanging on the words of the stranger; and so the -scald found them on his return. He, too, wanted to know the news which -the monk had brought; for he said he had always believed that behind -their national songs and hymns lay something greater, but perhaps not -expedient for Norsemen to know. He shook his head sadly when he learned -the monk’s precepts of love, peace, mercy, and forgiveness, and said he -feared his countrymen would not understand that, but for his part it was -not uncongenial to him. As the weather was such that no vessel could put -to sea before the ice broke up, he constrained the monk to stay the rest -of the winter with him, and in the spring promised to go over with him to -the nearest Scottish coast, and carry the body of his little charge to -the uncle to whom he had been on his way when he was wrecked. - -“Before the New Year began, the monk baptized the first Icelandic -convert, the daughter of the scald, and gave her the name of the Mother -of the Babe of Bethlehem, Mary. Many others heard of the new religion -before he left, but that does not belong to my story. The new convert -and her father accompanied him to Scotland, and were present at the -burial of the Irish chieftain’s son at the castle of his Scottish -uncle. The latter’s son married the Norse maiden, but she never ceased -to lament that it had not been given to her to convert many of her own -countrymen, or at least shed her blood for her new faith. All her life -long she helped to send missionaries to Iceland; and when her son grew -up to manhood, the palm she coveted was awarded to him, for he went to -his mother’s native country, founded a monastery there, labored among -the people, converted many, and taught reading and the arts of peace as -well as the faith to his pupils; became abbot of the monastery, and was -finally martyred on the steps of the altar by a horde of savage heathen -Norsemen. - -“This is the best Christmas story I know, children,” concluded the Herr -Pfarrer; “and you, Rika, I can wish you no better model than the fair -maiden of Iceland.” - -It was nearly midnight when the old priest finished his tale, and Frau -Köhler, rising, and thanking him cordially for this unwonted addition to -ordinary Christmas stories, led him to a door which had been locked till -now. It opened into a room decked as a chapel, with an altar at the end, -which was now decorated with evergreens. A few chairs and benches were -ranged before it, and on a table at the side was everything in readiness -for saying Mass. - -“It is long since I have heard a midnight Mass,” said the good hostess, -growing suddenly grave and reverential in her manner, “and my Rika never -has; and you know, Herr Pfarrer, I told you I had a greater surprise in -store for you yet, after all the local customs in which you were so much -interested.” - -So the beautiful Midnight Mass was said in the Mecklenburg inspector’s -farm-house, and a more impressive one Frau Köhler had never heard in any -southern cathedral; for though there was no music and no pomp, there -brooded over the little congregation a spirit of reverence and peace, -which comes in full perfection only through a deep silence. The hostess -and her daughter received Communion together, and the attentive household -could not help thinking of the beautiful Icelandic convert when she came -back from the altar, her hands folded over her breast, and her long, fair -hair plaited in two plain, thick tresses. - -Herr Heldmann had stayed too, and from that day he never ceased his -study of theological problems and his correspondence with the Herr -Pfarrer, till he became a Catholic, and was married to Rika in this same -little chapel-room a year later by the same kind old priest. One of -the young apprentices of Emanuel Köhler had been his secret rival; but -notwithstanding that Heldmann was ungainly, shy, and twice her age, Rika -decidedly thought that she had the best of the bargain. - -And it was true; he had a heart of gold, and she made him a model wife. - - -CHRISTMAS CHIMES. - - The clear starlight, of a southern night, - Shone in Judæa’s sky, - The angels sang, and their harp-strings rang - With “Glory to God on high.” - Through the pearl gates streamed, ere the morning beamed, - The radiance of Heaven’s day; - And the shepherds led to the lonely bed - Where the holy Child-God lay. - - The Yule-log’s light gleams warm to-night - In many an English home, - And no spirits dare--so the wise declare-- - In the light of its beams to come; - The weird mistletoe and the holly glow - On castle and cottage wall; - While the jest and song ring all night long, - Through the merry banquet-hall. - - And in other climes at the ringing chimes - There are scenes of joy and mirth: - E’en round the dead is its beauty shed - Who at Christmas pass from earth. - On this holy day, so the old tomes say, - Heaven’s portals open wide, - And the soul glides in, freed from all its sin - By the birth of the Crucified. - - In our own fair land there is many a band - Whose home is filled with glee, - Whose hearts beat high, as the fleet hours fly, - With thoughts of the Christmas-tree. - May the Christ-Child weave, on this Christmas eve, - New hopes as the years go by, - And around His throne may at last each one - Sing “Glory to God on high.” - - -ANGLICANS, OLD CATHOLICS, AND THE CONFERENCE AT BONN. - -Under the title of _Anglicanism, Old Catholicism, and the Union of the -Christian Episcopal Churches_, an essay has recently been published by -the Rev. Father Tondini,[178] Barnabite, whose intimate acquaintance with -the respective languages of England, Germany, and Russia, as well as the -religious history and literature of those countries, peculiarly qualifies -him for dealing with the questions just now exciting so much attention in -Western Europe. We shall, therefore, not only make his treatise, which -merits more than ordinary notice, the basis of the present article, but -shall reproduce such portions of it as are particularly suggestive at the -present time, and conclude with some account of the Conference at Bonn -and the considerations it suggests. - -In the Introduction to his treatise the reverend author gives the reasons -which called it forth, the last being the promise made on the tomb of a -friend[179] to leave nothing untried which might promote the return of -the Greco-Russian Church to Catholic unity; an unexpected opportunity -being given for fulfilling this promise by the reference made more than -once by Mr. Gladstone, in his recent publications, to the organization -of the Eastern as contrasted with that of the Catholic Church. Moreover, -the sympathy displayed by Mr. Gladstone for the Old Catholics and their -Conference at Bonn serves to complete the argument. - -There are two passages in Mr. Gladstone’s _Vaticanism_ with which Father -Tondini has more especially dealt. One is the following: - -“Of these early provisions for a balance of church power, and for -securing the laity against sacerdotal domination, the rigid conservatism -of the Eastern Church presents us, even down to the present day, with an -authentic and living record.”[180] - -These valuable “provisions” are set forth at length in the second edition -of a former work by Father Tondini, _The Pope of Rome and the Popes of -the Oriental Church_.[181] In a special preface he there says: “There is -much to be learned from them, especially if we take into consideration -their recent date, and the ecclesiastical canons of which the Eastern -Church has not been indeed a rigid conservator.” - -In the quotations there given at length from the original documents, we -find abundant evidence of the manner in which the ancient canons have -been set aside, wherever convenient to the czar, for his own regulations. - -The second passage requiring comment is the following: - -“The ancient principles of popular election and control, for which room -was found in the Apostolic Church under its inspired teachers, and which -still subsist in the Christian East.”[182] - -This, as we shall see, is disposed of in the third chapter of the present -essay, into which has been collected trustworthy information as to the -non-popular mode of election of bishops resorted to in the Oriental -Orthodox Church.[183] - -Towards the close of the Introduction the writer remarks that if the -statements made by Mr. Gladstone respecting the Catholic Church were -true, she could not be the true church of our Lord, and, if not, he -asks, where then is the true church to be found? The Oriental Church -could not solve the question, because she is in contradiction to the -doctrine contained in her own liturgy,[184] and also for other reasons, -to which for some years past he has been directing public attention.[185] -There remain to be considered the Anglican Establishment--this being the -church to which belongs the writer who accuses the Catholic Church of -having changed in faith, and deprived her children of their moral and -mental freedom--and the newest sect of all, namely, the so-called Old -Catholics, owing to the same writer’s admiration of those who figure in -its ranks. - -Reason, so loudly appealed to by Mr. Gladstone, has been strictly adhered -to by Father Tondini in his careful examination of the credentials of -the two latter bodies, and we will give, in as concise a form as may -be consistent with clearness, the result of his inquiry. He especially -addresses those who admit the existence of a visible Church of Christ, -and still more particularly those who, rather than reconcile themselves -to the Catholic Church, say that neither the Roman Catholic Church, -nor the Anglican Establishment, nor the Old-Catholic Society, but the -Oriental Orthodox Church, is the true visible church of Christ. - - -I. - -The claims of the Anglican Church are first examined, her vitality being -an argument that we are in presence of an institution adhered to, at -least by a large portion of her members, with conviction and devotedness, -as a valuable medium between unbelief and superstition, worldliness and -sanctity; and of a state church as solidly framed as human genius could -devise. - -“Bodies,” says Mr. Gladstone, “are usually held to be bound by the -evidence of their own selected and typical witnesses.”[186] Now, -the selected and typical witnesses of the Church of England are the -sovereign, who is “Defender of the Faith and Supreme Governor of the -Church in her Dominions,” and the episcopate. If the whole clergy is -consulted, the evidence becomes as undeniable as it can possibly be. - -This perfect evidence is found in the Thirty-nine Articles, which are -thus headed: “Articles agreed upon by the archbishops and bishops of -both provinces, and the whole clergy, assembled in convocation holden at -London in the year 1562, for the avoiding of diversities of opinions,” -etc., etc. - -The Ratification is to the same effect, with the addition of the assent -and consent of the queen (Elizabeth), after their final rehearsal in the -General Convocation of bishops and clergy in 1571. They are, moreover, -reprinted in the _Book of Common Prayer_, with the Declaration of King -James I. affixed, and which runs as follows: - -“Being by God’s ordinance, according to our just title, Defender of -the Faith and supreme governor of the church in these our dominions, -… we will that all curious search be laid aside, and these disputes -shut up in God’s promises as they be generally set forth in the Holy -Scriptures, and the general meaning of the Articles of the Church of -England according to them; and that no man hereafter shall either print -or preach to draw the article aside any way, but shall submit to it in -the plain and full meaning thereof, and … shall take it in the literal -and grammatical sense.” - -“Following this last admonition, and bearing in mind that the Church -of England considers herself to be a branch of the universal church of -Christ, we open the _Book of Common Prayer_, and turn to those among -the Articles which treat of the universal church, that we may see how, -without renouncing our Italian nationality--which to us is very dear--we -could belong to the universal church of Christ. We see an article headed -‘Of the Authority of General Councils,’ and, on reading it, find to our -astonishment the definition, not indeed of the infallibility of the Pope, -but of the fallibility, without any exception, of the universal church of -Christ! It is: Article XXI.--‘General Councils may not be called together -without the commandment and will of princes. And when they be gathered -together (forasmuch as they be an assembly of men, whereof all be not -governed with the spirit and word of God), they may err, and sometimes -have erred, even in things pertaining unto God. Wherefore things ordained -by them as necessary to salvation have neither strength nor authority, -unless it may be declared that they be taken out of Holy Scripture.’” - -“Thus” (we give Father Tondini’s words) “the Church of England has -defined, in two plenary national councils, that the universal church of -Christ, even when assembled in a general council, may err, and ordain, as -necessary to salvation, things which have neither strength nor authority; -and a king, ‘Defender of the Faith,’ has declared that this is the true -doctrine of the Church of England, agreeable to God’s word, and required -all his loving subjects to submit to this article ‘in the plain and full -meaning thereof,’ and to take it ‘in the literal and grammatical sense’! - -“We can hardly trust our own eyes. Again: What does the word ‘declare’ -mean in the concluding words of the article? This word may convey two -senses--that of proving and of making a declaration. - -“In the first case, _who_ is to offer the proofs that ‘the thing ordained -as necessary to salvation’ is taken out of Holy Scripture? This the -Church of England has forgotten to tell us!… Moreover, an authority -whose decrees, in order to have a binding power, must be proved to be -taken out of Holy Scripture, is by that very fact subordinate to those -who are called to examine the proofs.[187] The chief authorities of the -church assembled in a general council are thus rendered as inferior to -the faithful as the claimant is inferior to the judge who is about to -pronounce sentence upon his claims. The teaching and governing body -of the church is consequently no more than an assembly commissioned -to frame, ‘as necessary to salvation,’ laws to be submitted to the -approbation of the faithful! - -“Is this serious? Is it even respectful to human intelligence?” - -Again, if the word “declare” must be taken in the sense of a declaration, -Father Tondini asks: “But by whom is such a declaration to be made? -Assuredly not by the council itself--‘judice in causâ propriâ.’ An -authority liable to err, ‘even in things pertaining unto God,’ and to -ordain ‘as necessary to salvation’ things which have ‘neither strength -nor authority,’ is liable also to mistake the sense of Holy Scripture. -To seek such a declaration from this fallible authority would be like -begging the question. - -“The declaration must, then, be made by some authority external to the -general council. But the ‘archbishops, bishops, and the whole clergy of -England’ have omitted to inform the faithful _where_ such an authority is -to be found. Moreover, since a general council--that is, the ‘selected -and typical witnesses’ of the whole Church of Christ--may err (according -to Article XXI.), it necessarily follows that portions of the whole -church of Christ may err also. In fact, this natural consequence is -explicitly stated in Article XIX. The zeal displayed by the Church of -England in asserting the fallibility, both of the whole church of Christ -and of portions of that church, may be said to rival that of the most -fervent advocates of the infallibility of the Pope.” - -This XIXth Article modestly asserts that, “as the Churches of Jerusalem, -Alexandria, and Antioch have erred, so also the Church of Rome hath -erred, not only in their living and manner of ceremonies, but also in -matters of faith.” - -Whereupon “a legitimate doubt arises whether the Church of England, too, -might not have erred in issuing the Thirty-nine Articles of Religion. -This doubt is very material. These Articles ordain several things as -‘necessary to salvation.’ Are they, or are they not, ‘taken out of Holy -Scripture’? Have they, or have they not, ‘strength and authority’?” - -Shortly after their promulgation, we have it upon the authority of -King James I. himself that this doubt gave rise to “disputations, -altercations, and questions such as may nourish faction both in the -church and commonwealth,” and his majesty adds that “therefore, upon -mature deliberation,” etc., he “thought fit” to make the declaration -following: - -“That the Articles of the Church of England … do contain the true -doctrine of the Church of England, agreeable to God’s Word, which WE do -therefore ratify and confirm.” - -“May we” (with Father Tondini) “be allowed respectfully to ask whether -King James I. was infallible?” - -And if so, why should Catholics be charged with having forfeited -their mental and moral freedom, etc., etc., because they admit the -infallibility of the Pope, which results, by the law of development, from -several passages of Holy Scripture; whereas, on the contrary, no “brain -power” will ever be able to discover a single word in Holy Scripture -which can, by the most vigorous process of development, bud forth into -the infallibility of a King of England? - -On the other hand, if King James were _not_ infallible, by what right -could he then prohibit and _will_ in matters of faith for his subjects? - -His only right was this: that the Church of England had been made a -powerful _instrumentum regni_ in the hands of her sovereigns,[188] just -as the Church of Russia is in the hands of her czars. - -After this, observes the writer, no inconsistency ought to astonish us. - -In Article XVIII. it is declared that “the body of Christ is given, -taken, and eaten in the [Lord’s] Supper _only after an heavenly -and spiritual manner_”; and again, at the end of the “Order of the -Ministration of the Holy Communion,” that “the natural body and blood -of our Saviour Christ are in heaven, _and not here_.” How can these -declarations be made to agree with the following, which is taught in the -Little Catechism?--“The body and blood of Christ are _verily and indeed -taken_ and received by the faithful in the Lord’s Supper.” - -Again, in Article XI. we find: “That we are justified by faith _only_ -is a most wholesome doctrine, and very full of comfort”; whereas in the -order for the visitation of the sick we read as follows: - -“Here shall the sick person be moved to make _a special confession of his -sins_, if he feel his conscience troubled with any weighty matter. After -which confession the priest shall absolve him (if he humbly and heartily -desire it) after this sort,” etc., etc. - -“But,” asks Father Tondini, “by what strange metamorphosis can the -above-quoted doctrine of justification _by faith only_, declared to be -‘most wholesome and very full of comfort’ while we are in good health, -cease to possess the power of comforting the conscience of a sick -person? And how can confession, which through life is to be considered -by Anglicans as ‘_grown of the corrupt following of the apostles_’ (see -Article XXV.), become suddenly so transfigured by the approach of death -as to obtain the power of relieving a conscience ‘troubled with any -weighty matter’?” - -Although it may not be matter of much surprise that a church which has -so carefully defined her own fallibility should have one doctrine for -her children in their days of health and vigor, and another for the -time of their sickness and death, still it does surprise us that a man -of education like Mr. Gladstone should be so unconscious of his own -extraordinary inconsistency in appealing--as he does throughout his -attacks against Catholics and the Catholic Church--to “mental and moral -freedom,” “logic,” “consistency of mind,” “manliness of thought,” etc., -etc. - -Already arise from all sides echoes of the question singularly enough -asked by Mr. Gladstone himself: “Is the Church of England worth -preserving?”[189] - -“The Church of England,” said Laud, “is Protestant.” And Mr. Gladstone, -true to “the church of his birth and his country,” protests, like her, -against the church which made his country a Christian nation. The -Ritualists, the latest sect within her, still boast that they “help -to keep people from the Church of Rome,” and reject the imputation of -sympathy with her as an insupportable calumny.[190] “They will give -communion in Westminster Abbey to an Unitarian, flatter Jansenists and -Monophysites, remain in communion with bishops whom they themselves -proclaim to be heretics; but one thing they will not do--tolerate the -creed of the church to which they owe every fragment and crumb of -truth that remains to them.” “Take the great Anglian divines,” writes -Mr. Marshall: “Bull scorned and preached against the Catholic Church; -Barrow wrote a book against it; Sandys called the Vicar of Christ ‘that -triple-crowned thief and murderer’; Hooker sent for a dissenter on his -death-bed; Morton, Bramhall, Andrews, and the rest avowed the opinion -that the Protestant sects of the Continent were as true churches as their -own. Episcopal ordination, as the late Mr. J. Keble confessed, was not -made a condition for holding Anglican preferment until the latter half -of the XVIIth century; and it was _then_ adopted as a weapon against the -growing power of the dissenters. _Then_ Anglicans who had always argued -as Protestants against the church began to argue as Catholics against -dissent.” - -At the present time, however, the English episcopate seems veering round -again to the Protestant quarter, against the pseudo-Catholic innovations -of a portion of the clergy. The _Church Herald_, which, up to the time -when it ceased to exist, a few weeks ago, had been protesting for many -months previously, with good reason, against the implacable opposition -offered by the Anglican bishops to the so-called “Catholic revival,” -gravely told its readers, while asserting once more that “no one trusts -the bishops,” and that “of influence they have and can have next to -none,” nevertheless that “their claims as Catholic bishops were never -so firmly established.” (!) Certainly Anglican logic is peculiar. Their -bishops were never more vehemently opposed to the Catholic faith; but no -matter, “never were they more truly Catholic.” (!) - -“I have very reluctantly,” says Dr. Lee (as reported in the _John Bull_), -“come to a conclusion which makes me melancholy--that the passing of -the Public Worship Bill has to all intents and purposes sealed the fate -of the Church of England.” Its end, he thinks, is very near, because -no church can last unless it be a true portion of the one family of -God--not a mere human sect, taking its variable opinion from the civil -government, and its practice from a parliamentary officer without the -faintest shadow of spiritual authority. “The point that gravely perplexes -me,” he writes, “with regard to the new law, is that our bishops, one -and all, have, with their eyes open and deliberately, renounced their -spiritual jurisdiction, which, for both provinces and every diocese, is -placed in the hands of Lord Penzance, ex-judge of the Divorce Court.” For -which reason certain Ritualist papers lament it as “strange and sad” that -Dr. Lee should say of the bishops and their bill exactly the same _after_ -their victory as they themselves had said _before_ it. These papers, -after the example of some learned Anglican professors, etc., are ready -enough beforehand to threaten, in the event of such and such a decision, -to “reconsider their position.” The decision is made; they then discover -that, after all, it is not so very serious, and compose themselves, for -the third, or fourth, or fifth time, just where they were before. - -It is stated that the first case under the Public Worship Regulations -Act is now being brought before Lord Penzance. It is a suit against the -Rev. J. C. Ridsdale, incumbent of S. Peter’s, Folkestone. According to -the new law, three inhabitants made a representation to the Archbishop -of Canterbury as to the manner in which the services were conducted at -S. Peter’s. A copy of the representation was forwarded to Mr. Ridsdale, -and, no agreement to abide by the decision of the archbishop having been -made, the proceedings will be determined by the judge, from whom there -is an ultimate appeal to her Majesty in council. There are, it is said, -three cases pending under the new law; and fresh proceedings are about -to be commenced against the clergy of S. Alban’s, Holborn. The bill bids -fair to be as one-sided in its application as it avowedly was in its -intention. “The Puritan triumph in the XVIIth century,” said the Bishop -of London, “would not be more disastrous than a pseudo-Catholic triumph -now,” and the rest of the episcopal bench are evidently of the same mind. - -Nor can it be matter of much surprise that such repression should be -exercised against men, many of them truly earnest and self-denying, who -are the means of reviving a certain amount of Catholic doctrine as well -as practice (however illegal) in their communion, when Dr. Lee is able -to write as follows to an episcopal correspondent: “The Catholic faith, -Archbishop Tait, in the presence of his suffragans, frankly declared -that _neither he nor they believed_, and his grace--to give him all -credit--has done his worst to get rid of it.” - -Here again can we wonder at the result, even to her highest dignitaries, -of the uncertain teaching of a church which, from its very beginning, was -intended to be a compromise? - -And, again, how can a church which is essentially a compromise be -expected to sympathize with that unchanging church which is “the pillar -and ground of the truth”? - - -II. - -To return to Father Tondini’s essay. We come now to consider the newest -among the sects, the so-called Old Catholics, who, after the manner of -many other schismatics, appropriate the name of “Catholic” with an affix -of their own, which is a proof that theirs is a base metal, unworthy of -the “image and superscription of the King” or his appointed vicegerent. - -Mr. Gladstone’s judgment of these people is thus expressed: “When the -cup of endurance,” he says, “which had so long been filling, began, with -the Council of the Vatican in 1870, to overflow, the most famous and -learned living theologian of the Roman communion, Dr. von Döllinger, long -the foremost champion of his church, refused compliance, and submitted, -with his temper undisturbed and his freedom unimpaired, to the extreme -and most painful penalty of excommunication. With him many of the most -learned and respected theologians of the Roman communion in Germany -underwent the same sentence. The very few who elsewhere (I do not speak -of Switzerland) suffered in like manner deserve an admiration rising in -proportion to their fewness. - -“It seems as though Germany, from which Luther blew the mighty trumpet -that even now echoes through the land, still retained her primacy in the -domain of conscience, still supplied the _centuria prærogativa_ of the -great _comitia_ of the world.”[191] - -After giving this quotation, Father Tondini, in the exercise of his -“mental freedom,” proceeds to examine whether Old Catholics really -deserve this highly laudatory and enthusiastic passage, and in what their -merit consists. - -Their merit consists “in having rebelled against the church to which they -previously belonged, on the ground that, in their conviction, she had -changed her faith. - -“Not one single bishop, not one out of the teaching body of the -church, has expressed the same conviction. Old Catholics are, then, a -mere handful … protesting against the Pope and the whole episcopate, -preferring their own private judgment to that of the whole teaching body -of the Catholic Church, and fully decided to do everything in their -power to bring about the triumph of their private personal judgment. -Their first act was to raise a schism in the church. They had openly -and freely separated themselves from her long before the sentence of -excommunication was notified to them. They then became the occasion of a -severe persecution against their former fellow-Catholics; and now, whilst -the persecution is raging, and Old Catholics, supported by governments -and the press, have suffered neither in person nor property, nor in -their individual liberty, we are called upon to bestow upon those who -suffered ‘in like manner’ an admiration rising in proportion to their -fewness!”[192] - -But why is this? and what is the _Expostulation_ itself but a cry of -alarm to prevent British Catholics from rebelling against the queen? -Why, then, is the rebellion of some private individuals to be extolled -in terms like these? Or if, indeed, strong private religious convictions -(taking it for granted that the Old Catholics have such) make it -praiseworthy to rebel against the church, why should not strong private -political convictions make it equally praiseworthy to rebel against the -state? The field of similar applications is fearfully wide, and many a -parental admonition to an indolent or disobedient child might be met by -the young rebel in Mr. Gladstone’s words, that “with temper undisturbed, -with freedom unimpaired,” he had no intention to do as he was bid. - -The first official document of the Old Catholics is the “Declaration” of -Dr. von Döllinger and his adherents, dated Munich, June, 1871,[193] and -which bears the signatures of Dr. von Döllinger, sixteen professors or -doctors, seven magistrates, three private gentlemen, two manufacturers, -one “Maître royal des cérémonies,” and one “Intendant royal de musique au -théâtre de cour”--thirty-one signatures in all, to which was added later -that of the unhappy Loyson. - -The second document is a French manifesto or appeal, “Aux fidèles de -l’Ancienne Eglise Catholique,” signed “E. Michaud, Docteur en Théologie,” -dated 1872, and widely circulated in France, with a request that every -reader will help to make it known and gain as many additional adherents -as possible. - -The style of both documents is peculiar. They alike belong to those -literary productions which betray an almost feverish excitement of mind. -A small number of persons, till lately belonging to the Catholic Church, -declare themselves “determined” to do their utmost towards bringing about -“the reform of ecclesiastical affairs, so long desired and henceforth so -inevitable, in the organization as well as in the life of the church.” -In fact, the authors of both these documents show a faith in their -own infallibility, both doctrinal and practical, at least as strong as -their conviction of the fallibility of the Pope. They are peculiarly -unfortunate in their choice of the fathers they quote, as well as in -their appeal to the authority of S. Paul. Their style is certainly -wholly unlike that of this great apostle, who, with so much earnestness -and humility, begs the prayers of the faithful, while the necessity of -prayer for such an undertaking as that which the Old Catholics call -the “regeneration of the church” is not even once alluded to in their -manifestoes. - -There is another consideration which presents itself. Every practical -man is careful to ascertain the competency, in any particular subject, -of those who give him their advice upon it. A sick man would not consult -a lawyer for his cure, nor an aggrieved man seek legal advice of his -baker or shoemaker. The distinguished magistrates who signed the German -Declaration must be supposed to have done so, not in consequence of -a clear and detailed knowledge of the grounds of the assertions it -contained, but in consequence of their confidence in Dr. von Döllinger, -which led them to adopt his views. In the same way must be explained -the adhesions given by the respectable manufacturers, “Maître royal -des cérémonies,” and “Intendant royal de musique au théâtre de cour”; -for though these pursuits need not be in themselves an obstacle to a -man being well acquainted with religious matters, still they are an -undeniable argument against his having made it the chief object of his -studies. - -“Now,” continues Father Tondini, “the charges brought in the present -case against the Catholic Church are so heavy, and the mere probability -of their being founded on truth of such vital importance to the whole -Christian world, … that to require something more than the ordinary -amount of theological science which is in general to be found in men -involved in worldly affairs of the most distracting kind, is only acting -in accordance with the most ordinary laws of prudence. All this will -become evident if we only suppose that the ‘Declaration’ had appeared -without the signatures of Dr. von Döllinger and the above-mentioned -professors.” In looking over the latter we find that none of them can lay -any claim to the same scientific authority and repute as that which he -enjoys; and the same remark applies to all who have subsequently joined -the Old Catholics. - -With regard to Dr. von Döllinger himself, he has till now, if we -are rightly informed, abstained from joining his fellow-subscribers -to the German “Declaration” in their submission to Mgr. Reinkens, -the Old-Catholic Bishop of Germany. “Thus the chief promoter of the -opposition to the Vatican Council stands apart, and we should be grateful -to any one who might tell us to what church he belongs and whom he -recognizes as his legitimate bishop. We cannot suppose that he whom Mr. -Gladstone calls ‘the most famous and learned theologian of the Roman -communion’ has the pretension of forming a church in his own person.” - -Father Tondini next notices the remarkable phenomenon presented by Old -Catholicism during the first three years of its existence as body without -a head, and calls the reader’s attention to the following passage in the -French manifesto: - -“If it be the will of God,” thus it runs, “that some Roman bishops have -the courage to return publicly to the profession of the ancient faith, -we will place them with joy at our head. And if none break publicly -with heresy, our church, though essentially episcopal, will not for -that reason be condemned to die; for as soon as it shall be possible to -regularize its situation in this respect, we shall choose priests who -will receive either in the West or in the East an episcopal consecration -of unquestionable validity.” - -“These,” he remarks, “are plain words. It evidently results from -them that there was a time when the church, ‘unstained by any Roman -innovation,’ was still looking for a bishop--in other words, for a head, -which she did not possess as yet. How, in spite of this deficiency, -the Old-Catholic Church could be termed essentially episcopal we are -at a loss to understand. That which is essential to a thing is that -without which it cannot possibly exist for a single moment; but here -we are asked to believe in a miracle which at once destroys all our -physical and metaphysical notions of things. A new-born warrior fighting -without a head, and a being existing without one of its essential -constituents--such are the wonders which accompanied the genesis of the -so-called regenerated church of the Old Catholics.” - -The German Declaration in like manner states the then headless condition -of the Old-Catholic body. Its subscribers, and among them Prof. Reinkens, -say they look forward to a time when “all Catholicity shall be placed -under the direction of a primate and an episcopacy, which by means of -science,” etc., etc., “and not by the decrees of the Vatican, … shall -approach the crowning object assigned to Christian development--we mean -that of the union of the other Christian confessions now separated from -us,” etc. - -Such was their language in June, 1871, when they were already nearly a -year old. Their first bishop, Joseph Hubert Reinkens, was consecrated -in August, 1873. These dates are very important. No power on earth will -ever be able to annul them as historical facts, which prove that a body -calling itself the true church of Christ has existed some time without a -single bishop, although bishops are essential to the church of Christ, as -Scripture, tradition, history, all antiquity agree. S. Cyprian says: - -“The church is the people in union with the bishop--a flock adhering to -its shepherd. The bishop is in the church and the church in the bishop. -He who is not with the bishop is not in the church.”[194] And again: -“He cannot be accounted a bishop who, in despite of the evangelic and -apostolic tradition, has, of himself, become one (_a se ipso ortus est, -nemini succedens_), and succeeds to none.” - -Now, “to what bishop” (asks Father Tondini) “did Dr. Reinkens succeed? -His first pastoral letter, dated August 11, 1873, is addressed ‘to the -priests and faithful of Germany who persevere in the ancient Catholic -faith.’ Who ever heard of the bishop and diocese of Germany before -this letter?” Again: “That same Dr. Reinkens who in June, 1871, signed -the ‘Declaration’ in which the Christian confessions outside the Roman -Church were called ‘Christian confessions now separated from us,’ in -August, 1873, saluted with the title of ‘Old Catholics,’ the Jansenists -of Holland, and Mgr. Heykamp, the bishop by whom he was consecrated, with -that of ‘bishop of the Old Catholics’!”[195] - - -III. - -We now come to the consideration of Old Catholicism as an instrument of -union between the Christian Episcopal churches. In accordance with their -“Declaration,” the Old Catholics insist upon its being one of their main -objects to reunite the Christian churches separated from Rome during -the VIIIth and IXth centuries, and complacently boast of the marks of -sympathy bestowed upon them by these churches. - -From one of their manifestoes Father Tondini quotes the following -important statements: - -“The bishops of the Oriental Orthodox Church”--thus runs the -manifesto--“and those of the Episcopal Church of England and the United -States of America (!) encourage Old Catholicism with their most profound -sympathy. Representatives of the Orthodox Church of Russia assist every -year at its congress.… The interest displayed for it by governments is -not inferior to that of the churches.… The governments of Russia and of -England are disposed to recognize its rights when it shall be opportune -to do so.”[196] - -Upon which he points out the exceeding inexpediency, for their own sakes, -of these governments or their bishops having any participation in the -doings of Old Catholics; and this for the following reasons, which are -worthy of careful consideration by the two governments in question, and -which we give in his own words: - -“In order, it would seem, to escape the stringent conclusion of S. -Cyprian’s words, ‘He who does not succeed to other bishops, but is -self-originated, cannot be reckoned among bishops,’ Mgr. Reinkens, in his -above-quoted pastoral letter, … authoritatively declared not only that -the ‘apostolic see of Rome was vacant,’ but that not one of the actually -existing Roman Catholic bishops was legitimate. - -“In support of this assumption the Old-Catholic bishop invokes some -fathers of the church--not, indeed, what they said or did while living, -but what they would say or do if they were to return to life: ‘If the -great bishops of the ancient church were to return to life in the midst -of us,’ says Mgr. Reinkens, ‘a Cyprian, (!) a Hilary, an Ambrose, … they -would acknowledge none of the existing bishops of the Roman Catholic -Church as validly elected.’[197] - -“So much for the fact. As it can only be ascertained when those great -bishops are restored to life, all we can do is to defer this verification -until the great day of judgment. - -“Now comes the general principle on which the assumed fact is founded. -Let us listen again to Mgr. Reinkens: ‘They [the resuscitated bishops of -the ancient church] would not acknowledge any of the existing bishops of -the Roman Catholic Church as validly elected, because none of them were -appointed in conformity with the immutable rule of the fathers of the -church. Never! no, never! would they have received into their company, -in the quality of a Catholic bishop, one who had not been chosen by the -people and the clergy. This mode of election was considered by them as of -divine precept, and consequently as immutable.’” - -“How many bishops are there in existence at the present day,” asks Father -Tondini, “either in the Anglican Church or in the Christian East, who -have been chosen by the people and the clergy?” - -In answer to this question we have, respecting the non-popular mode of -election in the Oriental Orthodox Church, the following trustworthy -information: In the Orthodox Church of the Turkish Empire the election -of a patriarch is made by the members of its synod, which is composed of -metropolitans, of one of their own number, and this election “is then -made known to the people assembled in the atrium of the synodicon, who -give, by acclamation and the cry of ἄξιος (worthy), their assent to the -election.… This, however, is in fact an empty formality; the more so -as the election itself is the result of previous secret understandings -between the more influential members of the synod and the leading men -among the people.”[198] - -“The three patriarchs of Alexandria, Antioch, and Jerusalem are elected -by their respective synods, composed of metropolitans. - -“The metropolitans and bishops of each patriarchate are elected by the -respective patriarchs, together with their synods.” - -Did the Patriarch of Constantinople, in agreeing, on the invitation of -Dr. von Döllinger, to send representatives of the Greek Orthodox Church -to the Old Catholic Church Congress at Bonn, forget that, according to -Mgr. Reinkens, all bishops who have not been elected by the clergy and -the people are illegitimate bishops, that their sees are all vacant, that -this mode of election is of divine precept, and consequently immutable? - -“We know not,” says Father Tondini, “which of the two is more to be -wondered at: the boldness of the Old Catholics in inviting the patriarch -to be represented at the congress, or the logical inconsistency of the -patriarch in accepting the invitation.” - -Next, with regard to the Orthodox Church of the Russian Empire. - -No one who may have read “The Future of the Russian Church,” which -recently appeared in the pages of THE CATHOLIC WORLD,[199] will need to -be told how little voice either the inferior clergy or people of Russia -have in the election of their bishops. The Most Holy Governing Synod -proposes to his majesty two persons (on an eparchy becoming vacant), and -that one of the two selected by the czar is chosen and consecrated.[200] -(See Consett, _Spiritual Regulation of Peter the Great_.) - -In the formula of the oath taken by the Russian bishops before being -consecrated, they engage themselves to yield true obedience to the Holy -Synod, “the legitimate authority instituted by the pious Emperor Peter -the Great of immortal memory, and confirmed by command of his (or her) -present imperial majesty,” and to obey all the rules and statutes made by -the authority of the synod agreeably to the will of his (or her) imperial -majesty, adding the following words: “Furthermore, I do testify that I -have not received this province in consideration of gold or silver given -by me, … but I have received it by the free will of our most serene and -most puissant sovereign (by name), and by the _election_ of the Holy -Legislative Synod.[201] Moreover, at the beginning of the ceremony the -bishop-consecrator thus addresses the newly-elected bishop: “Reverend -Father N., the Most Serene and Most Puissant Czar N. N. _hath commanded, -by his own singular and proper edict_, and the Holy Legislative Synod of -all the Russias gives its benediction thereto, that you, holy sir, be -bishop of the city of N.”; to which the future bishop is made to answer: -“Since the Most Serene, etc., Czar has _commanded_, and the … synod … has -judged me worthy to undertake this province, I give thanks therefor, and -do undertake it and in nowise gainsay.”[202] - -After similarly disposing (with regard to the remaining Oriental -churches) of Mr. Gladstone’s extraordinary assertion that “the ancient -principles of popular election and control exist in the Christian -East”--an assertion of which also he makes use as a weapon against the -Catholic Church[203]--Father Tondini passes on to the election of bishops -in the Anglican Church. With regard to this, the following abstract from -Stephen is amply sufficient to show how far “the principles of popular -election” prevail in the nomination of the bishops of the Establishment: - -“By statute 25 Henry VIII. c. 20 the law was altered and the right of -nomination secured to the crown, it being enacted that, at every future -avoidance of a bishopric, the king may send the dean and chapter his -usual license to proceed to election, or _congé d’elire_, which is always -to be accompanied with a letter missive from the king, containing the -name of the person whom he would have them elect; and if the dean and -chapter delay their election above twelve days, the nomination shall -devolve to the king, who may by letters-patent appoint such person as -he pleases. This election or nomination, if it be of a bishop, must be -signified by the king’s letters-patent to the archbishop of the province; -if it be of an archbishop, to the other archbishop and two bishops, or -to four bishops, requiring them to confirm, invest, and consecrate the -person so elected; which they are bound to perform immediately, without -any application to the See of Rome. After which the bishop-elect shall -sue to the king for his temporalities, shall take oath to the king and to -none other, and shall take restitution of his secular possessions out of -the king’s hand only. And if such dean and chapter do not elect in this -manner by this act appointed, or if such archbishop or bishop do refuse -to confirm, invest, and consecrate such bishop-elect, they shall incur -all the penalties of a præmunire--that is, the loss of all civil rights, -the forfeiture of lands, goods, and chattels, and imprisonment during -the royal pleasure. It is to be observed, however, that the mode here -described of appointing bishops applies only to such sees as are of old -foundation. The five new bishoprics created by Henry VIII. … have always -been donatives, and conferred by letters-patent from the crown; and the -case is the same as to the bishopric of Ripon, now recently created” -(Stephen’s _Commentaries on the Laws of England_, vol. iii. p. 61). - -In concluding his essay, Father Tondini repeats Mgr. Reinkens’ words: -“If the great bishops of the ancient church were to return to life in -the midst of us, … never! no, never! would they have received into their -company, in the quality of a Christian bishop, one who had not been -chosen by the people and the clergy; this mode of election was considered -by them as of divine precept, and consequently as immutable”; and then -asks: “How can the support given by the state churches and governments of -England and Russia to Old Catholicism be explained? Is it for the purpose -of declaring that all the episcopal sees, both of England and Russia, are -vacant and awaiting the choice of the people?” - -The reader, being now acquainted with much of the contents as well as -with the general tenor of Father Tondini’s essay, may find some interest -(possibly amusement also) in comparing the following remarks of the -London _Tablet_ (Sept. 18) with the confirmation of their accurate -appreciation of the “British Philistine’s” pride in his own obtuseness so -ingenuously furnished (Sept. 25) by a writer in the _Church Review_: - -LONDON TABLET. - -“We are a little afraid that the Anglican sympathizers with the Old -Catholics will not be sharp enough to understand the keen logic of Father -Tondini’s concise reasoning. The British Philistine rather glories in -being impervious to logic or wit, and chuckles over his own obtuseness -as a proof of the strength of the religion which he patronizes. It is -provoking to a zealous controversialist to have to do battle with such a -heavy antagonist, but we trust the good father will not cease to labor at -the conversion of our illogical but worthy fellow-countrymen. We thank -him for a well-timed and well-written pamphlet.” - -(The _Universe_ calls it “another fatal blow for the theology of our -ex-prime minister; closely reasoned and perfectly terrible in its manner -of grasping its luckless opponent.”--_Universe_, September 25, 1875.) - -CHURCH REVIEW. - -“The Rev. Cæsar Tondini, who is fond of linking Russian Orthodoxy and -Anglican Catholicism in one sweeping condemnation, is by no means one -of the Pope’s greatest controversialists. But this pamphlet is hardly -worthy of even his reputation. Every point in it might be answered by -a _tu quoque_. Fact might be set against fact, defect against defect, -innovation against innovation, inconsistency against inconsistency, -and error against error. But picking holes in our neighbor’s coat will -never mend the rents in our own. So we forbear, content for the present -to congratulate ourselves on the fact that, while Romanists are still -utterly blind to their own nakedness, we have at least plucked a fig-leaf -by the efforts already made to bring about reunion.” [Who could help -thinking, “We would not give a fig for such a leaf as this”?] - - -IV. - -We will conclude the present notice by some account of the recent -Conference at Bonn, in which the Old Catholics have given abundant -proof that they are no freer from variation than are any other of the -Protestant sects. - -Desirous of strengthening their position by alliance with other forms -of schism, Dr. von Döllinger invited to a congress representatives -of the schismatic Greek and Russian Church, the English and American -Episcopalians, and the Old Catholics. The assembly was called the -“International Conference of the Union of the Christian Churches,” and -proposed as its object an agreement on the fundamental points of doctrine -professed by Christendom before its divisions, with a view “to restore -by a reform as broad as possible the ancient Catholic Church of the -West.”[204] - -In this International Conference, which began on the 12th of August and -ended on the 16th, the principal Orientals, who numbered about twenty -in all, were two bishops from Roumania; an archimandrite from Belgrade; -two archimandrites, Anastasiades and Bryennios, from Constantinople, -sent by the patriarch as being well versed in all the questions which -have divided and which still divide the Greek and Latin Churches; there -were also present the Archbishop of Syra and Tino, Mgr. Licourgos, well -known in England, and six professors, among whom were Profs. Osinnin and -Janischef, the latter being the gentleman who at the last Conference -was so severe on Anglican orders. The Protestant Episcopalians were the -most numerous, being about a hundred in number; but they had only one -bishop among them--namely, the Bishop of Gibraltar. Those of Winchester -and Lincoln, who had also given their adherence to the movement, found -themselves at the last moment unable to attend. The most notable person -in the Anglican group was Dr. Liddon, Canon of S. Paul’s. Dean Howson, of -Chester, was also one of its members; his “views” on nearly every point -of church teaching being diametrically opposed to those of Canon Liddon. -The same group contained an Unitarian minister from Chesterfield (Mr. -Smith), and a “Primitive Methodist” (Mr. Booth, a chemist and druggist -of the same town), who on a late occasion was voted for and returned at -the head of the poll as an advocate of secular education. The Americans -sent only three delegates, and the “Reformed Church” one--the Rev. -Th. de Félice. The Old Catholics, all of whom were Germans, numbered -eighteen or twenty, with Dr. von Döllinger and Bishop Reinkens at their -head, supported by Herr Langen, “Altkatholik”; Herr Lange, Protestant, -and Herr Lang, the least orthodox of all. Close to this little group -figured seven or eight more German Protestants. In all, the Conference -was composed of about one hundred and fifty persons, of whom the _Times_ -observes that, “slender as the gathering was, it was forced to display an -almost ludicrous caution in drawing up such articles of faith as would -command the assent of the whole assembly”--articles “so vague that they -might be made to mean anything or nothing”; and, further, that the few -English divines who went to Bonn to play at a council no more represent -the Church of England than Dr. von Döllinger represents the Church of -Rome, but spoke in the name of nothing but themselves. It suggests to -them, with scornful irony, that “charity begins at home,” and that in the -present distracted state of the Church of England, “when nothing keeps -the various and conflicting ‘schools’ of clergy in the same communion -but the secular forces of the Establishment, there is surely there a -magnificent field for the exercise of even a genius of conciliation.” - -A Bavarian Protestant clergyman informed the assembly that, as there -was no chance of their coming to an agreement by means of discussion -about dogma, they had far better throw over dogma altogether, and trust -to brotherly love to bring about union. Dr. von Döllinger, however, -said that if they all shared this opinion, they had better have stayed -at home. One reverend gentleman proposed to settle the difference by -examining where the fathers all harmonize, and abiding by the result -(a task which, as a looker-on observed, would give all the theological -acuteness and learning in the world abundant work for about half a -dozen centuries); whereupon Bishop Reinkens nervously tried to draw the -debaters into the cloud-land of love and unity of purpose, etc., etc. -But here Canon Liddon hastened to the rescue with a carefully-prepared -scheme for effecting the reconciliation of the East and West, which -was apparently received by the Orientals with a tranquil indifference, -and was chiefly remarkable for its adroit semblance of effecting much, -while it in fact does nothing. Yielding here and there a phrase of no -special meaning, it declared in the next clause that it would retain its -own form of the Creed until the dispute should be settled by “a truly -œcumenical council.” This announcement was the signal for an outburst of -disapproval, questions, and objections. “What did Canon Liddon mean by -an œcumenical council?” “An assent of the whole episcopate.” This was -too much for Lord Plunkett, who exclaimed that he would never have come -to the Conference if he had known that it meant to confine the Christian -Church within the bounds of episcopacy. What, he should like to know, -was to hinder Presbyterian ministers from being admitted equally with -bishops to take part in an œcumenical council? - -On this the canon obligingly agreed to substitute “the whole church” -for the obnoxious term; but while the assembly hesitated, some paragon -of caution suggested the phrase “sufficient authority.” However, this -masterpiece of conciliation--for nobody could say what it meant--was -rejected for “the whole church,” this latter being equally ambiguous -to those who were adopting it. On this they agreed. As the _Times’_ -correspondent observes, “Everybody will agree with everybody else when -all deliberately use words for the purpose of concealing what they mean. -When men differ from each other essentially, it is childish folly to try -to unite them by an unmeaning phrase.” - -The great question was that of the procession of the Holy Spirit. On this -M. Osinnin was the chief speaker on behalf of the Greeks, and he seems -to have challenged every interpretation of the Westerns, maintaining -even that _procedit_ was not an exact rendering of ἐκπορεύεται. However, -a committee was appointed, composed of the Germans, two Orientals, an -Englishman, and an American; and Dr. von Döllinger announced to the -Conference on its last sitting that an agreement had been arrived at on -all essential points. The Greeks were to retain their version of the -Nicene Creed, and the Westerns theirs; the latter were to admit that -the _Filioque_ had been improperly introduced, and that both were to -agree that, whichever version they used, their meaning was that the Holy -Spirit proceeds from the Father through the Son. With regard to the last -point, however, the Orientals said that although they had personally no -objection to the expression, yet they must decline to give any official -assent to the article until it had been submitted to their synods or -other competent authorities at home. - -Judging from every account we have seen (all of them Protestant) of the -Bonn Conference, it is evident that its members, in order to give an -appearance of mutual agreement, subscribed to propositions which may be -taken in various senses. The six articles agreed to by the committee were -couched in the following terms: - -“We believe with S. John Damascene, 1, that the Holy Spirit proceeds -from the Father as the beginning, the cause, and the fountain of Deity. -2. That the Holy Spirit does not proceed from the Son ἐκ τοῦ υίοῦ, and -that for this reason there is in the Godhead only one beginning, one -cause, through which all that is in the Godhead is produced. 3. That the -Holy Spirit is the image of the Son, who is the image of the Father, -proceeding from the Father and resting in the Son, as the outbeaming -power of the latter. 4. The Holy Spirit is the personal bringing forth -of the Father, but belonging to the Son, yet not of the Son, since he -is the Spirit of the Godhead which speaks forth the Word. 5. The Holy -Spirit forms the connecting link between the Father and the Son, and is -united to the Father through the Son. 6. The Holy Spirit proceeds [or, as -amended by Mr. Meyrick, ‘issues’] from the Father through the Son.” - -It is the supposed denial of that unity of the αρχή, or originating -principle in the Most Holy Trinity, which has always been the ground of -the Greek objections to the Latin form of the Creed.[205] “The double -_Procession_[206] of the Holy Ghost has always been believed in the -church, only to a certain number of minds it remained for a time obscure, -and thus there are to be found in the writings of the fathers passages in -which mention is made rather of the procession from the Father than of -the double procession from the Father and the Son, but yet none which, -although not formally indicating, exclude or contradict it. - -“In recurring to the expressions employed by the fathers, the members of -the Bonn Conference have made choice of some of those which are vague -and least explicit, instead of others which convey to the mind a clear -idea. We are fully aware that, from a historical point of view, the -question of the _Filioque_ presents some difficulties. At Nicæa, in 325, -the question of _procession_ was not even mentioned, from the fact of -its not having up to that time been raised. At Constantinople, in 381, -in order to cut short discussions which were tending to result in a -denial of the Trinity, the addition had been made to the Creed that the -Holy Ghost proceeds from the Father, without mention of the Son. At the -Third Council of Toledo, in 589, the faith of the church in the double -procession was clearly indicated by the addition of the _Filioque_--an -addition, which was adopted by several particular councils, and which -became general in France. The popes, however, foreseeing that the -Orientals--always inclined to be ill-disposed towards the West--would -make this addition an excuse for breaking off into schism, appeared at -first but little in favor of a modification which, although expressing -with greater accuracy the faith of the church, would furnish fresh fuel -to theological disputes. It was a question of prudence. But when the -truth was once placed in peril, they hesitated no longer. All the West -chanted the _Filioque_; and the Greeks themselves, on repeated occasions, -and notably at the Council of Florence in 1438, confessed the double -procession to be an article of the Catholic faith.” - -The Old Catholics of Bonn have thus made, as it seems to us, a -retrogression on this question. Will this help to secure “the union -of the Christian churches” which was the object of the Conference? In -outward appearance possibly it may, because all the separated communities -willingly join hand in hand against the true church of Christ; but in -reality, no, for the Greeks will continue to reject the procession -through the Son, as the Anglicans will continue to accept it; and we have -no need to say that the Catholic Church will never cease to confess the -double procession, and to sing: _Qui ex Patre Filioque procedit_. - -With regard to other subjects discussed by the meeting at Bonn, we will -briefly mention that Canon Liddon spoke against the invocation of saints, -and Dr. von Döllinger talked of “making a clear sweep” of the doctrine -of purgatory and indulgences; although, in stating the belief of his -co-religionists, he was obliged to reaffirm the doctrine of purgatory in -terms nearly equivalent to those of the Creed of Pope Pius IV. On this -matter, whatever the Greeks might do, how many of the Anglicans would -agree with the Old Catholics? Not only are the people who go to these -conferences from England in no sense representatives of the body to which -they belong, but even they themselves do not always abide by what they -have agreed to.[207] Dean Howson, in a statement he read at the last -Conference, put a Low-Church interpretation on the resolution of last -year’s Conference about the Eucharist, which interpretation Canon Liddon -immediately repudiated. Before Greek or German schismatics can unite with -the Church of England, they will have to make up their minds as to which -of at least four theological systems _is_ Anglicanism, and then to get -_that_ admitted by the other three. - -As to the validity of Anglican orders, Dr. von Döllinger appears to have -considered it as resting on the certainty of Parker’s consecration, -without going into the really more important questions of Barlow’s -orders, or the sufficiency of form or intention, all of which are matters -of such grave doubt as to be practically worthless to any one insisting -upon the necessity of _certainty_ that the communion to which he belongs -possesses the apostolic succession. - -We cannot conclude this sketch of the Bonn Conference without presenting -our readers with a portrait of its chief, Dr. von Döllinger, drawn by a -friendly hand--that of a French apostate priest, and one of the members -of the Conference--which we reproduce from the pages of the _Indépendance -Belge_. - -“M. Döllinger,” he writes, “pronounced three long and eloquent -discourses, marked by that seriousness and depth which so especially -characterize his manner of speaking; but notwithstanding their merit, -they have not resulted in any new conclusion. May not the blame be in -some measure due to M. Overbeck, who … introduced into the discussion -authorities posterior to the epoch of the separation of East and West, -and mingled the question of the seven œcumenical councils with that of -the _Filioque_?… At all events, both obscurity and coldness found their -way into the debates.… - -“Truly, this excellent M. Döllinger seems fated to go on from one -contradiction to another, and to accept one year that which he refused -in the preceding. For instance, in 1871, at the congress at Munich, -he energetically opposed the organization of Old-Catholic parishes; -afterwards he resigned himself to consent to this. In 1871 he desired the -Old Catholics to confine themselves, after his example, to protesting -against the excommunication they had incurred; but later on he is willing -that their priests should take upon themselves the full exercise of their -ministry. In 1871 and 1872 he wished to maintain the decisions of the -Council of Trent; in 1873 he decided to abandon them, as well as the -alleged œcumenicity of this council. In 1872 … he considered the attempts -made to establish union between the Old Catholics and the Oriental -churches as at any rate imprudent, if not even compromising. In 1874 -he adopted the idea of which he had been so much afraid, and has since -that time used every endeavor to promote the union of the churches. Last -year a proposal [for a committee to examine on what points the earliest -fathers harmonized] was rejected by M. Döllinger with a certain disdain, -as impracticable and even childish. _Now_, however, we find him obliged -to come back to it, at least in part.”[208] “It is by no means in -reproach but in praise that we say this,” continues the writer, adding: -“He accepted with the best grace possible, in one of the sittings of the -Conference this year, the observations of Prof. Osinnin on the manner of -studying texts; and when an erudite and venerable man like M. Döllinger -knows how to correct himself with such humility, he does but raise -himself in the esteem of sincere men.” - -We would here venture to observe that when “so erudite” a man as Dr. von -Döllinger, and one who is acknowledged by an entire sect as its most -distinguished doctor and its leader, is so little sure of his doctrine -that he is continually altering it, he and his followers are surely among -the last people who ought to refuse to the Pope the infallibility which -he in fact arrogates to himself in setting himself above an œcumenical -council, as was that of the Vatican. - -If the head is represented by one of the members as being in a chronic -state of uncertainty, so are the members themselves represented by -another. In the _Church Review_ (Anglican) for Sept. 18, 1875, is an -article entitled “Old-Catholic Prospects,” the greater part of which -consists of one of the most abusive and malignant attacks against the -Catholic Church, and in an especial manner against the Jesuits, that -it has ever been our lot to come upon, even in the journal in which it -appears. After informing his readers that “Jesuitism has led the Pope -into the egregious heresy of proclaiming his own infallibility,” and -that “the Spirit of Christ, who would not rest in the Vatican Council, -where all was confusion, restraint, and secrecy, (!) has brooded over -the humble (?) Conference of trusting hearts” at Bonn, etc., etc., this -person, with a sudden sobriety, ventures on a closer inspection of the -favored sect for which he had just profanely claimed the guidance of the -Eternal Spirit, while denying it to the œcumenical council where the -whole episcopate of the Catholic Church was assembled with its head, the -Vicar of Christ. - -This writer perceives that, “on the other hand, there are dangers in -the future. At present,” he says, “the Old-Catholic body is kept in -order by two master minds--Dr. Döllinger and Prof. Schulte. There are -innumerable elements of discord” (he adds) “manifest enough, but they -are as yet subdued by reverence for Dr. Döllinger, and beat down by the -sledge-hammer will of the lay professor. If either of these pilots were -removed, it is impossible to say into how many fragments Old Catholicism -might split. Its bishop has no means of control over minds, as have -Schulte and Döllinger. Michaelis is simply abusive and violent, ready -to tear down with hands and teeth, but incompetent to build. Repulsive -in personal appearance, his work is that of detraction, denunciation, -and destruction. To human eyes the movement is no movement at all; _it -contains in itself no authority_ to hold its members personally in check; -and yet, in spite of every disadvantage, the Old-Catholic society is the -expression of true feeling,” etc., etc. - -But we have dwelt long enough on this picture; let us in conclusion turn -to a very different one. “Rome accepts no compromise; she dictates laws,” -says M. Henri Vignaud,[209] contrasting her in no friendly spirit with -the sect we have been contemplating, but yet in a spirit of calmness and -candor. - -And this, which he intends as a reproach, is in reality a commendation. -It is the true church _only_ which _can_ accept no compromise when the -truth is in question, of which she is the faithful depository; and -whatever laws she dictates are to guard the truth, dogmatic or moral, -issued in God’s name and with his authority. - -M. Vignaud acknowledges this in the following remarkable manner: “That -cannot be conciliated which is by nature irreconcilable. There can be no -compromise with faith.… Either man forges to himself the truths which -must illuminate his path, or he receives them from the Deity, in which -case he must submit to accept the dogma of infallibility; for without -this the whole theory falls. It is for this reason that the apostolic -Roman Catholicity is so strong. Subordinating reason to faith, it -does not carry within it the germ of any scepticism. There can be no -transacting with it, and whoever goes out of it enters, whether he is -aware of the fact or not, into rationalism, of which the logical outcome -is the elimination of the divine action in human affairs.”[210] - -It would be scarcely possible to show more clearly that there are but -two logical positions in the world of intelligences--namely, Catholicity -and scepticism, or, as it is called in the present day, positivism. The -next step after refusing God all action in human affairs is to refuse him -existence. - -The Conference at Bonn, however little it may have done in other -respects, has already produced one result which was far from the -intention of its promoters. It has furnished an additional proof that -there is one church only which is capable of resisting the invasion of -scepticism and unbelief, and that this church is the Catholic and Roman. - -“_Either Jesus Christ never organized a church, or the Catholic is the -church which he organized._”[211] - - -MIDNIGHT MASS IN A CONVENT. - -I have lately been reading some remarks on the curious association -existing between certain tastes and odors and an involuntary exertion of -the memory by which the recurrence of those tastes or odors recalls, with -a vividness not otherwise to be obtained, a whole series of incidents -of past life--incidents which, with their surrounding scenes, would -otherwise be quite forgotten and buried out of sight by the successive -overlaying of other events of greater interest or importance. Montaigne -has some singular illustrations of this peculiar fact of consciousness, -and there is a brief reference to the subject made in some recently -republished recollections of William Hazlitt. Connected with this is the -powerful influence known to be exercised in many well-authenticated cases -upon the nervous sensibilities by the exhalation of particular perfumes -or the scent of certain kinds of flowers harmless or agreeable to all -other persons. There is a reciprocal motion of the mind which has also -been noted, by which a particular train of thought recalls a certain -taste or smell almost as if one received the impression from the existing -action of the senses. An illustration is given in the discussion just -noted, where a special association of ideas is stated to have brought -back to the writer, with great vividness, the “smell of a baker’s shop -in Bassorah.” Individual experiences could doubtless be accumulated to -show that this mysterious short-hand mind-writing, so to term it, by -means of which the memory records on its tablets, by the aid of a single -sign imprinted upon a particular sense, the history of a long series of -associated recollections, is not confined to the senses of taste and -smell alone, but makes use of all. - -The recollection of one of the happiest days of my life--a day of -strong excitement and vivid pleasure, but not carried to the pitch of -satiety--is inseparably associated with the warm, aromatic smell of a -cigar which I lighted and puffed, walking alone down a country road. -In this case the train of thought is followed by the impression on the -sense. But in another instance within my experience the reciprocal action -of thought and sense is reversed; the sight of a particular object in -this latter case invariably bringing back to my mind, with amazing -distinctness, a scene of altogether dissimilar import, lying far back in -the memory. The circumstances are these: - -’Tis now some years since I visited the seaport town of Shippington. It -is, or was, one of those sleepy provincial cities which still retain -an ante-Revolutionary odor about its dock-yard and ordnance wharves. A -group of ragged urchins or a ruby-nosed man in greasy and much-frayed -velveteen jacket might be seen any sunny morning diligently fishing for -hours off the end of one of its deserted piers for a stray bite from a -perch or a flounder. The arrival of the spring clipper-ship from Glasgow, -bringing a renewal of stock for the iron merchants, or of a brig with -fruit from the Mediterranean, used to set the whole wharf population -astir. Great changes have taken place of late years. Railroads have been -built. Instead of a single line of ocean steamships, whose fortnightly -arrival was the event of the day, half a dozen foreign and domestic lines -keep the port busy. Fashion, which was once very exclusive and confined -to a few old families, has now asserted its sway over wider ranks, -and the officers of her majesty’s gallant Onety-Oneth, and the heavy -swells of Shippington society whose figures adorn the broad steps of the -Shippington Club-House, have now the pleasure of criticising any fine -morning a (thin) galaxy of female beauty and fashion sweeping by them, -whose _modes_ rival those of Beacon Street or Murray Hill. - -But at the time of which I write--when I was a school-boy, a quarter of -a century ago--it had not been much stirred by the march of these modern -improvements. Her Britannic majesty was then young to the throne, and a -great fervor of loyalty prevailed; and when the Royal Welsh Fusileers -used to march down to the parade-ground for morning drill, with the -martial drum-major and its great bearded Billy-Goat, presented by the -queen, dividing the honors of the head of the regiment, it would be -hard to exaggerate the enthusiasm that swelled the bosoms of the small -boys and African damsels who stepped proudly along with the band. Those -were grand days, _quorum pars magna fui_, when I too marched down the -hill from the citadel, with a mind divided between awe and admiration -of the drum-major--curling his mustache fiercely and twirling his staff -with an air of majesty--and a latent terror of the bearded pet of the -regiment, whom report declared to have destroyed three or four boys in -Malta. But rare indeed were those holidays, for I was impounded most -of the time in a college, where the study of the Latin _Delectus_ gave -little opportunity for the pursuit of those more attractive branches -of a liberal education. About half a dozen of the boys, of whom I was -one, were proficients at serving Mass. It was therefore with great joy -at the distinction that we found ourselves named, one frosty Christmas -Eve, to accompany Father W---- to the Convent of the Sacred Heart, about -a mile distant, where he was to celebrate midnight Mass. Oh! how the -snow crisped and rattled under our feet as we marched along, full of -importance, after Father W----, each boy with his green bag, containing -his surplice and _soutane_, swung over his arm! What a jolly night it -was; and how the stars twinkled! We slapped our hands together, protected -by our thick blue mitts, and stamped our feet like soldiers on the march -to Moscow. It was after ten o’clock, and the streets were dark and -nearly deserted. To us, long used to be sound asleep at that hour in -our warm dormitory, each boy in his own little four-poster, with the -moonlight streaming in through the windows on its white counterpane--and -not daring, if we were awake, so much as to whisper to the boy next to -us, under pain of condign punishment in the morning--there was something -mysterious and almost ghostly in this midnight adventure. As we passed -the guard-house near the general’s residence, the officer of the night, -muffled in his cloak, came along on the “grand rounds.” The sentry, in -his tall bear-skin hat, stops suddenly short in his walk. - -“Who goes there?” he calls out in a loud, fierce voice, bringing down his -bayonet to the charge. - -We clung closer to Father W----’s skirts. “Rounds,” replies the officer -in a voice of command, his sword rattling on the ground, iron-hard with -the frost. “What rounds?” “Grand rounds!” “Advance, grand rounds, and -give the countersign!” Then the sergeant of the guard, the alarm being -given, rushes out into the street with his men, all with bayonets drawn -and looking terrible in the moonlight. They form in line, and the officer -advances. A whispered conversation takes place; the soldiers present arms -and march back into the warm guard-house; and the officer passes silently -on to the next guard. - -While this scene was going on we stood half terrified and fascinated, -hardly knowing whether to take to our heels or not. But the calm voice -of Father W----, as he answered “A friend” to the sentry’s challenge, -reassured us. Soon we reached the convent gate, and, entering the -grounds, which were open for the occasion, found the convent all ablaze -with lights. The parents and friends of the young lady pupils were -permitted to attend the midnight Christmas Mass. The convent, and convent -chapel which communicated with it, stood in the midst of winding walks -and lawns very pretty in the summer; but the tall trees, now stripped of -their leaves, swung their bare branches in the wind with a melancholy -recollection of their faded beauty. Groups, in twos and threes, walked -silently up the paths, muffled in cloaks and shawls, and disappeared -within the chapel. We were received by the lady-superior, Mme. P----, -whose kind voice and refined and gentle manners were sadly maligned -by a formidable Roman nose, that struck our youthful minds with awe. -What unprincipled whims does Nature sometimes take thus to impress -upon the countenance the appearance of a character so alien to our -true disposition! Nor is it less true that a beautiful face and a form -that Heaven has endowed with all the charms of grace and fascinating -beauty may hide a soul rank with vice and malice. The Becky Sharpes of -the world are not all as ferret-featured as Thackeray’s heroine, whom, -nevertheless, with much truth to art, he represents as attractive and -alluring in her prime. But dear Mme. P----’s Roman nose was not, I have -reason to believe, without its advantages; the fortuitous severity of -its cast helping to maintain a degree of discipline among her young lady -boarders, which a tendency to what Mr. Tennyson calls “the least little -delicate curve” (_vulgo_, a pug), or even a purely classical Grecian, -might have failed to inspire. Forgive me the treason if I venture even -to hint that those young ladies in white and blue who floated in and out -of Mme. P----’s parlors on reception-days, like angels cut out from the -canvas on the walls, were ever less demure than their prototypes! - -We altar-boys were marshalled into a long, narrow hall running parallel -with the chapel. There we busied ourselves in putting on our red -_soutanes_ and white surplices, and preparing the altar for Mass. But -we had a long time to wait, and while we stood there in whispering -silence, and the chapel slowly filled, suddenly appeared Mme. P---- -with a lay sister, carrying six little china plates full of red and -white sugar-plums, and some cakes not bigger than a mouthful, to beguile -our tedium. To this day the sight of one of those small plates, filled -with that kind of sugar-plums, brings back to my mind with wonderful -minuteness all the scenes I have described and those that followed. The -long walk through the snow, the guard-house, the convent grounds, the -figures of Mme. P---- and her lay sister advancing towards us, rise -before me undimmed by time; and even now as I write the flavor of the -sugared cassia-buds seems to be in my mouth, though it is over twenty -years ago since I cracked them between my teeth with a school-boy’s -relish for sweetmeats. - -The feeling of distant respect engendered by the sight of Mme. P----’s -nose gave way all at once to a profound sympathy and admiration for that -estimable lady, as she handed us those dainties. Yet, as they disappeared -before our juvenile appetites, sharpened by the frost, we could not help -feeling all a boy’s contempt for the girls that could be satisfied with -such stuff, instead of a good, solid piece of gingerbread that a fellow -could get two or three bites at! We had no doubt that the convent girls -had a _congé_ that day, and that this was a part of the feast that had -been provided for them. - -We marched gravely into the sanctuary before Father W----, and took our -places around the altar-steps while he ascended the altar. A deeper hush -seemed to fall on the congregation kneeling with heads bowed down before -the Saviour born on that blessed morning. The lights on the altar burned -with a mystical halo at the midnight hour. The roses around the Crib of -the infant Redeemer bloomed brighter than June. We heaped the incense -into the burning censer, and the smoke rushed up in a cloud, and the -odorous sweetness filled the air. Then along the vaulted roof of the -chapel stole the first notes of the organ, now rising, now falling; and -the murmuring voice of the priest was heard reading the Missal. Did my -heart stand still when a boy--or is it touched by a memory later?--as, -birdlike, the pure tones of the soprano rose, filling the church, and -thrilling the whole congregation? Marvellous magic of music! Can we -wonder to see an Arion borne by dolphins over the waves, and stilling -the winds with his lyre? Poor Mme. L----! She had a voice of astonishing -brilliancy and power. Her upper notes I have never heard excelled in -flute-like clearness and sustained roundness of tone. When I heard her -years later, with a more experienced ear, her voice, though a good deal -worn, was still one to be singled out wherever it might be heard. She is -since dead. She was a French lady of good family. Her voice had the tone -of an exile. She sang the _Adeste fideles_ on that Christmas morning with -a soul-stirring pathos that impressed me so much as a boy that the same -hymn, sung by celebrated singers and more pretentious choirs, has always -appeared to me tame. - -It would not serve my present purpose to pursue these recollections -farther. Enough has been said to show how quickly the mind grasps at some -one prominent point affected by sense, to group around it a tableau of -associated recollections. That little china tea-plate with its blue and -gilt edge, heaped over with sugar-plums, brings back to me scenes that -seem to belong to another age, so radical is the change which time makes -in the fortunes and even emotions of men. - -When the lights were all out in the chapel, except those that burned -around the Crib, and the congregation had silently departed, we wended -our way back to the college with Father W---- in the chill morning air -more slowly than when we started; sleepy, but our courage still unabated -by reason of the great things we had shared in, and the still greater -things separated from us by only one more, fast-coming dawn. We slept -like tops all the morning, being excused from six o’clock Mass on account -of our midnight excursion. When we joined the home circle on Christmas -morning, you may be assured we had plenty to talk about. Nor was it until -after dinner, and all the walnuts had been cracked, and our new pair of -skates--our most prized Christmas gift--tried on and admired, that the -recollection of our first Christmas Mass began to fade from our minds. -Pure hearts and innocent joys of youth! How smooth the stream--_nescius -auræ fallacis_--on which it sails its tiny craft! How rough the sea it -drifts into! - - -S. LOUIS’ BELL.[212] - - S. Louis’ bell! - How grandly swell - Its matin chime, - Its noonday peal, - Its vesper rhyme! - How deeply in my heart I feel - Their solemn cadence; they to me - Waft hymns of precious melody. - - S. Louis’ bell! - What memories dwell - Enshrined among - Each lingering note - And tuneful tongue! - - As on the quivering air they float, - Those sweet vibrations o’er and o’er - Bear tidings from a far-off shore. - S. Louis’ bell! - What clouds dispel, - What doubts and fears - Dissolve away, - What sorrowing tears, - Like mists before the rising day! - While on the waiting, listening air - Rings out S. Louis’ call to prayer. - - S. Louis’ bell! - Ring on and tell - In matin chime, - And noonday peal, - And vesper rhyme, - And let thy joyful notes reveal - The story loved of mortals best-- - Of Holy Child on Virgin’s breast, - While herald angels from above - Sang anthems of eternal love! - - S. Louis’ bell! - When earth’s farewell - Upon my parting lips shall dwell, - And when I rise - On angel wing - To seek the gates of Paradise, - And stand before the Heavenly King, - Though in that realm of perfect peace - All other earthly sounds should cease, - Methinks ’twould be - A joy to me - Once more to hear, - With bended ear, - The music loved on earth so well-- - The echoes of S. Louis’ bell! - - -FROM CAIRO TO JERUSALEM. - -Seated in the spacious hall of the new hotel in Cairo, we discussed a -tour through the Holy Land. We had quitted our comfortable and home-like -_dahabéeah_, wherein we had lived for nearly four months upon the waters -of the historical Nile. A sad farewell had been said to our trusty -sailors, and even those of them who had lingered around the hotel for -days after our arrival, to kiss our hands as we came out, had now taken -their departure. Old Abiad, our funny man, had for once worn a sober look -as he bade us God-speed on our homeward voyage. Said--the indefatigable, -hard-working, muscular Said, ever ready for the hardest work, and ever -foremost in action--had left us with tearful eyes, and had started on his -upward voyage to Keneh, to marry the young Moslem maiden to whom he had -pledged his troth some few months before. - -Yes, the Nile trip was really over, but on the tablets of memory was -painted a most bright and beautiful picture, which time alone could -efface. Still another separation: one of our party, having been in the -Holy Land the previous year, was about to remain in Egypt, while the rest -of us visited Syria. Father H----, Mme. D----, and the writer made the -travelling party. The plans were soon settled, and a day was appointed -upon which we should depart from Cairo to meet the Russian steamer which -was advertised to leave Alexandria on Monday, April the 13th, A.D. 1874. -One of the greatest difficulties in travelling in the East is to obtain -accurate information concerning the arrival and departure of steamers -and trains. When inquiring what time the train would leave Cairo for -Rhoda, the terminus of the railway along the Nile, I was informed that -it would leave somewhere about seven o’clock in the morning, and would -reach Rhoda between six and eight in the evening; this was the most -accurate information I could possibly obtain. In point of fact, the -train left Cairo at nine A.M., and reached Rhoda at half-past ten at -night. On Monday morning, April 13, there was a general clearing out of -travellers from the hotel. At nine A.M.--and, for a wonder, punctual to -the minute--we left the station at Cairo on the train going to Ismailïa. -We passed through some of the richest country of the Delta, teeming with -life and activity. The _Sagéars_, or Persian water-wheels, were sending -their streams of life-giving water through the numberless little canals -on every hand. Here a line of laden camels march along with stately step. -There a family--father, mother, and son--accompanied by the omnipresent -donkey, called to mind the flight of the Holy Family into Egypt. And well -they may; for here we are in the land of Goshen, at Rameses, the home of -the Israelites, the starting-point of their long, dreary wanderings. Now -the railroad marks the line between the cultivated land and the sandy -plains of the desert; on one side rich vegetation, nurtured by the -fresh-water canal, on the other, sandy hillocks stretching away to the -line of the horizon; and in a few moments we see the deep, rich blue of -the water of Lake Timsah, contrasting most strikingly with the golden -sand of its desert bank. Ismailïa! Ere the train has stopped we are -surrounded by a crowd of Arabs thirsting for their spoil. A score of them -pounce upon our baggage. After considerable shouting and threatening, we -compromise, and a truce is proclaimed. We engaged two of them to carry -our baggage to the steamer on the lake. O porters of the United States! -how you would blush and hang your heads in shame to see these Arabs -handle baggage. In my childish and untravelled simplicity I thought it -most wonderful to see you lift those heavy boarding-houses, miscalled -trunks, and carry them to the fourth story of a hotel. But hereafter, -for porters, commend me to the Arabs. We had four or five heavy valises, -one of them weighing nearly one hundred pounds, and numberless small -parcels. One of the men hung these valises from his neck, and tying the -smaller parcels in among them, as though by way of ornament, started -off, followed by his brother porter, with our only trunk, a large and -very heavy one, strapped on his back. They walked at a brisk pace to the -boat, about one mile distant, and did not seem in the least fatigued when -they arrived there. As we started to walk down the long avenue leading -to the lake, we were beset as usual by the importunities of three or -four donkey-boys, each one recounting the praises of his own animal, -and speaking disparagingly of the others, yet all in the best possible -humor. Running here and there, dragging after them the patient donkey, -they cried out: “Him good donkey, sah; look him. Oder donkey no good; him -back break. Him exquisite donkey, sah! Him Yankee Doodle!” Suddenly, in a -fit of indignation, I turned upon them and howled at the top of my voice: - -“Empshy Ya Kelb” (“Get out, O dog!”), when, with a roar of laughter, -one little imp jumped in front of me, and exclaimed: “Oh! Howadji can -speak Arabic. Him good Arab donkey. Take him, sah; him speak Arabic.” -Notwithstanding this great inducement, I did not take him. - -Like Aladdin’s palace, Ismailïa has sprung up almost in a single night. -In 1860 the site of the present town was a barren waste of sand; but -when the fresh-water canal was completed to this place, and the magic -waters of the Nile were let loose upon it, the golden sands of the desert -gave place to the rich verdure of vegetation; gardens, filled with the -choicest fruits and flowers, sprang up on every hand. Indeed, it seems -but necessary to pour the waters of the Nile on the desert to produce -a soil which will grow anything to perfection. Here we see the pretty -little Swiss _châlet_ of M. de Lesseps, and a short distance beyond -the palace of the viceroy, built in a few months, for the purpose of -entertaining his illustrious guest at the opening of the Suez Canal. - -What singular fellows these Arabs are! Our two porters demand three -rupees (a rupee is worth about fifty cents) for their services. I quietly -take one rupee from my pocket and offer it to them. Indignantly they -reject it; and if I will not give them what they ask, they will accept -nothing at all; and with loud words and angry gestures they shout and -gesticulate most vehemently, complaining of the insignificant pittance -I offer them for the hard work they have just gone through. I repocket -the rupee, and proceed very leisurely to arrange our places on the -little postal boat, which is to leave in about an hour. Having purchased -tickets, and seen that everything was properly arranged, I again return -to the attack, as I am now upon the offensive, and offer them the -rupee. No, they will not have it; but now they will accept two rupees. -Well, it being the rule of Eastern negotiations that as one party comes -down the other should go up, like a balance, I increase the rupee by a -franc, and after much talking they agree to accept it. But now what a -change comes over them! Finding that they have extracted from me all -that they possibly can, their whole manner changes, and they become as -polite and affable as you please. They thank me, proffer their services -to do anything for me that I may wish, kiss their hands in respectful -salutation, and are off. - -Our steamer is somewhat larger than a man-of-war’s boat, and our little -company is soon assembled in the cabin. Besides ourselves, there are, -first, a voluble young Russian who came with us from Cairo, and who -precipitates himself most desperately into the strongest friendships -that the time will allow with every one he meets, telling you all about -himself and his family, and then finding out as much as he can about -you and yours; next, a stolid Saxon, Prussian vice-consul at Cairo, a -very pleasant and intelligent young man; and, lastly, a quiet, retiring -young Italian lady, who, unable to speak any language besides her own, -cannot join in the general conversation, which is carried on principally -in French. At six o’clock we left the landing-place at Ismailïa, and, -passing out the northeast corner of Lake Timsah, we entered the narrow -cutting of El Guisr. The surface of these heights is the highest point in -the Isthmus of Suez, being from sixty to sixty-five feet above the level -of the sea. In cutting the canal through this part they were obliged to -dig down some ninety feet, in order to give the canal its proper depth -below the sea level. Just after we entered this cutting, the strong north -wind which was blowing at the time caught madame’s parasol, whirled it -out of her hand, blew it overboard, and the last we saw of it it was -floating placidly along toward Suez. One sees here how perceptibly the -sand is filling up the hard-won trench, and the dredging-machines are -kept in constant operation to keep the channel clear. At dusk we passed a -large English steamer tied up for the night--as large steamers are never -allowed to travel in the canal after dark. - -We soon entered Lake Menzaleh, and continued through it some twenty-seven -miles to Port Said. Fifteen years ago a belt of sand, from six to nine -hundred feet in width, occupied the place where Port Said now stands. -Here in April, 1859, M. de Lesseps, surrounded by a handful of Europeans -and a score of native workmen, gave the first blow of the spade to that -great channel of communication between the East and the West. Soon the -ground for the future town was made, houses erected, gardens laid out, -and to-day Port Said is a town of nearly ten thousand inhabitants, with -streets, squares, gardens, docks, quays, mosques, churches, and a very -safe and easily-approached harbor. The name Port Said was given to it in -honor of the then viceroy, Said Pasha. The next morning, when I went to -the office to purchase tickets, I was informed, by the not over-polite -clerk in the Russian Steamship Co.’s office, that notwithstanding it was -advertised that the steamer would leave Alexandria on Monday, it would -not leave until Tuesday, and consequently would not leave Port Said -until Wednesday afternoon--another illustration of the uncertainty of -travelling information in the East. In the afternoon I determined to go -down to the lake and endeavor to shoot some flamingoes or pelicans, both -of which abound here in great numbers. Leaving the town, I started to -cross the wide, level plain which separated it, as I supposed, from the -lake. Some distance ahead I saw numerous birds disporting themselves amid -the glistening and sparkling waters of the lake. After walking for nearly -an hour, I reached the spot, but no lake was there, and turning around, I -saw it at the point from which I had started. Somewhat confused, I turned -towards the sea, and there I saw, high up in the air, a sand-bank with -women walking upon it, and a little further on two gigantic figures like -light-houses moving toward me in the air. In a moment the truth flashed -upon me--it was a mirage; and retracing my steps to the town, I found -that the lake was in a different direction from the one I had taken. The -next day we went on board the steamer, which arrived from Alexandria -about ten in the morning. There is considerable excitement on board, and -a number of smart-looking boats with trim crews rapidly approaching -us announce the arrival of M. de Lesseps with his wife and her two -nieces, _en route_ for a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. M. de Lesseps is -a man of medium height, rather stout, and with a very good-natured and -jovial-looking countenance. He wears a heavy gray mustache, and his -hair is silvery white. His appearance is that of a man of great energy -and determination, and one to project and carry through the colossal -work he has so successfully executed. The ship was very much crowded, -or perhaps it would be more correct to say that the accommodations were -very limited, as we did not have more than fifty first-class passengers -on board, and yet there were not sufficient accommodations for them in -the first cabin. Father H---- and I, together with a young Austrian with -whom we had become acquainted at Port Said, were obliged to sleep in -a second-class cabin. We were told that they would so arrange it that -we could eat in the first saloon, and at dinner-time we found a small -work-table set for four of us to eat from. However, it was quite large -enough for me; for I had not been seated many minutes before I felt an -unaccountable desire to go on deck and inhale the fresh air. - -Having done so, I retired for the night. Bright and early the next -morning I was upon deck, but I found Father H---- there before me. -Madame, having a very comfortable room in the first cabin, had not -yet risen. The sea was still and calm as a pond, and, turning my face -toward the east, I beheld for the first time the mountain ranges of -Judæa. Yea, there before me was Judæa, the land promised and given to -the seed of Abraham. There, among those hills, Samson had performed his -exploits of power. There the royal David and the wise Solomon had lived -and reigned. Ay, and there One greater than them all, the Man-God, was -born, lived, and laid down his life for the salvation of mankind. And -was it really true that I, an inquisitive Yankee of the XIXth century, -was soon to tread those sacred spots, hallowed with reminiscences so -dear to the heart of every Christian? I could scarce believe it. Was I -not in a dream, and would I not soon awake to find it all a beautiful -but fleeting vision? No, it was true, and it was made most painfully -apparent by the harsh clangor of the Arab boatmen, and their frantic -endeavors to take possession of us, as our ship dropped anchor off the -town of Jaffa. There is no harbor of any kind here, and when the sea is -calm the steamers anchor about one mile from the shore, and passengers -and their baggage are landed in small boats. Immediately in front of the -town, and but a short distance from it, a series of partially-covered -rocks forms a wall, broken only by two channels or gateways, one about -ten feet in width, and the other a little wider. Through these the sea -dashes with tremendous fury, and as the little boat approaches it is -caught upon the summit of some breaker, and dashed through the opening -into the quiet haven behind. When it is stormy, the steamers do not stop -here at all, but land their passengers a short distance farther up the -coast. The bright, genial face of Father Guido (president of the Casa -Nuova) soon welcomed us to Palestine. He had come down from Jerusalem to -meet M. de Lesseps, and to offer him the hospitality of their convent, -which was thankfully accepted. We soon disembarked and entered a small -boat, accompanied by our trusty dragoman, Ali Aboo Suleyman, who had -travelled with one of our party the previous year, and whom I believe -to be one of the best dragomans in the East. Our boat, propelled by the -strong arms of a half-score of powerful Arabs, soon brought us alongside -of the town. Passing through a narrow gateway, and giving a substantial -and material wink to the revenue official, we, with our baggage, were -soon deposited at the door of the Latin convent. After greeting the kind -and hospitable fathers, and arranging terms with Ali, we started out -for a short walk. Traversing the narrow, tortuous streets and filthy -alleys, jostled by camels, horses, donkeys, and preceded by Achmud, -Ali’s youngest son--a lad of fourteen years, who, with a pompous and -authoritative air, pushed aside old men and young, women and children, -and would have done the same with the camels had he been able, to make -room for the Howadji--we reached the spot where stood in former days the -house of Simon the tanner. Here the Apostle Peter resided many days, -and here he saw the vision of the clean and unclean beasts, wherein -the voice commanded him saying: “Arise, Peter, kill and eat.” A small -mosque now occupies the site of the house. The streets were thronged -with Russian pilgrims returning from their Easter pilgrimage to the Holy -City. Many of them will leave in the afternoon on the steamer which -has brought us from Egypt, and in a few short days will be at Odessa, -whence the railway will carry them to St. Petersburg. About three in the -afternoon, accompanied by an Irish priest who had lived in Malta for -several years, we mounted our horses and started for Jerusalem. We had -been most hospitably entertained by the kind fathers at the convent; a -large room and an excellent breakfast had been provided for us, but no -remuneration asked. We, of course, made a donation, which was thankfully -received. We rode through the narrow streets, passed out the gate, and -in a few moments were among the world-famous orange-groves of Jaffa. The -sky was cloudless, the weather like a beautiful May day at home, and -the air heavy with the delicious fragrance of the oranges. We rode for -nearly a mile through these beautiful groves. Meanwhile, Ali provided -himself with numbers of these large oranges, and soon for the first time -I tasted an orange that I really enjoyed. Just plucked from the tree, -with skin half an inch in thickness, and without seeds, this luscious -fruit seems almost to dissolve in the mouth like ice-cream. Ali owns a -large grove, from which he gathers about one hundred and fifty thousand -oranges per annum. These he sells in large quantities at the rate of two -pounds sterling per thousand, yielding him a very nice income, as the -expense of taking care of them is very small. Now we are riding along -the level plain which separates the Judæan hills from the bright blue -waters of the Mediterranean, and a little after six o’clock we drew rein -at the Latin convent in Ramleh. It is almost useless for me to speak of -the kindness and hospitality of these good Franciscan fathers of the Holy -Land, as it is known throughout the world, and abler pens than mine have -endeavored, but in vain, to praise them as they deserve. Unselfish, -kind, burying self completely in the great work they have undertaken, -they have given up their homes, families, and all that was dear to them, -to live a monastic life among these sacred spots, to guard these holy -places, and, like ministering angels, to assist pilgrims from every -clime and of every Christian race and nationality. Clad in the humble -garb of their order, they go quietly and unostentatiously through life, -sacrificing themselves at every turn for the benefit and comfort of -others. They have stood through centuries, a devoted band of chivalrous -knights guarding the spots rendered sacred by the presence of their God. -May he in his goodness reward them by permitting them to stand as a noble -guard of honor around his celestial throne in the heavenly hereafter! -After a comfortable night’s rest and a good breakfast, we started at six -o’clock, in order to avoid the intense heat of midday. M. de Lesseps and -party had preceded us by nearly two hours. As we rode out the convent -gate, numbers of lepers, with shrunken limbs and distorted countenances, -clamored piteously for alms. We dropped some small coins into their tin -boxes, which they carry so that there may be no possibility of contact -with the compassionate passer-by who may bestow alms upon them. We -rode for some time across a level plain, and near ten o’clock reached -Bab-el-Wady (Gate of the Valley), at the foot of the mountain range. Here -we found a very comfortable house, which has been erected for the sake of -affording accommodation to pilgrims. We lunched here, took a short nap, -and started on our way about two in the afternoon. The whole distance -from Jaffa to Jerusalem is not over thirty-six miles; but fast riding is -not practicable on account of the baggage, which is transported on mules -at a very slow pace; consequently, it generally requires two days to -make the trip, whereas a moderately fast horse could easily accomplish -the journey in seven or eight hours. We now enter Wady Ali. One could -scarcely imagine a more suitable place for lurking bandits to conceal -themselves in than among the thick undergrowth here. Their musket-barrels -might almost touch their unconscious victim’s breast, without being -visible, and many a tale has been told and retold around the Howadji’s -camp-fire of their exploits of robbery and murder in this place. But now, -thanks to the strict though tardy vigilance of the sultan, the pass is -free from danger. - -What feelings of emotion now fill my breast! The dreams of my childhood -are being realized--I am in the Holy Land! Reaching the summit of one of -the ridges, a beautiful panorama is spread out before us. At our feet -lies the valley of Sharon, dressed in the richest green, and ornamented -with the bright, beautiful wild flowers of early spring; beyond lies the -plain of Ramleh, and in the distance, like a silver frame, sparkles and -glistens the bright waters of the Mediterranean. Anon we see beneath -us the beautiful valley of Beit Hanina, and Ali, laying one hand on my -shoulder, points to a little village nestled amid the olive-groves in -the valley. Yes, that is Ain-Karim, the place of the Visitation of the -Blessed Virgin--the spot where was born the “greatest of men.” We check -our horses but for a moment; we have no eyes for that now. Every gaze is -fixed upon that small yellow house upon the top of the opposite hill; -for has not Ali told us that from that point we shall see the Eternal -City? Riding rapidly down the mountain-side, we do not even stop as we -cross the brook--where David gathered the pebbles with which he slew his -gigantic adversary--and push rapidly up the opposite mountain. Father -H---- and I are in advance, while madame rides behind with the Irish -priest. The shades of evening are now falling, and I fear lest night -may come on before we reach the city. Scarce a word is spoken; my heart -beats with excitement, such as it has never known before, and seems as -though it would break through its prison-house, so eager, so anxious, is -it to move quickly on. Unable to restrain my impatience, I give my horse -a blow with my riding-whip, and he starts on a full run. Father H---- -calls me back. We have travelled so long and shared so many pleasures -together, let us together share the great pleasure of the first sight of -Jerusalem. I rein in my horse, and ride by his side. Now the top of the -hill is reached, and it is yet light; but we have mistaken the house--it -is another one still farther on. It is now twilight. We speak not a word, -but, bent forward, we scan the horizon with piercing eyes, as though we -would penetrate the mountains themselves, so eager are we to see the -city. I hail a passing boy: “Fin el Kuds?” (“Where is Jerusalem?”), -but with a stupid stare he passes on. A few moments more the house is -reached, and Sion, royal city of David, lies before us! Waiting until the -rest of the party ride up, we dismount, kneel, kiss the ground, and then -recite aloud the psalm _Lætatus Sum_, a Pater Noster, and an Ave Maria, -remount, enter the city by the Jaffa gate, ride to our comfortable -quarters at the Latin Hospice, and _are in Jerusalem_. - -At the convent we were entertained in the most hospitable manner, and -provided with the neatest and tidiest of rooms. Early the next morning -Father H---- and I sallied forth to call on Père Ratisbonne. Following -the Via Sacra, we stopped before an iron gate a short distance below the -arch Ecce Homo, and little Achmud, picking up a large stone, pounded -upon it as though he were repaying a grudge which he had cherished -against it for centuries. I ventured to remonstrate, suggesting that they -might be displeased at so much noise being made. But he answered very -coolly--meanwhile continuing the pounding as if his future happiness -depended upon making a hole in the door--that he wanted to inform those -inside that some visitors wished to call upon them. I said nothing, but -doubted seriously whether that would be the impression produced on their -minds. Had it been in America, and had I been inside, I should have -imagined that it was an election row, or a fire during the reign of the -volunteer fire department. But notwithstanding all this, no one appeared, -and we moved away disgusted, only to find that we had been at the wrong -place, and to be farther informed that Père Ratisbonne was in Paris. - -What shall I say of the sacred spots of Jerusalem, which so many abler -pens than mine have attempted to describe?--vainly endeavoring to portray -the inexpressible emotions that crowd the breast of every Christian as he -kneels before them for the first time! Perhaps I can convey to my readers -some idea of the feeling which continually pervaded my whole being. It -was as if the curtain of the past had been rolled back, placing me face -to face with the living actors in that great tragedy of our Redemption -eighteen hundred years ago. What contributed in a great measure to this -was that we had lived during the winter in an atmosphere of three or -four thousand years ago. We had scarcely esteemed it worth while to look -at the ruins of the Ptolemys, they seemed so recent after the massive -temples of the Rameses and the Ositarsens, and now the beginning of -the Christian era appeared but an affair of yesterday. The Adamic and -Mosaic dispensations seemed a little old, ’tis true, but the Christian -dispensation was yet to us in all the glory of its early morn. I felt, -as I crossed the Kedron and read the Holy Gospels seated beneath the -olive-trees in the garden of Gethsemane, as if even I had been a personal -follower of the Man-God, and in imagination could hear the hosannas of -praise as he rode past me on the ass on the way from Bethany. Before this -religion had seemed to me more like an intellectual idea. Now I felt that -I knew Him as a friend, and my heart beat earnest acquiescence to Father -H----’s remark: “Coming from Egypt, Christ appears a modern personage; -and the visit to the sacred places of Palestine adds to the intellectual -and moral conviction of the truth of Christianity, the feeling and -strength of personal friendship with its Author.” - -On Sunday Father H---- celebrated Mass at the altar erected on the spot -where the Blessed Virgin stood during the Crucifixion. The hole in the -rock wherein the sacred cross was planted belongs to the Greeks, and -over it they have erected an altar, loaded down, like all their other -altars, with tawdry finery. On another occasion I had the happiness to -serve Father H----’s Mass on the spot where our Lord was nailed to the -cross. But the greatest happiness of all was reserved for the morning -we left the Holy City, when madame and I received Holy Communion from -the hands of Father H----, who celebrated Mass, which I served, in the -Holy Sepulchre itself. _Hic Jesus Christus sepultus est._ In that little -tomb the three of us, who had shared together the pleasures and dangers -of a long voyage in Egypt and Nubia--here on the very spot where He was -entombed, we alone, in early morn, received his sacred body and blood, -giving fresh life and courage to our souls for our future struggles with -the world. How much better, instead of incrusting the sepulchre with -marble and gems, to have left it as it was, rude and simple as when the -Man-God was laid in it! But one sacred spot is left in its primitive -state--the grotto of the Agony. A simple altar has been erected in it, -and a marble tablet let into the wall with this inscription upon it: “Hic -factus est sudor ejus sicut guttæ sanguinis decurrentis in terram.” The -walls and roof of the grotto are to-day as they were that terrible night -when they witnessed the sweat as drops of blood rolling down his sacred -face. - -The limits of this article will not permit me to tell how we wandered -reverentially along the Via Sacra, or gazed in admiration from Olivet’s -summit on Jerusalem the Golden lying at our feet; of our interesting -visit to the residence of the Princesse de La Tour d’Auvergne, on the -spot where the apostles were taught the Lord’s Prayer, which she has -inscribed on the court-yard walls in every written language. I could -tell of our visit to the _Cœnaculum_ to the Temple, the tomb of the -Blessed Virgin, our walks through the Valley of Jehoshaphat; but these -descriptions are so familiar to every Christian that I will content -myself with relating more of the personal incidents which befell us than -general descriptions of what we saw. - -Father H---- and I left Jerusalem on Tuesday morning, and, after riding -several hours, camped for the night near the Greek convent of Mars -Saba. No woman is allowed to enter this convent, and men only with -permission of the Greek Patriarch of Jerusalem. We visited the tomb of -S. Saba, model of anchorites, and saw in one room the skulls of fourteen -thousand of his brethren, most of them massacred by the Bedouins. Rev. -Mr. Chambers, of New York, with two young friends, was encamped near -us, and we spent a very pleasant evening in their tent. At five o’clock -the next morning we were in the saddle, _en route_ for the Dead Sea. -We had a Bedouin escort, who was attired in a dilapidated, soiled -night-shirt, and was scarcely ever with us, either taking short cuts down -the mountain-side--as he was on foot--and getting far in advance of us, -or lagging equally as far in the rear. Nevertheless, it was a powerful -escort--had we not paid the sheik of the tribe five dollars for it? and -did it not represent the force and power of a mighty tribe of Bedouins? -In sober earnest, this hatless, shoeless escort was a real protection; -for if we had been attacked while he was with us, his tribe, or the -sheik of it, would have been forced by the authorities to make good our -loss, and, moreover, the attacking tribe would have incurred the enmity -of our escort’s tribe--a very serious thing in this part of the world, -and among men whose belief is: Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall -his blood be shed. The Bedouins find this way of robbing travellers more -profitable than the old-time system of taking their victim’s property -_vi et armis_, for in the latter instance they are liable to be pursued, -caught, and punished; while in the former, by exacting a fee from the -traveller and furnishing an escort in return, they make considerable -money without fear of punishment. While riding along toward the Dead Sea, -I frequently dismounted to shoot partridges, and on remounting I took -out the cartridges which had not been used, before handing my gun to the -escort, who carried it for me. On one occasion, when near the Dead Sea, -I had pursued several partridges, but did not get a shot at them, and -returning to my horse, held by the escort, I was about to draw out the -cartridges when he requested me to let them remain, so that I should not -have the trouble of reloading for the next shot. I shook my head with a -negative motion, when he replied in an humble tone: “Very well. I am a -Bedouin, and of course you cannot trust me.” And then flashed across my -mind that terrible curse pronounced upon Ishmael and his descendants: -“His hand shall be against every man, and every man’s against him.” -Feeling sorry for the poor fellow, I looked him straight in the eye, as -though expressing my confidence in him, and handed him the loaded gun. -I was alone with him now, as the rest of the party had ridden on a mile -or two in advance. But I felt perfectly safe, because he was walking -ahead of me, and, had he meditated treachery, I had my revolver in my -belt, and could have killed him before he could raise the gun to shoot. -However, I presume that he simply wanted to play sportsman himself; for -when he returned me the gun, some hours afterwards, both barrels were -empty. About ten o’clock we reached the barren shores of the Dead Sea, -passing, very close to it, numberless heaps of cinders, indicating a -recent Bedouin encampment. We took a long bath in these buoyant waters. -I sank as far as my neck, and then walked through the water as though on -land. I remained nearly an hour in the water without touching the bottom. -It is very difficult to swim, as, when one assumes the swimming position, -the legs are thrown half out of the water. These waters, covering the -site of Sodom and Gomorrha, are clear as crystal, yet to the taste are -bitter as gall. Riding along the plain for a short hour, we entered the -luxurious vegetation on the banks of the Jordan, and dismounted near the -place where S. John baptized our Lord. Swift-flowing, muddy, turbulent -Jordan! shall I ever forget thee or the pleasant swim I had in thy sweet -waters? Father H---- and I dozed for about an hour, took a lunch, and -then, remounting, rode across the level plain of Jericho, and about five -o’clock reached our tent, pitched on the site of ancient Jericho, at the -foot of the Mount of Temptation, where Satan would tempt our Lord with -the vain, fruitless riches of this world. After dinner we walked a short -distance, and sat down on the limb of a tree overhanging the sweet waters -of the heaven-healed fountain of Elisha. Surrounded by armed Bedouins, -who watched our every motion with eager curiosity, and occasionally in -plaintive tones requested _backsheesh_, we passed a delightful hour -recalling the sacred reminiscences connected with the spots around us. -Behind us a crumbling ruin marks the site of once proud Jericho--the -city to which the warlike Joshua sent the spies from the Moabitish hills -beyond the Jordan; the city destroyed by the Israelitish trumpet-blast, -and against which the terrible curse was pronounced: “Cursed be the -man before the Lord that riseth up, and buildeth this city Jericho: he -shall lay the foundation thereof in his first-born, and in his youngest -son he shall set up the gates of it”--a curse which was most fearfully -fulfilled. Yonder Elijah went up to heaven in a whirlwind. Far away in -the distance the Dead Sea, hemmed in by its mountain banks, lies calm and -placid in the dying sunset. At our feet is the broad plain of Jericho, -and at our back the mountains of Judæa. How singular it must have seemed -to the Israelites when they first saw mountains covered with trees and -verdure! In their old Egyptian home they had seen but sand-mountains, the -vegetation in no place extending beyond the level ground; and now for the -first time after their dreary desert wanderings they saw the vegetation -creeping up the mountain-side even to its summit, and thousands of sheep -browsing upon it on every hand. Early the next morning we were in the -saddle, _en route_ for Jerusalem, and, passing the spot where the good -Samaritan ministered to the poor man who had fallen among thieves, we -reached Bethany about noon. Procuring some tapers from an old woman, we -descended into the tomb from which the voice of his God had called forth -the dead Lazarus. A flight of steps leads down some distance into a small -chamber, which is to-day in the same condition as when Martha’s brother, -arising from the dead, testified to the assembled crowd the power of -Jesus of Nazareth. From here we ascended Olivet, and from its summit -looked with admiration upon the beautiful panorama spread out beneath us, -and lunched under the venerable olive-trees, which perhaps had cast their -shade upon the weary form of our Saviour, and had witnessed the glorious -miracle of his Ascension. Soon after we reached our convent home. - -The Jews in the Holy City are much fairer than their brethren in America. -They wear the old-time gabardine, belted at the waist and extending to -the ankles; on the head a high black felt hat with broad brim, while two -curls hang down the cheek on either side. They are a sorrowful-looking -race, fascinating to gaze upon as connected with the great Drama, yet -inspiring me at the same time with a feeling of disgust which I could -not control. How striking a picture of their degradation and fall from -their once proud estate as the chosen ones of God, is shown as they -gather on Fridays to their wailing-place; five courses of large bevelled -stones being all that remain of Solomon’s grand Temple! Here are Jews -of all ages and of both sexes, crying bitterly over fallen Jerusalem. -Old men, tottering up, bury their faces in the joints and cavities, and -weep aloud as though their hearts were breaking, while in chorus comes -the low, plaintive wail of the women. In and among, and around and about -them, with shouts of mirth and laughter, play the children of the Arab -conquerors. The Jews are permitted to weep here unmolested. - -On Sunday afternoon, accompanied by Father Guido, we went to Bethlehem. -We passed the night in the Latin convent, and the next morning madame -and I received Holy Communion from the hands of Father H----, who -celebrated Mass in the Crib of the Nativity, on the spot where the Wise -Men stood when adoring the new-born Babe. The very spot where Christ -was born is marked by a silver star, with this inscription upon it: -“Hic de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus Natus est.” The star belongs to -the Latins, but the altar over it to the Greeks, who have several times -attempted to carry off the star, but unsuccessfully. They, of course, -will not permit the Latins to celebrate Mass upon the altar. The Greeks, -being more powerful, are continually harassing and heaping all sorts of -indignities upon the Latins, who are obliged to submit to them. Shame -upon the Catholic nations of Europe--nations which in bygone times sent -forth those noble bands of Crusaders, sacrificing their lives to rescue -the holy places from infidel hands! But Easter a year ago they destroyed -the valuable hangings in the Holy Crib, presented to the Latins by the -French government, and stole two pictures from their altars valued at -six thousand dollars apiece. Nay, more than this: they even severely -wounded with a sword the Franciscan brother who endeavored to prevent -the execution of their nefarious designs. And again the past Easter, but -a few days before we were there, witnessed another of these terrible -scenes of barbarism and inhumanity. A number of unoffending pilgrims, -just returned from their annual Easter visit to the Jordan, were denied -entrance by the Greeks to the basilica over the Holy Crib. And when they -insisted upon entering the church--which is common property, and in -which they had a perfect right to go--and attempted to force their way -in, they were arrested by the Turkish governor of Bethlehem--who is in -league with the Greeks--under the pretext that they were inciting to -riot, and cast into a loathsome dungeon in Jerusalem. But, thanks to the -exertions of M. de Lesseps, they were subsequently released. - -I rode over to the hill where the shepherds watched their flocks that -eventful night when the angels announced to them the “glad tidings of -great joy.” In the afternoon we rode across the mountains to Ain-Karim, -the birth-place of S. John the Baptist. - -The women in this part of the country, but particularly in Bethlehem and -its vicinity, carry all their fortunes on their heads. Dressed in the -picturesque garb of the Moabitish women, their coins are hung in great -numbers from their caps. One young mother, with her babe in her arms, -and with her cap almost covered with rows of gold coins, approached me -at Ain-Karim, and begged me in a piteous tone for a copper, and appeared -delighted when I gave it to her. They would almost sooner starve than -part with these coins, in which they take great pride; but I imagine that -after they are married their husbands find means of obtaining possession -of them, and then they get into general circulation again. We went to see -the scene of the Visitation, over which an altar had been erected in the -early ages of Christianity, but which had been concealed for centuries, -and only accidentally discovered of late by the Latins in renovating -their church. Alongside the altar is the impression of a baby in the -rock. It is said that when Herod’s soldiers came to the house of S. -Elizabeth to execute their master’s murderous commands to massacre the -little innocents, the saintly mother pressed her infant against the wall, -which opened, received him, and then, closing again, hid him from view; -and thus was he saved to grow up a voice crying in the wilderness, “Make -straight the way of the Lord.” We spent the night in the convent built -on the site of the house where was born this “greatest of men.” The next -day we returned to Jerusalem, visiting _en route_ the Greek church on the -spot where grew the tree from which the sacred cross was made. - -Shortly after this we left the Holy City, soon bade farewell to our -trusty dragoman, and embarked on the _Tibre_ at Jaffa, bound for -Marseilles. Oh! what impressions were made upon me by my short sojourn -among those sacred places. How my faith was strengthened, and my love and -devotion increased, and how earnestly and often I wished, and still wish, -that each and every one I know could see what I have seen and feel as I -now feel! - - -A CHRISTMAS VIGIL. - - “One aim there is of endless worth, - One sole-sufficient love-- - To do thy will, O God! on earth, - And reign with thee above. - From joys that failed my soul to fill, - From hopes that all beguiled, - To changeless rest in thy dear will, - O Jesus! call thy child.” - -Exeter Beach was divided into two distinct parts by a line of cliff -jutting far out into Exeter Bay. Below the eastern face of the cliff -lay the Moore estate, and then came the town; but on the west side was -an inlet, backed by dense woods, and bounded on the farther extremity -by another wall of rock. This was known as Lonely Cove, and deserved -its title. From it one looked straight out to the open sea; no island -intervened, nor was anything visible on shore save the two long arms of -frowning rock, the circuit of pine coming close to the edge of drift-wood -that marked the limit of the tide, and, at the far distance, a solitary -house. This had once been occupied by a man who made himself a home apart -from every one, and died as lonely as he lived; since then it had been -deserted, and was crumbling to decay, and many believed it to be haunted. - -Along this beach, about three o’clock one Christmas Eve, Jane Moore was -walking. It was a dull afternoon, with a lowering sky, and a chill in the -air which foreboded rain rather than snow; but, wrapped in her velvet -cloak and furs of costly sable, Jane did not heed the weather. - -Her heart was full to overflowing. From the first Christmas that she -could remember to the one previous to his death, she had taken that -walk with her father every Christmas eve, while he talked with her of -the joy of the coming day, sang to her old Christmas carols, and sought -to prepare her for a holy as well as a merry feast. He had tried to be -father and mother both to his motherless girl, but his heart ached as he -watched her self-willed, imperious nature, often only to be curbed by her -extreme love for him. - -“Be patient, my friend,” the old priest who knew his solicitude used to -say. “It is a very noble nature. Through much suffering and failure, it -may be, but _surely_, nevertheless, our Jane will live a grand life yet -for the love of God.” And so James Moore strove to believe and hope, till -death closed his eyes when his daughter was only thirteen years old. - -Heiress of enormous wealth, and of a beauty which had been famous in that -county for six generations, loving keenly all that was fair, luxurious, -and intellectual, Jane Moore was one of the most brilliant women of her -day. Dancing and riding, conversation and music--she threw herself into -each pursuit by turn with the same whole-hearted _abandon_ which had ever -characterized her. Yet the priest who had baptized her, and who gave her -special, prayerful care and direction, laid seemingly little check upon -her. Such religious duties as were given her she performed faithfully; -she never missed the daily Mass or monthly confession; not a poor cottage -in the village in which she was not known and loved, though as yet she -only came with smiles and money and cheery words, instead of personal -tendance and real self-denial. No ball shortened her prayers, no sport -hindered her brief daily meditation. The priest knew that beyond all -other desires that soul sought the Lord; beyond all other loves, loved -him; and that she strove, though poorly and imperfectly and with daily -failure, to subject her will to the higher will of God. To have drawn -the curb too tightly then might have been to ruin all; the wise priest -waited, and, while he waited, he prayed. - -This Christmas Eve on which Jane Moore was speeding along the beach -was the last she would ever spend as a merry girl in her old home. As -a wife, as a mother, she might come there again, but with Epiphany her -girlhood’s days must end. Her heart, once given, had been given wholly, -and Henry Everett was worthy of the gift; but the breaking of old ties -told sorely upon Jane, who always made her burdens heavier than need be -by her constant endeavor to gain her own will and way. Her handsome face -looked dark and sallow that afternoon; the thin, quivering nostrils and -compressed lips told of a storm in her heart. - -“I cannot understand it,” she said aloud. “_Why_ must I go away? Surely -it was right to wish to live always in my old home among my father’s -people. _Why_ should God let Henry’s father live and live and live to be -ninety years old, and he be mean and troublesome? and _why_ should my -dear father die young, when I needed him? I cannot bear to go away.” - -And then came to her mind words said to her that very day--few words, but -strong, out of a wise and loving heart--“God asks something from you this -Christmas, in the midst of your joy, which I believe he will ask from -you, in joy or sorrow, all your life long until he gets it. He wants the -entire surrender of your will. I do not know how he will do it, but I -am sure he will never let you alone till he has gained his end. Make it -your Christmas prayer that he will teach you that his will is better and -sweeter than anything our wills may crave.” - -She flew faster along the beach, striving by the very motion to find -relief for the swelling of her heart. - -“I cannot bear it,” she cried--“to have always to do something I do not -want to do! I cannot bear it. Yes, I can, and I will. God help me! But I -cannot understand.” - -On, on, faster still, sobs choking her, tears blinding her. “I wanted so -much to live and die here. God must have known it, and what difference -could it make to him?” - -“Don’t ye! Don’t ye, Tom! Ye’ve no right. Ye mustn’t, for God’s sake.” -The words, in a woman’s shrill voice, as of one weak with fasting or -illness, yet strong for the instant with the strength of a great fear or -pain, broke in upon Jane’s passion, and, coming to herself, she found -that she was close to the Haunted House. Fear was unknown to her; in an -instant she stood within the room. - -Evidently some tramp, poorer than the poorest, had sought shelter--little -better than none, alas!--in the wretched place. A haggard woman was -crouching on a pile of sea-weed and drift-wood, holding tightly to -something hidden in the ragged clothing huddled about her, striving -to keep it--whatever it might be--from the grasp of a desperate, -half-starved man who bent over her. - -“Gie it to me,” he cried. “I tell ye, Poll, I’ll have it, that I wull, -for all ye. And I’ll trample it, and I’ll burn it, that I wull. No more -carrying o’ crucifixes for we, and I knows on’t. Gie us bread and -butter, say I, and milk for the babby there.” - -“Nay, nay, Tom,” the woman pleaded. “It’s Christmas Eve. He’ll send us -summat the night, sure. Wait one night, Tom.” - -“Christmas! What’s him to we? Wait! Wait till ye starve and freeze -to death, lass; but I’ll not do’t. There’s no God nowhere, and no -Christmas--it’s all a sham--and there sha’n’t be no crucifixes neither -where I bes. Ha! I’s got him now, and I’ll have my own way, lass.” - -“Stop, man!” Jane stood close beside him, with flashing eyes and her -proud and fearless face. “Give me the crucifix,” she said. - -But she met eyes as fearless as her own, which scanned her from head to -foot. “And who be you?” he asked. - -“Jane Moore,” she answered, with the ring that was always in her voice -when she named her father’s honored name. - -“And what’s that to me?” the man exclaimed. “Take’s more’n names to save -this.” And he shook the crucifix defiantly. - -“Stop, stop!” Jane cried. “I will pay you well to stop.” - -“Why then, miss?” - -“Your God died on a cross,” Jane answered. “You shall not harm his -crucifix.” - -“Speak for yourself, miss! Shall not? My wull’s as strong as yours, I’ll -warrant. God! There’s no God; else why be ye in velvets and her in rags? -That’s why I trample this ’un.” - -In another moment the crucifix would have lain beneath his heel; but Jane -flung herself on her knees. All pride was gone; tears rained from her -eyes; she, who had been used to command and to be obeyed, pleaded like a -beggar, with humble yet passionate pleading, at the feet of this beggar -and outcast. - -“Wait, wait,” she cried. “Oh! hear me. Truly your God was born in a -stable and died upon a cross. He loves you, and he was as poor as you.” - -“There be no God,” the man reiterated hoarsely. “It’s easy for the likes -o’ ye to talk, all warm and full and comfortable.” - -Jane wrung her hands. “I cannot explain,” she said, “I cannot understand. -But it must be that God knows best. He sent me. Come home with me, and I -will give you food and clothes and money.” - -“Not I,” cried the man defiantly. “I knows that trick too well, miss. -Food and clothes belike, but a jail too. I’ll trust none. Pay me here.” - -Jane turned her pocket out. “I have nothing with me,” she said. “Will you -not trust me?” But in his hard-set face she read her answer while she -spoke. - -“Very well,” she continued. “Take a note from me to my steward. He will -pay you.” - -“Let’s see’t,” was the brief reply. Hastily she wrote a few words in -pencil, and he read them aloud. - -“Now, miss,” he said, “it’s not safe for me to be about town much ’fore -dark, and, what’s more, I won’t trust ye there neither. Here ye’ll bide -the night through, if ye means what ye says.” - -“O Tom!” the woman exclaimed, breaking silence for the first time since -Jane spoke, “’twull be a fearful night for the like o’ she.” - -“Let her feel it, then,” he retorted. “Wasn’t her Lord she talks on born -in the cold and the gloom to-night, ’cording to you and she, lass? Let -her try’t, say I, and see what she’ll believe come morn.” - -Like a flash it passed through Jane’s mind that her last midnight Mass -among her own people was taken from her; that, knowing her uncertain -ways, no one would think of seeking her till it was too late, any more -than her steward, well used to her impulses, would dream of questioning -a note of hers, no matter who brought it. Yet with the keen pang of -disappointment a thrill of sweetness mingled. Was not her Lord indeed -born in the cold and the gloom that night? “I am quite willing to wait,” -she said quietly. - -The man went to the door. “Tide’s nigh full,” he said, “and night’s nigh -here. I’ll go my ways. But mark ye, miss, I’ll be waiting t’other side, -to see ye don’t follow. Trust me to wait patient, till it’s too dark for -ye to come.” - -Jane watched him till he had reached the further line of the cliff; then -she buried her face in her hands. Space and time seemed as nothing; -again, as for years she had been used to do, she strove to place herself -in the stable at Bethlehem, and the child-longing rose within her to -clasp the Holy Infant in her arms, and warm him at her heart, and clothe -him like a prince. And then she remembered what the man had said: “It’s -easy for the likes o’ ye to talk, all warm and full and comfortable.” - -There are natures still among us that cannot be content unless they -lavish the whole box of ointment on the Master’s feet. Jane turned to the -heap of sea-weed where the half-frozen woman lay. “Can you rise for a -minute?” she asked gently. “I am going to change clothes with you. Yes, I -am strong, and can walk about and bear it all; but you will freeze if you -lie here.” And putting down the woman’s feeble resistance with a bright, -sweet will, Jane had her way. - -Half exhausted, her companion sank back upon her poor couch, and soon -fell asleep; and when the baby woke, Jane took it from her, lest its -pitiful wailing should rouse the mother, to whom had come blessed -forgetfulness of her utter inability to feed or soothe it. She wrapped -the child in her rags, and walked the room with it for hours that night. -It seemed to her that they must freeze to death if she stopped. For a -time the wind raged furiously and the rain fell in torrents; no blessed -vision came to dispel the darkness of her vigil; no ecstasy to keep the -cold from biting her; she felt its sting sharply and painfully the whole -night through. The first few hours were the hardest she had ever spent, -yet she would not have exchanged them for the sweetest joy this world had -ever given her. “My Lord was cold,” she kept saying. “My Lord was cold -to-night.” - -By and by--it seemed to her that it must be very late--the storm passed -over. She went to the door. The clouds were lifting, and far away the sea -was glimmering faintly in the last rays of a hidden and setting moon. -Below a mass of dark clouds, and just above the softly-lighted sea, shone -out a large white star. Across the water, heaving heavily like one who -has fallen asleep after violent weeping, and still sobs in slumber, came -to her the sound of the clock striking midnight; and then all the chimes -rang sweetly, and she knew that the Mass she had longed for had begun. - -“I cannot bear it!” she cried; then felt the child stir on her breast, -and, gathering it closer to her, she said slowly: “God understands. His -way must be best.” And she tried to join in spirit with those in church -who greeted the coming of the Lord. - -Surely there was some reason for her great disappointment and for her -suffering that night. Reason? Was it not enough to be permitted thus to -share His first night of deprivation? And presently she began to plan for -herself God’s plan--how the man would return, and find her there wet and -cold and hungry, and would learn why she had done it, and would never -doubt God again. She fancied them all at home with her, employed by her, -brought back to a happy, holy life; and she prayed long and earnestly for -each. - -He did come, as soon as the gray morning twilight broke--came with haste, -bade his wife rise, and take her child and follow him. He gave no time -for the words Jane wished to speak; but when the woman said that she must -return the garments which had kept her warm, and perhaps alive, that -night, Jane cried “No, no! It is as if I had kept our Lady warm for once, -and carried her Child, not yours.” And she clasped the baby passionately, -kissing it again and again. - -The man stood doubtful, then tore the rich cloak from his wife’s -shoulders, seized the mean one which it had replaced, wrapped her in it, -hiding thus the costly attire, that might have caused suspicion, then -looked about the room. - -“The crucifix?” he said. - -“Is it not mine?” Jane asked. - -He pointed to the woman. “It’s her bit o’ comfort,” he said. “Gie it to -her, miss. Plenty ye’s got, I wot. I’ll ne’er harm ’un again.” - -There was no more farewell than that; no more promise of better things. -In a few minutes they had disappeared among the pines; and cold, -suffering, disheartened, Jane made her way homeward. To her truest home -first; for bells were ringing for first Mass, and Jane stole into church, -and, clad in beggar’s rags beneath her velvet cloak, knelt in real -humility to receive her Lord. “I do not understand,” she said to him, -sobbing softly. “Nothing that I do succeeds as I like. But, my Jesus, I -am sure thy will is best, only I wanted so much to help them for thee. -Why was it, my Jesus?” - -But the years went by, and though Christmas after Christmas Jane -remembered with a pang that great disappointment, her longings and her -questions remained unanswered. - -And so it was in almost everything. Her life after that strange Christmas -Eve was one of constant, heroic, personal service for others, in the love -of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. The brilliant woman was never seen again at -ball or hunt, but beside the beds of the sick and suffering she was daily -to be found, making the most painful, repulsive cases her special care. -And she, who had delighted in daintiest apparel, never wore again after -that Christmas morning jewels or costly clothing. “I have tasted once the -sweetness of faring like my Lord,” she said impetuously to her husband. -“Do not break my heart by making me all warm and full and comfortable -again.” And he, whose high soul answered nobly to her own, never tried to -hold her back, but followed her eagerly in her earnest following of her -Lord. - -Yet the self-willed nature cost its owner many sufferings before it -learned submission to the divine Master. It pleased God that Jane Everett -should live to an advanced and very strong old age, and it also pleased -him through all those years to conform her will to his by constant and -peculiar trials. The husband whom she loved with an almost idolatrous -love was taken from her, without an instant’s warning, by a fearful -accident. Her sons, whom she dedicated to God’s holy priesthood, died in -their cradles; her daughters grew into the fairest bloom of womanhood, -only to become the brides of death. Yet nothing quenched the fire in her -eye, and the cry of her heart for years was still its old cry: “O God! I -cannot bear it. Yes, I can. God’s will is best. But I cannot understand.” - -One Advent the last remaining friend of her youth sent to her, begging -her to come with haste to pass with her the last Christmas they could -expect to be together on earth; and the brave old woman, though craving -to spend the holy season near her darlings’ graves, went forth to face -the inclement weather with as stout a heart as in her youth she had sped -along Exeter Beach under the threatening sky. In a little village, with -no one near who knew her except her servants, Death laid his hand upon -her who had desired him for many days. - -“This is a serious illness,” the physician said to her. Then, reading -rightly the spirit with which he had to deal, he added: “A sickness unto -death, madam.” - -“Harness the horses, then,” she said, lifting herself, “and let me get to -Ewemouth and die there.” - -“Send for a priest,” the doctor answered her. “You have no time to lose.” - -“It has been always so, father,” Jane said, looking up pitifully into -the face of the priest when at last he came. “From the time that I -first earnestly gave myself to God, up to this time, he has thwarted me -in every way. Sixty years ago this very Christmas Eve he did it. It all -comes back to me as hard to bear as then; and all my life has been like -that.” And slowly and with pauses Jane told the story of her night at -Lonely Cove. - -“It has always been so, father. Whenever I have loved any one or tried to -help any one, I have failed or they have left me.” - -“My daughter,” the priest replied, “God’s work in a life like yours is -far more the subjection of the will than the number of holy actions for -others. Be sure that what we think failure is often success in God’s -eyes and through his power. He asks one last sacrifice from you. Madam, -God has brought you here to add the crowning blessing to your life--the -opportunity of a last and entire surrender of your will to his most -blessed will. Will you offer to him your whole life, that to you seems so -incomplete and marred, judged by your own plans and wishes, saying to him -without reserve that you believe, certainly, that his way is far better -than yours?” - -He held the crucifix before her, and suddenly the long years seemed -to vanish like a dream, and she felt once more the biting cold in the -haunted house at Lonely Cove, and again a child nestled upon her heart, -bringing with it the thought of the manger-bed, and the question, _Why_ -should so much suffering be? And from that manger her thoughts returned -to the hard couch of the cross; and to all that mystery of suffering came -the mysterious answer, “Not my will, but thine, be done.” - -She took and kissed the offered crucifix. “Yes, father,” she said -meekly. “May the most just, most high, and most amiable will of God be -done, praised, and eternally exalted in all things. I had rather die -here, O my God! since it is thy blessed will, than in any other place on -earth.” - -“Amen,” said the priest. - -But when the last sacraments had been administered, and Jane lay calm and -patient now, waiting her release, the priest drew near to her, and looked -with a great reverence upon her face. - -“My daughter,” he said “it is at times the will of God to show us even -here the use of some part at least of what he has let us do for him. -Be sure his Sacred Heart remembers all the rest as well. Sixty years -ago this Christmas Eve my father was saved from a great sin, my mother -and I from death, by a Christian woman’s love for her Lord. The first -confession I ever heard was my own father’s last. He told me that from -the time he saw that rich young girl in rags endure the biting cold for -God, faith lived in his heart, and _would not die_. I saw him pass away -from earth in penitence and hope. For more than thirty years I have -labored among God’s poor as your thank-offering. Madam, my mother by the -love of God, God sends you this token that he has worked his own work by -means of you all your life long. He sends you this token, because you -have given him the thing he most desired of you--your will.” - -Jane folded her aged hands humbly. “Not unto us, O Lord!” she said, low -and faint, and then a voice as of a son and priest at once spoke clearly, -seeing her time had come: “Depart, O Christian soul! in peace.” - - -THE APOSTOLIC MISSION TO CHILI. - -_A CHAPTER IN THE LIFE OF PIUS IX._ - -Before entertaining ourselves with an account of the voyage and journeys, -from Genoa to Buenos Ayres and across the continent to Valparaiso, -of the first pope who has ever been to America, we shall enter into -a few details to show the occasion of the apostolic mission which he -accompanied in an official capacity. - -The great reverses of Spain at the beginning of the present century, and -the consequent weakening of the bonds that united her American colonies -to their mother-country, besides some other causes silently working -since the emancipation of the thirteen British provinces from England, -finally led to a Declaration of Independence, which was established after -several years of war. But the king to whose government these New-World -possessions had been subject for nearly three hundred years refused to -recognize the accomplished fact or to enter into diplomatic relations -with rebels against his authority.[213] - -The Congress of Verona, in 1822, took some notice of these revolted -countries; but the European powers did not all agree to receive them -into the family of nations by a formal recognition, and it is well -known that the views expressed in that assembly gave rise on the part -of the President of the United States to a declaration of policy which -has been called the Monroe Doctrine.[214] The Holy See, having sublimer -interests to deal with, could not act as indifferently in this matter as -other governments, which looked only to temporal advantage, and wrangled -over old systems of public policy regardless of recent events. By the -quixotic obstinacy of Spain the South American republics suffered much -inconvenience, particularly in point of religion, because Rome could not -provide for their spiritual wants without risking an open rupture with -his Catholic Majesty--such were royal pretensions of restricting the -exercise of papal rights, even in merely nominal dominions.[215] - -During the latter part of Pius VII.’s pontificate the government of -Chili sent one of its distinguished citizens, the Archdeacon Don -José Cienfuegos, envoy to Rome, with instructions to try to establish -direct ecclesiastical relations between the Holy See and Santiago, the -capital of his country. He arrived there on August 22, 1822, and was -well received, but only in his spiritual capacity. The pope would not -recognize him as a political agent. On the 7th of September following -the Holy Father addressed a brief to the Bishop of Merida de Maracaybo, -in which he expressed himself solicitous for the spiritual necessities -of his children in those far-distant parts of America, and intimated -his ardent desire to relieve them. A little later he formed a special -congregation of six cardinals, presided over by Della Genga, who became -his successor as Leo XII.; and after mature deliberation on the religious -affairs in the ex-viceroyalties of Spain, it was determined to send a -mission to Chili, that country being chosen for the honor as having made -the first advances. This measure so displeased the Spanish government -that the nuncio Monsignor--afterwards Cardinal--Giustiniani was -dismissed; and although he was soon after permitted to return, the wound -inflicted upon him left its sting behind, for, coming very near to the -number of votes requisite to election in the conclave after Pius VIII.’s -death, the court of Madrid barred his fortune by the exercise of that -odious privilege called the _Esclusiva_; the ground of his exclusion from -the Papacy being supposed at Rome to have been his participation in the -appointment of bishops to South America. The right (?) of veto expires -with its exercise once in each conclave; and Cardinal Cappellari (Gregory -XVI.), who, as we shall see, had the most to do with these episcopal -nominations, was elected pope. - -The choice of a vicar-apostolic for the Chilian mission fell upon Prof. -Ostini (later nuncio to Brazil and a cardinal), who, after having -accepted the position, saw fit suddenly to decline it for reasons best -known to himself. In his stead Don Giovanni Muzi, then attached to the -nunciature at Vienna, was selected, and, having been recalled to Rome, -was consecrated Archbishop of Philippi in _partibus infidelium_,[216] -with orders to proceed immediately to Santiago. The mission, of which we -shall speak more particularly hereafter, embarked on October 4, 1823, and -reached Rome on its return the 7th of July, 1825. - -Leo XII. succeeded Pius VII. In 1824 the republic of Colombia sent Don -Ignacio Texada to Rome with an application for bishops and apostolic -vicars in that immense region; but the Spanish ambassador, Chevalier -Vargas, a haughty diplomate, brimful of _Españolismo_, went to the pope -and demanded his dismissal. This was refused. The envoy had come for -spiritual interests, not on political grounds; and the Spaniard could -not convince Leo that the rebel’s argument--by which he asked no more -than that species of indirect recognition granted by the Holy See, -under Innocent X. and Alexander VII., to the house of Braganza when it -forced Portugal from under Spanish rule--was not a good one and founded -on precedent. Nevertheless, Texada returned to Bologna, and finally -withdrew altogether from the Papal States. He had some fine qualities, -but lacked discretion in speech, which was a fault very injurious -to his position. Harpocrates is still the great god of diplomacy the -world over. This state of things was embarrassing. Spain had refused -to recognize the independence of her many provinces in the New World, -although she had ceased practically even to disturb them. The king, who -was somewhat of a _Marquis de Carabas_, claimed all his old rights over -them, and, among them, that of episcopal presentation. Cardinal Wiseman, -who was an attentive observer of these times, remarks--very properly, we -think--that even if such a power could be still called legal, “it would -have been quite unreasonable to expect that the free republics would -acknowledge the jurisdiction of the country which declared itself at -war with them.” This was a clear case in which allegiance should follow -protection. After a prudent delay, Leo thought it his duty to represent -energetically to the Spanish government the inconvenience he suffered -from the existing state of affairs, and the impossibility of his viewing -with indifference a condition in which the faithful, long deprived of -pastors, were urgently asking for bishops for the vacant sees. Yet His -Holiness had taken no decisive step, but called upon his majesty either -to reduce his transatlantic subjects to obedience or to leave him free -to provide as best he could for the necessities of the church. In the -consistory of May 21, 1827, the pope, after protesting that he could not -any longer in conscience delay his duty to Spanish America, proceeded to -nominate bishops for more than six dioceses in those parts. Madrid was, -of course, displeased, although it was twelve years since the government -had lost even the shadow of authority there, and at first refused -to receive the new nuncio, Tiberi.[217] At this juncture Pedro Gomez -de Labrador was sent from Spain expressly to defeat the measure; but -although “acknowledged by all parties, and especially by the diplomatic -body in Rome, to be one of the most able and accomplished statesmen in -Europe, yet he could not carry his point” against the quiet and monk-like -Cardinal Cappellari, who was deputed by the pope to meet him. In the -allocution pronounced by Labbrador before the Sacred College, assembled -in conclave to elect a successor to Leo, he made an allusion to the -ever-recurring subject of the revolted Americans; but although done with -tact, it grated on the ears of many as too persistently and, under the -circumstances, unreasonably put forward. - -The discussion between the courts of Rome and Madrid was not renewed -during the brief pontificate of Pius VIII.; but in the encyclical letter -announcing his election there is a delicate reference to the affair -which, although not expressly named, will be perceived by those who -are acquainted with the questions of that day. Comte de Maistre says -somewhere that if a parish be left without a priest for thirty years, -the people will worship--the pigs; and although the absence of a bishop -from his diocese for such a length of time might not induce a similar -result, yet the faithful would drop, perhaps, into a Presbyterian form of -church government and be lost. The veteran statesman Cardinal Consalvi -evidently thought so, as we see by the fourth point, which treats of -Spanish America, in the conference that he was invited to hold with -Leo XII. on the most important interests of the Holy See.[218] When, -therefore, Gregory XVI.--who, as Cardinal Cappellari; had not been a -stranger to the long dispute--became pope, he ended the matter promptly -and for ever. In his first consistory, held in February, 1831, he filled -a number of vacant sees and erected new ones where required in South -America. On the 31st of August following he published the apostolic -constitution “Solicitudo Ecclesiarum,” in which he explained the reasons -why the Holy See, in order to be able to govern the universal church, -whose interests are paramount to all local disputes, recognizes _de -facto_ governments, without intending by this to confer a new right, -detract from any legitimate claim, or decide upon _de jure_ questions. -The republics of New Granada[219] (1835), Ecuador (1838), and Chili -(1840) were subsequently recognized with all the solemnities of -international law. - -In the last-named country there were two episcopal sees during the -Spanish dominion. These were Santiago and Concepcion, both subject to -the Metropolitan of Lima; but Gregory rearranged the Chilian episcopate, -making the first see an archbishopric, with Concepcion, La Serena, and -San Carlos de Ancud (in the island of Chiloe) for suffragan sees. - -At the time that the apostolic mission to South America was determined -upon, there was living in Rome a young ecclesiastic as yet “to fortune -and to fame unknown,” but who was destined to become the first pope who -has ever been across the Atlantic, and the foremost man of the XIXth -century. This was Don Giovanni Mastai-Ferretti, one of the fourteen -canons of the collegiate church of Santa Maria _in Via Lata_. He was -selected by Pius VII. to accompany Mgr. Muzi as adjunct. The secretary -of the apostolic delegation was a priest named Giuseppe Sallusti, who -wrote a full narrative of the expedition, in which, as Cardinal Wiseman -says, “The minutest details are related with the good-humored garrulity -of a new traveller, who to habits of business and practical acquaintance -with graver matters unites, as is common in the South, a dash of -comic humor and a keen sense of the ridiculous, and withal a charming -simplicity and freshness of mind, which render the book amusing as well -as instructive, in spite of its heavy quotations from that lightest of -poets, Metastasio.”[220] It is in 4 vols. 8vo, with a map. Comparatively -only a small portion of the work is taken up with the actual voyages and -travels of the party, the rest being devoted to the preliminaries or -causes of the mission, to a description of Chili, and an account of the -many missionary establishments which had once flourished, as well as of -those that were still maintained, there. A fifth volume was promised by -the author to contain the documents, official acts, and results of the -mission; but we believe that it was never published. The vicar-apostolic -having received, at the earnest solicitation of a learned ecclesiastic -from the Argentine Confederation, Rev. Dr. Pacheco, very ample faculties -not only for the country to which he was more immediately accredited, -but also for Buenos Ayres, Peru, Colombia, Mexico, and all other parts -of the ex-Spanish dominions, and accompanied by the envoy Cienfuegos and -Father Raymond Arce, a young Dominican belonging to Santiago, the party -left Rome for Bologna, where it rested awhile to get a foretaste of the -magnificent scenes in the New World from Father T. de Molina, who had -long resided in Chili. The next stage in the journey was to Genoa, the -port of embarkation, which was reached only on the 17th of July; but, “by -a series of almost ludicrous delays,” the expedition was detained until -after the death of Pius VII. and the election of his successor, Leo XII., -who confirmed the mission and addressed a brief to the president[221] of -the Chilian Republic, recommending its objects and the welfare of its -members. - -All matters being now satisfactorily arranged, the party got on board the -fine French-built brig _Eloysa_ on the 11th of October, 1823. The vessel -sailed under Sardinian colors, and was manned by a crew of thirty-four -men, and officered by experienced sailors, the captain, Anthony Copello, -having several times navigated the South Atlantic. The weather was very -rough, as usual, in the Gulf of Lyons; “and gurly grew the sea,” to the -dismay and discomfiture of the terrified landsmen, “Mastai,” as Sallusti -familiarly calls his companion, suffering horribly from sickness. This -was but the beginning of many trials, and even some serious dangers, -amidst which we can well imagine that the captain would have been glad -beyond measure if any one had hinted at the very special Providence that -guarded his ship, by quoting the famous words, “_Quid times? Cæsarem -vehis et fortunam ejus!_” Soon the _Eloysa_ approached the coast of -Catalonia, down which she sailed at the rate of ten knots an hour, until -struck by a furious southwest hurricane, the _libeccio_ so much dreaded -in the Mediterranean, which threatened destruction to all and everything -in its course. To a landsman like Sallusti the storms encountered on -this voyage would naturally appear worse than they really were, and his -frequent account of “waves mountain-high” and “imminent shipwreck” would -perhaps sound like “yarns” to an old tar. He delights in describing the -_Eloysa_ as - - “Uplifted on the surge, to heaven she flies, - Her shattered top half buried in the skies” - - --(_Falconer_), - -and everywhere shows himself, like a good inland _abbate_, dreadfully -afraid of salt water. Capt. Copello would fain have put into Valencia for -shelter; but it was feared that the Spanish authorities might detain his -ship, or at least disembark the passengers, and it was determined rather -to brave the elements than to trust themselves within gunshot of a -Spanish harbor. These bold resolutions, however, did not appease the fury -of the wind, and it finally came to deciding between a watery grave and a -stony prison; the decision was quickly taken, and Palma, in the island of -Majorca, was fetched in safety. The mission party was very inhospitably -treated here; and Mgr. Muzi and Canon Mastai were ordered to come on -shore at once and give an account of themselves. As soon as they had put -foot on land, the two distinguished ecclesiastics were thrust into a cold -and filthy Lazaretto, on plea of sanitary regulations, but really out of -spite for their character and destination. Their papers were seized, and -measures instantly taken to bring them to trial; and there was even talk -of sending them to an African fortress where political prisoners were -confined. When Sallusti heard of this Balearic treatment, he summoned all -his Italian courage, and, going on shore, declared to the cocked-hatted -officials that he would share the fate of his companions; but instead -of admiring this prodigality of a great soul (Hor. _Od._ i. 12, 38), -those unclassical islanders simply swore round oaths and turned him in -with the rest. This was fortunate in one sense; for we would otherwise -have missed a good description of the examination of the three Italians -before the magistrates, who behaved rudely; the alcade, in his quality -of judge, putting on more airs than a Roman proconsul.[222] Further -outrages were threatened, but the intervention of the _Sardinian consul_ -and of the Bishop of Palma finally convinced those proud men of the -exclusively religious mission of their victims. In view of subsequent -events in Italy, it seems strange that the future pope should have been -saved from further indignities, and perhaps from a dungeon, by an agent -of the Piedmontese government; yet so it was. The Italians were permitted -to return to the ship, but a demand was made to deliver up the two -Chilians as rebellious Spanish subjects. This was promptly refused; but -notwithstanding a great deal of blustering and many threats, the case -was allowed to drop, and the _Eloysa_ sailed away after several days’ -detention. Gibraltar was passed on the 28th of October, and a severe -storm having tossed the brig about unmercifully on her entry into the -Atlantic, the peak of Teneriffe loomed up on November 4. - -After leaving the Canary Islands, the _Eloysa_ was hailed one dark -night by a shot across her bows, which came from a Colombian privateer, -and quickly brought her to. She was quickly boarded, and a gruff voice -demanded her papers and to have the crew and passengers mustered on -deck. Sallusti was in mortal dread, and, to judge from his description -of the scene, he must have been quaking with fear; but Don Giovanni -Mastai behaved with that calmness and dignity which even then began to -be remarked in him, in whatever circumstances he found himself. After -some delay, the brig was allowed to proceed; nothing being taken off but -a bottle of good Malaga wine--which, however, was rather _accepted_ than -stolen by the rover of the seas. - -After a time the Cape Verd Islands appeared in all their richness; and -on the 27th of the month the line was crossed amidst the usual riot of -sailors, and with the payment of a generous ransom by the clergy. On -December 8 the _Eloysa_ lay becalmed alongside of a slaver crowded with -poor Africans on their way to Brazil. Sallusti complains about this time -of bad water and short rations, and mentions with particular disgust that -the fare generally consisted of potatoes and lean chickens. On the 22d a -man fell overboard in a dreadful gale, and was rescued with difficulty. -Christmas was celebrated as well as circumstances permitted; and a neat -little oratory having been fitted up in the main cabin, midnight Mass -was said by the archbishop, the second Mass by Canon Mastai, and the -third by Friar Arce. On the 27th of December, S. John’s Day, and the -patronal feast of the canon, the welcome cry of “Land ho!” was heard -from the look-out at the mast-head about three P.M., and the crew and -passengers united upon deck to return fervent thanks to Almighty God. -The land sighted was a small desert island, a little north of Cape Santa -Maria, off the coast of Uruguay. A fearful storm was encountered the next -evening at the mouth of the La Plata. This was one of those southwestern -gales, called _Pamperos_, which frequently blow with inconceivable fury, -causing singular fluctuations in the depth of the wide mouth of the -river. It raged so that the captain was obliged to cut his cable and -abandon the shelter of Flores Island, which he had sought when it began, -and to take to the open sea again. With better weather he returned and -dropped anchor opposite Montevideo on the evening of January 1, 1824. -Sallusti goes into raptures over the beautiful aspect of the city, as -seen from the bay; its broad and regular streets, its stately houses -built on a gentle elevation, its fine cathedral, the strains of music -borne over the water--everything enchanted the travellers, weary of a -three months’ voyage. - - “The sails were furl’d; with many a melting close - Solemn and slow the evening anthem rose-- - Rose to the Virgin. ’Twas the hour of day - When setting suns o’er summer[223] seas display - A path of glory, opening in the west - To golden climes and islands of the blest; - And human voices on the balmy air - Went o’er the waves in songs of gladness there!” - - --(_Rogers._) - -As soon as the news got abroad of a delegation from the pope, the -whole city was in a joyful commotion, and a deputation, consisting of -the cathedral chapter, four other secular priests, and two Dominican -fathers, came to the ship to pay their respects to Mgr. Muzi, who was -also invited on shore and pressed with every offer of assistance by the -most honorable representatives of the laity. These kind attentions could -not induce the party to land; and as soon as damages were repaired and -a pilot received, sail was made for Buenos Ayres, which was sighted at -two P.M. of January 5; but just while the passengers were all on deck -watching the approaches to the city, they were assailed and driven below -by myriads of mosquitoes. Sallusti is very vehement against these sharp -little insects, and bewails the lot of those who must live among them; -but he carefully avoids a comparison with the _fleas_ of his native -Italy. Although the passengers remained on board that night, crowds of -people lined the shore, and, after salutes of artillery, greeted them -with cries of “Long live the vicar apostolic!” “Cheers for America!” -“Success to Chili!” On the following day the captain of the port and his -suite came off to the brig, bringing a courteous note from the governor, -offering a public reception (for which preparations had already been -made) and the hospitalities of the city to the members of the mission. -This was declined, for reasons that are not very clear; but although the -archbishop gave his bad health as the principal excuse, we suspect that -Cienfuegos impressed upon the Italians that, the mission being directed -to _his_ country, it were uncourtly to parade it before reaching its -destination. By their minds such a view would be accepted as _assai -diplomatico_. When the party did land, they put up at a hotel called -“The Three Kings,” kept by a jolly Englishman, who treated them right -royally--and made them pay in proportion. During their twelve days’ stay -in Buenos Ayres, the archbishop and his suite received every mark of -reverence from the people; yet the officials maintained a cold reserve -since the refusal to accept their invitation. Even the ecclesiastical -authority--such as it was--put on very bad airs; Zavaletta, a simple -priest, but administrator of the diocese, having the audacity to withdraw -from Mgr. Muzi permission, which had been previously granted to give -confirmation. At the time of the arrival of the apostolic mission the -provinces of the Rio de la Plata, which had formed part of the Spanish -viceroyalty of Buenos Ayres, had been united from 1816 to 1820, but were -now in a state of political isolation, somewhat like that of the States -of the American Union before the federal Constitution was adopted. Soon -after the arrival of the mission, another General Congress was called. -Still, the Italians were not impressed--as it was important that they -should be to obtain proper consideration at Rome,--with the idea of a -strong government holding sway over a vast and wealthy territory. On the -16th of January, at nine o’clock in the forenoon, the party began the -journey across the continent. Three great covered wagons, each drawn -by four horses and guided by twelve postilions, composed the train; -while a courier went ahead to hunt up quarters, and a mounted orderly, -with a very long sword and a fierce-looking beard, brought up the -rear or pranced about the flanks of the line. The drivers kept around -in no particular order, sonorously cracking their whips and uttering -loud sounds which probably were not oaths to the unaccustomed ears of -Sallusti. Besides the three Italians, there was Cienfuegos with four -young Chilians in his company and two servants, so that the whole party -was pretty numerous, and the more so when, a little further on, six -gallant guachos were added as an escort. Only fifteen miles were made -the first day, which brought the party to Moron, where confirmation was -given. At a miserable rancho called Lujan the archbishop said his first -Mass on the pampas at a rich altar improvised for him by the _padre_ -of the place, and surmounted by four massive silver candlesticks. The -room was hung round with rich damask hangings. It was like a jewel in a -dung-heap. The Arecife stream was crossed in boats by the travellers, but -forded by the wagons and horsemen. The superb Parana River was reached -at San Pedro; and thence the route lay through a rich and beautiful -country to the important town of Rosario, on the high, precipitous banks -of the great river. At the outskirts of this place the party was met by -the parish priest; and confirmation was administered the next day to an -immense number of the faithful, long deprived of this sacrament. From -Rosario, which they left on the morning of the 23d, the journey was long, -weary, and dangerous, on account of the roving bands of Indians which at -that period scoured the plains in all directions to cut off herdsmen and -small parties of travellers or traders, making a booty of their baggage, -killing the men, and carrying women and children into captivity. At a -little station called Orqueta the party caught sight for the first time -of a wild Indian, who was lurking about the place in a very suspicious -manner, but kept at a respectful distance from the guachos. When Sallusti -saw this man apparently spying out the route and strength of the party, -the marrow nearly froze in his bones; and he certainly had good cause -for alarm. It happened that leaving Buenos Ayres a few days earlier -than had been given out was lucky; for a large band of these mounted -savages, armed with lances and lassos, had got wind of the arrival of -great personages from Europe, carrying (it was reported) an immense -amount of treasure to the Pacific coast, and had formed a plan to attack -them, which was defeated only by mistaking the day of their departure, -whereby their arrival at the lonely and ill-famed post of Desmochados -was miscalculated. Three days after the mission party had passed, the -Indians, to the number of about three hundred, swooped down upon the -place, but, instead of finding the rich foreigners, they surrounded only -a miserable set of twenty peons escorting a lot of goods across the -plains. These were all massacred except one, who, although badly wounded -and left for dead, survived to tell the story and describe the fiendish -disappointment of the savages at not capturing the prey they expected. -At Frayle Muerto Mgr. Muzi received, through the agency of Cienfuegos, -a polite message from the clergy of Cordova;[224] but having sent his -return compliments directly instead of through the channel of original -communication, the Chilian thought himself slighted, and separated from -the mission party, preceding it a good distance, and taking with him, -besides his own attendants, the orderly in brilliant uniform, who, the -Europeans had the mortification of seeing, was meant to distinguish the -_native_, although a subordinate in clerical rank. Such is human nature, -whether at courts or on a dusty plain. - -After passing through several small settlements and the more important -town of San Luis--being everywhere well received--the fine old city of -Mendoza was reached on the 15th of February. It seemed as if the entire -population had turned out to honor the distinguished arrivals. Triumphal -arches were erected, troops were drawn up under arms, processions of -citizens and clergy marshalled; from every house richly-colored tapestry -was suspended, while the balconies were filled with ladies, who threw -down flowers in the path of the apostolic vicar as he entered the town -and proceeded to the house of a noble and wealthy lady, Doña Emmanuela -Corbalan, in which everything had been prepared on the grandest scale -of provincial magnificence, and where Cienfuegos, in all his glory -and recovered temper, was waiting to receive him and Canon (Count) -Mastai, who were to be lodged there during their stay; the secretary, -Sallusti, being handed over to a less worshipful host. Religious and -civic festivals, excursions in the environs to the vineyards, gardens, -farms, and silver-mines, with other congenial occupations, detained -the party very agreeably during nine days in this neat and pleasant -town, the climate of which is noted for its salubrity. On the 24th -they left Mendoza, and had a delightful trip on horseback over good -roads and through a civilized country for seventy-five miles to the -foot of the mighty Andes. They were now on the eastern range of the -Cordilleras, at the Paramilla Mountains, which are about ten thousand -feet high and partly covered with wood. Between these and the western -range they traversed, near thirty-two degrees south latitude, a wide -valley, sterile and impregnated with salt, for over forty miles, called -the Uspallata. For fifteen miles the road was level, and the remainder -winding up and down the hills which skirt both ranges. After crossing -this valley, they struck the great range of the Andes, which is between -fifty and sixty miles in width, consisting of four or five parallel -masses of rock, divided from one another by deep and dangerous ravines -and sombre glens. The road which leads over them is called the _Cumbre_ -(summit) Pass, and attains an elevation of twelve thousand four hundred -and fifty-four feet above the level of the sea. Our travellers crossed -on mules by this road, getting to the north of them, amidst piles of -perpetual snow, a magnificent view of the grand volcano of Aconcagua, -which is nearly twenty-four thousand feet high. The passage of the -mountains was grand and impressive, but was not made without danger to -the lives of some of the party, particularly on the 29th of February. -From La Cumbre there is a gradual descent to the city of Santiago. On the -1st of March the travellers cast their admiring gaze upon the Pacific -slope, which, from that day until they entered the capital of Chili, on -the 6th of the month--passing through Villa-de-Santa-Rosa and over the -magnificent plains of Chacabuco--was a continually shifting panorama of -natural beauty, enhanced by villages, convents, and churches perched on -the side of verdant hills or nestling in the fruitful valleys. At every -halting-place their hearts were filled with a holy joy to witness the -demonstrations of faith among the people, and of loyalty to their great -spiritual chief on earth, represented by Mgr. Muzi. The party entered -Santiago, as was said, on the 6th, and, going to the cathedral, the -archbishop intoned pontifically the _Te Deum_, with the assistance of a -future pope and of the historian of the apostolic mission. The members of -the legation were lodged in a house near the _Cappucinas_; and although -we know little of the occupations of Canon Mastai in Chili, it is certain -that he made himself personally very agreeable. How could it be otherwise? - - “A man of letters, and of manners too: - Of manners sweet as virtue always wears, - When gay good nature dresses her in smiles.” - - --(_Cowper._) - -We have been told by a distinguished Chilian that Canonico Mastai was -a frequent guest in Santiago at the house of his uncle, Don Francisco -Ruiz Tagle, and used to go out with him quite often to his country-seat. -Although the mission was received with an almost universal outburst of -enthusiasm, and notwithstanding the majority of the clergy and people -was well disposed, it met with considerable opposition from a fierce -and fanatical party of Freemasons, which threw every obstacle in the -way of close relations with Rome. Cardinal Wiseman says, in the article -in the _Dublin Review_ from which we have already quoted, that “there -was jealousy and bad faith on the part of the Chilian government, and -want of tact and bad management, we fear on the part of the head of the -mission.” Unfortunately, the government was in a transition state between -the presidency of O’Higgins and the election of his successor, Freire, -and administered by a _Junta_. Where there were so many voices there was -much confusion. Cienfuegos, however, seems to have done his duty, and -he was rewarded in 1832 by the bishopric of Concepcion, which had been -vacant for fourteen years. He died in 1839. With regard to the causes of -the failure of the mission, we will not conceal what we have heard from -an excellent senator of Chili, although we mention it reservedly--that -one, at least, of the reasons was a suspicion that Muzi intended to put -Italians in the sees vacant or to be erected in Chili. - -From Santiago Mgr. Muzi and his party went to Valparaiso, and embarked -for their return voyage on the 30th of October, 1824. The remarks of the -celebrated Spaniard Balmes upon the visit of the future pope to the New -World find their place here: “There is certainly in nature’s grand scenes -an influence which expands and nerves the soul; and when these are -united to the contemplation of different races, varied in civilization -and manners, the mind acquires a largeness of sentiment most favorable to -the development of the understanding and the heart, widening the sphere -of thought and ennobling the affections. On this account it is pleasing, -above all things, to see the youthful missionary, destined to occupy the -chair of S. Peter, traverse the vast ocean; admire the magnificent rivers -and superb chains of mountains in America; travel through those forests -and plains where a rich and fertile soil, left to itself, displays with -ostentatious luxury its inborn treasures by the abundance, variety, -and beauty of its productions, animate and inanimate; run risks among -savages, sleep in wretched hovels or on the open plain, and pass the -night beneath that brilliant canopy which astonishes the traveller in the -southern hemisphere. Providence, which destined the young Mastai-Ferretti -to reign over a people and to govern the universal church, led him by -the hand to visit various nations, and to contemplate the marvels of -nature.”[225] - -A remote but very providential consequence of the visit of Pius IX. to -America, during his early career, was the establishment of the South -American College at Rome, called officially in Italian the Pio-Latino -Americano,[226] which educates aspirants to the priesthood from Brazil -and all parts of the American continent where the Spanish language is -spoken. A wealthy, intelligent, and influential Chilian priest, Don -Ignacio Eyzaguirre,[227] who had been vice-president of the House of -Representatives in 1848, and was an author of repute, was charged by -Pius IX. in 1856 to visit the dioceses of South and Central America and -Mexico, to obtain the views of the several bishops upon the necessity of -founding an ecclesiastical seminary at Rome. The project was universally -acceptable, and funds having been provided--the Holy Father giving -liberally from his private purse--a beginning was made in 1858, when a -part of the Theatine Convent of San Andrea _della Valle_ was given up -to the students, who were put under the direction of Jesuit Fathers. -This location was only temporary; and the college was soon transferred -to the large house of the general of the Dominicans, attached to the -convent of Santa Maria _sopra Minerva_, and facing the piazza. However, -it has been moved again, and in 1869 occupied the right wing of the -novitiate at San Andrea on the Quirinal, with fifty-five inmates. As -if this worthy establishment had to figure in its shifting fortune the -unsettled state of so many of the Spanish American countries, it has -again been disturbed; yet to suffer at the hands of Victor Emanuel and -his sacrilegious band is the indication of a good cause, and will prepare -to meet other, although hardly worse, enemies in the New World. - - -FREE WILL. - - I. - - The river glideth not at its sweet will: - The fountain sends it forth; - And answering to earth’s finger doth it still - Go east, west, south, or north. - - II. - - The soul alone hath perfect liberty - To flow its own free way; - And only as it wills to follow thee, - O Lord! it findeth day. - - -NELLIE’S DREAM ON CHRISTMAS EVE. - -They had quarrelled, these two--it matters not about what trifle--till -the hot, bitter words seemed to have formed an impassable barrier and a -silence fell between them that the lowering brow and compressed lip told -would not be easily broken. Both had loving hearts, and treasured each -other above all earthly things. They had real sorrows enough to make -imaginary ones glance off lightly; for the second Christmas had not yet -cast its snows on their mother’s grave. The thought of each was, “Had -_she_ been here, this would not have happened”; but pride was strong, and -the relenting thoughts were hidden behind a cold exterior. - -It was the week before Christmas, and Laura, the eldest, was assisting to -trim the village church, and in the Holy Presence the dark thought faded -and tender memories seemed to reassert their olden sway; and on returning -from her occupation she formed the resolution to stop this folly, and -make advances towards assuming the old, happy life. - -“Father Black asked after you, Nell,” she said, as she laid aside her -wrappings, and turned cheerily to the fire. “He wants you to play during -the rehearsal of the new Benediction to-morrow; for Prof. C---- will be -away.” But she was met by a stony look and closed lips. “Come, Nell,” -she said half impatiently, “don’t be so dignified; why do you love that -temper of yours so dearly?” - -“You said let there be silence between us, and I am content,” was the -rejoinder. “I shall take care not to trouble you in future.” - -Pride and love struggled for mastery in the heart of the eldest, and it -was a mingling of both that brought the answer, in tones cold enough to -freeze the tenderness of the words: “There will come a silence between us -one day, Nell, you will be glad to break.” And she passed from the room. - -“Let it come,” was the almost insolent reply; but there was a mist in the -flashing black eyes that contradicted the words. - -They passed the day apart from each other, and at night, although -kneeling for prayer in the same little oratory, and occupying the same -little white-draped chamber, the chilling silence remained. So passed the -next day, and it was now Christmas Eve. The evergreens were all hung in -the village church; the altar was radiant with flowers and tapers; the -confessionals were thronged; but both sisters kept aloof, and both hearts -were aching over the pride and anger that was strangling even religion in -their souls. Alas! alas! how the angels must have mourned to see days of -such especial grace passing in sin. Christmas gifts had been prepared, -but neither would present them. How different other Christmas Eves had -been!--the gentle mother overseeing every preparation for the next day, -that was always celebrated as a feast of joy. Those busy hands were idle -now, and the white snow was coldly drifting over the mound that loving -hearts would fain have kept in perpetual summer. A mother’s grave! Except -to those who have knelt beside that mound--that seems such a slight -barrier between the aching heart and its treasure, and yet is such a -hopeless, inexorable one--these words have little meaning. - -They retired early, and, as Nell knelt for prayer, the hot tears rolled -through her fingers as she thought of other Christmas mornings, when they -had been awakened for early Mass by the “Merry Christmas! girls,” that -earth would never, never hear again. But the icy bands of pride that had -frozen around her heart would not melt, and sleep came again in that -stony stillness. - -Morning came to Nellie’s perturbed visions, and in the gray dawn “Merry -Christmas” broke forth from her lips; but the memory of the past few -days checked the words, and they died in whispers. But as she glanced at -Laura, she saw that her eyes were open, but that their expression was -fixed and rigid. She sprang up with a vague alarm, and laid her hand upon -the low, broad forehead. It was icy cold. Shriek after shriek rang from -her lips, but they reached not the death-dulled ear. - -“I never meant it, Laura--I never meant it! Only come back that I may -speak one word!” she moaned. “O my God! give her back to me for one hour, -and I will submit to thy will.” But her voice only broke the silence, -and the white, smiling lips on the bed seemed a mockery of the passionate -anguish wailing above them. She threw herself before the little altar in -her room. “Blessed Mother!” she prayed, “I promise, solemnly promise, -that never, never again will I give way to the passionate temper that has -been my bane, if she may only come back for one hour to grant forgiveness -for the awful words I have spoken.” And for the first time since she had -realized her sorrow tears fell from her eyes. - -“Why, Nellie, Nellie, what ails you?” said a familiar voice. “You are -crying in your sleep on this merry Christmas morning; _do_ waken.” And, -oh! the heaven that met those unclosing eyes--Laura bending over her, -smiling, yet with a look of doubt in her face as if the icy barrier had -not yet broken down. - -“O my darling, my darling!” sobbed the excited girl, winding her arms -around her sister. “Thank God it is only a dream; but never, never again -will I give way to my awful temper. I have promised it, Laura, and I will -keep my vow.” - -And she did. For though she lived long enough for the dark hair to lie -like snowy floss under the matron’s cap, never did those lips utter -stinging sarcasm or close in sullen anger. And often, when her gentle -voice seemed unable to stem some furious tide of passion among her -grandchildren, would she tell the story of her dream on Christmas Eve. - - -ALLEGRI’S MISERERE. - -AT the base of a cliff flowed a tiny rivulet; the rock caught the -rain-drops in his broad hand, and poured them down in little streams to -meet their brothers at his feet, while the brook murmured a constant song -of welcome. But a stone broke from the cliff, and, falling across the -rivulet, threatened to cut its tender thread of life. - -“My little strength is useless,” moaned the streamlet. “Vainly I struggle -to move onward; and below the pebbles are waiting for their cool bath, -the budding flowers are longing for my moisture, the little fish are -panting for their breath. A thousand lives depend on mine. Who will aid -me? Who will pity me?” - -“Wait until Allegri passes; he will pity you,” said the breeze. “Once the -cruel malaria seized me, and bound messages of death upon me. ‘Pity!’ I -cried. ‘Free me from this burden, from which I cannot flee.’ ‘Hear the -wind moan,’ said some; but no one listened to my prayer till I met a -dreamy musician with God’s own tenderness in his deep eyes. ‘Have mercy!’ -I sobbed; and the gentle master plucked branches of roses, and cast them -to me. I was covered with roses, pierced with roses, filled with roses; -their redness entered my veins, and their fragrance filled my breath; -roses fell upon my forehead with the sweetness of a benediction. The -death I bore fled from me; for nothing evil can exist in the presence of -heaven’s fragrance. Cry to the good Allegri, little brooklet; he will -pity you.” - -So the rivulet waited till the master came, then sighed for mercy. The -rock was lifted, and the stream flowed forward with a cry of joy to share -its happiness with pebble and flower and fish. - -A little bird had become entangled in the meshes of a net. “Trust to the -good Allegri,” whispered the breeze; “it is he who gave me liberty.” -“Trust to the good Allegri,” rippled the brook; “it is he who gave me -liberty.” So the bird waited till the master passed, then begged a share -of his universal mercy. The meshes were parted, and the bird flew to the -morning sky to tell its joy to the fading stars and rising sun. - -“Oh! yes, we all know Allegri,” twinkled the stars. “Many a night we have -seen him at the bed of sickness.” - -“Many a day I have seen him in the prison,” shouted the sun with the -splendor of a Gloria. “Wherever are those that doubt, that mourn, that -suffer; wherever are those that cry for help and mercy--there have I -found Allegri.” - -The people of the earth wondered what made the sun so glorious, not -knowing that he borrowed light from the utterance of a good man’s name. - -A multitude of Rome’s children had gathered in S. Peter’s. The Pope was -kneeling in the sanctuary; princes and merchants were kneeling together -under the vast cupola, the poor were kneeling at the threshold; even a -leper dared to kneel on the steps without, and was allowed the presence -of his Lord. All souls were filled with longing, all hearts were striving -for expression. - -Then strains of music arose: O soul! cease your longing; O heart! cease -your strife; now utterance is found. - -Sadder grew the tones, till, like the dashing of waves, came the sigh: -“Vainly I struggle to move onward. Have mercy, Father!” The lights -flickered and died, a shadow passed over the worshippers, and the Tiber -without stopped in its course to listen. - -Sadder grew the tones, till the moan was heard: “Vainly I strive to -escape these meshes. Have mercy, Father!” The shadow grew deeper, and a -little bird without stopped in its flight to listen. - -Still was the music sadder with the weight of the sob: “Vainly I flee -from this loathsome burden. Have mercy, Father!” Vaster and darker grew -the shadow, and the very breeze stopped in its course to listen. - -And now the music mingled sigh and moan and sob in one vast despairing -cry: “Vainly I struggle against this rock of doubt. Have mercy, Father! -Vainly I strive to escape these meshes of sin. Have mercy, Father! Vainly -I flee from this evil self. Have mercy, O Father! have mercy.” Darker -and deeper and vaster grew the shadow, and all sin in those human hearts -stopped in its triumph to listen. - -All light was dead, all sound was dead. Was all hope dead? “No!” wept -a thousand eyes. “No!” sobbed a thousand voices; for now high above -the altar shone forth the promise of light in darkness, of help in -tribulation--in sight of Pope and prince, in sight of rich and poor, and -even in sight of the leper kneeling without, gleamed the starry figure of -the cross. - -“How was this Mass of Allegri so completely formed,” cry the three -centuries that have passed since then, “that we have been able to add -nothing to its perfection?” - -The calm voice of nature answers: It is because his own love and mercy -were universal; because he had learned that all creation needs the -protecting watchfulness of the Maker; because he gave even the weakest -creatures voice in his all embracing cry of Miserere. - - -TO-DAY AND YESTERDAY. - - I. - - “That city knoweth nor sign nor trace - Of mutable land or sea; - Thou who art changeless, grant me a place - In that far city with Thee.” - - So spake she, gazing on the distant sea, - That lay, one sheet of gold, in morning light; - And then she cried, “God, make my blindness sight!” - Heart-sore, heart-hungry, sick at heart, was she, - And did mistrust no other hope could be, - This side the grave, than shifting sea and land; - Yet dreamed she not her house was built on sand, - But fearless thought of dread eternity. - And men admired the house she builded fair, - Until a tempest, risen with sudden shock, - Rent it. Then God made answer to her prayer: - Showed her _on earth_ a city, calm, and old, - And strong, and changeless; set her on a rock; - Gave her, with him, a place in his true fold. - - II. - - “For, oh! the Master is so fair, - His smile so sweet to banished men, - That they who meet it unaware - Can never rest on earth again.” - - Such were the words that charmed my ear and heart, - In days when still I dwelt outside the fold; - But now they seem to me too slight and cold, - For I have been with thee, dear Lord, apart, - And seen love’s barbed and o’ermastering dart - Pierce thee beneath the olives dark and old, - Until thy anguish could not be controlled, - But from thy veins the Blood of life did start. - O Word made flesh, made sin, for sinful man! - I seek not now thy smile, so fair, so sweet; - Another vision, haggard, pale, and wan, - Of one who bore earth’s sin and shame and smart, - Hath drawn me, weeping, to thy sacred feet, - To share the unrest of thy bleeding Heart. - - -THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1875. - -The year 1875 has not been a specially remarkable one as distinct from -the years immediately preceding it. Great questions, which affect -humanity at large beyond the line of nationality, and which were rife -three or four years ago, are undecided still. No wars, or revolutions, -or discoveries, or mighty changes have occurred during the year to -alter sensibly the current of human affairs. What the world at large -quarrelled and wrangled over a year, two years, three, four years ago, -it wrangles over still, and may for years yet to come. Much as science -and culture have done to break down the barriers that separate men and -bring the human family nearer together, nations, nationally considered, -stand as far apart as ever they did, and the imaginary line that divides -neighboring peoples finds them wide apart as the antipodes. - -To begin a rapid and necessarily incomplete review at home, the past -year can scarcely be regarded as either a happy or successful one, -commercially speaking, in the United States. Preliminary echoes of the -Centennial year of the great republic have been heard, but amid them the -crash of falling banks that had no legitimate excuse for falling, and -of business firms that followed in due order. This, however, is only a -repetition of the two preceding years, which it is as painful as it would -be useless to dwell upon here. In a word, business at large--instead of -recovering, as it was hoped it would, during the past year--if anything, -fell behind, and so continues. The election did not tend to enliven it. -There are hopes, however, of a real revival during the coming Centennial -year, or at least of a beginning on the road of improvement. There is the -more reason to hope for this that large branches of our industries, such -as cereals, iron, and cotton goods, are beginning to find a good foreign -market. - -Looked at largely, there are some things on which Americans may -congratulate themselves during the year. Chief among these are their -very misfortunes. Extravagance in living, foolish and vulgar display -in dress and equipage, have disappeared to a satisfactory extent. Of -course where wealth abounds and fortunes are rolled up easily, there -will be shoddy; but then let it be marked off, and the world will not -be the loser. Again, there was a good sign on the part of the people to -form opinions of their own regarding the questions up before them and -the respective merits and qualifications of the various candidates for -election. To be sure, many, too many, persons were elected who were a -disgrace to their constituencies; and while such men are set in high -and responsible positions it is vain to look for reform in the thousand -abuses that afflict the conduct of public affairs. Still, there was a -hopeful indication of the right feeling among the people. - -Perhaps the most memorable, certainly the most significant, event to -Catholics in the history of this country took place during the year. -The venerable Archbishop of New York was raised by the Holy Father to -the dignity of the cardinalate, and thereby set in the senate of the -church of which Christ is the invisible, and the Pope, the successor of -Peter, the visible, head. To speak of the fitness of the Holy Father’s -choice in selecting Archbishop McCloskey for this high office and -proud privilege of being the first American cardinal is not for us. It -is sufficient to say that not Catholics alone, but their Protestant -fellow-countrymen also, all the land over, received the news and hailed -the choice with acclaim. But what moves us most is the significance of -the act. In the appointment of an American cardinal in the United States -the wish expressed by the Council of Trent has in this instance been -realized. That great council ordained, respecting 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” (Sess. 24, _De Ref._, c. i.) Were this -recommendation completely carried out, it would probably be one of the -greatest movements that have taken place in the Catholic Church for the -last three centuries. - -Suppose, for example, that the great Catholic interests throughout the -world were represented in that body by men of intelligence, of known -virtue, and large experience; suppose every nationality had there its -proportionate expression--a senate thus composed would be the most august -assembly that ever was brought together upon earth. It would be the only -world’s senate that the world has ever witnessed. This would be giving -its proper expression to the note of the universality of the church. -The decisions of the Holy Father on the world-interests of the church, -assisted by the deliberations of such a body, would have more power to -sway the opinions and actions of the world than armies of bayonets. For, -whatever may be said to the contrary in favor of needle-guns and rifled -cannon, the force of public opinion through such agents as electricity -and types moves the world, above all when supported by the intelligence, -virtue, and experience of men who have no other interests at heart than -those of God and the good of mankind. - -Who knows but the time has come to give this universality of the church -a fuller expression? Is not divine Providence acting through modern -discoveries, rendering it possible for the human race to be not only one -family in blood, but even in friendship and unity of purpose? Perhaps the -present persecutions of the church in Italy are only relieving her from -past geographical and national limitations, to place her more completely -in relations with the faithful throughout the world. Who knows but the -time is near when the Holy Father will be surrounded by representatives -of all nations, tribes, and peoples, from the South as well as from the -North, from the East as well as from the West; by Italians, Germans, -Frenchmen, Spaniards, Englishmen, Belgians, Portuguese, Austrians, -Irishmen, Americans, Canadians, South Americans, Australians, as well as -by representatives of the faithful from the empire of China? Would this -new departure be anything more than the realization of the wish expressed -by that great and holy council held at Trent three centuries ago? - -In passing from our own to other lands, we cannot do so, at the opening -of the second century of our country’s life, without a glance at -something larger and wider than the mere local interests of every-day -life which touch us most nearly. Beyond doubt there is much to criticise, -much, perhaps, to be ashamed of, much to deplore, in the conduct of our -government, local and national, and in the social state generally of -our people. Still, we see nothing at present existing or threatening -that is beyond the remedy of the people itself. It is a fashion among -our pessimists to contrast the America of to-day with the America of a -hundred years ago. Well, we believe that we can stand the contrast. The -country has expanded and developed, and promises so to continue beyond -all precedent in the history of this world. When the experiment of a -century ago is contrasted with the established fact--the nation--of a -free and prosperous people of to-day, we can only bless God. And allowing -the widest margin for the evils and shortcomings in our midst, when we -glance across the ocean at nations armed to the teeth, looking upon one -another as foes, and either rending with internal throes or threatening -to be rent, pride in this country deepens, and the heart swells with -gratitude that in these days God has raised up a nation where all men may -possess their souls in peace. - -We have some alarmists among us who look in the near future to the -occurrence of scenes in this country similar to those now being -transacted in Europe, where men are persecuted for conscience’ sake. -We cannot share in these alarms. As we see no evils in our midst which -are beyond the remedy of the people, so we see no religious or other -questions that may arise which cannot be civilly adjusted. This is not -a country where the raw head and bloody bones thrive. The question of -religion is decided once for all in the Constitution. Catholics, of -course, have a large heritage of misrepresentation to contend against, -but that is rapidly diminishing. A Bismarck may strive to introduce into -our free country, through a band of fanatics and weak-minded politicians, -the persecuting spirit which he has attempted to introduce into England -by a Gladstone, which he has succeeded in introducing into Italy by a -Minghetti, and into Switzerland by a Carteret; but before they reach the -hundredth part of the influence of the disgraceful Know-Nothing party, -the good sense and true spirit of our countrymen will, as it did in the -case of that party, brand all who have had any prominent connection with -the movement with the note of infamy. The fanatical cry of “No Popery” -is evidently played out at its fountain-source in old England, while the -attempt to revive its echoes will meet with still less success in _new_ -England. We see no clouds on the American horizon that should cause -Catholics any grave apprehension. - -The end of such attempts always is that those who strike the sparks only -succeed in burning their fingers. All we have to do is to walk straight -along in the path we have been following of common citizenship with those -around us, in order to secure for ourselves all the rights which we are -ready to concede to others. - -The European situation during the past year may be summed up under two -headings--the struggle between church and state, and the prospects of -war. To enter at any length into the question between church and state -in Germany and in other countries in Europe would be going over old -ground which has been covered time and again in THE CATHOLIC WORLD. Only -such features of the contest will be touched upon as may set the present -situation clearly before the mind of the reader. - -The official _Provincial Correspondence_, at the opening of the past -year, said in a retrospective article on the events of 1874: “The -conviction has been forced upon the German government that the German -ultramontane party are a revolutionary party, directed by foreigners -and relying mainly upon the assistance of foreign powers. The German -government, therefore, are under the necessity of deprecating any -encouragement of the ultramontane party by foreign powers. It was for -this reason that the German government last year thought it incumbent -on them to use plain language in addressing the French government -upon the sayings and doings of some of the French bishops. France had -taken the hint, and had prevented her ultramontanes setting the world -on fire merely to vent their spite against Germany.… It was, perhaps, -to be expected under these circumstances that, abandoning at last all -hope of foreign assistance, the German ultramontanes would make their -peace with the government in Prussia, and no longer object to laws they -willingly obey in Baden, Bavaria, Würtemberg, and Oldenburg, not to speak -of Austria and other states. At all events, it was very desirable that -the ultramontanes should yield before the church was thrown into worse -confusion by their malicious but impotent resistance.” - -Such was the pleasant prospect held out for the Catholics by the official -organ at the opening of the year. The programme sketched in it has been -faithfully carried out, and Germany has taken another step in the path of -freedom, internal peace, and consolidation by planting its foot nearer -the throat of the church. It is useless to enter into a refutation of -the falsehoods contained in the extract from the official journal. -They have been refuted in the German Reichstag and all the world over. -It is needless, also, to call attention to the tone of the official -journal, and the manner, become a fashion of late with German statesmen -and writers at large, of warning foreign powers to keep a civil tongue -in their heads respecting German matters, or it may be the worse for -them. How far the Catholics have yielded to the kindly invitation held -out to them the world has seen. We have before this remarked on the -strange anxiety manifested by a government, convinced of the justice of -its cause and the means it was pursuing towards its end, to stifle the -expression of public opinion, not only at home, but abroad. Moreover, the -very fact of its being compelled to deprecate “any encouragement of the -ultramontane party by foreign powers” says as plainly as words can say it -that those powers see something in the party to encourage. - -Here is a sample--one out of hundreds such--of the manner in which the -members of the “revolutionary party” have been treated during the year, -and of the crimes, sympathy with which on the part of foreign powers is -so earnestly deprecated by the German government. That extremely active -agent of Prince Bismarck, the Prussian correspondent of the London -_Times_, tells the story of the deposition of the Bishop of Paderborn -by the “Ecclesiastical” Court thus: “He has been sentenced to-day (Jan. -6) to innumerable fines, chiefly for appointing clergymen without the -consent of the secular authorities. [Is this a crime, reverend and right -reverend gentlemen of the Protestant churches?] Never paying any of -these forfeits, he has been repeatedly imprisoned and forcibly prevented -from exercising his functions. [And now for the perversity of the man, -the “malicious but impotent resistance.”] Notwithstanding the measures -taken against him, he has continued his opposition to the state. He would -not allow his clerical training-schools to be visited by government -inspectors; he has declined to reappoint a chaplain he had excommunicated -without the consent of the government [What criminals SS. Peter and Paul -would be were they living in Germany to-day!]; and he has continually -issued pastorals and made speeches to deputations breathing the most -hostile sentiments against crown and parliament [sentiments not quoted]. -He has received addresses covered with more than one hundred thousand -signatures, and on a single day admitted twelve thousand persons to his -presence, who had come to condole with him on the martyr’s fate he was -undergoing.” Let it be borne in mind that this is not our description, -but that of an agent of the Prussian government. Could words establish -more clearly the side on which the criminality lies? - -Only passing mention can be made of events which have been already -anticipated and commented on. The extension of the civil registration -of births, deaths, and marriages from Prussia to the whole German -Empire passed in January. Perhaps no measure yet has so aroused the -indignation, not only of Catholics, but of believing Protestants also. -As the correspondent already quoted tersely puts the matter: “In all -Germany this law does away with the services of the clergy in celebrating -the three great domestic events of life.” That is to say, there is no -longer need to baptize Christian children in the name of God; there is no -longer need of God in the marriage service; finally, as man comes into -the world, so he may go out of it, without the name or the invocation of -God, without God’s blessing over his grave or the ceremonies of religion -attending the last act. Like a dog he may come, like a dog he may live, -like a dog he may go. And yet this is an evangelical power! Verily, -but of a strange evangel. The result of it is shown already. Since the -Prussian Civil Registration Law was passed, only twenty-five per cent. -of all Berlin marriages have been celebrated in churches, while only -thirty per cent. of the children born in the capital have been baptized -by clergymen. - -The passing of the Landsturm Bill converts the whole German Empire into -an armed camp. “Henceforth every German sound in wind and limb must be a -soldier. From the age of seventeen to forty-two, every man not belonging -to the army or the reserve is to be liable to be called out in the case -of an actual or even a threatened invasion,” says the London _Times_. “At -the word of command Germany is arming _en masse_, and the surrounding -nations--that is, the best part of the world--cannot but do as she does.” -They are doing as she does, and all the European powers to-day sleep -beside their arms. In face of this fact, what comfort can men take from -the meeting and hobnobbing of the crowned heads of Europe here, there, -and everywhere, or of their assurances of peace? Who is strong enough to -keep the peace, who too weak to enkindle war? No man and no people. It -is this arming and incertitude of one another that alone prevented what -locally was so insignificant an affair as the outbreak within the year -of the Bosnian insurrection against Turkey from lighting a universal -conflagration. The eagles of the great powers gather around the Turkish -carcase. England seizes beforehand on the control of the Suez Canal by -way of preparing for eventualities, and the Eastern question begins at -last to resolve itself into this simple form: not, How shall we uphold -the empire? but, How shall we divide the spoils? - -The present rulers of Germany profess to look upon their Catholic -subjects as the great foes of the German Empire. The mistake is a fatal -one; for in binding the church they bind the only power that can stop -the dry-rot which is slowly eating into the heart, not alone of Germany, -but of all nations to-day. That dry-rot is socialism, the first-born of -infidelity. That socialism prevails in Germany the rulers of that empire -know, and its utterances are as dreaded as an encyclical of the Pope. -Here are the elements of socialism as pictured by the Cologne _Gazette_ -at the opening of the year: “In 1874, although the great bubble schemes -burst in the summer of 1873, and although last year a plentiful harvest -of corn and wine came to our relief, the consequences of the crisis -are still felt. Numerous undertakings are depreciated, and even more -lamentable than the losses of the promoters are the mischievous results -of the sudden excessive rise in wages, which could not possibly last, the -luxurious habits, the strikes, and all that these involve on the laboring -classes and the whole industrial life of the German nation. Habits of -indolence and gluttony have been established which it will be hard to -eradicate,” and much more in the same strain. - -This is only a straw showing which way the wind blows. Persecution of the -church has not yet exhausted itself, though, beyond the actual taking of -life, it is hard to see what remains to be done. The final measure has -been resorted to of abrogating the articles of the Prussian constitution -of 1850, which were specially drawn up to provide freedom of religion and -worship in their fullest sense. Of the attitude of the German Catholics, -the prelates, the clergy, and the laity, it is needless to speak. The -world has witnessed it; and the very fierceness of the persecution simply -serves to show forth more gloriously the divinity of the church; for no -human institution could live under it. One result of the persecution has -been the return of a Catholic majority to the Bavarian Parliament. We -hope for the unity of the German Empire, and its true consolidation; but -it is not in our hearts to support tyranny, under whatever name, least -of all when it attacks all that we hold most sacred. The German policy -must be totally altered before it can command the sympathy of freemen. -It must be totally altered before it can command the respect and full -allegiance of its subjects, so large and important a section of whom are -Catholics. The Catholic majority in Bavaria is but one sign of many of -opposition to the one-sided policy of which Prince Bismarck is the author -and expounder. Who knows but that the threatened dissolution of an empire -erected on so false and narrow a basis has not already begun in Bavaria? -All the sacrifices made to establish the empire--not the least of which -were made by Bavaria--the German chancellor, by his determined and -senseless religious persecution, would now seem foolishly to ignore. And -these Bavarians, of all the Germans, once aroused, and their religious -rights infringed upon, are not the men quietly and meekly to subside -under opposition. - -We have dwelt more at length upon Germany because it is the centre of the -strife that convulses, and threatens to convulse, the world. Other topics -must consequently be hastily dismissed. - -Of France there is nothing but good to report. After a series of fiery -debates in the Assembly, the constitution of a conservative republic -was definitively formed and agreed upon towards the end of February. -The nomination of councillors of state was given to the President, who -resigned the nomination of the senators. Of course France is still open -to surprises, and the various parties seem as unable to coalesce as -ever. But there is no question that the government of Marshal MacMahon -has deserved well of the country, and, could only a true republic -be established in France, it would serve as a safe counter-check to -the absolutisms that threaten the east of Europe. The commerce and -industries of the country have advanced even on the preceding year, -though the imports of 1874 amounted to 3,748,011,000 francs, and the -exports to 3,877,753,000 francs, these figures being in excess of those -of any former years. The returns for the Paris savings-banks in 1874 -indicate how the poorer and lower middle classes, who chiefly patronize -these establishments, are recovering from the effects of the war and -the Commune. The deposits amounted to 14,500,000 francs, while in 1873 -they were 13,500,000 francs, and in 1872 12,629,000 francs. There is -every reason to believe that the ratio of the past year will show a -corresponding increase. - -While the tokens of reviving prosperity are thus encouraging, those of a -revival of religious feeling and coming back to the old ways and the old -faith among the people at large are not less so. A noble and patriotic -work is being accomplished in the rapid formation and spread of Catholic -Working-men’s Clubs--a direct offset to the socialism fostered by the -spirit of irreligion in other places. The part taken by Catholic laymen -of standing and ability in this work, so full of happy promise, is in -itself a significant feature, and one that may well be recommended to the -attention of Catholic laymen all the world over. The pilgrimages to holy -shrines and to Rome have continued, spite of the laugh of the infidel -and the scorn of the unbeliever. The solemn consecration of the church -in Montmartre to the Sacred Heart was one in which the whole world was -interested. But the most encouraging measure of all was the obtaining, -after a fierce battle between religion and infidelity, of permission to -found free universities in France, where students who believe in God -might, if they chose, apply themselves to the study of their faith, or -at least carry on their studies under the divine protection and under -professors who, lacking nothing in intellect, recognize a higher than -themselves, whose law they have the courage to recognize and the sense -and piety to obey. - -Surely, France was never so worthy of the esteem and profound respect of -all the world as it is to-day. What a wonderful vitality is displayed by -this Latin-Celtic race! What people could so suddenly recover from what -seemed so fatal a blow? What other nation would have shown so much wisdom -and self-control as these Frenchmen, whom the outside world stamped as -“unstable as water”? Is France to be the leader of the Latin-Celtic -races, to conform itself, consistently with its past history and -traditions, after a century of throes, into a political form of society -fitted to its present needs, its future prosperity, and the renewal of -religion? God grant that it be so! - -England, true to its peace policy, still keeps aloof from the troubled -current of European affairs, beyond its recent move Eastward, which has -already been noticed. It steadily refused to accept the invitation of -Russia to join the International Conference on the Usages of War, which -in reality resembled a consultation among surgeons before beginning -to operate on an interesting subject. Mr. Disraeli’s premiership has -been marked by some irritating mistakes, though the securing control of -the Suez Canal was undoubtedly a move in the present critical state of -Eastern affairs that compensates for many a blunder--if he can only hold -the control. Mr. Gladstone finally retired from the leadership of the -liberal party, and was nominally succeeded by the Marquis of Hartington. -The ex-leader, abandoning a position which, take him all in all, he -undoubtedly adorned, went paddling in theology and got shipwrecked. The -Gladstone fulminations on “Vaticanism” are now a thing of the past, and -only afforded another melancholy instance of the facility with which -even great men can go beyond their depth. The portentous charges against -the Pope, the _Curia Romana_, the rusty arsenals, and the rest of the -papal “properties” were received by the English people themselves with -honest laughter or with passive scorn, until finally Mr. Gladstone lost -his temper, and then the world became tired both of him and his “rusty -tools.” - -Materialism is taking deep root in the English mind. The leading organ of -English opinion, itself highly respectable, but by no means religious, -complained more than once during the year of the general apathy with -which the public regarded the doings of the various convocations and -general assemblies of the Protestant churches in England. And the success -with which the onslaught by such a man as Mr. Gladstone against the -Catholic Church met with at the hands of Englishmen reveals anew the fact -that religious feeling has fallen to so low an ebb in England that even -the most eloquent of bigots could not arouse an anti-Popery cry. And -this, for England, is the last stage of religious apathy. - -Is this again the immediate precursor of a reaction in favor of the true -church in that land for which so many prayers have been offered up, and -the blood of so many martyrs has been shed? - -Ireland has been quiet, calm, and peaceable, and though, in common with -England, suffering from the commercial depression which spread from -this country to them, it has shown a strong tendency to advance in -prosperity. For its peace the Catholic clergy, according to the testimony -of the London _Times_, and, as we believe, the Home-Rule party, are -jointly answerable. Men who believe in God and obey the laws of the -church will, with honest and able representatives, seek for no heroic -measures of reform, while the legislature is fairly open to complaints. -The London _Times_ says that the peaceful record of the year reads like -a fairy tale. Yet the Peace Preservation Acts were renewed, for which -the same journal could find no better reason than that “you cannot -break off abruptly from the past,” and goes on to say: “It is possible -that, if there never had been a resolution to impose upon a conquered -people a church which they rejected, and to endow it with the spoils -to which they remained attached; if there never had been a neglect so -little creditable to our statesmanship as the conditions under which -agricultural land was held in Ireland; if laws had never been passed to -deprive Roman Catholics of political privileges and the right to possess -property; if the attempt had never been made to rule the inhabitants of -the sister-island by a hostile garrison, that state of feeling would -never have been created which imposes upon the legislature of to-day the -sad necessity of maintaining an exceptional coercive legislation.” The -bitterest foe of England could scarcely add one iota to the force of this -terrible indictment of English legislation in Ireland. - -But we look with all hope to the speedy dispersing of the clouds which -so long have hovered over this real “island of saints,” which has done -so much in the past and promises so much in the future for the spread of -faith among the peoples of the earth. More pleasing topics to touch upon -are the celebration of the centennial of Daniel O’Connell, the fiftieth -anniversary of the consecration of the venerable Archbishop McHale, and, -though last, far from least, the visit to Ireland of Cardinal McCloskey, -and his reception by Cardinal Cullen and the Irish people. The scene was -indeed a memorable one; the meeting on a soil consecrated with the blood -of saints and martyrs--a soil every inch of which could tell a tale of -a struggle of centuries for the faith--of two cardinals of the church -that guards the representatives, in their own persons, of the newest and -one of the oldest heritages of the church, and the one Irish by birth, -the other Irish by blood. A meeting no less significant was that in -England between the Cardinal of New York and Cardinal Manning, the first -convert probably who ever wore the title: a man of indomitable activity, -a fearless asserter of the rights of the church, and always foremost in -every movement which aims at the amelioration of the condition of the -working classes. - -Russia continues her strides in the East, nearing Hindostan, and with -Hindostan the sea, at every step. Despite occasional reverses, her march -against the conflicting tribes and peoples that lie in her path can -only be regarded as irresistible. Meanwhile, at home she is eaten up by -sects and the socialistic spirit that pervades other nations, and which -tyranny may stifle for a time, but cannot destroy. Again the mistake -occurs of regarding the Catholic Church as her enemy, and dragooning her -Catholic subjects with a creed which their consciences reject. Austria -is engaged in the attempt to set her internal affairs in order, and to -recover from the defeat at Sadowa. She finds time, notwithstanding, to -attack the church, though without the persistent brutality of her German -neighbor, whose offer to procure a joint interference among the nations -in the election of the next pope was politely but firmly rejected by -Austria. In this path Italy also walks. Rejecting the rough hempen cord -with which Germany binds and strives to strangle the church, Italy, true -to her national character, chooses one of silk, which shall do the work -softly and noiselessly, but none the less securely. _Sensim sine sensu._ -Thus the Law of Guarantees of 1871, which was founded on Cavour’s maxim -of “a free church in a free state,” provided for the absolute freedom of -the Pope in spirituals. This Germany resents, and early in the year made -strong remonstrance with Italy, to see, in plain English, if some plan -could not be devised by which the Pope might be muzzled and prevented -from issuing encyclicals and bulls and so forth, save only such as might -please the mind of present German statesmen. Italy refused to alter the -law. But now in November we find Minghetti, the president of the Council, -stating to his electors at Cologna-Veneta that there are defects in the -law of papal guarantees. The church--says that excellent authority, M. -Minghetti--is the congregation of all the faithful, including, of course, -M. Minghetti himself. But the state, on whom with the _jus protegendi_ -devolves also the _jus inspiciendi_, is bound to see that the right of -the laity and the interest of the lower clergy be not sacrificed to the -abuse of papal and episcopal authority. Wherefore, M. Minghetti, urged -solely by the desire of seeing that no injustice is done, pledges his -electors that he will bring in a bill empowering the laity to reclaim the -rights to which they are entitled in the government of the church. How -far those rights extend, of course, remains to be seen. - -The Holy Father is still spared to us in the full enjoyment of his -health and powers of mind. Pilgrims flock to him in thousands, and the -eyes of the world, friends and foes alike, look with sympathy upon him. -Surely now is the real triumph of his reign, and in his weakness shines -forth his true strength. No earthly motives, if ever they affected the -allegiance of Catholics to him, could affect it now. Yet what does the -world witness? As men regard things, a weak and powerless old man, -ruling, from the palace that is his prison, the hearts of two hundred -millions of people in the name and by the power of Jesus Christ, whose -saintly vicar he is. The Pope, lifted above all entanglements by recent -events with the political policy of so-called Catholic countries--his -voice, as the head of the church, is heard and respected by all nations -as perhaps it never was at any other period of time. - -Spain opened with a new revolution--the re-entering of Alfonso, the son -of the exiled queen, to the kingdom and the throne from which she was -driven. This being said, the situation remains in much the same condition -that it has done for the past two years; if anything, notwithstanding -some defections and reverses, Don Carlos has gained in strength and -boldness. The move that brought in Don Alfonso was a good one, but it -came too late. - -The customary chronic revolutions prevail in South America. The -assassination of Garcia Moreno, the able and good President of Ecuador, -by members of a secret society, added a unique chapter of horrors and -dastardly cowardice to the records of these societies, showing that to -accomplish their purpose they are ready to stab a nation. Garcia Mareno -died a martyr to his faith. From a far different cause, though by the -same means, died Sonzogno, the editor of the _Capitale_, the trial of -whose assassins furnished food for thought as to the force at work in -regenerated Italy. An event that might have been of great importance was -the death of the youthful Emperor of China, which was followed by that of -his wife. He was succeeded by a child five years old, and the government -seems to have passed into the hands of the same men who held it before, -so that a change for the better towards Christians is scarcely to be -hoped for, while Christian residents are still exposed at any moment to a -repetition of the Tien-Tsin massacre. - -With the year closes the third quarter of the most eventful century, -perhaps, which the world has yet known, the first century of the -Christian era alone being excepted. It opened on what Lacordaire has well -called “a wild and stormy morning,” and he would be a bold prophet who -should predict a clear sky at the close. A writer of the day describes -nations within the past year as engaged in “a wild war-dance.” The -same is true of the century. Nations seem to have learned nothing, but -forgotten much. In forgetting the faith that made them whole they have -forgotten the secret of the elixir of national life. Hence, bitter as the -struggle is, a Catholic cannot but hope much in the near future from the -present trials of the church. The blows of Germany have crushed shams to -the earth, and caused the truth to shine forth resplendent and beautiful. -Whatever may be this faith that the nations have forgotten, that has been -a mockery among men of the world, it is manifest, at least, that there -is a profound reality in it, and a vitality that no power on earth can -hope to destroy. This testimony of strength in weakness, of the purest -devotion and loftiest sacrifices that this world can show, if it do -nothing else, at least brings men to ponder and look back, and compare -and inquire, and arrive at some conclusions. For the world cannot remain -an indifferent spectator to a question that is wide as the world. The -vagaries of belief, the churches with fronts of brass and feet of clay, -the parasites and the flatterers who, professing to worship and believe -in God alone, bow down in secret before the prince of this world, now -slink away in shame or stand abashed before the unbeliever. - -Again, considering the intensity of the activity of the age, induced -in a great measure by the facilities of expressing and communicating -our thoughts, of reaching the uttermost parts of the earth in a -flash of time--all of which enhances the responsibility of our free -will--religion, in view of these facts, will have to keep pace with -this activity in order to perform the office for which God established -it upon earth. That she will do so is as much a matter of certitude -as her existence; for that same “Spirit which fills the whole earth” -finds in her bosom his dwelling-place. The general tendency to material -science, and the material interests of nations, which have so wonderfully -increased within the century, tend all to obscure the supernatural. But -there is nothing to be feared from the advocates of material science. -There is no escaping from God in his creation. And these men, in their -way, in common with the more open persecutors, are preparing for the -triumph of the church, and in the providence of God are co-workers in the -more complete demonstration of his divine truth. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - LIFE OF THE APOSTLE S. JOHN. By M. L. Baunard. Translated from - the first French edition. New York: The Catholic Publication - Society. 1875. - -The life and character of S. John are so beautiful and so closely -connected with our Saviour that true believers have always craved to know -more about him. - -On the other hand, his testimony is so positive and his language so -clear that all who blaspheme the divinity of our Lord have sought to -thrust him and his gospel out of sight. The distinguished French author -has a warm personal devotion to S. John, and has devoted himself with -great enthusiasm to the task of collecting all the historical facts -which remain to us as connected with the virgin apostle. His style is -manifestly infused with his spirit, and hence the work is one rather of -devotion than of cold, scientific dissertation. - -“It is,” says the author in his preface, “a book of doctrine. I address -it to all those who desire to instruct themselves in the truth of God. -Truth has no school above that of the Gospel, and nowhere does it appear -fairer or more profound than in the gospel of S. John. - -“It is a book of piety. I dedicate it to Christians: to priests--the -priesthood has no higher personification than S. John; to virgins--John -was a virgin; to mothers--he merited to be given as a son to the Mother -of God; to youth--he was the youngest of the apostles; to old men--it -is the name he gives himself in his epistles. I offer it to suffering -souls--he stood beside the cross; to contemplative souls--he was on Mt. -Thabor; to all souls who wish to devote themselves to their brethren, and -to love them in God--charity can have no purer ideal than the friend of -Jesus.” - -It goes to fill up a most important gap in our English hagiography, and -will be greeted with much satisfaction by those desirous of having a -complete series of lives of the saints. - - THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. By Joaquin Miller. Boston: Roberts - Brothers. 1875. - -The _ad captandum_ title of this work leads one to look for an Arabian -romance; whereas the story has scarcely anything to do with it, and is -a very slender story at that. It is difficult to say whether the book -is worth reading or not; for while, no doubt, it contains passages of -considerable force and beauty, we are quite sure the poet himself does -not know half the time what he means. Now, this kind of thing is “played -out.” Far be it from us to accuse the divine Tennyson of straining and -affectation; but we do say there are peculiarities in his style which -it is dangerous to imitate. Taken as a model for classic and scholarly -verse, he has no equal in the English language. But the subjectivism of -his “enchanted reverie” may be easily “run into the ground.” Hence he has -given rise (we suspect he is full sore over it) to what may be called the -“Obscurantist” school of poetry. We think this school has had its day. -We hope the coming poets will happily combine the faultless diction of -Tennyson with the clear, strong thought of such masters as Milton, Byron, -and Longfellow. - - THE THREE PEARLS; OR, VIRGINITY AND MARTYRDOM. By a Daughter of - Charity. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875. - -We presume this book is meant for a Christmas present. It is admirably -fitted for that purpose--beautifully printed and tastefully bound. But -the contents are still better worth having. - -These “Three Pearls” were indeed “of great price”; three -virgin-martyrs--S. Cæcilia, S. Agnes, and S. Catharine of Alexandria. -No three saints, perhaps, could have been more happily chosen by the -gifted author as models for the young Catholic women of the day, and -particularly here in America. If it be objected that such heroines are -not imitable, the answer is obvious--that the virtues which led them to -become heroines are imitable by all. And, again, the “modern paganism” -with which we are familiar has many features in common with that amid -which they lived. - -There is a prose sketch of each saint, followed by a tribute in verse. -The “Editor’s Preface” is from the pen of a learned priest in the Diocese -of Boston. - - MEDULLA THEOLOGIÆ MORALIS. Auctore Augustino Rohling, S. - Theologiæ et Philosophiæ Doctore, Monasterii Guestfaliæ in - Academia Regia quondam, nunc in Seminario Salesiano prope - Milwaukee S. Theologiæ Professore. Cum permissu Superiorum. St. - Ludovici: Excudebat B. Herder, 19 South Fifth Street; et B. - Herder, Friburgi, Brisgoviæ. 1875. - -The plan of the author in this work, as is implied in its title, has not -been to write a complete treatise on moral theology, but to furnish a -compendium containing the points necessary for confessors in the ordinary -discharge of their duties. Desirable as such a book is, there is of -course a difficulty in compiling it, arising from the variety of sound -opinions on many questions, which cannot all be given without extending -it beyond the limits which give it its special convenience, and which -opinions, nevertheless, it is at least expedient that every priest should -know. This difficulty is one, therefore, which cannot be overcome, and a -manual of this kind can never entirely supply the place of a larger work. -But it nevertheless has its use, and, when it is well done, cannot fail -to be a welcome addition to any theological library. - -And this book is extremely welcome for it is extremely well done. It is -very well arranged; every point of importance is, we believe, given; it -is clearly written; it is adapted to the times and to this country, and -(which is a great merit) it is by no means dry. There is a little danger -in it on this last account, and that is that its superior attractiveness -may tend to induce neglect of larger works, and too great confidence in -statements which space will not allow the author to modify, as we have -said above. - -One excellent feature of it is the sound and practical advice which it -contains, which is almost as important as the statement of theological -conclusions or of matters of law. It would be worth far more than its -price on this account alone. - - THE HISTORY OF THE PROTESTANT REFORMATION IN GERMANY, - SWITZERLAND, ENGLAND, IRELAND, SCOTLAND, THE NETHERLANDS, - FRANCE, AND NORTHERN EUROPE. Seventh Edition. By the Most Rev. - M. J. Spalding, D.D. Baltimore: J. Murphy & Co. 1875. - - THE EVIDENCES OF CATHOLICITY. Sixth Edition. By the Most Rev. - M. J. Spalding, D.D. Baltimore: J. Murphy & Co. 1875. - -In the present editions an article on “Rome and Geneva” has been added -to _The History of the Reformation_, and a “Pastoral Letter on the -Infallibility of the Pope” to _The Evidences of Catholicity_--both having -been prepared by the late archbishop with a view to publication in his -collective works. - -The same general criticism which we passed in our December number on -the revised edition of the _Miscellanea_ will apply to these volumes. -Archbishop Spalding’s works constitute a very complete armory from which -to select weapons to meet the opponents of the church in this country; -though the writings of European Catholics may be more to the purpose as -answers to the misrepresentations urged against her in their respective -localities. And there is no one writer to whom we would with greater -confidence refer Protestants who are willing to learn the truth (and we -would fain hope there are very many such), as his works relate to so many -supposed stumbling-blocks. Whether conscious of it or not, our separated -brethren are very blind followers of tradition--accepting unhesitatingly -the representations of writers of the last three centuries, while -faulting us for adhering to the unbroken traditions of all the Christian -centuries. Hence they are accustomed, when unable to reply to our -doctrinal arguments drawn from their translation of the Holy Scriptures, -to fall back on their own version of the religious revolution of the -XVIth century, and other historical events, the comparative condition of -Catholic and Protestant countries, etc., etc., all of which are treated -of at length in these volumes. - -At a time when it is sought to revive the fell spirit of the defunct -Know-Nothing party, it is well to refresh our memories by a re-perusal of -the writings which were prompted by the previous manifestation. - -The first-named work is at once a history of the Reformation and a review -of the most prominent books on the same subject, including D’Aubigné’s -popular romance. This treatment very much augments the interest with -which we pursue historical inquiries. - - MR. GLADSTONE AND MARYLAND TOLERATION. By Richard H. Clarke, - LL.D. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875. - -This able pamphlet will wear a familiar look to our readers, its -principal contents having appeared as an article in our December number. -The writer has added biographical sketches of the first and second -Lords Baltimore, the Lawgivers of 1649, and of Father Andrew White, the -historiographer of the expedition which founded Maryland, and who was -intimately associated with the early fortunes of the colony. - -It was really too bad in Dr. Clarke to deny asylum to the ex-premier on -our (reputed) hospitable shores, after the relentless logic to which he -was subjected at home, when proving so clearly to his own satisfaction -the disloyalty of Catholics--to spoil, in fact, his nice little story -that it was the Protestants, and not those hateful Catholics, who made -Maryland a refuge for fugitives from English persecution for conscience’ -sake. And what makes the matter all the more aggravating is that our -author is in league with ever so many Protestants in this design. For -shame, gentlemen! - - HISTORICAL SCENES FROM THE OLD JESUIT MISSIONS. By the Right - Rev. William Ingraham Kip, D.D., LL.D., member of the New - York Historical Society [and Protestant Episcopal Bishop of - California]. New York: A. D. F. Randolph & Co. 1875. - -The author of this work had the good fortune while in England some years -since to secure a copy of _Lettres Edifiantes et Curieuses écrites des -Missions Etrangéres_, in forty-seven volumes, “containing the letters -of the Jesuit missionaries from about 1650 to 1750.… He selected those -letters which relate to the labors of the Jesuits within the bounds of -our own land, and published a translation, with notes, under the title -of _The Early Jesuit Missions in North America_.” In the present work -he takes a wider range, and makes selections, from the same source, of -letters from parts of the world widely remote from each other--from -China and California; from Cape Horn and the far north; from the shores -of South America and the Mediterranean; from the monasteries of Mount -Lebanon and the Thebaid Desert. - -Bishop Kip and his publishers have laid both Protestants and Catholics -under great obligations by the publication of this valuable and beautiful -volume. We can scarcely commend too highly the evident fairness of the -translation and of the accompanying remarks and notes. It could not well -be otherwise than that a Protestant should have some qualifications to -offer respecting statements of fact and doctrine such as would naturally -occur in these letters; but the Catholic reader will be gratified to -find much that is laudatory, and scarcely anything to which he would -object; the notes being for the most part historical and philological in -character. The naïve simplicity of these relations constitutes one of -their chief charms and the best answer to any suggestion of guile on the -part of the writers. - -The principles and operations of the Jesuits have been, and to a -great extent are still, believed by our Protestant fellow-citizens to -constitute a vulnerable point in Catholicity, so that we rejoice at the -facilities offered by such writers as Parkman, Shea, and Kip for a better -understanding of the matter. Nothing can give Catholics greater pleasure -than that their Protestant friends should have full opportunities for -studying our doctrines and history. - - LIFE OF S. BENEDICT, surnamed “The Moor,” the Son of a Slave. - Canonized by Pope Pius VII., May 24, 1807. From the French - of M. Allibert, Canon of the Primatial Church of Lyons. - Philadelphia: P. F. Cunningham & Son. 1875. - -This volume is a concise and well-written account of a holy life, -showing what abundant graces are often bestowed upon the meek and lowly, -and how those who humble themselves are exalted by Almighty God. - -S. Benedict, the child of an enslaved negro parent, was born at -Sanfratello in Sicily, A.D. 1524. Early instructed in religion by his -parents, he offered himself to God, and became eminent for sanctity as a -religious. Seeking always the lowest and most humiliating employments, he -served for twenty-seven years as a cook in a convent. Already, during his -lifetime, regarded as a saint, he was venerated by all classes. “At the -door of his humble kitchen,” says his biographer, “were to be seen the -nobles of Palermo, who sought to honor the saint and recommend themselves -to his prayers, the learned who came for advice, the afflicted who -desired consolation, the sick who hoped for the recovery of their health, -and the indigent who desired assistance.” - -Winning by his wisdom and virtues the confidence of his brethren, he -was chosen guardian of the convent, and afterwards vicar, and master of -novices--positions which he accepted with extreme reluctance, and in -which he proved his great charity and humility. - -But the more he sought to abase and hide himself, the greater the graces -bestowed upon him. Though blessed with the spirit of prophecy, the -power of performing miracles, and the gift of ecstasy, so great was his -humility that he again turned to his simple occupation, and retained it -till his death, which occurred in 1589. - - THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF PAUL SEIGNERET, Seminarist of S. - Sulpice (shot at Belleville, Paris, May 26, 1871). From the - French. New York: P. O’Shea. 1875. - -The title of this work can scarcely fail to awaken an interest in the -youthful hero who gave his life for his faith--an interest which is -enhanced by the knowledge that this youth, frail as a girl and possessed -of a highly-cultivated mind and rare sensibility, was so filled with -the spirit of self-sacrifice that he may well be classed with those -“courtiers of martyrdom” whose lives are the glory of the church and the -wonder of the world. - -Paul Seigneret’s is a name that must be dear to all Catholics at all -familiar with his saintly life and death. To a heart overflowing with -love for all who had claims upon his affection and charity for all -mankind, and to those quick and delicate perceptions which retain all -that is good and instinctively reject all that is evil, was added a -fervent piety and ardent zeal for the glory of God. Animated by these -sentiments, he sought the priesthood, and soon turned his thoughts to -the cloister--“‘that pure and shining height’ whither he would go to fix -his dwelling nearer heaven.” While yet a student in the Seminary of S. -Sulpice, he fell a victim to the Commune, and was permitted to win the -crown of martyrdom, which had been the object of his most ardent desires. - -The volume before us is one which we would especially recommend to our -youthful readers, who will find in it much that is edifying and worthy of -imitation. In an age in which respect for authority and filial obedience -are so much ignored, we cannot place too high a value on the example of -Paul Seigneret, whose devotion and submission to his parents were second -only to his love of God. - -If a work so admirable in most respects may be criticised, we would -say that it would be quite as interesting if the author had condensed -the valuable materials of which it is composed. We are aware of the -difficulties under which many translations from the French are made. -Innumerable things in that versatile, flexible language will bear many -repetitions and much minutiæ in description, which will not admit of more -than the simple statement in our unyielding vernacular. Readers should -therefore hesitate in pronouncing a book dull because some of the aroma -escapes in the transition from one medium of thought to another. - - PASTORAL LETTER OF THE RIGHT REV. P. N. LYNCH, D.D., BISHOP - OF CHARLESTON, ON THE JUBILEE OF 1875. New York: The Catholic - Publication Society. 1875. 8vo, pp. 299. - -The reader will rightly infer from the size of this pastoral that it -differs in many respects from other documents of the kind. The learned -author has taken occasion to enter very fully into the doctrinal and -historical aspects of his subject, thereby making the publication a -valuable reference to all who would understand the history and nature of -this observance. - - - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XXII., No. 131.--FEBRUARY, 1876. - -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. - - -A SEQUEL OF THE GLADSTONE CONTROVERSY.[228] - -“It is wonderful,” wrote Proudhon, “how in all our political questions we -always stumble on theology.” Mr. Gladstone will doubtless concur in this -sentiment; for he cannot take a step without stumbling on the Catholic -Church. She is everywhere, and everywhere she is to him a cause of alarm. -So potent is her influence growing to be, so cunningly laid are the -plans by which her policy is directed, so perfect is the organization -and discipline of her forces, so insidious are her methods of procedure, -as he would have us believe, that it is full time all Christendom should -be warned of the approaching danger. She is in his eyes an ever-present -menace to the civilization of the world. - -He at least bears testimony to her power and vitality. She is not a -relic of a past age; she lives, and, what is more, it does not seem -that she is willing to die. If we consider the various efforts by which -men are seeking to weaken and destroy the church, we shall find in them -no mean evidence of her divine strength. And first of all, in an age -intellectually most active, she is the subject of universal criticism, -and is cited before every tribunal of human knowledge to be tried on -an hundred different and often contradictory counts. Her historical -relations with the world, extending over eighteen hundred years and -co-extensive with Christendom, are minutely examined into by men who, -shutting their eyes to the benefits which she has conferred upon the -human race, are eager to discover charges against her. She is made -responsible for the crimes of those who called themselves Catholics, -though she was the first to condemn their evil deeds. The barbarism, the -ignorance, and the cruelty of the middle ages are set to her count, when, -in fact, she was the chief source of civilization, of enlightenment, and -of mercy during that period. When she opposes the tyranny of kings, -she is called the enemy of the state; when she seeks to restrain the -lawlessness of the people, she is proclaimed the friend of tyrants. -Against her dogmas and institutions all the sciences are brought to -bear--astronomy, geology, ethnology, and the others. Not in politics -alone, but in all the physical sciences, men in our day stumble on the -Catholic Church. - -We are told that she is the one great spiritual organization which is -able to resist, and must as a matter of life and death resist, the -progress of science and modern civilization. These men profess to find -innumerable points of collision between her dogmas and the conclusions -of science, and are surprised when she claims to understand her own -teachings better than they, and is not prepared to abandon all belief in -God, the soul, and future life because physical research has given men -a wider knowledge of the phenomena of matter. Now we hear objections to -her moral teaching--that it is too severe, that she imposes burdens upon -men’s shoulders too heavy for human nature to bear, that she encourages -asceticism, celibacy, and all manner of self-denial opposed to the spirit -of the age and of progress; then, on the contrary, that her morality is -lax, that she flatters the passions of men, panders to their sensual -appetites, and grants, for gain, permission to commit every excess. - -At one time we are told that her priests are indolent, immoral, -ignorant, without faith; at another, that they are ceaselessly active, -astute, learned, and wholly intent upon bringing all men to their own -way of thinking. Now we are informed that her children cannot be loyal -subjects of any government; and immediately after we hear that they -are so subservient, so passively obedient, that they willingly submit -to any master. And here we come more immediately upon our subject; for -whereas Mr. Gladstone has declared that the loyalty of Catholics is not -to be trusted, M. de Laveleye asserts that “despotic government is the -congenial government of Catholic populations.” - -The pamphlet from which we quote these words, and which we propose now -to examine, has been presented to the English-reading public by the -special request of Mr. Gladstone, and has been farther honored by him -with a prefatory letter. The author, it is true, takes a fling at the -Church of England, and plainly intimates that in his opinion it is little -better than the Catholic Church; but the ex-premier could not forego the -opportunity of striking his enemy, though he should pierce his dearest -friend in giving the blow. He takes the precaution, indeed, to disclaim -any concurrence in M. de Laveleye’s “rather unfavorable estimate of the -Church of England in comparison with the other reformed communions.” The -question discussed in the pamphlet before us, as its title implies, is -the relative influence of Catholicism and Protestantism on the liberty -and prosperity of nations; and the conclusion which is drawn is that the -Reformation is favorable to freedom and progress, and that the Catholic -Church is a hindrance to both. - -This has long been a favorite theme with Protestants--the weapon with -which they think themselves best able to do good battle in their cause; -and doubtless it is employed, in most favorable circumstances, in an -age like ours, in which material progress is so marked a feature that -its influence may be traced in everything, and in nothing more than in -the thoughts and philosophies of the men of our day. It is worthy of -remark that Protestantism, professing to be a purer and more spiritual -worship, should have tended to turn men’s thoughts almost exclusively -to the worldly and temporal view of religion; so that it has become the -fashion to praise Christianity, not because it makes men humble, pure, -self-denying, content with little, but rather because its influence is -supposed to be of almost an opposite nature. Much stress is laid upon the -physical, social, and mental superiority of Christian nations to those -that are still pagan, and the inference implied, if not always expressly -stated, is that these temporal advantages are due to the influence of -Christianity, and prove its truth and divine origin. Without stopping -to consider the question whether the material and social superiority of -Christian nations is to be attributed to their religious faith, we may -ask whether, admitting that this is the case, it may with propriety be -adduced in proof of the truth of the religion of Christ? - -In the case of individuals no one, certainly, would think of arguing -that prosperity proves a right faith, or even consistent practice. To -hold that wealth and success are evidences of religious life, whatever -it may be, is certainly not Christianity. Does the teaching of Christ -permit the rich to lay the unction to their souls that they are God’s -favored children? Were they his friends? Did they flock around him? Did -they drink in his words gladly? If men who claim to be his disciples -have deified worldly success, and made temporal prosperity a sufficient -test of the truth of his religion, they cannot plead any word of his in -excuse. - -He certainly never paid court to the great, or stooped to flatter the -rich. Was it not he who said, “Woe be to you rich: ye have received your -reward”? and again, “It is harder for a rich man to enter the kingdom of -heaven than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle”? Did he not -take Lazarus to his bosom when Dives was in hell? - -“Blessed are ye,” he said, “when men shall revile you, and persecute -you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely for my sake. -Rejoice and be exceeding glad; for great is your reward in heaven: for so -persecuted they the prophets which were before you.” - -The preaching of Christ was wholly unworldly. He sternly repressed the -earthly ambitions of his disciples, and declared that, as the world -hated him, it would also hate those who believed in him. They would be -outcasts for his name’s sake; if this life were all, they of all men -would be most miserable. Indeed, he rarely speaks of human happiness in -the customary sense; he passes over what might be said in favor of this -life, and brings out in bold relief its vanity and unsatisfactoriness. He -draws no pictures of domestic bliss, and says but little of even innocent -pleasures or those temporal blessings which are so sweet to all; and as -he taught that worldly prosperity is no evidence of God’s favor, he was -careful to correct the error of those who looked upon misfortune as a -proof of guilt, as in the case of the man born blind and of those upon -whom a tower had fallen. - -Christ was poor, his apostles were poor, his disciples were poor, -nearly all the Christians of the first ages were poor; and yet every -day we hear men talk as though they considered poverty and Christianity -incompatible. This is manifestly the opinion of M. de Laveleye. His -argument may be stated in this way: England and Scotland are rich, -Ireland is poor. The Protestant cantons of Switzerland are rich, -the Catholic are poor. “In the United States,” says De Tocqueville, -“the greater part of the Catholics are poor.” In fact, wherever the -two religions exist together, the Protestants are more active, more -industrious, and consequently richer than the Catholics. - -This is the substance of what is spread over a dozen pages of the -pamphlet. The conclusion is not difficult to draw: Protestants are richer -than Catholics, and therefore better Christians. - -“No man can serve two masters,” said Christ: “you cannot serve God and -Mammon.” On the contrary, says M. de Laveleye, the success with which you -worship Mammon is the best proof that you serve God truly. Of course it -would be foreign to M. de Laveleye’s purpose to stop to inquire whether -the poverty of Ireland be due to the Catholic faith of her people or to -the rapacity and misgovernment of England; whether that of the Catholic -cantons of Switzerland might not be accounted for by the fact that they -are mountainous, with an inhospitable climate and a barren soil; and -whether even M. de Tocqueville’s assertion that the greater part of the -Catholics of the United States are poor might not be satisfactorily -explained by stating that the greater part of them are emigrants who -have recently landed upon these shores without a superabundance of this -world’s goods. - -He had also good reasons, while treating this part of his subject, for -not looking nearer home. He had in Belgium, under his very eye, one of -the most thrifty, industrious, and prosperous peoples of Europe, and -at the same time one of the most Catholic. Why did he not compare the -wealth of Belgium with that of Sweden or Denmark? Why did he not say a -word about Catholic France, whose wealth and thrift cannot be denied. He -does, indeed, make mention of two French manufacturing towns, in which, -he states, on the authority of M. Audiganne, the capitalists are for -the most part Protestants, whilst the operatives are Catholics; though -what this has to do with any debatable question between Catholicism and -Protestantism is not easily seen. - -The assertion (p. 14) that “wherever the two religions co-exist in the -same country the Protestants are more active, more industrious, more -economical, and consequently richer than the Catholics,” is not borne -out by facts. A single example will suffice to show how rash M. de -Laveleye has been in making so wide an affirmation. The Catholics of the -Rhine Province are universally acknowledged to be among the most thrifty -and enterprising populations of Prussia, and are far richer than, for -instance, the Protestants of Pomerania. - -It would not be difficult, by adopting M. de Laveleye’s mode of -reasoning, to turn his whole argument on this point against his own -position. Whether or not national wealth, we might say, is evidence of -orthodox Christian faith, there can be no doubt but that the Christian -religion is favorable to even the temporal interests of the lowest and -most degraded classes of society. Its doctrines on the brotherhood of the -race and the equality of all before God first inspired worthy notions -of the dignity of man. Then the sympathy which it created for the poor, -the suffering, and the oppressed naturally set men to work to devise -means for the relief of human misery. It is to its influence that we -must ascribe the abolition of slavery, the elevation of woman, and the -thousand ministries which in Christian lands attend on the wretched and -the weak. - -We must infer that those nations in which this influence is most -powerful--which, in other words, are most truly Christian--will have, in -proportion to their population, the smallest class of human beings cursed -by the worst plague known to modern civilization, bearing with it, as it -does, a threefold degradation, moral, physical, and social. We of course -refer to pauperism. - -Now, in England, from whose wealth M. de Laveleye would infer the -superiority of her religion, we find that this pauper class, compared -with the whole population, is as 1 to 23; whereas in Ireland, which is -poor--and, according to this theory, for that reason under the ban of -a false religion--there is but 1 pauper to 90 inhabitants; in other -words, pauperism is four times more common in England than in Ireland. -Now, whether we refer this fact to England’s wealth or to England’s -religion--and in M. de Laveleye’s opinion they are correlative--our -conclusion must be either that the influence of the Christian religion, -which necessarily tends to promote the temporal well-being of the most -degraded classes of society, is less felt in England than in Ireland, -or else that national wealth is hurtful to the interests of these same -classes, and consequently opposed to the true Christian spirit; and -in either case we have Catholic Ireland more fairly Christian than -Protestant England. We would not have our readers think for a moment that -we are seriously of the opinion that our argument proves anything at all. -We give it merely as a specimen of the way in which the reasoning of this -pamphlet may be turned against its own conclusions, though, in fact, we -have done the work too respectably. - -We cannot forget, if M. de Laveleye does, that, of all sciences, the -social--if, indeed, it may be said as yet to exist at all--is the -most complex and the most difficult to master. The phenomena which it -presents for observation are so various, so manifold, and so vast, our -means of observation are so limited, our methods so unsatisfactory, and -our prejudices so fatal, that only the thoughtless or the rash will -tread without suspicion or doubt upon ground so uncertain and so little -explored. - -M. de Laveleye himself furnishes us an example of how easily we may go -astray, even when the way seems plain. - -“Sectarian passions,” he writes (p. 11), “or anti religious prejudice -have been too often imported into the study of these questions. It -is time that we should apply to it the method of observation and the -scientific impartiality of the physiologist and the naturalist. When -the facts are once established irrefragable conclusions will follow. -It is admitted that the Scotch and Irish are of the same origin. Both -have become subject to the English yoke. Until the XVIth century Ireland -was much more civilized than Scotland. During the first part of the -middle ages the Emerald Isle was a focus of civilization, while Scotland -was still a den of barbarians. Since the Scotch have embraced the -Reformation, they have outrun even the English.… Ireland, on the other -hand, devoted to ultramontanism, is poor, miserable, agitated by the -spirit of rebellion, and seems incapable of raising herself by her own -strength.” The conclusion which is drawn from all this, joined with such -other facts as the late victories of Prussia over Austria and France, is -that “Protestantism is more favorable than Catholicism to the development -of nations.” - -We may as well pause to examine this passage, which, both with regard to -the statement of facts and to the interpretation put upon them, fairly -represents the style and method of the pamphlet before us. - -“It is admitted that the Scotch and Irish are of the same origin.” This -is true, as here stated, only in the sense that both are descended of -Adam; and hence it would have been as much to the point to affirm that -all the nations of the earth are of the same origin. The Scots were, -indeed, an Irish tribe; but when they invaded Caledonia, they found it -in the possession of the Picts, of whom whether they were of Celtic or -Teutonic race is still undecided. The power of the Scots themselves -declined in the XIIth century, when Scotland fell under the influence -of the Anglo-Norman Conquest, and the Celtic population either withdrew -towards the north, or, by intermarriage with the conquerors, formed a new -type; so that the people of that country are even yet divided into two -great and distinct stocks differing from each other in language, manners, -and dress. - -“Until the XVIth century,” continues M. de Laveleye, “Ireland was much -more civilized than Scotland. During the first part of the middle ages -the Emerald Isle was a focus of civilization, while Scotland was still a -den of barbarians.” Now, it was precisely in those ages in which Ireland -was “a focus of civilization” that the Catholic faith of her people -shone brightest. It was then that convents sprang up over the whole -island; that the sweet songs of sacred psalmody, which so touched the -soul of Columba, were heard in her groves and vales; that the sword was -sheathed, and all her people were smitten with the high love of holy life -and were eager to drink at the fountains of knowledge. It was then that -she sent her apostles to Scotland, to England, to France, to Germany, -to Switzerland, and to far-off Sicily; nor did she remit her efforts in -behalf of civilization until the invading Danes forced her children to -defend at once their country and their faith. - -But let us follow M. de Laveleye: “Since the Scotch have embraced the -reformed religion, they have outrun even the English.… Ireland, on the -other hand, devoted to ultramontanism, is poor, miserable, agitated by -the spirit of rebellion, and seems incapable of raising herself by her -own strength.” - -We cannot think that Mr. Gladstone had read this passage when he -requested the author to have his pamphlet translated into English; for -we cannot believe that he is prepared to lay the misfortunes of Ireland -to the influence of the Catholic faith upon her people, and not to the -cruelty and misgovernment of England. - -The Irish Catholics are reproached with their poverty, when for two -hundred years the English government made it a crime for them to own -anything. They are taunted with their misery, when for two centuries -they lived under a code which placed them outside the pale of humanity; -of which Lord Brougham said that it was so ingeniously contrived that -an Irish Catholic could not lift up his hand without breaking it; which -Edmund Burke denounced as the most proper machine ever invented by -the wit of man to disgrace a realm and degrade a people; and of which -Montesquieu wrote that it must have been contrived by devils, ought to -have been written in blood and registered in hell! - -Ireland is found fault with because she is agitated with the spirit of -rebellion, when even to think of the wrongs she has suffered makes the -blood to boil. Is it astonishing that she should be poor when England, -with set purpose, destroyed her commerce and ruined her manufacturing -interests, fostering at the same time a policy fatal to agriculture, the -aim of which, it would seem, was to force the Irish to emigrate, that the -whole island might be turned into a grazing ground for the supply of the -English markets? - -“What a contrast,” further remarks M. de Laveleye (p. 12), “even in -Ireland, between the exclusively Catholic Connaught and Ulster, where -Protestantism prevails!” - -Mr. Gladstone certainly cannot be surprised at this contrast, nor will he -seek its explanation in the baneful influence of the Catholic Church. He -at least knows the history of Cromwell’s invasion of Ireland; he has read -of the massacres of Drogheda and Wexford; he knows the fate of the eighty -thousand Catholic Irishmen whom Cromwell drove into the ports of Munster, -and shipped like cattle to the sugar plantations of the Barbadoes, there -to be sold as slaves; nor is he ignorant of what was in store for those -Irish Catholics who were still left; of how they were driven out of -Ulster, Munster, and Leinster across the Shannon into Connaught--that is, -into the bogs and wild wastes of the most desolate part of Ireland--there -to die of hunger or cold, or to survive as best they might. Five-sixths -of the Catholics had perished; the remainder were driven into barren -Connaught; the Protestants settled on the rich lands of Ulster, Munster, -and Leinster; and now here comes good M. de Laveleye to find that -Connaught is poor because it is Catholic, and Ulster is rich because it -is Protestant. But we must not forget Scotland. - -“Since the Scotch,” says M. de Laveleye, “have embraced the reformed -religion, they have outrun even the English.” - -We shall take no pains to discover whether or in what respect, or how -far the Scotch surpass the English. The meaning of the words which we -have just quoted is evidently this: The progress which the Scotch have -made during the last three centuries, in wealth and the other elements of -material greatness, must be ascribed to the influence of the Protestant -religion. - -To avoid even the suspicion of unfairness in discussing this part of the -subject, we shall quote the words of an author who devoted much time -and research to the study of the character and tendencies of Scotch -Presbyterianism, and whose deeply-rooted dislike of the Catholic Church -is well known: - - “To be poor,” says Buckle (_History of Civilization_, vol. ii. - p. 314), describing the doctrines of the Scotch divines of - the XVIIth century--“to be poor, dirty, and hungry; to pass - through life in misery and to leave it with fear; to be plagued - with boils and sores and diseases of every kind; to be always - sighing and groaning; to have the face streaming with tears - and the chest heaving with sobs; in a word, to suffer constant - affliction and to be tormented in all possible ways--to undergo - these things was a proof of goodness just as the contrary was - a proof of evil. It mattered not what a man liked, the mere - fact of his liking it made it sinful. Whatever was natural was - wrong. The clergy deprived the people of their holidays, their - amusements, their shows, their games, and their sports; they - repressed every appearance of joy, they forbade all merriment, - they stopped all festivities, they choked up every avenue by - which pleasure could enter, and they spread over the country - an universal gloom. Then truly did darkness sit on the land. - Men in their daily actions and in their every looks became - troubled, melancholy, and ascetic. Their countenance soured and - was downcast. Not only their opinions, but their gait, their - demeanor, their voice, their general aspect, were influenced - by that deadly blight which nipped all that was genial and - warm. The way of life fell into the sere and yellow leaf; its - tints gradually deepened; its bloom faded and passed off; - its spring, its freshness, and its beauty were gone; joy and - love either disappeared or were forced to hide themselves in - obscure corners, until at length the fairest and most endearing - parts of our nature, being constantly repressed, ceased to - bear fruit and seemed to be withered into perpetual sterility. - Thus it was that the national character of the Scotch was in - the XVIIth century dwarfed and mutilated.… They [the Scotch - divines] sought to destroy not only human pleasures, but human - affections. They held that our affections are necessarily - connected with our lusts, and that we must therefore wean - ourselves from them as earthly vanities. A Christian had no - business with love or sympathy. He had his own soul to attend - to, and that was enough for him. Let him look to himself. - On Sunday, in particular, he must never think of benefiting - others; and the Scotch clergy did not hesitate to teach the - people that on that day it was sinful to save a vessel in - distress, and that it was a proof of religion to leave ship - and crew to perish. They might go; none but their wives and - children would suffer, and that was nothing in comparison with - breaking the Sabbath. So, too did the clergy teach that on - no occasion must food or shelter be given to a starving man, - unless his opinions were orthodox. What need for him to live? - Indeed, they taught that it was a sin to tolerate his notions - at all, and that the proper course was to visit him with sharp - and immediate punishment. Going yet farther, they broke the - domestic ties and set parents against their offspring. They - taught the father to smite the unbelieving child, and to slay - his own boy sooner than to allow him to propagate error. As - if this were not enough, they tried to extirpate another - affection, even more sacred and more devoted still. They laid - their rude and merciless hands on the holiest passion of which - our nature is capable--the love of a mother for her son.… To - hear of such things is enough to make one’s blood surge again, - and raise a tempest in our inmost nature. But to have seen - them, to have lived in the midst of them, and yet not to have - rebelled against them, is to us utterly inconceivable, and - proves in how complete a thraldom the Scotch were held, and how - thoroughly their minds as well as their bodies were enslaved.” - -The XVIIth century, which was the golden age of French literature, and -also of the Catholic Church in France, threw almost total darkness over -Scotland, which during that period was most completely under the power of -Protestantism. The clergy governed the nation; they were the only men of -real influence; and yet there was no philosophy, no science, no poetry, -no literature worth reading. “From the Restoration,” says Laing, “down -to the Union the only author of any eminence whom Scotland produced was -Burnet.” - -If the thrift and industry of the Scotch are due to Protestantism, -to what shall we ascribe the enterprise and commerce of the Catholic -republics of Venice and Genoa during the middle ages? - -If England’s wealth to-day comes from the Reformation, how shall we -account for that of Spain in the XVIth and XVIIth centuries? And if the -decline of Spain has been brought about by the Catholic faith, to what -cause shall we assign that of Holland, who in the XVIIth century ruled -the seas and did the carrying trade of Europe? - -M. de Laveleye’s way of accounting for the prosperity of nations is -certainly simple, but we doubt whether it would satisfy any respectable -schoolboy. Unfortunately for such as he, there is no rule of three by -which social problems may be solved. Race, climate, soil, political -organization, and many other causes, working through ever-varying -combinations, must all be considered if we would understand the history -of material progress. As labor is the most fruitful cause of wealth, -there is a necessary relation between national wealth and national -habits, which are the outcome of a thousand influences, one of the most -powerful of which undoubtedly is religious faith. But who does not know -that climate influences labor, not only by enervating or invigorating -the laborer, but also by the effect it produces on the regularity of -his habits? If the Italian loves the _dolce far niente_, while the New -Englander makes haste to grow rich as though some demon whom gold could -bribe pursued him, shall we find the secret of their peculiar characters -in their religious faith or in the climate in which they live, or shall -we not rather seek it in a combination of causes, physical and moral? -We have assuredly no thought of denying the intimate connection which -exists between faith and character or between a nation’s religion and its -civilization. We are willing even to affirm that not only the general -superiority of Christian nations, but their superior wealth also, is in -great measure attributable to their religion. And now, bidding adieu to -M. de Laveleye for a while, we propose to discuss this subject, to which -we have already alluded, somewhat more fully. - -Christianity certainly does not measure either the greatness or the -happiness of a people by its wealth, nor does it take as its ideal that -state of society in which “the millionaire is the one sole god” and -commerce is all in all; in which “only the ledger lives, and only not all -men lie.” - -Whether we consider individuals or associations of men, the Catholic -Church does not hold and cannot hold that material interests are the -highest. To be noble, to be true, to be humble, to be pure, is, in her -view, better than to be rich. Man is more than money, which is good only -in so far as it serves to develop his higher nature. - -“The whole aim of man is to be happy,” says Bossuet. “Place happiness -where it ought to be, and it is the source of all good; but the source of -all evil is to place it where it ought not to be.” - -“It is evident,” says S. Thomas, “that the happiness of man cannot lie -in riches. Wealth is sought after only as a support of human life. It -cannot be the end of man; on the contrary, man is its end.… The longing, -moreover, for the highest good is infinite. The more it is possessed, -the more it is loved and the more all else is despised; for the more it -is possessed, the better is it known. With riches this is not the case. -No sooner are they ours than they are despised, or used as means to some -other end; and this, as it shows their imperfect nature, is proof that in -them the highest good is not to be found.” - -If wealth is not the highest good of individuals, is it of nations? What -is the ideal of society? The study of the laws which govern national life -must necessarily begin with this question, which all who have dealt with -the subject, from Plato to Comte and Mill, have sought to answer. It is -manifest that each one’s attempt to solve this problem will be based upon -his views on the previous question: What is the ideal of man? This, in -turn, will be answered according to each one’s notions of the ideal of -God; and here we have the secret of the phenomenon which so surprised -Proudhon--the necessary connection between religion and society, theology -and politics. - -Is there a God, personal, distinct from nature? Or is nature the only -god, and science her prophet? It is right here at this central point that -men are dividing; it is here we must place ourselves, if we would view -the two great armies that in all Christendom are gathering for a supreme -conflict. - -There is a form of infidelity in our day--and it is the one into which -all unbelief must ultimately resolve itself--which starts with this -assumption: “Whether or not there is a God must for ever remain unknown -to man.” It reasons in this way: “This whole subject belongs within -the region, not only of the unknown, but of the unknowable. It is an -insoluble riddle, and the philosophies and theologies which have sought -to unravel it, if only idle, might deserve nothing more than contempt; -but they have been the bane of human thought, have soured all the -sweetness of life, and therefore ought to be visited with the execration -of mankind. Since religion is a subject about which nothing can be known, -what is so absurd as to spend time upon it? What so absurd as to divert -the thoughts of men from subjects in which thinking is fruitful to those -in which it must for ever remain barren of all except evil results? What -so absurd as to set them working for a future life, of which we can -never know whether it exists at all, when we might at least teach them -how to make the present one worth having? The paradise of the future, -which the prophetic eye of science can already descry, is _in_ the world, -not _beyond_ it; and to seek to hasten its approach is the highest and -only worthy object in life.” As we take it, this is the creed of modern -unbelief, to which as yet few will openly subscribe, but toward which all -its hundred conflicting schools of thought are moving. Few men indeed are -able to perceive the logical outcome of their opinions, and still fewer -have the courage to confess what they more than half suspect. - -This superstition is a return to the nature-worship of paganism, but -under a different aspect. Of old, nature was worshipped as revealed to -sense, and now as revealed to thought; then as beautiful, now as true -or useful. The first was artistic, and form was its symbol; the last is -scientific, and law is its expression. The religion of humanity is only a -phase of this worship; for in it man is considered, not as the child of -God, but as the product of nature. - -And now what has this to do with the ideal of society or the wealth of -nations? At the basis of all social organization lies morality, as it -is by conduct that both individuals and nations are saved or lost. The -history of the human race shows that religion and morality are intimately -related. That there have been good atheists does not affect the truth -of this proposition any more than that there have been bad Christians. -Men are usually better or worse than their principles; practice and -profession rarely accord; and this is remarked because it ought not to -exist. - -Conduct, to be rational, should be motived, and consequently referable to -certain general principles by which it is justified. To be particular, a -man who believes in God, the Creator, a Father as just as he is good, has -fundamental motives of action which are wanting to the atheist. The one -should seek to approve himself to his heavenly Father; the other cannot -go farther than conform to the laws of nature. To the one this life, as -compared with that which is to be, is of value only as it relates to it; -to the other it is all in all. And since the ultimate end of society -is the welfare of the associated, the one will regard this end from a -transcendental point of view, taking in time and eternity; the other will -consider it merely with reference to man’s present state. Their notions -of life, of its ends, aims, and proper surroundings, will be radically -different. - -Suppose for a moment that religious beliefs are mere dreams, fancies of -sick brains; is it not at once manifest that human life is a much poorer -and sorrier thing than it is commonly thought to be? As the light of -heaven fades away, do not all things grow dark, leaving us in the shadow -of death, despairing or debauched, sullen or frantic? The poet’s dream, -the mother’s fond hope, the heart’s deep yearning, the mind’s flight -towards the infinite, all become flat, meaningless, and unprofitable. Men -are simply animals chained to this clod, too happy if the heaven-seeking -eye permitted them to see it alone. Trouble, danger, and physical -pain are the only evils, and virtue is the sharp-sighted prudence -which enables us to avoid them. Self-denial is not only useless, it is -irrational. Our appetites are good and ought to be indulged. Nothing, -of its own nature, is sinful; excess alone is wrong; all indulgence, -provided it hurt no one, is good--nay, it is necessary. Whoever denies -any one of his appetites the food it craves cripples himself, is maimed -and incomplete. “He may be a monk; he may be a saint; but a man he is -not.” - -When these views are transferred to questions of political economy and -social organization, they lead to materialistic and utilitarian theories. -Society must be organized on the basis of positivism; the problem of the -future is how to give to the greatest number of individuals the best -opportunities of indulgence, the greatest amount of comfort, with the -least amount of pain. This is the greatest-happiness principle of Bentham -and Mill. Culture, of course, intellectual and æsthetic, as affording the -purest pleasure, must form a feature of this society; but its distinctive -characteristic is wealth, which is both the means and the opportunity of -indulgence. - - “We constantly hear of the evils of wealth,” says Buckle, “and - of the sinfulness of loving money; although it is certain that, - after the love of knowledge, there is no one passion which has - done so much good to mankind as the love of money.” - - “If we open our eyes,” says Strauss,[229] “and are honest - enough to avow what they show us, we must acknowledge that - the entire activity and aspiration of the civilized nations - of our time is based on views of life which run directly - counter to those entertained by Christ. The ratio of value - between the here and the hereafter is exactly reversed; and - this is by no means the result of the merely luxurious and - so-called materialistic tendencies of our age, nor even of its - marvellous progress in technical and industrial improvements.… - All that is best and happiest which has been achieved by us - has been attainable only on the basis of a conception which - regarded this present world as by no means despicable, but - rather as man’s proper field of labor, as the sum total of the - aims to which his efforts should be directed. If, from the - force of habit, a certain proportion of workers in this field - still carry the belief in an hereafter along with them, it - is nevertheless a mere shadow, which attends their footsteps - without exercising any determining influence on their actions.” - -This is the cosmic religion, which is preached as “the new faith, the -religion of the future.” This world is all in all--let us make the most -of it; or, as the pagans of old put it: “Let us eat and drink, for -to-morrow we die.” - -In its essence it is sensualism; in its manifestations it will be refined -or coarse, according to the dispositions of the persons by whom it is -accepted. Now its worship will be accompanied with music and song and -dance; at other times it will sink to those orgies in which man becomes -only an unnatural animal. - -Let us now turn to the Christian religion, and consider its teachings -in their bearing upon the subject we are discussing. They are the very -opposite of those which we have just read, and proceed from principles -which are in direct contradiction to the cosmic philosophy. God is the -highest, the Creator of all things, which are of value only as they -relate to him and are in harmony with the laws of his being. The earth -is but the threshold of heaven or of hell, as the case may be. This life -is a preparation for a future one, which is eternal; and all human -interests, whether individual or social, to be rightly understood, must -be viewed in their relation to this truth. Man is essentially a moral -being, and duty, which is often in conflict with pleasure, is his supreme -law. He is under the action of antagonistic forces; seeing the better -and approving it, he is drawn to love the worse and to do it. Thus -self-denial becomes the condition of virtue, and warfare with himself his -only assurance of victory. - -“But he said to all: If any one wishes to come after me, let him deny -himself, take up his cross every day, and follow me.” - -Wealth, which is the world’s great slave and idol, and universal -procurator of the senses, though in itself not evil, is yet a hindrance -to the highest spiritual life. “If thou wouldst be perfect, go sell what -thou hast, and give it to the poor, and thou shall have treasure in -heaven: and come and follow me.” - -As duty is the supreme law of the individual, it follows that we must -seek the ideal of society in the moral order, to which all other social -interests should be made subservient, or else they will beget only an -unbounded and lawless activity. Even education is valuable only in so far -as it gives man a deeper sense of his responsibility to God, and enables -him more thoroughly to understand and perform his duty. - -The social problem as between Christianity and modern paganism may -be stated in this way: is it the end of society to grow strong in -virtue through self-denial, or to increase indefinitely the means and -opportunity of indulgence? On which side is progress, on which decline? - -We cannot now go farther into this subject, but before leaving it we -wish to quote the words of Fitzjames Stephen, who will hardly be called a -Christian, on modern progress. - - “I suspect,” he says,[230] “that in many ways it has been - a progress from strength to weakness; that people are more - sensitive, less enterprising and ambitious, less earnestly - desirous to get what they want, and more afraid of pain, both - for themselves and others, than they used to be. If this should - be so, it appears to me that all other gains, whether in - wealth, knowledge, or humanity, afford no equivalent. Strength, - in all its forms, is life and manhood. To be less strong is - to be less a man, whatever else you may be. This suspicion - prevents me, for one, from feeling any enthusiasm about - progress, but I do not undertake to say it is well founded.… I - do not myself see that our mechanical inventions have increased - the general vigor of men’s characters, though they have no - doubt increased enormously our control over nature. The greater - part of our humanity appears to me to be a mere increase of - nervous sensibility in which I feel no satisfaction at all.” - -The general superiority, and even the greater wealth, of Christian -nations as compared with others we would attribute, in great part at -least, to the influence of their religious faith, to which they owe their -sentiments on the dignity and sacredness of human nature in itself, apart -from surroundings; on the substantial equality of all men before God, -which tends to produce as its counterpart the equality of all before the -law, thus leading to the abolition of slavery, the elevation of woman, -and the protection of childhood. To it also they owe their ideas on the -family, which, in its constitutive Christian elements, lies at the very -foundation of our civilization. To Christianity they owe the principles -of universal charity and compassion, which have revolutionized the -relations of social life; and, finally, to it they are indebted for the -rehabilitation of labor, the chief source of wealth, which the pagan -nations looked upon as degrading. - -“I cannot say,” writes Herodotus, “whether the Greeks get their contempt -for labor from the Egyptians; for I find the same prejudice among the -Thracians, the Scythians, the Persians, and the Lydians.” - -“The Germans,” says Tacitus, “cannot bear to remain quiet, but they love -to be idle; they hold it base and unworthy of them to acquire by their -sweat what they can purchase with their blood.” In the same way the Gauls -looked upon labor with contempt. - -We shall have to take up M. de Laveleye’s pamphlet again; for the present -we lay it aside with the following remark: If we should grant, to the -fullest, all that is here said about the greater wealth and material -prosperity of Protestant as compared with Catholic nations what are we -thence to conclude? Shall we say that the greed of gain which is so -marked a feature in the populations of England and the United States -is at once the result and proof of true Christian faith? May it not be -barely possible that the value of material progress is exaggerated? Is -there not danger lest, when man shall have made matter the willing slave -of all his passions, he should find that he has become the creature -of this slave? However this may be, might not a Catholic find some -consolation in the words of Holy Writ? - - “And the angel that spoke in me, said to me: Cry thou, saying, - Thus saith the Lord of hosts: I am zealous for Jerusalem and - Sion with a great zeal. _And I am angry with a great anger with - the nations that are rich_; for I was angry a little, but they - helped forward the evil.” - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -ARE YOU MY WIFE? - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” “PIUS VI.,” -ETC. - -CHAPTER XII. - -THE BARONET IS RELIEVED.--A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY. - -The night was wild and stormy. The wind had risen to a hurricane, and -drove the rain in Raymond’s face as he walked home through the park. -It was driving the grass in cold ripples over the fields, and tossing -the trees about as if it would break them. Columns of black clouds were -trooping over the sky, and the moon broke through them as if she were -pursued by the wind and flying for her life. Raymond was a long time -getting to the cottage. Great gusts swept up from the valley, staggering -him, so that he had to stand every now and then and cling to a tree until -it passed. Then the rain beat against his face so that he could hardly -profit by the fitful gleams of the moon as she dipped in and out of the -clouds. He was dripping wet when he got to his own door and let himself -in with his latch-key. He took off his coat, hanging it in the hall, and -lighted his candle. Franceline had left it close to his hand with a match. - -Mechanically he walked up to his room and began to divest himself of his -drenched clothing. He hardly noticed that they were soaking and that he -was wet through; he was flushed and heated as if he had come straight -from a hot room. How the blast roared and shrieked, beating against the -cottage till it rocked like a ship at sea, and trying the windows till -they cracked and groaned! It whistled through the chinks so that the -flimsy red curtain fluttered as if the window had been open. Raymond -pushed it aside and opened the shutters, and looked out. The night was -inky black, above and below, except when a star flickered in and out like -a gas-jet swept by the wind, and showed the river like a bit of steel, -as it flashed and quivered under the pelting rain and hurried away into -blacker distance. All this angry roar was better than music to Raymond. -The fury of the elements seemed to comfort him. Nature was in sympathy -with him. It was kind of her to be angry and disturbed when he was so -distraught. Nature had more heart than his fellow-men. These were talking -over his despair quietly enough now--mocking him, very likely; but the -world around was shaken, and tossed, and driven in sympathy with him. A -great gust came swelling up from the river, growing louder and heavier -as it drew near, till, gathering itself up like a mountainous wave, -it burst with a crash against the cottage. M. de la Bourbonias leaped -back, and, with a sudden impulse of terror, flew out into the landing, -and knocked at Angélique’s door; but the sonorous breathing of the old -servant reassured him that all was right there and in the room beyond. -It was pitch dark, but the reflection from his own open door showed -Franceline’s standing wide open. He listened, but everything was silent -there. He stole noiselessly back to his room and closed the door, without -disturbing either of the sleepers. - -The storm had reached its crisis, and gradually subsided after this, -until the wind was spent and died away in long, low wails behind the -woods, and the moon drifted above the tattered clouds that were sweeping -toward the east, leaving a portion of the sky stainless, with stars -flashing out brightly. Raymond put out his candle and went to bed. - -Under ordinary circumstances he would probably have paid for the night’s -adventure by an attack of bronchitis or rheumatic fever; but the mental -fever that had been devouring him warded off every other, and when he -came down next morning he was neither ill nor ailing. - -Franceline, like her _bonne_, had slept through the storm, and they were -quite astonished to hear what an awful night it had been, and to see the -fields strewn with great branches in every direction, gates torn up, and -other evidences of the night’s work. But they saw no traces of another -tempest that was raging still in a human soul close by them. Nothing -betrayed its existence, and they guessed nothing--so securely does this -living wall of flesh screen the secrets of the spirit from every outside -gaze! Passions rise up in hearts whose pulses we fondly imagine close -and familiar to us as our own, and the winds blow and the waves run high -and make wild havoc there, turning life into darkness and despair, or, -at the whisper of the Master’s voice, illuminating it as suddenly with a -flood of sunshine; and we are blind and deaf to these things, and remain -as “a stranger to our brother.” And mercifully so. Many a battle is won -that would have been lost if it had not been fought alone. We hinder each -other by our pity, perhaps, as often as we help. - - * * * * * - -Sir Simon had very little appetite for his breakfast when he came down -next morning, sick at heart after a sleepless night, and found the -pleasant meal thoughtfully spread in his favorite room, the library, with -the table wheeled close to his arm-chair on the right side of the hearth. -It all looked the very picture of comfort and refinement and elegance. -But the cup was doubly poisoned to him now; last night’s adventure had -added the last drop of bitterness to it. He could not think of Raymond -without a poignant pang. He suspected--and he was right--that Raymond -was thinking of him, wondering whether it was really all over with him -this time, and whether he was bankrupt and his estate in the fangs of -the creditors; and whether he was driving away from the Court never to -see it again; or whether once more, for the hundred and ninety-ninth -time, he had weathered the storm and was still afloat--even though on a -raft. Raymond would have scarcely believed it if any one had informed him -that he had been the instrument of destroying Sir Simon’s one chance of -escape; that he had snatched the last plank from him in his shipwreck. -It may have been an imaginary one, and Sir Simon, after the fashion of -drowning men, may have been catching at a straw; but now that it was -snatched from him, he was more than ever convinced that it had been a -solid plank which would have borne him securely to shore. He did not -ask himself whether Mr. Plover would have entered into his plans, and -whether, supposing he found it his interest to do so, his fortune would -have been equal to the demand; he only considered what might have been, -and what was not; and thinking of this, his indulgent pity for M. de la -Bourbonais shrank in the bitter reflection that he had ruined not only -himself but his friend irretrievably. They were pretty much in the same -boat now. - -Sir Simon’s self-made delusions had cleared away wonderfully within -the last forty-eight hours. He drew no comparison to his own advantage -between Raymond’s actual position and his own. If M. de la Bourbonais -was a thief in the technical sense of the word, he, Sir Simon, was a -bankrupt; and a bankrupt, under certain conditions, may mean a swindler. -He had been a swindler for years; his life had been a sham these twenty -years, and he had not the excuse of circumstances to fall back on; he -had been dishonest from extravagance and sheer want of principle. “Take -it first and afford it afterwards” had been his theory, and he had lived -up to it, and now the day of reckoning had arrived. Many a time he had -said, half in jest, that Raymond was the richer man of the two. Raymond -used to laugh mildly at the notion, but it was true. An ambitious, -extravagant man and a contented poor one are pretty much on a level: the -one possesses everything he does not want; the other wants everything -he does not possess. The unprincipled spend-thrift and the high-minded, -struggling man were then on an equality of fortune, or rather the latter -was virtually the wealthier of the two. But now the distinction was -washed out. The proud consciousness of unstained honor and innermost -self-respect which had hitherto sustained M. de la Bourbonais and -sweetened the cup of poverty to him was gone. He was a blighted man, who -could never hold up his head again amongst his fellow-men. - -“Good God! what delirium possessed him? How could he be so infatuated, so -stupid!” broke out Sir Simon, giving vent to what was passing through his -mind. “But,” he added presently, “he was not accountable. I believe grief -and anxiety drove him mad.” Then he recalled that answer of Raymond’s, -that had sounded so untrue at the time: “Yes, I can fancy myself giving -way, if the temptation took a certain form, and if I were left to my own -strength.” The words sounded now like a prophecy. - -Of course we all know that, according to the canons of poetical justice, -the brave, suffering man should have been in some unexpected way succored -in his extremity; that some angel in visible or invisible form should -have been sent to hold him up from slipping into the pit that despair had -dug for him; and that, on the other hand, the wicked spendthrift should -have been left to eat the bread of righteous retribution, and suffer the -just penalty of his evil behavior. But poetical justice and the facts of -real life do not always agree. - -Sir Simon, after walking up and down the library, chewing the cud of -bitter thoughts until he was sick of it, bethought himself that as -breakfast was there he might as well try and eat it before it got cold. -So he sat down and poured out his coffee, and then, by mere force of -habit, and without the faintest glimmer of interest, began to turn over -the bundle of letters piled up beside the _Times_ on the table. One -after another was tossed away contemptuously. The duns might cry till -they were hoarse now; he need not trouble about them; he would be at -least that much the gainer by his disgrace. Suddenly his eye lighted on -an envelope that was not addressed in the well-known hand of the race -of duns, but in Clide de Winton’s, and it bore the London postmark. The -thought of Clide generally produced on Sir Simon the effect of a needle -run through the left side; but he took up this letter with a strange -thrill of expectation. He opened it, and a change came over his face; -it was not joy--it was too uncertain, too tremulous yet for that. He -must read it again before he trusted to the first impression; he must -make sure that he was not dreaming, and the words that danced like a -will-o’-the-wisp before his eyes were real, written with real ink, on -real paper. At last he dropped the letter, and a heartier prayer than he -had uttered since his childhood came from him: “My God, I thank thee! I -have not deserved this mercy, but I will try to deserve it.” - -He buried his face in his hands, and remained mute and motionless for -some minutes. Then, starting up as if suddenly remembering something, he -pulled out his watch. It wanted five minutes of ten. The law officer and -the Jew creditor were to start by the train that left Charing Cross at a -quarter past eleven. Sir Simon rang the bell sharply. - -“Saddle a horse, and ride as fast as you can with this to the telegraph,” -he said to his valet, who answered the summons; “and the moment you come -back, get ready to be off with me to London by the mid-day train.” - -The telegram prepared Mr. Simpson to see his client appear at his office -at two o’clock that afternoon, and, in obedience to its directions, the -Jew was there to meet him. Clide de Winton had seen Simpson the day -before, and given him full authority to settle the Dullerton debts so -as to set Sir Simon Harness free. He had only arrived in London that -very morning, and it was the merest accident that led him to call on -the family lawyer, who was also the family’s best friend, on his way -from the station to his hotel. Simpson was discretion itself, and one of -the attributes of that virtue is to know when to be indiscreet. Clide’s -first inquiry was for Sir Simon, with a view--which the astute lawyer -did not see through--of leading up to inquiries about other friends at -Dullerton; whereupon Mr. Simpson bolted out the whole truth, told him of -the baronet’s position, the long arrears of debt that had come against -him, and which were to culminate in bankruptcy within twenty-four hours. -It was as if the sky had fallen on Clide, or the ground opened under his -feet. - -“Thank goodness I am come in time!” he exclaimed; and there and then sat -down and wrote to Sir Simon, telling him that proceedings were stopped, -and that he, Clide, took them in his own hands. - -“And this is what you call being a friend!” said the young man, as he -and the baronet left Simpson’s office together, the one with a lightened -purse, the other with a heart considerably more so. “To think of your -letting things go to such lengths, and that if I had been a day later it -would have been all over!” - -“My dear boy! what can I say to you? How can I ever repay you?” - -“By forgiving me. I’ve lived long enough to find out a secret or two. -One is that it requires a very noble soul to forgive a man a money -obligation, and that there is a deal more generosity in accepting than -in conferring it. So if you don’t pick a quarrel with me after this, and -turn your back on me, we are quits. Is it a bargain?” - -He held out his hand, laughing; Sir Simon wrung it till the pressure made -Clide wince. This was his only answer, and the only sentimental passage -the occasion gave rise to between them. - - * * * * * - -It was more than a month since Clide had left St. Petersburg, although -the season was still at its height there, and Isabel’s engagement was to -have lasted until the end of it. This had, however, been brought to an -abrupt and tragic close. She had acted for six weeks with unprecedented -success; every night was a fresh triumph, and nothing was talked of in -the _salons_ and clubs but the wonders of her voice, the intense reality -of her acting, and her rare beauty. Ophelia was considered her grandest -part. She was playing it one evening to a crowded house, in the presence -of the imperial family and the whole court, and seemed wrought up to a -pitch of power and pathos that surpassed her finest preceding efforts. -She was singing the mad scene with melting tenderness; the house was -breathless, hanging enraptured on every note, when suddenly the voice -ceased, the prima donna cast a wild look on every side of her, and then, -with a shriek too terribly real to be within the compass of art, she -flung her arms over her head, and, clasping her hands, fell insensible to -the ground. Never did any opera-house witness so dramatic a scene. The -spectators rose in a body from the pit to the gallery, shouting to know -what had happened, and calling for help. Help was near enough. A man in -plain clothes sprang from behind the scenes, and lifted the prostrate -Ophelia before any of the actors could interfere. There were several -medical men among the audience, and they rushed in a body to offer -their services. It was feared for a moment that she was dead; but the -doctors soon pronounced it to be only a swoon, though it was impossible -to say what might follow on the awakening. The emperor sent one of his -chamberlains to hear and see what was going on in the green-room, and -inquire if the piece was to be continued; whereupon the luckless manager -flew out before the footlights, and falling on his knees under the -imperial box, as if he saw the knout suspended over his shoulders, called -heaven to witness that he was a loyal subject and an innocent man, and -flung himself on the imperial clemency. The prima donna had been seized -with illness, and the opera could not be finished that night. The czar -waved his clemency to the terrified man, who withdrew, invoking all -manner of benedictions on the mercy of the Father of all the Russians, -and flew to hear what the doctors were now saying of Ophelia. They were -saying that she was acting out her part as it had never yet been acted, -with the perfection of nature--she was raving mad. - -This was not proclaimed at once. The affair was hushed up for a few days, -and kept out of the newspapers, so that Clide only heard it accidentally -at the club, where he happened to lounge in a week after the occurrence. -He sent Stanton off at once to make inquiries at the house where Isabel -lodged. But they could tell nothing of her there; she had been taken away -the day after her seizure at the opera, and had left no address. Clide -went straight to the lawyer, and asked if there was no way of getting -access to her through the police; of learning at least whether she was -in an asylum; for his first idea on hearing that she had been taken away -was that they had placed her in some such confinement. The lawyer agreed -with him that this was most probable, but did not promise much help in -verifying the supposition. He seemed honestly willing to do what he could -in the matter, but repeated the old warning that little could be done -where imperial favor stood in the way. It was highly probable that the -czar would still show his benevolence toward the beautiful artist by -screening her hiding-place and the fact of her being mad, in hope of her -being able to return and complete her engagement after rest and medical -treatment. - -His position now seemed worse to Clide than it had ever been. The thought -of Isabel’s being in a mad-house, a prey to the most awful visitation -that humanity is subject to, rudely, perhaps cruelly, treated by coarse, -pitiless menials, was so horrible that at first it haunted him till he -almost fancied he was going mad himself. The image of the bright young -creature who had first stirred the pulses of his foolish heart was for -ever before his eyes as she appeared to him that day--how long ago it -seemed!--in the midst of the splendors of Niagara, and that he took her -for a sprite--some lovely creature of the water and the sunlight. He -remembered, with a new sense of its meaning, the strange air she wore, -walking on as if half unconscious he had wondered if she were not walking -in her sleep. Was it a phase of the cruel malady that was then showing -itself? And if so, was she not, perhaps, blameless from the beginning? -This blight that had fallen on her in her brilliant maturity might have -been germinating then, making strange havoc in her mind, and impelling -her character, her destiny, to fearful and fantastic issues. Some weeks -passed while Clide was a prey to these harrowing thoughts, when he -received a letter from the lawyer, saying he had something to communicate -to him of interest. - -“It is not good news,” he said, as the Englishman entered his office; -“but it is better than complete suspense. The signora is not in St. -Petersburg. All our researches were useless from the first, as she was -carried off almost immediately to a lunatic asylum in Saxony.” - -“And she is there still?” - -“Yes; and she has been admirably treated with the utmost skill and care, -so much so that it is expected she will be quite restored after a short -period of convalescence.” - -“How did you ascertain all this?” inquired Clide. - -“Through a client of mine who has been for some time a patient of the -establishment. He left it very recently, and came to see me on his -return, and in talking over the place and its inmates he described one -in a way that excited my suspicions. I wrote to the director, and put a -few questions cautiously, and the answer leaves me no doubt but that the -patient whom my client saw there a few days before his departure was the -lady who interests you.” - -“Did you hear who accompanied her to Saxony?” - -“My client saw a person walking in the grounds with her once, and -from the description it must be the same who travelled with her from -England--her uncle, in fact: a middle-sized man with coal-black hair and -very white teeth; ‘decidedly an unpleasant-looking person’ my client -called him.” - -“Strange!” murmured Clide. “That description does not tally with my -recollection of the man who called himself her uncle, except that he had -a forbidding countenance and was of medium height. He had a quantity of -gray, almost white, hair, and not a sound tooth in his head.” - -“Humph! White hair may turn black, and new teeth may be made to replace -lost ones,” observed the lawyer. “I would not be put off the scent by -changes of that sort, if the main points coincided.” - -“Very true. I must start at once, then, for Saxony, and try and see -for myself. I shall have difficulty in gaining the confidence of the -directors of the place, I dare say. Can you help me by a letter of -introduction to any of them?” - -“Yes; I am well known to the principal medical man by name, and I will -give you a line to him with pleasure.” - -He wrote it, and shook hands with his client and wished him good-speed. - -Clide travelled without halting till he drove up to the door of the -asylum. His letter procured him admittance at once to the private room -of the medical man, and, what was of greater importance, it inclined -the latter to credit his otherwise almost incredible story. When Clide -had told all he deemed necessary, the doctor informed him that the -patient whom he believed to be his wife had already left the house and -the country altogether; she had spent three full weeks under his care, -and was then well enough to be removed, and had, by his advice, been -taken home for the benefit of native air. It was just three days since -she had left Saxony. The doctor could give no idea as to where she had -gone, beyond that she had returned to England; he knew nothing of the -whereabouts of her native place there, and her uncle had left no clue to -his future residence. - -Clide was once more baffled by fate, and found himself again in a -dead-lock. In answer to his inquiries concerning the nature of Isabel’s -disease, the medical man said that it was hereditary, and therefore -beyond the likelihood--not to say possibility--of radical cure. This, it -seemed, was the third attack from which she had suffered. The first was -in early girlhood, before the patient was eighteen; the second, somewhat -later and of much longer duration--it had lasted six years, her uncle -said; then came the third crisis, which, owing, perhaps, to the improved -general health of the patient, but more probably to the more judicious -and enlightened treatment she had met with, had passed off very rapidly. -It was, however, far from being a cure. It was at best but a recovery, -and the disease might at any moment show itself again in a more obstinate -and dangerous form. Perfect quiet, freedom from excitement, whether -mental or physical, were indispensable conditions for preserving her -against another crisis. It was needless to add after this that the career -of an actress was the most fatal one the unfortunate young woman could -have adopted. But in that, no doubt, she was more passive than active. - - * * * * * - -With this new light on his path, Clide hastened his return to England, -farther than ever, it seemed, from his journey’s end, and laden with a -heavier burden than when he set out. March! march! was still the command -that sounded in his ears, driving him on and on like the Wandering Jew, -and never letting him get nearer the goal. - -He had not the faintest idea of Isabel’s native place. She had told him -she was Scotch, and her name said so too, though she was perfectly free -from the native accent which marked her uncle’s speech so strongly. But -what did that prove either way? Was Cameron her name, or Prendergast his? -He had taken a new name in his travels, and so had she. Still, feeble as -the thread was, it was the only one he had to guide him; so he started -for Scotland as soon as he landed in England, having previously taken the -precaution to acquaint the police in London with his present purpose, -and what had led him to it. If Isabel were sufficiently recovered to -appear again in public, it was probable that the brutal man--who was in -reality no more than her task-master--would have made some engagement for -her with a manager, and she might at this moment be singing her brain -away for his benefit in some provincial theatre. It was clear he shunned -the publicity of the London stage. Clide thought of these things as he -tramped over the purple heather of the Highlands, following now one -mirage, now another; and his heart swelled within him and smote him for -his angry and vindictive feelings toward Isabel; and tears, that were -no disgrace to his manhood, forced themselves from his eyes. Poor child! -She was not to blame, then, for wrecking his life, and coming again like -an evil genius to thrust him back into the abyss just as he had climbed -to safety, beckoned onwards and upwards by another angel form. She was a -victim herself, and had perhaps never meant to deceive or betray him, but -had loved him with her mad, untutored heart as well as she knew how. - -The winter days dragged on drearily, as he went from place to place in -Scotland, and found no trace of the missing one, heard nothing that gave -him any hopes of finding her. The police were equally unsuccessful in -London. Stanton had gone back there, very much against his inclination; -but Clide insisted that he would be of more use in the busy streets, -keeping his keen eyes open, than following his master in his wanderings -up and down Scotland. - -One dark afternoon the valet was walking along Regent Street, when he -stopped to look at some prints in a music-shop. The gas was lighted, and -streamed in a brilliant blaze over the gaudily-attired tenors and _prime -donne_ that were piling the agony on the backs of various operatic songs. -Stanton was considering them, and mentally commenting on the manner of -ladies and gentlemen who found it good to spend their lives making faces -and throwing themselves into contortions that appeared to him equally -painful and ridiculous, when he noticed a lady inside the shop engaged -in choosing some music. She was dressed in black, and he only caught -a glimpse of her side face through her veil; but the glimpse made him -start. He watched her take the roll of music from the shopman, secure it -in a little leathern case, and then turn to leave the shop. She walked -out leisurely, but the moment she opened the door she quickened her pace -almost to a run; and before Stanton knew where he was, she had rushed -into the middle of the street. He hastened after her, but a string of -carriages and cabs intervened and blocked the street for some moments. -As soon as it was clear, he saw the slight figure in black stepping into -an omnibus. He hailed it, gesticulating and hallooing frantically; but -the conductor, with the spirit of contradiction peculiar to conductors, -kept his head persistently turned the other way. Stanton tore after him, -waving his umbrella and whistling, all to no purpose, until at last he -stopped for want of breath. At the same moment the omnibus pulled up to -let some travellers alight; he overtook it this time, and got in. The -great machine went thundering on its way, and there opposite to him sat -the lady in black, his master’s wife, he was ready to swear, if she was -in the land of the living. He saw the features very indistinctly, but -well enough to be certain of their identity; the height and contour were -the same, and so was the mass of jet black hair that escaped in thick -plaits from under the small black bonnet. Then there was the conclusive -fact of his having seen her in a music-shop. This clinched the matter for -Stanton. The omnibus stopped, the lady got out, ran to the corner of the -street, and waited for another to come up, and jumped into it; Stanton -meanwhile following her like her shadow. She saw it, and he saw that she -saw it, and that she was frightened and trying to get away from him. Why -should she do so if she were not afraid of being recognized? He was -not a gentleman, and could see no reason for an unprotected young woman -being frightened at a man looking fixedly at her and pursuing her, unless -she had a guilty conscience. He sat as near as he could to her in the -omnibus, and when it pulled up to let her down he got down. She hurried -up a small, quiet street off Tottenham Court Road, and on reaching a -semi-detached small house, flew up the steps and pulled violently at the -bell. Stanton was beside her in an instant. - -“Excuse me, ma’am, but I know you. I don’t mean to do you any ’arm, only -to tell you that I’m Stanton, Mr. Clide’s valet; you are my master’s -wife!” - -He was excited, but respectful in his manner. - -“You are mistaken,” replied the lady, shrinking into the doorway. “I know -nothing about you. I never heard of Mr. Clide, and I’m not married!” - -Stanton was of course prepared for the denial, and showed no sign of -surprise or incredulity; but, in spite of himself, her tone of assurance -staggered him a little. He could not say whether the sound of the voice -resembled that of Mrs. de Winton. Its echoes had lingered very faintly in -his memory, and so many other voices and sounds had swept over it during -the intervening years that he could not the least affirm whether the -voice he had just heard was hers or not. Before he had found any answer -to this question, footsteps were audible pattering on the tarpauling of -the narrow entry, and a slip-shod servant-girl opened the door. The lady -passed quickly in; Stanton followed her. - -“You must leave me!” she said, turning on him. “This is my papa’s house, -and if you give any more annoyance he will have you taken into custody.” -She spoke in a loud voice, and as she ceased the parlor door was opened, -and a gentleman in a velveteen coat and slippers came forward with a -newspaper in his hand. - -“What’s the matter? What is all this about?” he demanded blandly, coming -forward to reconnoitre Stanton, who did not look at all bland, but grim -and resolute, like a man who had conquered his footing on the premises, -and meant to hold it. - -“Sir, I am Stanton, Mr. Clide’s valet; this lady knows me well, if you -don’t.” - -“Papa! I never saw him in my life! I don’t know who Mr. Clide is!” -protested the young lady in a tremor. “This man has annoyed me all the -way home. Send him away!” - -“I must speak to you, sir,” said Stanton stoutly. “I cannot leave the -house without.” - -“Pray walk in!” said the gentleman, waving his newspaper towards the open -parlor; “and you, my dear, go and take off your bonnet.” - -“Now, sir, be good enough to state your business,” he began when the door -was closed. - -“My business isn’t with you, sir, but with your daughter, if she is your -daughter,” said Stanton. “One thing is certain--she’s my master’s wife; -there an’t no use in her denying it, and the best thing she can do is -to speak out to her ’usband penitent-like, and he’ll forgive her, poor -thing, and do the best he can for her, which will be better than what -that uncle of hers ’as been doin’ for her, draggin’ her about everywhere -and driving the poor creature crazy. That’s what I’ve got to say, sir, -and I ’ope you’ll see as it’s sense and reason.” - -The occupant of the velveteen slippers listened to this speech with eyes -that grew rounder and rounder as it proceeded; then he threw back his -head and laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. - -“My good man, there’s some mistake! You’ve mistaken my daughter for -somebody else; she never was married in her life, and she has no uncle -that ever I heard of. Ha! ha! ha! It’s the best joke I ever heard in my -life!” - -“Excuse me; it an’t no joke at all!” protested Stanton, nettled, and -resolved not to be shaken by the ring of honesty there was in the man’s -laugh. “You mayn’t know the person that calls himself her uncle, but -I do, sir. Mayhap you are duped by the rascal yourself; but it’ll all -come out now. I have it all in the palm of my hand.” And he opened that -capacious member and closed it again significantly. “Your daughter must -either come away with me quietly, or I’ll call the police and have her -taken off whether she will or no!” - -“I tell you, man, you are under some preposterous mistake,” said the -gentleman, his blandness all gone, and his choler rising. “My name is -Honey. I am a clerk in H---- Bank, and my daughter, Eliza Jane Honey, has -never left me since she was born. She is an artist, a singer, and gives -lessons in singing in some of the first houses in London!” - -“Singer! Singing lessons! Ha! Just so! I know it all,” said Stanton, his -mouth compressing itself in a saturnine smile. “I know it all, and I tell -you I don’t leave this ’ouse without her.” - -“Confound your insolence! What do you mean? You’d better be gone this -instant, or I’ll call the police and give _you_ into custody! - -“No, sir, don’t try it; it won’t answer,” said Stanton, imperturbable. -“It ’ud only make more trouble; the poor thing has enough on her already, -and I’m not the one to make more for her. If you call in the police I’ve -something ’ere,” slapping his waistcoat pocket, “as ’ud settle at once -which of us was to be took up.” - -Before Mr. Honey could say anything in answer to this, a voice came -carrolling down the stairs, singing some air from an opera, rich with -trills and _fioriture_. - -“There it is! The very voice! The very tune I’ve ’eard her sing in the -drawing-room at Lanwold!” exclaimed Stanton. - -The singer dashed into the room, but broke off in her trills on seeing -him. - -“What! you are not gone? Papa, who is he?” - -“My dear, he is either a madman or--or worse,” said her father. “It’s the -most extraordinary thing I ever heard in my life!” - -“Speak out, ma’am, and don’t you fear I’ll do you any ’arm; my master -wouldn’t ’ave it, not for all the money he’s worth. Nobody knows the sum -he’s spent on them detectives already to try and catch you; and it speaks -badly for the lot to say they’ve not caught you long ago. But don’t you -be afraid of me, ma’am!” urged Stanton, making his voice as mild as he -could. - -Eliza Jane’s answer was a peal of laughter. - -“Why should I be afraid of you? I never laid my eyes on you before, or -you on me; you mistake me for somebody else, I tell you. I never heard -of Mr. Clide, and I am certain he never heard of me. The idea of your -insisting that I’m his wife!” And she laughed again; but there was a -nervous twitch about her mouth, and Stanton saw it. - -“As like as two peas in a pod!” was his emphatic remark, as he -deliberately scanned her face. - -There was no denying the resemblance, indeed. The face was fuller, the -features more developed, but the interval of years would explain that. - -“Look at my hand! You see I have no wedding-ring? Ask me a few questions; -you will find out the blunder at once, if you only try,” she said. - -Stanton paused for a moment, as if trying to recall something that might -serve as a test. - -“I ’ave it!” he said, looking up with a look of triumph. “Open your -mouth, ma’am, and let me look into it!” - -He advanced towards her, expecting instant compliance. But Miss Honey -rushed behind her father with a cry of terror and disgust. The movement -was perfectly natural under the circumstances, but Stanton saw it in the -light of his own suspicions. - -“Ha! I guessed as much,” he said, drawing away, and speaking in a quiet -tone of regret. “I was sure of it. Well, you give me no choice. I know my -dooty to a lady, but I know my dooty to my master too.” He went toward -the window, intending to throw it up and call for a policeman. - -“Stop!” cried Mr. Honey. “What do you expect to find in my daughter’s -mouth?” - -“That, sir, is known to her and to me,” was the oracular reply. “If she -has nothing in it as can convict her, she needn’t be afraid to let me -look into it.” - -Mr. Honey turned aside, touched his forehead with his forefinger, and -pointed with the thumb toward Stanton. After this rapid and significant -little pantomime, he said aloud to his daughter: - -“My dear, perhaps it is as well to let the man have his way. He will see -that there is nothing to see. Come and gratify his singular curiosity.” - -The girl was now too frightened to see the ludicrous side of the -performance; she advanced gravely to the table, on which a gas-burner -threw a strong, clear light, and opened her mouth. Stanton came and -peered into it. “Please to lift the left side as wide open as you can, -ma’am; it was the third tooth from the back of her left jaw.” - -She did as he desired, but, after looking closely all round, he could -see nothing but two fine, pearly rows of teeth, all ivory, without the -smallest glimmer of gold or silver to attest the presence of even an -unsound one. - -“I beg your pardon, ma’am! I beg a thousand pardons, sir! I find I’ve -made a great mistake! I’ve behaved shameful rude to you and the young -lady; but I hope you’ll forgive me. I was only doing my dooty to my -master. I’m sorrier than I can say for my mistake!” Both father and -daughter were too thankful to be rid of him to withhold their free and -unconditional pardon. They even went the length of regretting that he had -had so much trouble and such an unpleasant adventure all to no purpose, -and cordially wished him better success next time, as he withdrew, -profusely apologizing. - -“Papa, he must be an escaped lunatic!” cried the young lady, as the -hall-door closed on Stanton. - -“I dare say they took me for a maniac, and indeed no wonder!” was -Stanton’s reflection, as he heard a peal of laughter through the window. - -The adventure left, nevertheless, an uneasy feeling on his mind, and -the next day he called on Mr. Peckitt, the dentist, and related it. Mr. -Peckitt had not seen the wearer of the silver tooth since the time he had -attended her before her departure for Berlin; but he had seen her uncle, -and made an entire set of false teeth for him. He took the liberty on -first seeing him of inquiring for the young lady; but her uncle answered -curtly that she was in no need of dental services at present, and turned -off the subject by some irrelevant remark. Mr. Peckitt, of course, took -the hint, and never reverted to it. This was all he had to tell Stanton; -but he did not confirm the valet’s certainty as to the non-identity of -Miss Honey on the grounds of the absence of the silver tooth. It was, he -thought, improbable that his patient should have parted with that odd -appendage, and that, if so, she should have gone to a strange dentist to -have it replaced by an ordinary tooth; but either of these alternatives -was possible. - -This was all the information that Stanton had for his master when the -latter returned from his bootless search in Scotland. - -On the following day Sir Simon Harness came to London and heard of the -strange adventure. He was inclined to attach more importance to it than -Clide apparently did. - -“Suppose this so-called Eliza Jane Honey should not have been Isabel,” -he said, “but some one like her--the same whom you saw at Dieppe?” Clide -shook his head. - -“Impossible! _I_ could not be deceived, though Stanton might. This Miss -Honey, too, was fuller in the face, and altogether a more robust person, -than Isabel, as Stanton remembers her. Now, after the terrible attack -that she has suffered lately, it is much more likely that she is worn and -thin, poor child!” - -“That is true. Still, there remains the coincidence of the splendid voice -and of her being an artist. If I were you, I would not rest till I saw -her myself.” - -“It would only make assurance doubly sure. Stanton has startled me -over and over again for nothing. Every pair of black eyes and bright -complexion that he sees gives him a turn, as he says, and sets him off -on the chase. No; the woman I saw at Dieppe was my wife--I am as sure -of that as of my own identity. I did not get near enough to her to say, -‘Are you my wife?’ but I am as certain of it as if I had.” He promised, -however, to satisfy Sir Simon, that he would go to Tottenham Court and -see Miss Honey. - -While Clide’s tongue was engaged on this absorbing topic, he was mentally -reverting to another subject which was scarcely less absorbing, and which -was closer to his heart. His love for Franceline had not abated one atom -of its ardor since absence and a far more impassable gulf had parted him -from her; her image reigned supreme in his heart still, and accompanied -him in his waking and sleeping thoughts. He felt no compunction for this. -His conscience tendered full and unflinching allegiance to the letter of -the moral law, but it was in bondage to none of those finer spiritual -tenets that ruled and influenced Franceline. He would have cut off his -right hand rather than outrage her memory by so much as an unworthy -thought; but he gave his heart full freedom to retain and foster its -love for her. He had not her clear spiritual insight to discern the -sinfulness of this, any more than he had her deep inward strength to -enable him to crush the sin out of his heart, even if he had tried, which -he did not. It was his misfortune, not his fault, that his love for her -was unlawful. Nothing could make it guilty; that was in his own power, -and the purity of its object was its best protection. She was an angel, -and could only be worshipped with the reverent love that one of her own -pure kindred spirits might accept without offence or contamination. Such -was Clide’s code, and, if he wanted any internal proof of his own loyalty -to sanction it, he had it in the shape of many deep-drawn sighs--prayers, -he called them, and perhaps they were--that Franceline might not suffer -on his account, but might forget him, and be happy after a time with some -worthier husband. He had been quite honest when he sighed these sighs--at -least he thought he was; yet when Sir Simon, meaning to console him and -make things smooth and comfortable, assured him emphatically that they -had been both happily mistaken in the nature of Franceline’s feelings, -and then basely and cruelly insinuated that Ponsonby Anwyll was in a -fair way to make her a good husband by and by, Clide felt a pang more -acute than any he had yet experienced. This is often the case with us. We -never know how much insincerity there is in the best of our prayers--the -anti-self ones--until we are threatened with the grant of them. - -Sir Simon said nothing about the stolen ring. His friendship for Raymond -partook of that strong personal feeling which made any dishonor in its -object touch him like a personal stain. He could not bear even to admit -it to himself that his ideal was destroyed. M. de la Bourbonais had been -his ideal of truth, of manly independence, of everything that was noble, -simple, and good. There are many intervals in the scale that separates -the ordinary honest man from the ideal man of honor. Sir Simon could -count several of the former class; but he knew but one of the higher -type. He had never known any one whom he would have placed on the same -pinnacle of unsullied, impregnable honor with Raymond. Now that he had -fallen, it seemed as if the very stronghold of Sir Simon’s own faith had -surrendered; he could disbelieve everything, he could doubt everybody. -Where was truth to be found, who was to be trusted, since Raymond de la -Bourbonais had failed? But meantime he would screen him as long as he -could. He would not be the first to speak of his disgrace to any one. He -told Clide how Raymond had lost, for him, a considerable sum of money -recently, through the dishonesty of a bank, and how he had borne the loss -with the most incredible philosophy, because just then it so happened he -did not want the money; but since then Franceline’s health had become -very delicate, and she was ordered to a warm climate, and these few -hundreds would have enabled him to take her there, and her father was now -bitterly lamenting the loss. - -Clide was all excitement in a moment. - -“But now you can supply them?” he cried. “Or rather let me do it through -you! I must not, of course, appear; but it will be something to know I am -of use to her--to both of them. You can easily manage it, can you not? -M. de la Bourbonais would make no difficulty in accepting the service -from you.” - -“Humph! As ill-luck will have it, there is a coldness between us at -present,” said Sir Simon--“a little tiff that will blow off after a while -but meanwhile Bourbonais is as unapproachable as a porcupine. He’s as -proud as Lucifer at any time, and I fear there is no one but myself from -whom he would accept a service of the kind.” - -“Could not Langrove manage it? They seemed on affectionate terms,” said -Clide. - -“Oh! no, oh! no. That would never do!” said Sir Simon quickly. “I don’t -see any one at Dullerton but myself who could attempt it.” - -“Well, but some one must, since you say you can’t,” argued Clide with -impatience. “When do you return to the Court?” - -“I did not mean to return just yet a while. You see, I have a great deal -of business to look to--of a pleasant sort, thanks to you, my dear boy, -but still imperative and admitting of no delay. I can’t possibly leave -town until it has been settled.” - -“I should have thought Simpson might have attended to it. I suppose you -mean legal matters?” said the young man with some asperity. He could not -understand Sir Simon’s being hindered by mere business from sparing a day -in a case of such emergency, and for such a friend. It was unlike him to -be selfish, and this was downright heartlessness. - -“Simpson? To be sure!” exclaimed the baronet jubilantly, starting up and -seizing his hat. “I will be off and see him this minute. Simpson is sure -to hit on some device; he’s never at a loss for anything.” - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -THE STORY OF EVANGELINE IN PROSE. - -I spare you M. Jourdain’s oft-quoted saying. Too often, I fear, I -successfully imitate the “Bourgeois Gentilhomme” in speaking prose -without knowing it--aye, at the very moment when I think to woo the Muse -most ardently. But great is the courage demanded to announce a purpose -to be prosaic--prosy, it may be--with premeditation. Especially true is -this when, as in the case before me, the subject itself ranks high as -poetry. Mr. Longfellow, in some of his later writings, may seem to aim -at, or does, perhaps, unconsciously catch, that tone, made fashionable -by the younger Victorian songsters, which sets the poet apart as a being -differing from his kind, and makes him, as the English poet-laureate -does, “born in a golden clime” - - “With golden stars above.” - -But in his “Tale of Acadie” our American Wordsworth touches with -sympathetic finger the chords that vibrate with feeling in common hearts. -This is the lyre he sweeps with a magic sweetness not excelled by any -modern English poet. _Evangeline_ is a poem of the hearth and domestic -love. That is to say, though it is true the heroine and her betrothed -never come together in one happy home, the feelings described are such as -might without shame beat tenderly in any Christian maiden’s breast; such, -too, as any husband might wish his wife to feel. How different is this -from the fierce passion--a surrender to the lower nature--which burns -and writhes and contorts itself in Mr. Swinburne’s heroines! One is -Christian Love, the other the pagan brutishness of Juvenal’s Messalina. -It may be said indeed with truth that, in portraying a Catholic maiden -and a Catholic community, Mr. Longfellow has, with the intuition of -genius, reflected in this poem the purity and fidelity blessed by the -church in the love it sanctions. His admirers, therefore, cannot but -regret that debasing contact with the new school of the XIXth-century -realism which, in such an one of his later poems, for example, as that -entitled “Love,” draws him to the worship of the “languors” and “kisses” -of the Lucretian Venus. The love of Evangeline is that which is affected -by refined women in every society--humble though the poet’s heroine be; -the other strips the veil from woman’s weakness. - -The charm of the poem is that it transports us to a scene Arcadian, -idyllic, yet which impresses us with its truthfulness to nature. This -is not Acadia only, but Arcadia. The nymphs, and the shepherds and -shepherdesses, and the god Pan with his oaten reed, put off the stage -costumes worn by them in the pages of Virgil or on the canvas of -Watteau, and, lo! here they are in real life in the village of Grand -Pré--Evangeline milking the kine, Gabriel Lajeunesse, and Michael the -fiddler, and the level Acadian meadows walled in by their dykes from -the turmoil of war that shook the world all around them. The picture is -truthful; but truthful rather by the effect of the bold touches that -befit the artist and poet than in the multitude of details--some more -prosaic, some not so charming--which, massed together, make up the more -faithful portrait of the historian. The description of scenery in the -poem confuses the natural features of two widely-separated and different -sections of the country; the Evangeline of Grand Pré is not in all -respects the Acadian girl of Charlevoix or Murdock; the history of men -and manners on the shores of the Basin of Mines,[231] as depicted by -the poet, is sadly at variance with the angry, tumultuous, suspicious, -blood-stained annals of those settlements. Strange as it may seem, the -poem is truer of the Acadians of to-day, again living in Nova Scotia, -than of their expatriated forefathers. Remoteness of time did not mean, -in their case, a golden age of peace and plenty. Far from it! It meant -ceaseless war on the borders, the threats and intrigues of a deadly -national feud, the ever-present, overhanging doom of exile, military -tyranny, and constant English espionage. Now absolute peace reigns within -the townships still peopled by their descendants, and the Acadian peasant -and village maiden cling in silence and undisturbed to the manners their -fathers brought from Normandy nearly three centuries ago. - -The first few lines give the coloring to the whole poem. They are the -setting within which are grouped the characters. - - “This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, - Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,” - -stand “like Druids of eld,” or “harpers hoar”; - - “While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced neighboring ocean - Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.” - -This is the refrain running through the poem like the _aria_ of the -“Last Rose of Summer” through _Martha_. Yet the picture conveyed to the -reader’s mind is that of the Atlantic coast of Acadia, or Nova Scotia, -not of the Basin of Mines, where Evangeline dwelt with her people. The -natural features of the two sections of country are strikingly diverse. -On the east coast of Nova Scotia rises a line of granitic and other -cliffs, sterile, vast, jagged, opposing their giant shoulders to the -roaring surges of the Atlantic. On the hills behind, the pines and -hemlocks rustle and murmur in answer to the waves. This is the “forest -primeval” and the “loud-voiced neighboring ocean.” But on the west coast -is quite another scene. The Basin of Mines is an inland gulf of an inland -sea--the Bay of Fundy. Here the granite rocks and murmuring pines give -place to red clay-banks and overflowed marshes. And here is Horton, or -Grand Pré. It is separated by the whole breadth of the peninsula of Nova -Scotia from the ocean. The “mists from the mighty Atlantic,” which - - “Looked on the happy valley, but ne’er from their station descended,” - -are in reality the fogs of the Bay of Fundy shut out by the North -Mountain. Instead of the long swell of the Atlantic breaking on a rocky -coast, we have in the Basin of Mines numerous small rivers running -through an alluvial country, with high clay-banks left bare by the -receding tide. This last feature of the scene is correctly described -by the poet; but it must be borne in mind that it is not united with -the natural features of the east coast. The Acadians never, in fact, -affected the Atlantic sea-board. They sailed shuddering past its frowning -and wintry walls, and, doubling Cape Sable, beat up the Bay of Fundy to -where the sheltered Basins of Port Royal and Mines invited an entrance -from the west. For over one hundred years after the founding of Port -Royal the Atlantic coast of Acadia remained a waste. A fishing-village -at Canseau on the north--a sort of stepping-stone to and from the great -fortress of Louisburg--and a few scattered houses and clearings near -La Tour’s first settlement alone broke the monotonous silence of the -wilderness. The Indian hunter tracking the moose over the frozen surface -of the snow, and some half-solitary Irish and New England fishermen in -Chebucto Bay, divided the rest of the country between them. It was not -until 1749 that Cornwallis landed his colonists at Halifax, and made -the first solid footing on the Atlantic coast. But for generations -previously, in the rich valley of the River of Port Royal, and along -the fertile banks of the streams flowing into the Basin of Mines--the -Gaspereau, the Canard, and the Pereau--the thrifty Acadians spread their -villages, built their churches, and were married and buried by the good -Recollect Fathers. - -I was a lad scarce emancipated from college when I first visited those -scenes. I remember well my emotion when I drew my eyes away from the -landscape, and, turning to my companion, Father K----, asked him if -there were any remains of the old village of Grand Pré. To my youthful -imagination Evangeline was as real as the people about me. Father K---- -was the priest stationed at Kentville, about ten miles distant from -Grand Pré and the Gaspereau River, which were included in his mission. He -was an old family friend, and I was going to spend the summer vacation -with him. We were driving from Windsor through Horton and Wolfville to -Kentville, passing on our road through all the scenes described in the -poem. I have often visited that part of the country since then, but never -has it made such an impression on me. The stage-coach then rolled between -Windsor and Kentville, and something of the rural simplicity congenial -with the poem was still felt to be around one. Last year I rode by rail -over the same ground, and later on another line of railroad to Truro, and -thence around the Basin of Mines on the north through Cumberland. But my -feelings had changed, or the whistle of the locomotive was a sound alien -to the memories of those green meadows and intersecting dykes. Evangeline -was no longer a being to be loved, but a beautiful figment of the poet’s -brain. - -I don’t know to this day whether Father K---- was quizzing me, or was -loath to shatter my boyish romance, when he told me that there were some -old ruins which were said to be the home of Evangeline. It is probable he -was having a quiet joke at my expense, as he was noted for his fund of -humor, which I learned better to appreciate in later years. Poor Father -K----! He was a splendid type of the old Irish missionary priest--an -admirable Latinist; well read in English literature, especially the Queen -Anne poets; hearty, jovial, and could tell a story that would set the -table in a roar. And, withal, no priest worked harder than he did in his -wide and laborious mission, or was a more tender-hearted friend of the -poor and afflicted. He is since dead. - -During the month or six weeks I spent with Father K----, that part of the -country became quite familiar to me by means of his numerous drives on -parish duties, when I usually accompanied him. Often, as the shades of -the summer evening descended, have I watched the mists across the Basin -shrouding the bluff front of Cape Blomidon--“Blow-me-down,” as it is more -commonly called by the country-folk. At other times we drove up the North -Mountain, where the - - “Sea-fogs pitched their tents,” - -and, standing there, I have looked down upon the distant glittering -waters of the Bay of Fundy. - -On one occasion we rode over from Kentville to Wolfville, and then up the -Gaspereau, at the mouth of which - - “The English ships at their anchors” - -swung with the tide on the morning which ushered in the doom of Grand -Pré. We rode some distance up the valley to the house of a Catholic -farmer, and there put up for the day. It was the day on which the -elections took place for the House of Assembly. The contest was fiercely -conducted amid great popular excitement. One of those “No-Popery” cries, -fomented by an artful politician--which sometimes sweep the colonies as -well as the mother country--was raging in the province. Father K---- -left Kentville, the county town, on that day to avoid all appearance -of interference in the election, and also to get away from the noise -and confusion that pervaded the long main street of the village. I can -remember the news coming up the Gaspereau in the evening how every one -of the four candidates opposed to Father K---- had been returned. -But at that time I paid little heed to politics, and during the day I -wandered down through the field to the river, and strolled along its -willow-fringed banks. Some of those willows were very aged, and might -have swung their long, slim wands and narrow-pointed leaves over an -Evangeline and a Gabriel a hundred years before. Those willows were not -the natural growth of the forest, but were planted there--by whom? No -remnant of the people that first tilled the valley was left to say! - -Riding home next day, a laughable incident, but doubtless somewhat -annoying to Father K----, occurred. Just as we were about to turn a -narrow bend of the road, suddenly we were confronted by a long procession -in carriages and all sorts of country vehicles, with banners flying, men -shouting, and everything to indicate a triumphal parade. It was, in fact, -a procession escorting two of the “No-Popery” members elected the day -before. The position was truly rueful, but Father K---- had to grin and -bear it. There was no escape for us; we had to draw up at the side of the -road, and sit quietly in our single wagon until the procession passed us. -It was a very orderly and good-humored crowd, but there were a good many -broad grins, as they rode by, at having caught the portly and generally -popular priest in such a trap. Nothing would persuade them, of course, -but that he had been working might and main for the other side during -the election. Finally, as the tail of the procession passed us, some one -in the rear, more in humor than in malice, sang out: “To h--ll with the -Pope.” There was a roar of laughter at this, during which Father K---- -gathered up his reins, and, saying something under his breath which I -will not vouch for as strictly a blessing, applied the whip to old Dobbin -with an energy that that respectable quadruped must have thought demanded -explanation. - -Changed indeed was such a scene from those daily witnessed when Father -Felician, - - “Priest and pedagogue both in the village,” - -ruled over his peaceful congregation at the mouth of the Gaspereau. - -It has been said in the beginning of this article that Evangeline, the -heroine and central figure of the poem, is not altogether true to history -as typical of the Acadian girl of that period, as seen in the annals of -Port Royal; and doubtless this assertion can be borne out by the records. -But, on second thoughts, it does appear, as it were, a profanation to -subject such a bright creation of the poet’s mind to the analysis of -history. As profitably might we set about converting the diamond into -its original carbon. The magical chemistry of genius, as of nature, has -in either case fused the dull and common atoms into the sparkling and -priceless jewel. - -The stoutest champion of her sex will not, upon consideration, contend -that so absolutely perfect a creature as Evangeline is likely to be found -in any possible phase of society. Is not a spice of coquetry inseparable -from all women? Evangeline has none of it. She is, too, too unconscious -that her lover - - “Watches for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow” - -under the trees in the orchard. She is the heroine of an idyl--not, -indeed, of unreal Arthurian romance, but of that exalted and passionless -love which the virgin heart seeks, but afterwards consoles itself for not -finding. That ideal star does not shine upon this world; but its divine -rays fall softly upon many an unknown heart in the cloister. - -But it is incontestable that the Acadian maidens of Port Royal and Mines -shared in some of the agreeable frivolities which still, it is said, -sometimes distinguish their sisters in the world. They had an eye for a -military uniform and clanking spurs even in those “primeval” days. It -is a frequent complaint of the French governors to the home authorities -at Paris that their young officers were being continually led into -marriage with girls of the country “without birth,” and, worse still, -often “without money.” In the old parish register of Annapolis can be -seen more than one entry of the union of a gallant ensign or captain to -a village belle from the inland settlements whose visit to the Acadian -metropolis had subjugated the Gallic son of Mars. Nor was the goddess of -fashion altogether without a shrine in close contiguity to the “murmuring -pines and the hemlocks.” Some of the naval and military officers sent for -their wives from Paris or Quebec, and these fine ladies brought their -maids with them. This is not a supposition, but a fact which can be -verified by reference to the letters of M. des Goutins and others in the -correspondence of the time. Imagine a Parisian soubrette of the XVIIIth -century in the village of Grand Pré! It is a shock to those who derive -their knowledge of Acadie from Mr. Longfellow’s poem; but those who -are familiar with the voluminous records of the day, preserved in the -provincial archives, are aware of a good many stranger things than that -related in them. Since _Evangeline_ was published the Canadian and Nova -Scotian governments have done much to collect and edit their records, and -they are now accessible to the student. Rightly understood, there is no -reason why the flood of light thus thrown upon the lives of the Acadians -should detract anything from our admiration for that simple and kindly -race. They were not faultless; but the very fact that they shared in the -common interests, and even foibles, of the rest of the world gives that -tone of reality to their history which makes us sympathize with them more -justly in the cruel fate that overtook them. Yet, in depicting the young -Acadian girl of that period as he has done, the poet has but idealized -the truth. The march of the history of her people aids him in making the -portrait a faithful one. Had he placed the time a little earlier--that is -to say, under the French-Acadian _régime_--and his heroine at Annapolis, -his poem could not have borne the criticism of later research. But in -selecting the most dramatic incident of Acadian history as the central -point of interest, he has necessarily shifted the scene to one of the -Neutral French settlements. Here, too, he is aided in maintaining the -truthfulness of his portraiture by the fact that the English conquest, -in depriving the Acadians of the right of political action, and cutting -them off as much as possible from intercourse with Canada and France, -had thrown them back upon rural occupations alone, and developed their -simple virtues. Mines and Chignecto had been noted for their rustic -independence and their manners uncorrupted by contact with the world, -even under the old _régime_. One of the military governors of Port Royal -complains of them as “semi-republicans” in a letter to the Minister of -Marine and Colonies at Paris. After the conquest of 1710, intercourse -with Annapolis and its English Government House and foreign garrison -became even more restricted. No oath of allegiance being taken to the -new government, the _curé_ was recognized both by the inhabitants and -the Annapolis government as their virtual ruler. Under the mild sway -of Fathers Felix, Godalie, and Miniac--in turn _curés_ of Mines--the -Acadians sought to forget in the cultivation of their fields the stern -military surveillance of Annapolis, and, later, Fort Edwards and Fort -Lawrence. Father Miniac comes latest in time, and shared the misfortunes -of his flock in their expulsion. But in Father Godalie, the accomplished -scholar and long-loved friend of the people of Grand Pré, we seem best -to recognize the “Father Felician” of Mr. Longfellow’s poem. He was a -guide well fitted to form the lovely character of Evangeline; nor do the -authentic records of the time bear less ample testimony to the virtue of -his people than the glowing imagination of the poet. - -It is less in the delineation of individual character than in its -description of the undisturbed peace reigning at Grand Pré that the poem -departs most from the truth of history. The expulsion of 1755 was not a -thunderbolt in a clear sky descending upon a garden of Eden. It was a -doom known to be hanging over them for forty years. Its shadow, more -or less threatening for two generations, was present in every Acadian -household, disabling industry and driving the young men into service or -correspondence with their French compatriots. Space would not permit, in -so short a paper, to enter into the history of that desperate struggle -for supremacy on this continent ending on the heights of Abraham, -isolated chapters of which have been narrated with a graphic pen by Mr. -Francis Parkman. Acadie was one of its chosen battlegrounds. So far -from the Acadians living in rural peace and content, it may be said -broadly yet accurately that from the date of their first settlement to -their final expulsion from the country, during a period extending over -one hundred and fifty years, five years had never passed consecutively -without hostilities, open or threatened. The province changed masters, -or was wholly or partially conquered, seven times in a little over one -hundred years, and the final English conquest, so far from establishing -peace, left the Acadians in a worse position than before. They refused -to take the oath of allegiance to the English government; the French -government was not able to protect them, though it used them to harass -the English. - -They acquired, therefore, by a sort of tacit understanding, the title -and position of the “Neutral French,” the English government simply -waiting from year to year until it felt itself strong enough to remove -them _en masse_ from the province, and the Acadians yearly expecting -succor from Quebec or Louisburg. Each party regarded the other as aliens -and enemies. Hence it is that no French-Acadian would ever have used the -words “his majesty’s mandate”--applied to George II.--as spoken by Basil -the blacksmith in the poem. That single expression conveys a radically -false impression of the feelings of the people at the time. The church at -Mines, or Grand Pré, from the belfry of which - - “Softly the Angelus sounded,” - -had been burned down twice by the English and its altar vessels stolen by -Col. Church in the old wars. Nor had permanent conquest, as we have said, -brought any change for the better. The _curés_ were frequently imprisoned -on pretext of exciting attacks on the English garrisons, and sometimes, -as in the case of Father Felix and Father Charlemagne, were exiled from -the province. In 1714 the intention was first announced of transporting -all the Acadians from their homes. It was proposed to remove them to Cape -Breton, still held by the French. The pathetic remonstrance of Father -Felix Palm, the _curé_ of Grand Pré, in a letter and petition to the -governor, averted this great calamity from his people at that time. But -the project was again revived by the English Board of Trade, 1720-30. In -pursuance of its orders, Gov. Philipps issued a proclamation commanding -the people of Mines to come in and take the oath of allegiance by a -certain day, or to depart forthwith out of the province, permitting, at -the same time--a stretch of generosity which will hardly be appreciated -at this day--each family to carry away with it “two sheep,” but all the -rest of their property to be confiscated. This storm also blew over. But -the result of this continual harassment and threatening was to drive the -Acadians into closer correspondence with the French at Louisburg, and -to cause their young men to enlist in the French-Canadian forces on the -frontier. In view of this aid and comfort given to the enemy, and their -persistent refusal to take the oath of allegiance, later English writers -have not hesitated to declare the removal of the Acadians from the -province a political and military necessity. But the otherwise unanimous -voice of humanity has unequivocally denounced their wholesale deportation -as one of the most cruel and tyrannical acts in the colonial history of -England. We are not to suppose, however, that the Acadians folded their -hands while utter ruin was thus threatening them. In 1747 they joined -in the attack on Col. Noble’s force at Mines, in which one hundred -of the English were killed and wounded, and the rest of his command -made prisoners. They were accused, not without some show of reason, of -supporting the Indians in their attack on the new settlement at Halifax. -It is admitted that three hundred of them, including many of the young -men from Grand Pré, were among the prisoners taken at Fort Beau Sejour -on the border a few months before their expulsion. It is not our purpose -to enter into any defence or condemnation of those hostilities. But it -is plain that Mr. Longfellow’s beautiful lines describing the columns of -pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense, ascending - - “From a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment,” - -“free from fear, that reigns with the tyrant, or envy, the vice of -republics,” were not applicable to the condition of affairs at Grand Pré -in 1755, nor at any time. - -The poem follows with fidelity the outlines of the scenes of the -expulsion. Heart-rending indeed is the scene, as described even by those -who were agents in its execution. The poet gives almost _verbatim_ the -address of Col. John Winslow in the chapel. Nevertheless one important -clause is omitted. Barbarous as were the orders of Gov. Lawrence, he -was not absolutely devoid of humanity. Some attempt was made to lessen -the pangs of separation from their country by the issuing of orders -to the military commanders that “whole families should go together on -the same transport.” These orders were communicated with the others to -the inhabitants by Col. Winslow, and it appears, they were faithfully -executed as far as the haste of embarkation would permit. But as the -young men marched separately to the ships, and some of them escaped for -a time into the woods, there was nothing to prevent such an incident -occurring as the separation of Evangeline and Gabriel. - -About seven thousand (7,000) Acadians, according to Gov. Lawrence’s -letter to Col. Winslow, were transported from their homes. The total -number of these unfortunate people in the province at that time has -been estimated at eighteen thousand. The destruction was more complete -at Grand Pré than elsewhere, that being the oldest settlement, with the -exception of Annapolis, and the most prosperous and thickly settled. A -few years later another attempt was made to transfer the remainder of the -Acadian population to New England; but the transports were not permitted -to land them at Boston, as they were completely destitute, and the New -England commonwealths petitioned against being made responsible for their -support. The Acadian exiles were scattered over Pennsylvania, Virginia, -and Georgia. About four hundred and fifty were landed at Philadelphia. - - “In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware’s waters, - Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn, the apostle, - Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded. - … - There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile, - Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country.” - -A few months ago I visited the Quaker City. There, where Evangeline ended -her long pilgrimage, I took up the thread of that story the early scenes -of which had been so familiar to me. How different those around me! Gone -were the balsamic odors of the pines and the salt spray of the ocean. -One can conceive how the hearts of the poor Acadian exiles must have -trembled. I sought out the old “Swedish church at Wicaco,” whence the -“sounds of psalms - - “Across the meadows were wafted” - -on the Sabbath morning when Evangeline went on her way to the hospital, -and there found her lover dying unknown. The quaint little church--not -larger than a country school-house--built of red and black bricks brought -from Sweden, is now almost lost in a corner near the river’s edge, in -the midst of huge warehouses and intersecting railroad tracks. In the -wall near the minister’s desk is a tablet in memory of the first pastor -and his wife buried beneath. Fastened to the gallery of the choir--not -much higher than one’s head--is the old Swedish Bible first used in -the church, and over it two gilded wooden cherubs--also brought from -Sweden--that make one smile at their comical features. In the churchyard, -under the blue and faded gray tombstones, repose the men and women of -the congregation of 1755 and years before. But no vestiges of the Acadian -wanderers remain in the Catholic burying-ground. - - “Side by side in their nameless graves the lovers are sleeping. - Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard, - In the heart of the city, they lie unknown and unnoticed.” - -Many of the Acadians succeeded in wandering back to their country. Others -escaped into what is now called New Brunswick, which was then a part of -Acadia, and either returned to Nova Scotia in after-years when the whole -of Canada was finally ceded to the English, or founded settlements, -existing to this day in New Brunswick, and returning their own members -to the Provincial Parliaments. The descendants of the Acadians, still -speaking the French language and retaining the manners of their -forefathers, are more numerous than is generally supposed in Nova Scotia. -They number thirty-two thousand out of a total population of three -hundred and eighty-seven thousand (387,000), according to the census of -1871. The poet says: - - “Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic - Linger a few Acadian peasants.… - Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun, - And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline’s story.” - -This refers, no doubt, to the settlement at Chezzetcook, which, from its -closeness to Halifax, is best known. On Saturday mornings, in the market -at Halifax, the Acadian women can be seen standing with their baskets of -eggs and woollen mitts and socks for sale. They are at once recognized by -their short blue woollen outer petticoats or kirtles, and their little -caps, with their black hair drawn tightly up from the forehead under -them. The young girls are often very pretty. They have delicate features, -an oval face, a clear olive complexion, and eyes dark and shy, like a -fawn’s. They soon fade, and get a weather-beaten and hard expression from -exposure to the climate on their long journeys on foot and from severe -toil. - -But in Yarmouth County, and on the other side of the peninsula in -the township of Clare, Digby County, there are much larger and more -prosperous settlements. Clare is almost exclusively French-Acadian. -The people generally send their own member to the provincial House -of Assembly. He speaks French more fluently than English. The priest -preaches in French. Here at this day is to be found the counterpart of -the manners of Grand Pré. Virtue, peace, and happiness reign in more -than “a hundred homes” under the old customs. Maidens as pure and sweet -as Evangeline can be seen as of old walking down the road to the church -on a Sunday morning with their “chaplet of beads and their missal.” But -the modern dressmaker and milliner has made more headway than among the -poor Chezzetcook people. Grand Pré itself, and most of the old Acadian -settlements, are inhabited by a purely British race--descendants of the -North of Ireland and New England settlers who received grants of the -confiscated lands. By a singular turn of fortune’s wheel the descendants -of another expatriated race--the American loyalists--now people a large -part of the province once held by the exiled Acadians. - - -THE PATIENT CHURCH. - - Bide thou thy time! - Watch with meek eyes the race of pride and crime, - Sit in the gate, and be the heathen’s jest, - Smiling and self-possest. - O thou, to whom is pledged a victor’s sway, - Bide thou the victor’s day! - - Think on the sin - That reap’d the unripe seed, and toil’d to win - Foul history-marks at Bethel and at Dan-- - No blessing, but a ban; - Whilst the wise Shepherd hid his heaven-told fate, - Nor reck’d a tyrant’s hate. - - Such loss is gain; - Wait the bright Advent that shall loose thy chain! - E’en now the shadows break, and gleams divine - Edge the dim, distant line. - When thrones are trembling, and earth’s fat ones quail, - True seed! thou shalt prevail. - - --NEWMAN. - - -SIR THOMAS MORE. - -_A HISTORICAL ROMANCE._ - -FROM THE FRENCH OF THE PRINCESSE DE CRAON. - -IV. - -William du Bellay having remained in France, M. de Vaux had been sent to -replace him in England. The latter, having but recently returned from -Rome, where he was attached to the embassy of M. de Grammont, French -ambassador to that court, was not yet initiated into the state of affairs -as they existed at the court of Henry VIII. - -Du Bellay was not satisfied with the change; and the old diplomate, -finding his new assistant inclined to be somewhat dull, undertook to -enlighten him--leading him on step by step into the intricacies of -diplomacy, like a mother, or rather a governess, a little brusque, who is -impatient at the slow progress the child makes in learning to walk. - -“Come!” he exclaimed, “I see you understand nothing of this; so I shall -have to be patient and begin it all over again. It is incredible,” he -added, by way of digression, addressing himself to the public (who was -absent), “what absurd reports are circulated outside with regard to what -we say and do in our secret negotiations! It extends even to all these -harebrains of the court; but you who have a foot in diplomacy I cannot -excuse. Come, let us see--we say: - -“When my brother left, he went to demand on the part of Henry VIII., of -the universities of France, and above all that of Paris (preponderating -over all the others)--remark well: to demand, I say--that they should -give decisions favorable to the divorce. Now, this point appeared at -first quite insignificant; but it is just here we have shown our ability -(I would say I, but I do not wish to vaunt _myself_ over a young man -just starting out in the world like yourself). Then our king has replied -to the King of England that he would ask nothing better than to use his -influence with the universities to induce them to give satisfaction on -this subject; but that (notice this especially) the Emperor Charles V. -had made precisely the same demand in an opposite direction, in favor of -Queen Catherine, his aunt; that if he refused the emperor, he would be -extremely displeased, and that he was compelled to reflect a second time, -because the princes, his children, were held as hostages in the hands of -the emperor, and in spite of all his efforts he had not yet been able to -pay the price of their ransom stipulated at the treaty of Cambrai. - -“It then remained to say that we could do nothing for him--on the -contrary, must oppose him so long as the children were held prisoners, -or while there was even a chance that they would be restored to us -on condition that we should throw our influence on the side of Queen -Catherine. All of which is as clear as day--is it not? Now you are going -to see if I have understood how to take advantage of these considerations -with Henry VIII.” - -Saying this, with a slightly derisive smile, Du Bellay took from a drawer -a casket of green sharkskin, which he handed to De Vaux, who opened it -eagerly. - -“Oh! how beautiful,” he exclaimed, taking from the case and holding up in -the sunlight a magnificent _fleur de lis_ composed entirely of diamonds. -“Oh! this is most superb.” - -“Yes, it is beautiful!” replied Du Bellay with a satisfied air, “and -worth one hundred and fifty thousand crowns. Philip, the emperor’s -father, pledged it to the King of England for that sum. We are obliged -by the treaty to redeem it; but as we have not the money to pay, it has -been made a present to us. And here is what is better still,” he added, -displaying a quittance--“a receipt in full for five hundred thousand -crowns which the emperor owed Henry VIII.; and he now makes a present -of it to Francis I., to enable him to pay immediately the two millions -required for the ransom of the princes.” - -“That is admirable!” cried De Vaux. “It must be admitted, my lord, that -we shall be under great obligations to Mlle. Anne.” - -“All disorders cost dear, my child,” replied Du Bellay; “and if this -continues, they will ruin England. Think of what will have to be paid yet -to the University of Paris!…” - -“And do you suppose they will consent to this demand?” interrupted De -Vaux. - -“No, truly, I do not believe it,” replied Du Bellay. “Except Master -Gervais, who is always found ready to do anything asked of him, I know -not how they will decide; but, between ourselves, I tell you I believe -they will be against it. But, observe, we have not promised a favorable -decision--we have only left it to be hoped for; which is quite a -different thing.” - -“That is very adroit,” replied De Vaux, “assuredly; but it seems to me -not very honest.” - -“How! not honest?” murmured Du Bellay, contracting his little gray -eyebrows, and fixing his greenish eyes on the fair face of the youth. -“Not honest!” he again exclaimed in a stentorian voice. “Where do you -come from, then, young man? Know that among these people honesty is -a thing unheard of. Others less candid than myself may tell you the -contrary, knowing very well that such is not the truth. They arrange -projects with the intention of defeating them; they sign treaties with -the studied purpose of violating them; they swear to keep the peace in -order to prepare for war; and a state sells her authority and puts her -influence in the balance of the world in favor of the highest bidder. -Let the price be earth or metal, it is of no consequence; I make no -distinction. When Henry devastated our territories and took possession -of our provinces, was it just? No! ‘Might makes right’; that is the -veritable law of nations--the only one they are willing to acknowledge or -adopt. In default of strength, there remains stratagem; and I must use -it!” - -“Under existing circumstances you are right,” replied De Vaux, replacing -in its case the superb _fleur de lis_, and again waving it in the -sunlight. “It is a pity,” he added, “that they may be obliged to return -this; it would set off wonderfully well the wedding dress of the future -Duchess of Orleans.” - -“What! are they speaking already of the marriage of the young Duke of -Orleans?” asked Du Bellay in surprise. - -“Ah! that is a great secret,” replied De Vaux confidentially. “You know -our king has not abandoned the idea of subjugating the Milanese, and, to -ensure the pope’s friendship, he offers to marry his second son to his -niece, the young Catherine de’ Medici.” - -“No!” cried M. du Bellay. “No, it is impossible! How can they forget that -but a short time since the Medici family was composed of only the simple -merchants of Florence?” - -“It has all been arranged, notwithstanding,” replied De Vaux. “In spite -of all our precautions, the emperor has been apprised of it. At first -he refused to credit it, and would not believe the King of France could -really think of allying his noble blood with that of the Medici. In the -meantime he has been so much frightened, lest the hope of this alliance -would not sufficiently dazzle Clement VIII., that he has made a proposal -to break off the marriage of his niece, the Princess of Denmark, with -the Duke of Milan, and substitute the young Catherine in her place. We -have, as you may well suppose, promptly advised M. de Montmorency of -all these things, who returned us, on the spot, full power to sign the -articles. M. de Grammont immediately carried them to the pope; and he was -greatly delighted, as Austria, it seems, had already got ahead of us, -and persuaded him that we had no other intention than to deceive him and -gain time. Now everything is harmoniously arranged. They promise for the -marriage portion of Catherine Reggio, Pisa, Leghorn, Modena, Ribera, the -Duchy of Urbino; and Francis I. cedes to his son his claims to the Duchy -of Milan.” - -“Sad compensation for a bad marriage!” replied M. du Bellay angrily: -“new complications which will only result in bringing about interminable -disputes! Princes can never learn to be contented with the territory -already belonging to them. Although they may not possess sufficient -ability to govern even _that_ well, still they are always trying to -extend it. War must waste and ruin a happy and flourishing country, in -order to put them in possession of a few feet of desolated earth, all -sprinkled with gold and watered with blood.” - -“Ah! yes,” interrupted De Vaux earnestly, “we have learned this cruelly -and to our cost. And relentless history will record without regret the -account of our reverses, and the captivity of a king so valiant and -dauntless--a king who has sacrificed everything save his honor.” - -“Reflect, my dear, on all this. The honor of a king consists not in -sacrificing the happiness of his people. A soldier should be brave--the -head of a nation should be wise and prudent,” replied Du Bellay, as he -turned over a great file of papers in search of something, “Valor without -prudence is worthless. The intrigues of the cabinet are more certain; -they are of more value than the best generals. They, at least, are never -entirely defeated; the disaster of the evening inspires renewed strength -for the morrow. Cold, hunger, and sickness are not able to destroy -them.… They can only waste a few words or lose a sum of money. A dozen -well-chosen spies spread their toils in every direction; we hold them -like bundles of straw in our hands; they glide in the dark, slip through -your fingers--an army that cannot be captured, which exists not and yet -never dies; which drags to the tribunal of those who pay them, without -pity as without discrimination, without violence as without hesitation, -the hearts of all mankind. - -“Gold, my child, but never blood! With bread we can move the world; with -blood we destroy it. Your heart, young man, leaps within you at the sound -of the shrill trumpet, when glittering banners wave and the noise of -battle inebriates your soul. But look behind you, child, look behind you: -the squadron has passed. Hear the shrieks and groans of the dying. Behold -those men dragging themselves over the trampled field; their heads gashed -and bleeding, their bones dislocated, their limbs torn; streams of blood -flow from their wounds; they die in an ocean furnished from their own -lacerated veins. Go there to the field of carnage and death; pause beside -that man with pallid face and agonized expression; think of the tender -care and painful anxiety of the mother who reared him from his cradle. -How often she has pressed her lips upon the golden curls of her boy, the -hope of her old age, which must now end in despair! Reflect there, upon -the field of carnage and death, on the tender caresses of wives, sisters, -and friends. Imagine the brother’s grief, the deep anguish of the father. -Alas! all these recollections pass in an instant before the half-open -eyes of the dying. Farewell! dream of glory, hateful vision now for ever -vanished. Life is almost extinct, yet with the latest breath he thinks -but of them! ‘They will see me no more! I must die far away, without -being able to bid them a last adieu.’ Such are the bitter thoughts -murmured by his dying lips as the last sigh is breathed forth. Tell me, -young man, have you never reflected when, on the field glittering in the -bright summer sunshine, you have seen the heavy, well-drilled battalions -advance; when the prince rode in the midst of them, and they saluted him -with shouts of enthusiasm and love; when that prince, a weak man like -themselves, elated with pride, said to them: ‘March on to death; it is -for me that you go!’ For you! And who are you? Their executioner, who -throws their ashes to the wind of your ambition, to satisfy the thirst -of your covetousness, the insolent pride of your name, which the century -will see buried in oblivion! Ah! my son,” continued the old diplomate, -deeply affected, with his hands crossed on the packet of papers, that he -had entirely forgotten, “if you knew how much I have seen in my life of -these horrible calamities, of these monstrous follies, which devastate -the world! If you but knew how my heart has groaned within me, concealed -beneath my gloomy visage, my exterior as impassible as my garments, you -would understand how I hate them, these mighty conquerors, these vile -plagues of the earth, and how I count as nothing the sack of gold which -lies at the bottom of the precipice over which they push us, the adroit -fraud that turns them aside from their course! But shall I weep like -an old woman?” he suddenly exclaimed, vexed at being betrayed into the -expression of so much emotion. - -Hastily brushing the tear from his cheek, he began examining the package -of papers, and, instantly recovering his usual composure, became M. du -Bellay, the diplomate. - -Young De Vaux, greatly surprised at the excess of feeling into which -the ambassador had suddenly been betrayed, so much at variance with his -previous manner, as well as his rule of conduct and the rather brusque -reception he had given him, still remembered it when all thought of the -occurrence had passed from the mind of his superior. - -“Here, sir, read that,” he exclaimed, throwing the young man a small -scrap of paper. - -“I will read it, my lord.” - -“Read aloud, sir.” - -“‘Cardinal Wolsey, overcome by grief and alarm, has fallen dangerously -ill. The king has been informed of it; he has ordered three physicians -to Asher, and obliged Lady Anne to send him the golden tablets in token -of his reconciliation. Furthermore, it is certainly true that the king -has said: “I would not lose Wolsey for twenty thousand pounds.” It is -unnecessary to impress upon my lord the importance of this event. My lord -will, I hope, approve of the celerity with which I have despatched this -information.’” - -“It is without signature!” said De Vaux. - -“I credit it entirely,” murmured Du Bellay. - -“By my faith, I am delighted! These golden tablets afford me extreme -pleasure,” said De Vaux. “This will revive the hopes of poor Cardinal -Wolsey.” - -“And that is all!… And you, content to know that he is happy, will remain -quietly seated in your chair, I suppose,” said M. du Bellay, fixing his -green eyes, lighted with a brilliant gleam, on young De Vaux. “Monsieur!” -he continued, “it is not in this way a man attends to the business of -his country. Since the day the cardinal was exiled, I have deliberated -whether I should go to see him or not. My heart prompted me to do so, but -it was not my heart I had to consult. I was persuaded the king would not -be able to dispense with him, and sooner or later he would be recalled to -the head of affairs. In that case I felt inclined to give him a proof of -my attachment in his disgrace. But, on the other hand, that intriguing -family who are constantly buzzing around the king induced me constantly -to hesitate. Now I believe we have almost nothing more to fear; we will -arrive there, perhaps, before the physicians, and later we shall know how -to proceed.” - -“Most willingly!” cried De Vaux. “I shall be happy indeed to see this -celebrated man, of whom I have heard so many different opinions.” - -“Doubtless,” interrupted Du Bellay impatiently, “pronounced by what -is styled ‘public opinion’--a tribunal composed of the ignorant, the -deluded, and short-sighted, who always clamor louder than others, and -who take great care, in order to avoid compromising their stupidity, to -prefix the ominous ‘they say’ to all their statements. As for me, I say -they invariably display more hatred toward the virtues they envy than the -vices they pretend to despise; and they will judge a man more severely -and criticise him more harshly for the good he has tried to do than for -what he may have left undone.… Gossiping, prying crowd, pronouncing -judgment and knowing nothing, who will cast popularity like a vile mantle -over the shoulders of any man who will basely stoop low enough before -them to receive it! He who endeavors to please all pleases none,” added -M. du Bellay, with a singularly scornful expression. “To live for his -king, and above all for his country, despising the blame or hatred of -the vulgar, should be the motto of every public man; and God grant I may -never cease to remember it!” - -“You believe, then, the cardinal will be restored to the head of -affairs?” asked De Vaux, running his fingers through his blonde curls, -and rising to depart. - -“I am not sure of it yet,” replied Du Bellay; “we are going to find -out. If the crowd surrounds him, as eager to pay him homage to-day as -they were yesterday to overwhelm him with scorn and contempt; if, in a -word, the courtiers sigh and groan around his bed, and pretend to feel -the deepest concern, it will be a most certain indication of his return -to favor. And, to speak frankly, I believe the king already begins to -discover that no one can replace the cardinal near his person as private -secretary; for that poor Gardiner copies a despatch with more difficulty -than his predecessor dictated one.” - -M. du Bellay arose and started, followed by De Vaux, to the bank of the -Thames, where they entered a large boat already filled with passengers -awaiting the moment of departure to ascend the river either to Chelsea, -Battersea, or as far as Pultney, where the boat stopped. Bales of -merchandise were piled up in the centre, on which were seated a number -of substantial citizens conversing together with their hands in their -pockets, and wearing the self-sufficient air of men the extent of whose -purse and credit were well understood. - -They fixed, at first, a scrutinizing glance on the new arrivals, and -then resumed their conversation. - -“Come, come, let us be off now!” exclaimed a young man, balancing himself -on one foot. “Here is half an hour lost, and I declare I must be at -Chelsea to dinner.” - -“Indeed, it is already an hour. Look here! This cockswain doesn’t -resemble our parliament at all; _that_ does everything it is told to do!” -he added, as he sauntered into the midst of the crowd. - -“Hold your tongue, William,” immediately replied one of them; “you don’t -recollect any more, I suppose, the assembly at Bridewell, where the king, -knowing we condemned his course in the divorce affair, after having -seized all the arms in the city, told us himself there was no head so -high but he would make it fall if it attempted to resist him.” - -“What shameful tyranny!” replied another, rolling a bundle under -his foot. “I cannot think of it without my blood boiling. Are these -Englishmen he treats in this manner?” - -“And that wicked cardinal,” continued his neighbor in a loud, shrill -voice--“he was standing by the king, and looking at us with his -threatening eyes. He has been the cause of all the troubles we have had -with this affair. But we are rid of him, at last.” - -“We are rid of him, did you say?” interrupted a man about fifty or sixty -years of age, who appeared to be naturally phlegmatic and thoughtful. -“You are very well contented, it seems to me; … but it is because you -only think of the present, and give yourself no concern whatever about -the future. Ah! well, in a few days we will see if you are as well -satisfied.” - -“And why not then?” they all exclaimed in the same voice. - -“Because, I tell you, because …” - -“Explain yourself more clearly, Master Wrilliot,” continued young -William. “You always know what’s going to happen better than anybody -else.” - -“Ah! yes, I know it only too well, in fact, my young friend,” he replied, -shaking his head ominously; “and we will very soon learn to our sorrow -that if the favor of the cardinal costs us dear, his disgrace will cost -us still more. Parliament is going to remit all the king’s debts.” - -“What! all of his debts? But Parliament has no right to do this!” they -all exclaimed. - -“No; but it will take the right!” replied Master Wrilliot. “William will -lose half of his wife’s marriage portion, which, if I mistake not, his -father gave him in royal trust; and I shall lose fifteen thousand crowns -for which I was foolish enough to accept the deed of conveyance.” - -“Ah! ah! that will be too unjust; it ought not to be,” they all repeated. - -“Yes,” continued this far-seeing interlocutor, shaking his head -contemptuously, “the king has no money to pay us. War has drained his -private treasury, but he nevertheless draws from it abundant means to -ransom French princes, who make him believe they will marry him to that -lady Boleyn; and if you do not believe me, go ask these Frenchmen who are -here present,” he added, raising his voice, and casting on MM. du Bellay -and de Vaux a glance of cold, disdainful wrath. - -M. du Bellay had lost nothing of the conversation; it was held too near -him, and was too openly hostile for him to feign not to remark it. -Finding himself recognized, and neither being able to reply to a positive -interrogation nor to keep silence, he measured in his turn, very coolly, -and without permitting the least indication of emotion or anger to -appear, the face and form of his adversary. - -“Sir;” he exclaimed, regarding him steadily, “who are you, and by what -right do you call me to account? If it is your curiosity that impels you, -it will not be gratified; if, on the contrary, you dare seek to insult -me, you should know I will not suffer it. Answer me!” - -“The best you can make of it will be worth nothing,” replied, with -a loud burst of laughter, a Genoese merchant who did not recognize -the ambassador, as he sat by the men who directed the boat. “Forget -your quarrel, gentlemen, and, instead of disputing, come look at this -beautiful vessel we are just going to pass. See, she is getting ready -to sail. A fine ship-load!--a set of adventurers who go to try their -fortunes in the new world discovered by one of my countrymen,” he added -with an air of intense satisfaction. - -“Poor Columbus!” replied one of the citizens, “he experienced throughout -his life that glory does not give happiness, and envy and ingratitude -united together to crush his genius. Do you not believe, if he could have -foreseen the cruelties Hernando Cortez and Pizarro exercised toward the -people whom he discovered, he would have preferred leaving the secret of -their existence buried for ever in the bosom of the stormy sea that bore -him to Europe, rather than to have announced there the success of his -voyage?” - -“I believe it,” said Wrilliot, “his soul was so beautiful! He loved -humanity.” - -“Christopher Columbus!” exclaimed young William, full of youthful -enthusiasm and admiration for a man whose home was the ocean. “I cannot -hear his name pronounced without emotion! I always imagine I see him -in that old convent of Salamanca, before those learned professors and -erudite monks assembled to listen to a project which in their opinion was -as rash as it was foolish. - -“‘How do you suppose,’ said they, ‘that your vessel will ever reach the -extremity of the Indies, since you pretend that the earth is round? You -would never be able to return; for what amount of wind do you imagine it -would require to enable your ship to remount the liquid mountain which -it had so easily descended? And do you forget that no creature can live -under the scorching atmosphere of the torrid zone?’ - -“Columbus refuted their arguments; but these doctors still insisted, -nor hesitated to openly demand of him how he could be so presumptuous -as to believe, if the thing had been as he said, it could have remained -undiscovered by so many illustrious men, born before him, and who had -attained the highest degree of learning, while for him alone should have -been reserved the development of this grand idea.” - -“And yet,” said Wrilliot, who had listened in silence, “it was permitted, -some years later, that he should go down to the grave wearing the chains -with which his persecutors had loaded him, in order to keep him away from -the world that he alone had been able to discover!” - -“What perseverance! What obstacles he succeeded in overcoming!” replied -one of those who had first spoken. “I shall always, while I live, recall -with pleasure having been of service to his brother Bartholomew when he -came to this country.” - -“What! he came here?” repeated William. - -“Yes, and was in my own house,” continued the citizen. “Christopher, -finding the senate of Genoa and the King of Portugal refused equally -to listen or furnish him with vessels necessary for the enterprise -he had so long meditated, sent his brother to King Henry VII. He was -unfortunately captured, in coming over, by some pirates, who kept him in -slavery. Many years elapsed before he succeeded in escaping and reaching -England, where he found himself reduced to such a state of destitution -that he was obliged to design charts for a living, and to enable him to -present himself in decent apparel at court. The king gave him a favorable -reception, but Christopher, in the meantime, receiving no intelligence -from his brother, solicited so earnestly the court of Spain that he -obtained two small vessels from Isabella of Castile, and very soon after -Europe learned of the existence of another hemisphere. Spain planted her -standard there, and we thus lost the advantages which were destined for -us.” - -“I do not regret it,” replied an old man sitting in the midst of the -crowd, who had until that time maintained a profound silence. “Is it -not better for a nation to be less rich and powerful than stained with -so many crimes? It is now but thirty-eight years since Columbus founded -the colony of San Domingo. This island then contained a million of -inhabitants; to-day there scarcely remain forty thousand. But,” pursued -the old man with a bitter smile, “they will not stop there. No; they will -not confine their barbarous exploits to that miserable region. They are -renewing in Peru the carnage they carried on in Mexico. It is necessary -to have a great many places for a man to die--to pass a few moments, and -then go and hide himself in the grave! I have already lived seventy-nine -years, and yet it seems to me now that my left hand still rests on my -cradle. I can scarcely believe that these white locks are scattered upon -my head; for my life has sped like the fleeting dream of a single night -that has passed. Yes, William,” continued the old man, “you look at me -with astonishment, and your eyes, full of youthful fire, are fixed upon -mine, in which the light has long been extinguished. Ah! well, you will -very soon see it extinguished in your own, but not before you will have -witnessed all their cruelties.” - -“That is bad,” replied William. “But these Indians are stupid and -indolent beyond all parallel;[232] they will neither work nor pay the -taxes imposed on them.” - -“And from whom do the Spaniards claim the right of reducing these people -to a state of servitude,” exclaimed the old man indignantly, “and to -treat them like beasts of burden whom they are privileged to exterminate -with impunity, and carry off the gold their avarice covets, the dagger -in one hand, the scourge in the other? They ensure them, they say, the -happiness of knowing the Christian religion! How dare they presume to -instruct these people in that Gospel of peace which commands us to love -our neighbor as ourselves, to detach our hearts from the things of the -world, and, leaving our offering before the altar, go and be reconciled -with our enemy?” - -“From that point of view your argument would seem just,” replied William; -“but the fact is, if the Spaniards did not force these islanders to work -them, the mines would remain unproductive, the fields uncultivated, and -the colonies would perish.” - -“You are mistaken,” replied the old man. “In acting as she does Spain -destroys in her own womb the source from whence she would draw an immense -revenue. If she had been satisfied to establish an honest and peaceable -commerce with these countries, her industry, excited to the highest -degree by the rich commodities of exchange, would have conferred an -incalculable benefit on an entire people whom her blind cupidity has -induced her to crush and destroy. - -“Do you suppose these isolated negroes they buy at such enormous prices -will ever be able to replace the native inhabitants who live and die in -their own country? This strange and ferocious population will remain -among the colonies, enemies always ready to revolt; a yoke of iron and -blood will alone be sufficient to keep them in subjection. But let these -masters tremble if ever the power falls into the hands of their slaves!” - -MM. du Bellay and de Vaux listened to this conversation in silence, and -the diversion was at first agreeable; but they were soon convinced that -they were suddenly becoming again the objects of general attention. - -“I tell you,” exclaimed one, “they are going to look for the cardinal and -bring him back to court.” - -“Well!” replied another, “I would like to see M. du Bellay in the place -of the legate Campeggio.” - -“Ah! and what have they done with him, then?” they all eagerly demanded. - -“He was arrested at Dover, where he had gone to embark. He was -dreadfully alarmed, believing they came to assassinate him. His baggage -was searched, in order to find Wolsey’s treasures, with which he was -entrusted, they said, for safe keeping.” - -“And did they find them?” asked the Genoese merchant, eagerly leaning -forward at the sound of the word treasure. - -“It seems they did not find them,” was the reply. - -“Hear what they say!” whispered young De Vaux in the ear of M. du Bellay. - -“I presume they were in search of the legal documents, but they were too -late. They have long ago arrived in Italy. Campeggio was careful enough -to send them secretly by his _son_ Rudolph.[233] I often saw this young -man in Rome, and heard him say his father had entrusted him with all his -correspondence and despatches,[234] as he was not certain what fate Henry -had in store for him.” - -“You say,” replied young William, elevating his voice in order that M. du -Bellay might hear him, “that the king has sent the Earl of Wiltshire to -Rome to solicit his divorce. He had better make all these strangers leave -who come into our country only to sow discord, and then gather the fruits -of their villany.” - -This speech, although spoken indirectly, was evidently intended for -the two Frenchmen; but the Genoese merchant, always inclined to be -suspicious, immediately applied it to himself. - -“Master William,” he exclaimed, reddening with anger, “have you forgotten -that for twenty years I have been a commercial friend of your father. -And if he has made his fortune with our velvets and silks, to whom does -he owe it, if not to those who, by their honesty and promptness in -fulfilling their engagements, were the first cause of his success? Now, -because you are able to live without work, you take on this insulting -manner--very insulting indeed. However, I give you to understand that, -if it suited me to do it, I could make as great a display of luxury -and wealth as yourself, and can count on my dresser as many dishes and -flagons of silver as you have; and if it suited me to remain at home, -there is no necessity for me to travel any more on business.” - -The merchant continued to boast of his fortune, and William began to -explain that his remarks were by no means intended for him, when the -passengers began to cry out: “Land! land! Here is Chelsea; we land at -Chelsea.” - -The rowers halted immediately, and the little boats sent from the shore -came to take off the passengers who wished to land. - -Almost all of them went; none remaining on the boat except the -ambassador, the Genoese merchant, and two citizens whose retiring and -prudent character could be read in the quiet, thoughtful expression of -their faces. They gazed for a long time on the surrounding country; at -last one of them hazarded the question: - -“Do you know who owns that white house with the terraced garden extending -down to the bank of the Thames?” - -“That is the residence of Sir Thomas More, the new chancellor,” replied -his companion methodically. - -“Ah! it does not make much show. Do you know this new chancellor?” - -“By my faith, no! However, I saw him the other day on the square at -Westminster, as I was passing; the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk were -conducting him with great ceremony to the Star Chamber (at least that -is what they told me). I stopped to look at him. There was an immense -crowd filling all the square. In crossing it the Duke of Norfolk stopped, -and, turning to the crowd before him, said the king had instructed him -to publicly proclaim what great and important services Sir Thomas had -rendered him in every position he had confided to his care, and it was -on that account he esteemed him so highly, and had appointed him now to -the highest position in the kingdom because of his virtues and the rare -talents he possessed. Everybody listened and said nothing (because you -know the last is always the best).” The citizen said this in a very low -tone. - -“More replied very well,” he continued. “He said that, while deeply -grateful for his majesty’s goodness and favors, he felt no less deeply -convinced that the king had rewarded him far beyond his merits; in all -he had accomplished he had but done his duty, and he greatly feared now -that he might not possess the ability necessary for acquitting himself of -the duties of so high and important an office. And--a very singular thing -(for they do not usually speak of their predecessors)--he declared that -he could not rejoice in the honor conferred on him, as it recalled the -name of the wise and honorable prelate whom he had superseded. On hearing -that I supposed they would hiss; but not at all. He said everything so -well, with so much sincerity, dignity, and firmness, that they applauded -him with an indescribable enthusiasm. It seemed those who knew him were -never satisfied with praising him. Nobody, they said, rendered justice so -scrupulously as he; none were so wise, so disinterested; in fact, they -never ended the recital of his perfections.” - -“Ah!” said the other, in a voice scarcely audible, while he looked round -to discover if any one could hear him, “we will see later if he performs -all these wonderful things, and if any one will be able to get near him -without paying even his doorkeeper, as was the case with the other.” - -“Yes, we will see,” replied his companion. “None of these great lords are -worth much--any amount of _promises_; but of _deeds_--nothing!” - -“But this is not a great lord,” answered the citizen. - -“Ah! well, it is all the same; as soon as they rise, they grow proud, -and despise and scorn the people. You may believe if ever I obtain a -patent of nobility, and become still richer than I am now, I will crush -them beautifully; there will not be one who will dare contradict me. By -my faith! it is a great pity I had not been born a count or a baron; -I should have been so well up to all their impertinences and want of -feeling.” - -“It is not very difficult,” replied his companion; “you are, I think, -sufficiently so now for the good of that poor youth who wants to marry -your daughter. He will lose his senses, I am afraid, poor fellow.” - -“What did you say, neighbor?” replied the citizen, feeling the blood -mount to his face. “Do you think I will give my daughter to a wretch who -has not a cent in the world--I who have held in my family the right of -citizenship from time immemorial? My grandmother also told me we have had -two aldermen of our name. All that counts, you see, Master Allicot; and -if you wish to remain my friend, I advise you not to meddle yourself with -the tattle of my wife and daughter on the subject of that little wretch -they are putting it into her head to marry; because, in truth, the mother -is as bad as the daughter. Ah! neighbor, these women, these women are the -plagues of our lives! Don’t say any more to me about it. They will run -me distracted; but they will make nothing by it, I swear it, neighbor. -The silly jades! to dare speak to me of such a match! Hush! don’t say any -more to me about it, neighbor; for it will drive me mad!” - -The neighbor _did_ reply, however, because he had been commissioned to -use his influence in softening the husband and father in favor of a young -mechanic full of life and health, who had no other fault than that of -belonging to a class less elevated than that of the proud citizen who -rejected his humble supplications with scorn. - -But the _dénouement_ of this embassy, and the termination of this -romance of the warehouse, have been for ever lost to history; for M. du -Bellay, seeing they were almost in sight of Asher, made them land him, -and the two honorable citizens doubtless continued their journey and -their conversation. - -At Asher M. du Bellay found everything just as he expected. The -physicians surrounded Wolsey’s bed, watching his slightest movement. -The golden tablets of young Anne Boleyn were thrown open upon the -coarse woollen bedspread that covered the sick man. Cromwell walked the -floor with folded arms. He approached the bed from time to time, looked -at Wolsey, whose closed eyes and labored breathing betokened nothing -favorable, then at the golden tablets, then at the physicians around -him. He seemed to say, “Is he going to die, and just when he might be so -useful to me?” - -On seeing M. du Bellay enter, his countenance lighted up; he ran on -before him, and endeavored to arouse Wolsey from his stupor. - -“My lord, the ambassador of France!” he cried in the ear of the dying man. - -But he received no reply. - -“It is singular,” said the doctors, “nothing can arouse him.” And they -looked gravely at each other. - -“He will not die! I tell you he will not die!” replied Cromwell, evincing -the most impatient anxiety. - -He approached the cardinal and shook his head. - -“Crom--well,” murmured the sick man. - -“Monsieur du Bellay!” shouted Cromwell a second time. - -Wolsey’s eyes remained closed. - -“Let him alone,” cried the physicians; “he must not be excited.” - -“So I think,” said M. du Bellay. “You can tell him I have been here,” -continued the ambassador, turning towards Cromwell, “but did not wish to -disturb him.” - -M. du Bellay then took his leave, and returned by the land route to -London. He encountered, not far from Asher, a party of the cardinal’s old -domestics, whom the king had sent to carry him several wagon-loads of -furniture and other effects. At the head of this convoy rode Cavendish, -one of the cardinal’s most faithful servants. - -Seeing M. du Bellay, they collected around him, and hastily inquired -about their master. - -Du Bellay advised them to quicken their speed, and, taking leave, went -on his way, thinking that the cardinal would not be restored to favor, -and already arranging in his mind another course in which to direct his -diplomatic steps for the future. - -He was not mistaken: Wolsey escaped death, but only to find himself -surrounded by misery and abandoned to despair. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -PRIMITIVE CIVILIZATION.[235] - -If our modern men of science would not travel out of their sphere, -there would be no war between them and the church. In the name of the -Catholic religion we invite them to push onward in the path of scientific -discovery with the utmost energy and ardor of which they are capable. -But if their discoveries are to have any bearing on the truths of the -Christian revelation, we can accept nothing less than demonstration, and -they must not credit science, as does Mr. Tyndall, with mere theories -of speculative philosophy. With this reservation, we wish their labors -all possible success. But if poor fallible reason--whose discoveries, -after whole millenniums of toil, are little better than a record of the -blunders of one generation corrected by the blunders of another; and, -even on the supposition that they are all correct, are, by comparison -with what is unknown, as a drop of water compared with the limitless -ocean--ventures to deny the existence of the soul because it has no -lens powerful enough to bring it within the cognizance of the senses, -its conclusion is no longer scientific. The doctor has become a quack, -the philosopher a fool. If the torch which the Creator has placed at -the service of his creature, to help him to grope his way amidst the -objects of sense, and to illuminate his faith, is to be flung in his -face because it does not reveal the whole infinitude of the majesty of -his beauty, we can only compassionate so childish a misuse of a noble -gift. If natural philosophy is to rob the sensible creation of a motive -and end, and to proclaim it to be merely the result of an unintelligent -atomic attraction and evolution of forces, a more intelligent and a -more logical philosophy, in harmony with the unquenchable instinct of -immortality within the human soul, casts from it such pitiful trifling -with indignation and a holy disdain. If, in short, the science of nature -would dethrone nature’s Creator and God, we address to it the word which -He to whom all true science leads addressed to the ocean he placed in the -deep hollows of the earth: “Hitherto thou shalt come, and thou shalt go -no farther: and here thou shalt break thy swelling waves.” - -Physical science cannot contradict the divine revelation. No discovery -hitherto made has done so; and until one such presents itself we are -entitled to assume its impossibility as a philosophical axiom. For this -reason we are of those who would give full rein to even the speculations -of experimental philosophy, so long as they are confined strictly within -the domain of secondary causes or natural law, and do not venture into a -sphere of thought beyond the reach of experimental science, where they -are immediately confronted with the dogmas of the faith. - -We have never thought that the theory of the evolution of species -must of necessity transgress that limit. It has been made to do so by -_philosophuli_, if we may invent a name for them--speculative bigots, -who are bent on extorting from natural phenomena any plausible support -of the infidel prejudices of which they were previously possessed. A -more intelligent observation of scientific facts would have saved them -from a ridiculous extravagance which makes them resemble those afflicted -creatures, whom we so often meet with in asylums for the insane, who -suppose themselves to be God. - -We must never lose sight of the fact that God can only communicate with -his creature in such a way as he can understand. If he were to reveal -himself to any of us as he is, we should die, unless he supplied us with -a miraculous capacity for supporting the vision. If he had inspired the -historian of those primitive ages to describe the astronomical phenomenon -which happened in the time of Joshua in the exact language of physical -science, what meaning would it have conveyed to people who did not -know that the earth revolves around its own axis and around the sun? -If it be objected, Why did not the Holy Spirit use language consistent -with scientific truth, and leave it to be understood afterwards in the -progress of science? we reply, Because it would have thwarted his own -designs to have done so. The Bible is a book of instruction in truth out -of the reach of human intelligence, not a book of natural science; and -it appeals to the obedience of faith rather than to reason. The mental -toil of scientific discovery was a part of the punishment inflicted on -the original transgression. To anticipate the result of that toil by -thousands of years would have been to contradict His own dispensation. - -In the same manner the sublime record of the genesis of the illimitable -universe which weaves its dance of light in space is told in a few -sentences: The fiat of Him with whom one day is as a thousand years, -and a thousand years as one day, and the successive order of the -creation--that is all. Time was not then, for it was the creation of -time. Man can conceive no ideas independent of time, and so days are -named; but it is evident that the word may stand for indeterminate -periods of time. The creation of light was, it cannot be doubted, -instantaneous. But that creation was a law--limitation, relation, -succession--whose working was an evolution in successive orders or -stages, over which presided the Creator, and still presides. “My Father -worketh hitherto, and I work.” Each of these was a distinct creation, -perfect in itself, not an evolution of species. The creation was -progressive, but not in the sense of the creation of every one of its -six cycles evolving out of the preceding one; for in that case either -the lower would have disappeared or the evolution would be still in -operation. The firmament did not develop out of light, nor the ocean -and the dry land out of the firmament; nor were the fishes an evolution -from the sea-weed, nor the birds from the trees and shrubs, nor the wild -beasts from the reeds of the jungle, nor man from the lower animals. But -they were all to be made before his creation who was the sum and end -of all; and the atmosphere must be created before the birds, the ocean -before the fishes, the dry land before vegetable life. - -And not only was there never any evolution of species into other species, -but the creation of every separate species was complete, so that -there has never been an evolution of any species into a higher state -or condition. There has never been any progress in that sense. Every -species, including the human being, remains precisely as it issued from -the hand of God, when it has not degenerated or disappeared. Indeed, -the tendency of all living things around us is to degeneracy and decay. -Whatever progress can be predicated of man is of his moral nature only, -and of his knowledge, through the divine revelation. But even that is not -a race progress, an evolution of species, but an individual one. If this -be conceded--and we think it scarcely admits of dispute--we see no danger -to the dogmas of the faith in allowing to the natural philosophers any -length of ages they may claim for the creation of the home of man before -he was called into being for whom it was destined. - -Whatever period of time was covered by those cycles of creation, -throughout them it may be said that he was being made. If all was for -him and to end in him, it was in effect he who all along was being made. -Yet the whole was only a preparatory creation. It was only his body in -which all resulted. “A body thou hast prepared for me.” It was when “God -breathed into his nostrils the breath of life” that man was created. It -was then he became “a living soul.” - -The error of the physicists who reject revelation is threefold. They make -the body the man; they thus assign to his body and the inner principle -which animates it a simultaneous beginning and joint development, some -of them going so far as to make the spirit itself, or soul, or whatever -they call the animating principle, the spontaneous product of material -forces. And, throwing back the beginning of the evolution process into -untold ages, by comparison with which the life of an individual is a -scarcely appreciable moment, they suppose the process to be still going -on as it begun. All this obviously contradicts the direct statements of -revelation. It is, indeed, shocking to mere human reason. The work of the -natural creation ended with the sixth day. Up to that time, whether the -periods were long or short, the work was going on. But it was complete -when the body which had been prepared for him was animated with the -spirit of life. After that there was no farther development. It is -contrary to reason to suppose it. It is contrary to the whole analogy of -nature. Not an instance can be adduced, throughout the entire creation, -of one species developing into another--not an instance even of any -species developing within itself into a higher order of being. But up to -that period, of which it is thus written, _Igitur PERFECTI SUNT cœli et -terra, et omnis ornatus eorum: COMPLEVITQUE Deus die septimo opus suum -quod fecerat; et requievit die septimo ab uni verso opere quod patrarat_, -we may admit, without risk of heterodoxy, any doctrine of evolution of -which the physicists may give us a satisfactory evidence. - -The physicists, in support of their irrational theory of evolution, -maintain that the earliest developments of human consciousness were of -the lowest order, and that man has ever since been gradually progressing -towards a higher morality and loftier spheres of thought. In this able -and interesting work Father Thébaud demonstrates, by an exhaustive -induction from the history and literature of all the nations, that the -history of mankind up to the coming of Christ, instead of a progress, was -a continual retrogression. - -In his introductory chapter he establishes, by proofs which should be -conclusive to all minds unprepossessed by an arrogant perversity, that -primitive man was in possession of a primitive revelation. In the morning -twilight of the ages, as far back as we can see across the Flood, up to -the very cherubim-guarded entrance to the seats of innocence from which -the erring creature had been driven, he traces everywhere those rites -and dogmas, in their elemental form, which, in their complete development -and full significance, made known to us by the revelation of the fulness -of time, are still of faith and observance amongst the sons of God from -end to end of the habitable globe. This revelation did not go beyond -monotheism, because the fallen immortal had to be prepared, through -long ages of discipline, for the revelation of the triune nature of the -Godhead, and of his restoration to the forfeited favor of his Father -by the incarnation and atoning sacrifice of the Eternal Son. We do not -remember to have met before with the ingenious hypothesis[236] that the -configuration of the earth, consisting of an all-embracing ocean, in the -midst of which vast continents are islands, evidences the design of the -Creator to have been that “men should have intercourse of some kind with -one another,” and that on the land. - - “The oceans and rivers, instead of being primarily dividing - lines, intended to separate men from one another, had precisely - for their first object to become highways and common channels - of intercourse between the various nations of mankind.” - -But our author considers that the social intercommunion to which the -configuration of the earth was to administer was not to develop in the -form of “an universal republic,” but that “men were to consent to exist -in larger or smaller groups, each of them surrounded with well-defined -limits determining numerous nationalities,” united in the bond of -religious uniformity which he terms patriarchal Catholicity. - -The design of the Creator of universal brotherhood amongst his creatures -was not to be fulfilled before the lapse of ages, and throughout that -dismal period it has the appearance of being perpetually thwarted -by their perverseness. The memories of Paradise rapidly faded away -amongst them. After what period of time we are not told, the sons of -God committed a second infidelity by intermarrying with the daughters -of men. The result was a race of giants--giants in capacity and crime -as well as in bodily form--whose existence universal tradition attests. -In almost open alliance with the powers of darkness, they sank with -such fearful rapidity down the abyss of depravation, dragging with them -the better portion of the race, that, to avert the triumph of hell and -the utter reprobation of his creature, the offended Creator buried the -guilty memories of colossal crime beneath an universal deluge, at whose -subsidence the first civilization reappeared on the mountains of Asia in -all its earliest purity, brought across the forty days’ extinction of -life upon the earth by the eight souls who alone had turned a deaf ear to -the universal seduction. “This idea of a gradual and deeper degradation -of human kind,” says Frederick Schlegel, “in each succeeding age, appears -at first sight not to accord very well with the testimony which sacred -tradition furnishes on man’s primitive state, for it represents the two -races of the primitive world as contemporary; and, indeed, Seth, the -progenitor of the better and nobler race of virtuous patriarchs, was much -younger than Cain. However, this contradiction is only apparent, if we -reflect that it was the wicked and violent race which drew the other into -its disorders, and that it was from this contamination a giant corruption -sprang, which continually increased, till, with a trifling exception, it -pervaded the whole mass of mankind, and till the justice of God required -the extirpation of degenerate humanity by one universal flood.” - -It does not admit of a moment’s doubt, as our author argues, that with -this terrible judgment began the dissolution of that fraternal unity -which God had intended should be the happy lot of the human family, -and for which the configuration of the earth was adapted. The gigantic -unity of crime was smitten to pieces in the helplessness of division. -They who had been brothers looked in one another’s faces and found them -strange. They opened their lips, and, lo! their speech was to others a -jargon of unintelligible sounds. The one could no more understand the -other than they could the wolf or the jackal with whom they both began -to be mutually classed. The intercommunion of families of men with one -another was rudely snapped asunder. There were no means of common action, -there was no medium of common thought. The fragments into which the human -family were smitten went off in different directions, to post themselves, -in attitudes of mutual distrust and defiance, behind mountains or -morasses, on the skirts of forests, the borders of torrents, or in -the security of measureless deserts, where their practised eyes swept -the horizon. Intercommunion was rendered still more impossible by the -mutual antagonism, fear, and hatred that prevailed. And the very ocean, -instead of being a pathway for the interchange of social life, became a -formidable barrier between man and man. The dangers to be encountered -on the lands to which the winds might bear them were more to be dreaded -than the terrible phantoms which, issuing ever and anon from the home -of the storms, raged across the ocean, and lashed into merciless fury -its roaring waves. Memory had lost, in the primeval language, the key of -its treasure-house. As years went on, amidst the exacting preoccupations -of new ways of life, new surroundings, new ways of expressing their -thoughts, and their increasing tribal or race isolation, the ideas upon -which their primeval civilization had been based grew dimmer and dimmer, -until they finally disappeared. - -“To establish this in detail,” says the author of _Gentilism_, “is the -purpose of this work.” And this purpose appears to us to have been -accomplished in the most convincing manner. - -The scientists maintain, and it is necessary to their evolution theory, -that man began with barbarism, and moved slowly onwards in the gradual -stages of their tedious evolution process towards what they call -civilization, which is to lead, we believe, in the future developments of -the ever-continuing evolution, to some loftier state and condition, of -the nature of which they supply us with not the faintest idea. - -This notion of the original barbarism of man is one of those fallacies -which get imbedded in the general belief of mankind one knows not how. -Strange to say, it has been very generally acquiesced in for no manner -of reason; and it is only of late years that thoughtful men, outside of -the faith, have come to suspect that it is not quite the truism they had -imagined. - -There is a reason for this: The attenuation of the claims of another -world on the every-day life and on the conduct of men effected by the -great revolt of the XVIth century, and the keener relish for the things -of this life which consequently ensued, have infected the sentiments of -mankind with an exaggerated sense of the importance of material objects -and pursuits. Thus the idea of civilization, instead of being that of -the highest development of the moral and whole inner being of social -man, is limited to the discovery of all the unnumbered ways and means of -administering to the embellishment and luxury of his actual life. His -very mental progress, as they term it with extraordinary incorrectness, -is only regarded in this light. - - “The speculators on the stone, bronze, and iron ages,” writes - our author, “place civilization almost exclusively in the - enjoyment by man of a multitude of little inventions of his - own, many of which certainly are derived from the knowledge and - use of metals. Any nation deprived of them cannot be called - civilized in their opinion, because reduced to a very simple - state of life, which, they say unhesitatingly, is barbarism.… - Barbarism, in fact, depends much more on moral degradation - than on physical want of comfort. And when we come to describe - patriarchal society, our readers will understand how a tribe - or nation may deserve to be placed on an exalted round of the - social ladder, although living exclusively on the fruits of the - earth, and cultivating it with a simple wooden plough.”[237] - -Father Thébaud next proceeds, with convincing force, to demolish the -argument in behalf of the gradual evolution of the entire race from -a state of barbarism, which the evolutionists allege to have been -inevitably its first stage of intellectual consciousness drawn from the -discovery of human skeletons in caves, and in the drift of long past -ages, in juxtaposition with instruments of rude construction belonging to -the palæolithic age and fossil remains of extinct animals. This argument -has always appeared to us so feeble as to seem a mystery how it could be -employed by learned men, unless in support of some preconceived opinion -which they would maintain at all hazards. The occasional outbreaks of the -Mississippi, the terrible devastation effected by the mere overflow of -the Garonne in the South of France, give but a faint idea of what changes -must have been effected upon the crust of the earth by the subsidence of -the huge mass of water, which must have been at least eight or nine times -as ponderous as all the oceans which have since lain at peace in its -hollows. As the prodigious volumes of water, sucked and drawn hither and -thither, as they hurried to their mountain-bed, rushed in furious tides -and vast whirlpools of terrific force, they must have torn up the earth’s -crust like a rotten rag. Whole valleys must have been scooped out down -to the very root of the mountains, and _débris_ of all kinds deposited -everywhere in all kinds of confusion, so as to afford no secure data -whatever for chronological, or zoölogical, or geological deductions. - -Still more conclusive is Father Thébaud’s refutation of the argument -in behalf of the evolution theory drawn from the discovery of stone -implements of rude construction in what is asserted to be the earliest -drift deposit of iron in the later strata, and bronze in the latest. To -make this argument of any force it must be proved that these periods -evolved regularly and invariably from one another throughout the whole -race of mankind. Their _periodicity_, as Father Thébaud has it, must be -indisputably proved. But this is just what it cannot be. On the contrary, - - “In this last age in which we live; in the previous ages, - which we can know by clear and unobjectionable history; - finally, in the dimmest ages of antiquity of which we possess - any sufficiently reliable records, the three ‘periods’ of - stone, bronze, and iron have always subsisted simultaneously, - and consequently are no more ‘periods’ when we speak of the - aggregate of mankind, but they are only three co-existing - aspects of the same specific individual.”[238] - -To the same effect is the argument that - - “The artistic distance between the rough palæolithic flints - and the polished stones of the neolithic period exhibits a gap - which tells but indifferently in favor of the believers in - continuous progress. Either there has been a strange severment - of continuity, or the men of the first period were better - artists, and not such rough barbarians as the remains we - possess of them seem to attest.” - -The scientific arguments, however, of Father Thébaud, in disproof of -the alleged original barbarism of the human race, satisfactory as they -are, as far as they go, are little more than introductory to the more -conclusive historical argument which constitutes the body of his valuable -and very opportune work. “The best efforts to ascertain the origin of -man,” he justly remarks, “or primeval religion, by the facts of geology -or zoölogy, can at best only result in more or less probable conjectures.” - -In an argument of this nature our author begins, as was to have been -expected, from that philosophical, impassive, and ancient people who -inhabit the triangular peninsula which stretches out from no vast -distance from the original seat of the renewed race of man into the -Southeastern Atlantic. There they have dwelt from times beyond which -history does not reach. Inheriting a civilization which dates from the -subsiding Deluge, whose gradual decadence can be distinctly traced, they -are in possession of the earliest writings that exist, unless the books -of Moses or the book of Job are older, which, we do not think it is rash -to say, is, at least, doubtful. We find ourselves in the presence of the -noblest truths of even supernatural religion, mingled, it is true, with -the gross pantheistical absurdities which had already begun to deface the -primitive revelation and to deteriorate the primitive civilization. - -The general process throughout the world was, no doubt, as Father Thébaud -describes-- - - “After a period of universal monotheism, the nations began to - worship ‘the works of God,’ and fell generally into a broad - pantheism. They took subsequently a second step, perfectly well - marked, later on, in Hindostan, Central Asia, Egypt, Greece, - etc.--a step originating everywhere in the imagination of - poets, materializing God, bringing him down to human nature - and weakness, and finally idealizing and deifying his supposed - representations in statuary and painting.”[239] - -But we must venture to differ from Father Thébaud as to the religion of -the Hindoos having ever taken the latter step. The form its pantheism -took, in consequence of its tenets of the incarnations of Vishnu--the -second god of the triad--and of metempsychosis, was a worship of animals, -and especially of the cow--a worship which prevails to this day. But -this was not the gross idolatry of the Greeks and Romans, but rather a -respect, a _cultus_, in consequence of the supposed _possible_ presence -in the former of departed friends, and of the incarnation of the divinity -in the latter. Their idols are huge material representations of the might -and repose which are the chief attributes of the Hindoo deity, or of -animals with which the above-named ideas were especially associated; but -we do not think they ever were worshipped as was, for example Diana by -the Ephesians. - -Be this as it may, it in no way affects the incontrovertible testimony -which Father Thébaud adduces to the high state of civilization of this -remarkable people fifteen hundred years, at all events, before Christ. -He proves it from their social institutions, which issued from a kind -of tribal municipality closely resembling the Celtic clans, but without -the principle of superseding the rightful heir to a deceased _canfinny_ -by another son in consequence of certain disqualifications, and that of -the ever-recurring redistribution of land, which were the bane of Celtic -institutions. The caste restrictions, our author shows from the laws of -Menu, were not nearly so rigorous in those primitive ages; and from the -same source he exhibits undeniable proof of that purity of morals which -evidences the highest stage of civilization, and which has sunk gradually -down to the vicious barbarism of the present day. We suspect, however, -that this latter has been somewhat exaggerated. It is certainly our -impression, taken from works written by those who have lived for years in -familiar intercourse with the people, that amongst the Hindoo women there -still lingers conspicuous evidence of the purity of morals which was -universal amongst them in the beginning of their history. - -It might have been added, moreover, that the laws of Menu, in addition -to their high morality, display a knowledge of finance and political -economy, of the science of government, and of the art of developing the -resources of a people which indicate a very high state of civilization -indeed. - -It is impossible for us, within the limits assigned us, to follow -Father Thébaud through an argument consisting exclusively of learned -detail. Our readers, if they would have any proper appreciation of it, -must consult the work itself. We remark merely that, starting from the -admitted fact that the Vedas contain the doctrine of plain and pure -monotheism, and that in those distant ages “doctrines were promulgated -and believed in” “which far transcend all the most solemn teaching of -the greatest philosophers who flourished in the following ages, and -which yield only to the sublime and exquisitely refined teachings of -Incarnate Wisdom,”[240] our author traces the inroads of pantheism from -the time when the doctrine, recently revived by men once Christians, of -an “universal soul” was openly proclaimed, and “when it was asserted -that our own is a ‘spark’ from the ‘blazing fire,’ that God is ‘all -beings,’ and ‘all beings are God.’”[241] And he traces elaborately the -change through the several mystical works of the philosophical Brahmins -subsequent to the Vedas. Buddhism is a comparatively modern development. -We doubt its being any form of Hindooism whatever. It appears to us to -be rather the earliest development of that spirit of hostility to the -life-giving truths of the Christian revelation which began its work -almost at their very cradle--that abject principle of materialism which, -after having dragged down the vast populations of China and of North and -Western India to the lowest depths of mental and moral degradation of -which human nature is susceptible, is now sweeping over Christendom, and -threatening to “deceive,” if it were possible, “even the very elect.” - -Father Thébaud’s next chapter is devoted to a historical review of the -primeval religion and its decline in Central Asia and Africa. And here -the proof is more overwhelming, if possible, than in the case of India. -As to the monotheism of the great Doctor--if we may give him such a -title--of the ancient East, and of the Zends, there can be no manner -of doubt. Nay, “even the doctrine of the resurrection of the body is -clearly contained in the most authentic part of the Zend-Avesta.” There -is also that august personage, apart from all superior beings under God, -“who stands between God and man; shows the way to heaven, and pronounces -judgment upon human actions after death; guards with his drawn sword -the whole world against the demons; has his own light from inside, and -from outside is decorated with stars.” Our author makes Zoroaster, -at the latest, a contemporary of Moses, and justly observes that the -Zend-Avesta “represents the thoughts of men very near the origin of -our species.” Now, the magnificent eloquence and profound truth of the -thoughts we meet, rivalling at times the Book of Job, the beauty of the -prayers, and the elaborate splendor of the ritual, testify to a very -different state of things in those earliest days from that alleged by -the evolutionists. Father Thébaud decides the Zends to be Vedic, and -not Persian. And no doubt in the remarkable form and construction of -the poems--dramatic, and mostly in the form of dialogue--in the tone of -thought and leading religious ideas, they closely resemble the Hindoo -Vedas. But it is our impression that we do not find in the writings of -Zoroaster that perpetual insistence on the necessity of absorption into -the deity which characterizes the Hindoo poems--the _Bhagavât-Gita_, for -example. It would appear that the Persians occupied a special place in -the dispensation of God in the ancient world. The Holy Spirit, in the -prophecies, speaks of “my servant Cyrus whom I have chosen,” and it is -certain that the pure monotheistic worship was preserved longer in Persia -than in any nation of antiquity, except the Jewish. Its corruption was -into dualism, by which the spirit of evil, as in the Indian _Trimourti_, -was invested with almost co-ordinate power with the spirit of good. But -for full information on this important and interesting subject we must -refer the reader to Father Thébaud himself. - -Our limits do not admit of our giving scarcely the faintest outline of -our author’s argument in proof of the monotheism of Pelasgic Greece, and -its gradual degradation to a sensual and idolatrous anthropomorphism in -Hellenic and Heroic Greece. The substantial genuineness of the Orphic -literature he successfully establishes, as well as the similarity of -its doctrines to those of the Vedas; from which he draws the obvious -inference that the two came from the same source, and that that branch -of the Aryan family carried with them to their more distant settlements -traditions of the primitive revelation so conspicuous in the Persian and -Hindoo mystic epics, but much defaced and distorted in the course of -their long and toilsome migrations. If _pure_ monotheism ever prevailed -in Pelasgic Greece, its reign was short. Indeed, to Orpheus himself are -ascribed pantheistic doctrines. It was the poets who ushered in that -special form of idolatry which took possession of Greece, the worship of -the human being deified with all his infirmities--the _anthropomorphism_ -of the gods, as Father Thébaud calls it. And the chief sinner, on this -score, was Homer, the first and greatest of them all. Yet did that -densely-populated, unseen world of the Greeks--that sensuous, nay -vicious, idolatry--which peopled the ocean and the mountains and the -forests with gods, and imagined a divinity for every fountain, and every -grove, and every valley, and every rill, with its superior deities, up to -the supreme father of Olympus, himself subject to that forlorn solution -of the riddle of “evil”--fate--bear witness from Olympus, and from Hades, -and from the realms of the sea, to the primitive revelation. It bore -witness to a civilization from which that degradation of the ideas of -God to the level of humanity, in spite of its artistic grace and poetic -feeling, deformed, however, by a filthy lasciviousness, with its short -period of literary splendor and of exalted philosophy, ending with the -sophistical negations of scepticism, was a fall, and not a progress. - -For all this, “the precious fragments of a primitive revelation are -found,” as Father Thébaud truly observes, “scattered through the -writings of nearly all ancient Greek and Latin philosophers and poets.” -His two chapters on this subject--chapter vii. on “Hellenic Philosophy -as a Channel of Tradition,” and chapter viii. on “The Greek and Latin -Poets as Guardians of Truth”--are perhaps the most interesting part of -his most interesting and instructive work. They embrace a subject which -has always appeared to us as more worthy of learned labor than any other -which could be named. That life would be well spent which should devote -itself to collecting all these fragments of traditionary truth from all -ante-Christian literatures. Such a work would not turn back the flood of -rationalism, whose first risings we owe to Greece--for it is rather moral -than intellectual--but it would materially obstruct it, and would rescue -from it many souls which might otherwise be lured to their destruction by -the feeble echoes of the sophists and Aristophanes, which, beginning with -Voltaire, are now multiplying through all the rationalistic press of the -world. - -Meanwhile, we cordially commend Father Thébaud’s work on _Gentilism_ to -the attentive study of all who wish for solid information and sagacious -criticism on a subject which appears to us, without wishing in the least -to underrate scientific investigation, to be more interesting and more -important than all or any of the discoveries of physical science. These, -as has been proved of late years, may be turned against the truth, and -become thus a means of darkening instead of enlightening the soul. At the -best, be they correct or erroneous, great or small, many or few, they -cannot add an inch to our stature or a day to our lives. They do not -even add to our happiness. - -But a false science--one which would assign to each of us an -insignificant phenomenal existence, whose individuality will disappear, -at the end of its few days of living consciousness, in an universal -whole in an eternal state of progress--is as fatal to human happiness as -anything can be short of the abyss of reprobation. More consoling, as it -is more in accordance with right reason, is the testimony which comes -to us trumpet-tongued, in one vast unison, from all the ages, that the -history of the race is one of decadence, not of progress. The sentence -passed was death. The road to death is decadence. The way is rounded; -there is a movement onward and a growth of life until the descent begins -which lands us in dissolution. But every moment from the first cry of -infancy is a step nearer to death; we are every one of us dying every -day; and a movement towards death is not progress. Individual experience -joins its voice to that of universal history in testimony of this. The -revelation of Christ has put us in possession of the highest and certain -truth; it has given us a more exalted moral, and has recast our nature in -a higher, nay, in a divine, mould. We are still dying every day; but the -certain hope of a joyful resurrection has deprived death of its agonizing -sting, and made it, like sleep, a source of happiness instead of despair. -But this is nothing like the progress of which the sceptics prate. It is -a supernatural stage in the dispensation of God for the renewal of his -fallen creature, predetermined before all time. His own part in it--the -natural order--is one long history of decadence. There has been the ebb -and flow, the rising to fall, of all movement. But decadence has all -along triumphed over progress. Amidst what a decadence are we now living -from the promising progress of the middle ages! And we are bid to expect -so terrific a retrogression before the consummation of all things, that -“even the elect shall scarcely be saved.” - -It is the witness of all the ages--human progress ebbing and -flowing--but, on the whole, the flow does not overtake the ebb. The ocean -of life has been ever ebbing into its eternal abysses, and will ebb, -leaving behind it a dry and barren waste, until the morning of eternity -shall break over the withdrawing night of time, chaos shall be for ever -sealed in the confusion and sadness of its darkness, and the final word -shall go forth, of which the sublime physical law was only a type and a -shadow: “Let there be light!” - - -MADAME’S EXPERIMENT. - -A SAINT AGNES’ EVE STORY. - -“MY THOUGHTS ARE NOT YOUR THOUGHTS, NOR YOUR WAYS MY WAYS, SAITH THE -LORD.” - -Madame the Countess of Hohenstein stood at the window of the great hall -of her palace, waiting for the coach which was to take her to a _château_ -some leagues distant, where she was to grace a grand entertainment, and -to be kept for a whole night by her hosts as an especial treasure. For -Madame the Countess of Hohenstein, spite of her sixty years and her three -grown sons, was a famous beauty still and a brilliant conversationist, -and few were her rivals, young or old, throughout the kingdom. But -her face was clouded as she waited in her stately hall that January -afternoon, and she listened with a pained expression to the sound of -a footstep overhead pacing steadily up and down. She touched a bell -presently. - -“Tell your master,” she said to the servant who answered it, “that I wish -to see him again before I leave.” And soon down the winding stairway she -watched a young man come with the same steady pace which might have been -heard overhead for a half-hour past. - -No need to ask the relationship between the two. Black, waving hair, -broad brow, set lips, firm chin, the perfect contour of the handsome -face--all these were the son’s heritage of remarkable beauty from his -queenly mother; but the headstrong pride and excessive love which shone -from her eyes as he came in sight met eyes very different from them. -Large and black indeed they were, but their intense look, however deep -the passion it bespoke, told of an unearthly passion and a fire that is -divine. - -“Ah! Heinrich love,” his mother said, “once more, come with me.” - -“Nay, little mother,” he answered--the caressing diminutive sounding -strangely as addressed to her in her pomp of attire and stately -presence--“you said I need not go; that you did not care for me at the -baron’s.” - -“Not so, Heinrich. I care for you everywhere, everywhere. I am lost -without you, love of my soul. But I know you hate it, and, if you must -stay from any place, better that than some others. There are no maidens -there I care for, my son.” - -She watched the calm forehead contract as she spoke. “There! as ever,” -she exclaimed. “Wilt never hear woman mentioned without a frown? You -are no monk yet, child, at your twentieth year; nor ever shall be, if I -can help it. It is enough for me, surely, to have given two sons to the -priesthood, without yielding up my last one, my hope and my pride.” - -Heinrich made no answer, for the sound of the carriage-wheels was heard, -and he offered his mother his hand, led her down the steps, and placed -her in the coach. She drew him towards her, and kissed him passionately. -“Farewell, my dearest,” she said. “I count the minutes till we meet -again.” And she never ceased to watch him as long as the mansion was -visible. - -He was a sight of which many a mother might have been proud, as he stood -there bare headed, the winter sun lighting his face, the winter wind -lifting his dark locks, the fresh bloom of youth enhancing his peculiar -beauty. His mother sighed deeply as the coach turned a corner which hid -him from her view--a sigh often repeated during the course of her journey. - -It was a full hour before she was out of her own domains, though the -horses sped swiftly over the frozen ground. All those broad acres, all -that noble woodland, all those peasant homes, were hers; and for miles -behind her the land stretching north and west belonged with it, for she -had married the owner of the next estate, and, widowed, held it for her -son. But at her death all these possessions must be divided among distant -unknown kinsmen, if Heinrich persisted in the desire, which had been his -from early boyhood, to become a monk. His mother’s whole heart was set -against it. Her aim in life was to find for him a wife whom he would -love, and whom he would bring to their home; she longed to hold before -her death her son’s son on her knee. - -The coach stopped as the sun was setting; and at the palace door, too -eager for a sight of her to wait in courtly etiquette within, host and -hostess stood ready to greet this friend of a lifetime. - -“No Heinrich?” they cried, laughing. “A truant always. And we have that -with us to-day which will make you wish him here. No matter what! You -will see in time.” - -And in time she saw indeed. Going slowly up the marble stairs a half-hour -later, a vision of magnificent beauty, with her ermine mantle wrapped -about her, the hood fallen back from her regal head, the eyes with the -pained look of disappointment and longing still lingering in them in -spite of the loving welcomes lavished upon her, she came, in a turn -of the stairs, upon another vision of beauty radiant as her own, and -extremely opposite. - -Coming slowly down towards her was a young girl, tall and slight, with a -skin of dazzling fairness, where the blue veins in temple and neck were -plain to see; a delicate tint like blush-roses upon the cheek; great -waves of fair hair sending back a glint of gold to the torches just -lighted in the hall; eyes very large, and so deeply set that at first -their violet blue seemed black--eyes meek and downcast, and tender as a -dove’s, but in them, too, a look of pain and yearning. The face at first -view was like that of an innocent child, but beneath its youthfulness lay -an expression which bespoke a wealth of love and strength and patience, -unawakened as yet, but of unusual force. Skilled to read character by -years of experience in kings’ palaces, madame the countess read her -well--so far as she could read at all. - -Evidently the maiden saw nothing that was before her; but madame held her -breath in surprise and delight, and stood still, waiting her approach. -Not till she came close to her did the girl look up, then she too stopped -with a startled “Pardon madame”; and at sight of the timid, lovely eyes, -at the sound of the voice--like a flute, like water rippling softly, like -a south wind sighing in the seaside pines--madame opened her arms, and -caught the stranger to her heart. “My child, my child,” she cried, “how -beautiful you are!” - -“Madame, madame,” the girl panted in amazement, carried away in her turn -at the sudden sight of this lovely lady, who, she thought, could be, -in her regal beauty and attire, no less than a princess--“Madame sees -herself surely!” - -The countess laughed outright at the artless, undesigned compliment. “And -as charming as beautiful,” she said. “I must see more of you, my love.” - -Then, kissing the cheek, red now as damask roses, she passed on. In -the hall above her hostess stood with an arch smile on her lips. “Ah! -Gertrude, we planned it well,” she said. “Fritz and I have been watching -for that meeting. It was a brilliant tableau.” - -“But who is she, Wilhelmina? Tell me quickly. She is loveliness itself.” - -“’Tis but a short story, dear. We found her in Halle. Her name is -Elizabeth Wessenberg. She is well-born, but her family are strict -Lutherans. She--timid, precious little dove!--became a Catholic by some -good grace of the good God. But it was a lonely life, and I begged her -off from it for a while. Oh! but her parents winced to see her go. They -hate the name even of Catholic. That is all--only she sings like a lark, -and she hardly knows what to make of her new life and faith, it is so -strange to her.” - -“That is all! Thanks, Wilhelmina. I will be with you soon. I long to see -her once again.” - -All that evening the countess kept Elizabeth near her, and every hour -her admiration increased. A maiden so beautiful, yet so ignorant of her -own charms, so unworldly, so innocent, she had never seen. Alone in her -room that night she fell trembling upon her knees--poor, passionate, -self-willed mother!--before the statue of the Holy Mother bearing the -divine Son in her arms, and she held up her hands and prayed aloud. - -“I have found her at last,” she cried--“a child who has won her way into -my heart at once with no effort of her own; a pearl among all pearls; -one whom my boy _must_ love. Lord Jesus, have I not given thee two sons? -Give me now one son to keep for my own, and not for thee. Grant that he -may love this precious creature, fit for him as though thou thyself hadst -made her for him, even as Eve was made for Adam.” And then she covered -her face, and sobbed and pleaded with long, wordless prayers. - -The next day saw her on her homeward way, but not alone. She had coaxed -in her irresistible fashion till she had obtained for herself from her -friend a part of Elizabeth’s visit; and Elizabeth felt as if she were -living in a dream, there in the costly coach, wrapped in furs and watched -by those beautiful eyes. Constantly the countess talked with her, leading -the conversation delicately in such a manner that she found out much in -regard to Elizabeth’s home, and penetrated into her hidden sorrows in -regard to the coldness and lack of sympathy there. And it needed no words -to tell that this was a heart which craved sympathy and love most keenly; -which longed for something higher and stronger than itself to lean upon. -Every time she looked at the sensitive face, endowed with such exquisite -refinement of beauty; every time the childlike yet longing, unsatisfied -eyes met hers; every time the musical voice fell upon her ears, fearing -ever an echo of that same craving for something more and better than the -girl had yet known, madame’s mother-heart throbbed towards her, and it -seemed to her that she could hardly wait for the blessing which, she had -persuaded herself, was surely coming to her at last. - -Now and then she spoke of the country through which they passed: and to -Elizabeth it was almost incredible that such wealth could belong to one -person only. Now and then she spoke of “my son” in a tone of exultant -love, and then Elizabeth trembled a little; for she dreaded to meet this -stranger. Very grand and proud she fancied him; one who would hardly -notice at all a person so insignificant as herself. - -“Here is the village chapel, Elizabeth,” madame said, as the coach -stopped suddenly. “Will you scold, my little one, if I go in for a minute -to the priest’s house? Or perhaps you would like to visit the Blessed -Sacrament while I am gone?” - -Yes, that was what Elizabeth would like indeed; and there she knelt and -prayed, never dreaming how much was being said about her only next door. - -“Father!” madame exclaimed impetuously to the gray-haired priest who rose -to greet her, “I must have Mass said for my intention every morning for -a week. See, here is a part only of my offering.” And she laid a heavy -purse upon the table. “If God grant my prayer, it shall be doubled, -tripled.” - -“God’s answers cannot be bought, madame,” the priest said sadly, “nor can -they be forced.” - -“They must be this time, then, father. You must make my intention your -own. Will you not? Will you not for this once, father?” - -“What is it, then, my daughter?” - -“Father, do not be angry. It is the old hunger wrought up to desperation. -I cannot give my boy to be a monk!” - -The priest’s face darkened. - -“No! no!” madame hurried on. “It is too much to ask of me. And now I have -found a bride for him at last. She waits for me in the chapel, fair and -pure as the lilies. I am taking her home in triumph.” - -“Does Heinrich know of this?” - -“Not one word. He cannot fail to love her when he sees her. It is for -this I ask your prayers.” - -The priest pushed away the purse. “I will have none of this,” he said. -“It is far better to see my poor suffer than that this unrighteous deed -should be done. You call yourself a Catholic, and pride yourself because -your house was always Catholic; and yet you dare say that anything is too -much for God to ask of you! I am an old man, madame, and have had many -souls to deal with, but I never yet saw one whose vocation was more plain -than Heinrich’s to the entire service of God’s church. Will you dare run -counter to God’s will?” - -“Nay, father, it cannot be his will. Our very name would die out--our -heritage pass from us!” - -“And suppose it does! Who shall promise you that if Heinrich marries -there shall ever be child of his to fill his place? And what _are_ place, -and name, and heritage, madame? That which death, or war, or a king’s -caprice may snatch away in a moment. But your spiritual heritage shall -never die. What mother on earth but might envy you if you give your three -sons--your all--to God! Many are the children of the desolate, more than -of her that hath an husband, saith the Lord. _He_ maketh a barren woman -to dwell in a house the joyful mother of children. There is a place and a -name within his walls better than sons and daughters. Do you dream what -risk you run, what part you play, when you would tempt from his calling -one who, if you leave God to work his own pleasure, shall hereafter shine -as the stars through all eternity?” - -She did not answer back with pride. Instead, her whole face grew soft, -and the large tears filled her eyes and ran slowly down her cheeks. -“I want to do right,” she said humbly; “but I cannot feel that it is -right. Father, see: I will not ask you to make my intention yours. But I -promise you one thing: I _must_ ask God to grant me this blessing, but it -shall be the last time. If I fail now, let his will be done. And do you, -father, ask him to make it plain to me what his will is.” - -“God bless you, daughter!” the old priest answered, much moved by her -humility. “I will pray that indeed. But still I warn you that I think you -are doing wrong in so much as trying such an experiment as this which you -have undertaken.” - -“No, no,” she cried again. “No, no, father. This once I must try, or my -heart will break.” - -Again in the carriage, she pressed Elizabeth to her closely, and kissed -her, and said words of passionate love, finding relief thus for the -pent-up feelings of her heart; but Elizabeth knew not how to reply. It -troubled and perplexed her--this lavish affection; for she could not -repay it in kind. It only served to waken a suffering which she had known -from childhood, a strange, unsatisfied yearning within her, which came at -the sight of a lovely landscape, or the sound of exquisite music, or the -caresses of some friend. She wanted _more_; and where and what was that -“more,” which seemed to lie beyond everything, and which she could never -grasp? - -She felt it often during her visit--that visit where attention was -constantly bestowed on her, and she lived in the midst of such luxury as -she had never known before. Something in Heinrich’s face seemed to her to -promise an answer to her questionings--it was so at rest, so settled; -and this, more than anything else about him, interested and attracted -her. Madame saw the interest, without guessing the cause. She felt -also that Heinrich was not wholly insensible to Elizabeth’s presence; -and though she asked him no direct questions, she contrived to turn -conversation into the channels which could not fail to engage him, and -which the young convert also cared for most. - -Elizabeth decided that Heinrich knew more than any one else, but even -he tired her sometimes. “He knows _too_ much,” she thought, “and he is -so cold and indifferent. Yet he would not be himself if he were more -like madame; and she is too tender. Oh! what does it all mean? There is -nothing that makes one content except church, and one cannot be always -there.” - -So passed the time till S. Agnes’ Eve. That night, when the young people -entered the dining-hall, madame was absent. She sent a message that they -must dine without her, as she had a severe headache, and Elizabeth might -come to her an hour after dinner. - -The meal was a silent one. When it was over, and they went into the -library, Heinrich seated himself at the organ. Grand chorals, funeral -marches full of mourning and awe and hope, Mass music welcoming the -coming of the Lord of Sabaoth, filled the lofty room. When he ceased, -Elizabeth was sobbing irrepressibly. - -“Forgive me, forgive me!” she said. “I cannot help it. O monsieur! I -know not what it means. Love and hate, beauty and deformity, joy and -suffering--I cannot understand. Nothing satisfies, and to be a Catholic -makes the craving worse. Is it because I am only just beginning, and -that I shall understand better by and by?” - -He stood at a little distance from her, looking not at her at all, but -upward and far away. - -“I will tell mademoiselle a story, if she will permit it,” he said. “Many -years ago there was a princess, very beautiful, very wise, and very -wealthy. Her councillors begged that she would marry, and at last she -told them that she would do so, if they would find for her the prince -she should describe, he should be so rich that he should esteem all the -treasures of the Indies as a little dust; so wise that no man could ever -mention in his presence aught that he did not already know; so fair that -no child of man should compare with him in beauty; so spotless in his -soul that the very heavens should not be pure in his sight. They knew not -where to find that prince, but their lady knew.” - -He paused, though not as for an answer. He had guessed well his mother’s -plans and hopes; he fathomed as truly Elizabeth’s nature; and when he -spoke again, it was as no one except the priest of God had ever heard him -speak: - -“There are some souls whom no one and nothing on earth can possibly -satisfy. Beauty, and learning, and friendship, and home, and love, each -alike wearies them. God only can content them, and he is enough--_God -alone_. To such souls he gives himself, if they sincerely desire it. It -is a love beyond all imaginable earthly love. It satisfies, yet leaves -a constant craving which we have no wish should cease. He understands -everything: even those things which we cannot explain to ourselves. It is -he finding whom the soul loveth him, and will not let him go.” - -After saying this, he sat down once more at the organ, and played again -till the hour named by madame arrived. Elizabeth found her pale and -suffering, but with a glad look in her eyes. - -“You have had talk together, then,” she cried. “I heard the music cease -for a while. And is he not charming and good, my Heinrich?” - -“Yes,” Elizabeth said dreamily. “He made me understand a little -to-night--better than any one has ever done before.” - -“Is that so, my little one? And how then?” - -“Here,” Elizabeth said innocently, laying her hand on her heart, and with -no suspicion of the meaning which the countess attached to the act. “If I -could only understand more--more.” - -“You will in time, most dear one--in time, in time.” And oh! the exulting -ring in madame’s voice. “But see, my precious, what I have to show you.” - -A chest was drawn up beside madame’s easy-chair. She opened it, and -before Elizabeth’s dazzled eyes lay jewels of wondrous lustre and -value--long strings of pearls, changing opals with the fire-spark -trembling in them, sapphires blue as the sky, emeralds green as the sea, -and glittering diamonds. Madame drew out the costly things, and adorned -Elizabeth with one set after another by turn, watching the effect. Last -of all, she touched a spring, and took from a secret drawer a set of -pearls, large and round, with a soft amber tint in them. These she held -caressingly and sighed. - -“Look, Elizabeth,” she said. “Forty years ago this very night I wore -them, when I was a girl like you. There was a great ball here. Some -one--ah! but how grand and beautiful he looked; my poor heart remembers -well, and is sore with the memory now--some one begged me to try the -charm of S. Agnes’ Eve. Dost know it, dear? Nay? Then you shall try it -too. Go supperless to rest; look not to left or right, nor yet behind -you, but pray God to show you that which shall satisfy your heart of -hearts.” - -“Did he show you, madame?” - -Madame sighed heavily. “Alas! love, alas! What contents us here? I had -it for a time, and then God took it from me. No prouder wife than I, no -prouder mother; but husband and sons are gone, all except my Heinrich. -Pray God to keep him for me, Elizabeth, Elizabeth.” - -“And who, then, was S. Agnes, madame? And shall I pray to her that -prayer?” - -Madame looked aghast, then smiled an amused yet troubled smile. “Nay, -child, I thought not of that. S. Agnes was one who loved our blessed Lord -alone, not man. She died rather than yield to earthly love and joy.” - -“But why, madame?” - -“O child, child! But I forget, You have only just begun the Catholic -life, my sweet. God’s love, then, is enough for some people; but they are -monks and nuns, not common Christians like you and me and Heinrich. We -could not live in that way, could we, Elizabeth--you and Heinrich and I?” - -“And God would never grow tired of us, madame! Nor ever die! Nor ever -misunderstand! O madame! I think we could not live with less.” And -Elizabeth stood up suddenly, as if too agitated to remain quiet. - -“Ah! love, you are only just a convert. In one’s first excitement one -fancies many things. You are meant to serve God in the world, my dear, -for many years to come--you and my Heinrich. Pray for him to-night.” - -But hurrying along the hall to her own room, Elizabeth whispered -passionately in her heart: “I do not want to pray for him. Let him pray -for himself. His saints pray for him too, and God loves him, and he does -not need me. Does madame, then, suppose that he could ever care for me, -or I for him? I want more than he can give--more--more! _Show_ me my -heart’s desire, O God, my God!” - -In her excitement and in the darkness she laid her hand on the wrong -door, and, opening it, found herself in an old gallery, at the end of -which a light was glimmering. Scarcely heeding what she did, she moved -toward it, and found that she was in the choir of the castle chapel. The -door fell gently to behind her, but did not close, and Elizabeth was -alone. Alone? The aisles were empty, the organ was still, the priest was -gone; but before the sacred shrine the steady ray of the lamp told that -He who filleth the heaven of heavens was dwelling in his earthly temple, -and that unseen angels guarded all the place. - -But of angels or men Elizabeth thought not. Silently, slowly she moved -onward, her hands pressed upon her heart, whose passionate beating grew -still as she came nearer to the Sacred Heart which alone could fully -comfort, fully strengthen, fully understand. Slowly she moved, as one who -knows that some great joy is coming surely, and who lengthens willingly -the bliss of expectation. - -And so she reached a narrow flight of steps, and made her way gently -down, and knelt. Outside, in the clear night, a great wind rose, and -rocked the castle-tower, but Elizabeth knew it not. She was conscious -only of the intense stillness of that unseen Presence; of peace flooding -her whole soul like a river; of the nearness of One who is strength and -love and truth, infinite and eternal. - -“Show me my heart’s desire, O God, my God!” she sighed. - -God, _my_ God! She lifted up her eyes, and there, above the shrine, -beheld the great crucifix of Hohenstein, brought from the far-off East by -a Crusader knight. She lifted up her eyes, and saw the haggard face full -of unceasing prayer, the sunken cheeks, the pierced hands and feet, the -bones, easy to number, in the worn and tortured body, the side with its -deep wound where a spear had passed. - -Yet, looking upward steadily, all her excitement gone, a sacred calm -upon her inmost soul, Elizabeth knew that her prayer was answered, her -lifelong hunger satisfied. God had given her her heart’s desire. - -God, _my_ God! No love but his could satisfy; and his could with an -eternal content. To that Heart, pierced for her, broken for her, she -could offer no less than her whole heart; and that she _must_ offer, not -by constraint, but simply because she loved him beyond all, above all, -and knew that in him, and in him only, she was sure of an unfailing, an -everlasting love. - -Madame, seeking her in the early morning, found her room unoccupied, -then noticed the gallery-door ajar, and, trembling, sought her there. -Elizabeth had kept S. Agnes’ Eve indeed, but it was before the shrine of -S. Agnes’ Spouse and Lord. - -“My daughter,” the countess said, using the word for the first time, and -with oh! how sad a tone--“what have you done this night, my daughter?” - -Elizabeth lifted hand and face toward the shrine. “Madame,” she answered -slowly, as one who speaks unconsciously in sleep, “I have found Him whom -my soul loveth. I hold him, and I will not let him go.” - -God himself had made his way plain indeed before Madame the Countess of -Hohenstein in this her last struggle with his will. The very plan which -she had chosen to gain her cherished hopes had crushed them. Not priest -or son, but the girl whom she herself had named for her final trial, had -shown her that God’s purposes were far aside from hers. - -“Take all, O Lord!” she cried, while her tears fell like rain. “Take all -I have. I dare not struggle longer.” - -One son gave up his life a martyr in the blood-stained church in Japan. -Another endured a lifelong martyrdom among the lepers of the Levant, -winning souls yet more tainted than the bodies home again to God. And -one, the youngest, and the fairest, and the dearest, was seen in China -and in India, in Peru and in Mexico, going without question wherever he -was sent, for the greater glory of God; but he was never seen in his -German home again. After they once left her, their mother never beheld -their faces. And she who had been taken to her heart as a daughter -entered an order in a distant land. - -Yet none ever heard madame the last Countess of Hohenstein murmur against -her lot. Clearly, tenderly, patiently, more and more did God vouchsafe -to make his way plain to her. In chapel, day by day, she watched the -decaying banners which told of the fields her fathers won; saw the -monuments to men of her race who had fought and died for their king and -their land; read the names once proudly vaunted, now almost forgotten. -What was fame like this to the honor God had showered on her? Souls east -and west brought safe to him; life laid down for the Lord of lords; a -seed not to be reckoned; a lineage which could never fail; sons and -daughters to stand at last in that multitude which no one can number, who -have come out of great tribulation, with fadeless palms of victory in -their hands--such was her place and name in the house of God. - -The quaint German text upon her tombstone puzzled travellers greatly, and -those who could decipher it wondered but the more. It ran thus: - - _Requiescat in Pace._ - - GERTRUDE, - _Twenty-ninth and Last Countess of Hohenstein_. - -The children of thy barrenness shall still say in thy ears: The place is -too strait for me; make me room to dwell in. And thou shalt say in thy -heart: Who hath begotten me these? I was barren, and brought not forth, -led away, and captive; and who hath brought up these? I was destitute and -alone; and these, where were they? - -Thus saith the Lord God: Behold, I will lift up my hand to the Gentiles, -and will set up my standard to the people. And they shall bring thy sons -in their arms, and carry thy daughters upon their shoulders. And thou -shalt know that I am the Lord; for they shall not be confounded that wait -for him. - - -THE BASQUES. - -We are all Basques. Nay, reader, be not startled at having your supposed -nationality thus suddenly set aside. An author of far more learning than -we can lay claim to--Señor Erro, a Spanish Basque--gravely asserts that -all the inhabitants of Europe and Asia, if not of America also, sprang -from the Basques. In short, they--that is, _we_--are the primitive race. -And this fearless writer, with a due sense of national superiority, goes -boldly on to prove that Adam and Eve spoke the Basque language in the -terrestrial Paradise, of which he gives a detailed description according -to the Biscayan interpretation of the Biblical account. - -We remember how, in search of Adam--great progenitor!--whose -said-to-be-fine statue is among the army of saints on the glorious roof -of Milan cathedral, we got bewildered on that celestial height, so that -we do not to this day feel sure of having discovered the true Adam, and -might never have found our way down to earth again had it not been for -the kind offices of one of Victor Emanuel’s soldiers. So it is with many -a _savant_ in tracing the origin of the human species. Lost in threading -the way back to our first parents, they need some rough, uncultured soul -to lead them out of the bewildering maze--back to the point whence they -started. - -But let us hope in this instance filial instinct has not mistaken the -genuine Adam--the first speaker, it is possible, of Basque. Señor Erro -finds in this language the origin of all civilization and science. It -must be confessed we have wofully forgotten our mother-tongue; for it is -said to be impossible to learn to speak it unless one goes very young -among the Basques. It is a common saying of theirs that the devil once -came into their country to learn the language, but gave it up in despair -after three hundred years’ application! It may be inferred he had lost -the knowledge he had made such successful use of a few thousand years -before in the Garden of Eden. - -M. Astarloa, likewise a Biscayan, maintains that the extraordinary -perfection of this language is a proof it is the only one that could have -been conferred on the first man by his Creator, but in another place says -it was formed by God himself at the confusion of tongues in the tower of -Babel--which assertions rather lack harmony. - -Max Müller, the eminent philologist, pretends a serious discussion -took place about two hundred years ago in the metropolitan chapter of -Pampeluna as to the following knotty points: - -_First._ Was Basque the primitive language of mankind? The learned -members confessed that, however strong might be their private -convictions, they did not dare give an affirmative reply. - -_Secondly._ Was Basque the only language spoken by Adam and Eve in the -garden of Eden? - -As to this, the whole chapter declared there could be no doubt whatever -that it was “impossible to bring a reasonable objection against such an -opinion.” - -This is extremely amusing; but, of course, too absurd to be true. -Besides, the archives of Pampeluna do not afford the slightest hint of so -singular a record. - -Southwestern France, however, has many traditions of the Oriental origin -of its inhabitants. Tarbes and Lourdes are said to have been founded by -Abyssinian princesses. Belleforest, in his _Cosmography_, says Japhet -himself came into Gaul and built the city of Périgueux, which for several -ages bore his name. Père Bajole, of Condom, a Jesuit of the XVIIth -century, is less precise in his suppositions, but thinks the country was -peopled soon after the Deluge, and therefore by those who had correct -notions of the true God. Moreover as Noah, of course, would not have -allowed his descendants to depart without suitable advice as to the way -of salvation, especially to the head of the colony, he concludes that -many of the ancient Aquitanians were saved. The Sire Dupleix cites the -epistle of S. Martial to show they had retained some proper notions of -theology, which accounts for the rapid success of the first Christian -apostles of the country. - -But to return to the Basques in particular: In the _Leyenda -Pendadola_--an old book of the XIth century--we read that “the first -settlement in Spain was made by the patriarch Tubal, whose people -spoke the language still used in the provinces of Biscay”--that is, -the Basque. William von Humboldt likewise attributed to the Basques an -Asiatic origin, and was decidedly of the school of MM. Erro and Astarloa, -though he rejected their exaggerations. The Basque language, so rich, -harmonious, and expressive, is now generally believed to be one of the -Turanian tongues. Prince Lucian Bonaparte shows the analogy between it -and the Hungarian, Georgian, etc. - -The word Basque is derived from the Latin _Vasco_; for in Southwestern -France it is quite common to pronounce the letter _v_ like _b_--a habit -which made Scaliger wittily say: _Felices populi, quibus Vivere est -Bibere_. - -The Basque country consists of several provinces on both sides of the -Pyrenees bordering on the Bay of Biscay. Labourd, Soule, and Lower -Navarre are now in the department of the Basses-Pyrenees, on the French -side. The two provinces of Biscay and Guipuzcoa--a part of Alava and of -Upper Navarre--belong to Spain. The whole Basque population cannot be -more than 500,000. The people, as we have had a proof of, are proud of -their ancient nationality; and though there is a difference of manners, -physiognomy, and even of idiom in these sections, they all recognize each -other as brethren. They are a noble race, and have accomplished great -deeds in their day. Entrenched behind their mountains, they long kept -the Romans at bay, drove back the Moors, and crushed the rear-guard of -Charlemagne. - -The Basques have always been famous navigators. The first suggestion -that led to the discovery of America is said to have been given -Christopher Columbus by Sanchez de Huelva, a Basque pilot. The Basques -of Labourd certainly discovered Cape Breton. They were the first to go -on whale-fisheries, which, in 1412, extended as far as Iceland. And -Newfoundland seems to have been known to them in the middle of the -XVth century. The first name of Cape Breton--isle des Bacaloas or -Bacaloac--is a Basque name. - -In the middle ages the Basques maintained a certain independence by means -of their _fueros_, or special privileges, which had been handed down from -time immemorial and confirmed by several of the kings of France. The wood -of Haïtze is still pointed out as the place where the assemblies of the -elders, or _bilçars_, were formerly held in the district of Labourd. Here -came together the proprietors of the different communes to regulate their -administrative affairs. The most of the assembly leaned on their staves -or against the venerable oaks of the forest. But the presiding member sat -on a huge stone, the secretary on another, while a third was used for -recording the decrees of the assembly, to which the kings of France and -Navarre were often forced to yield by virtue of their _fueros_. - -And this country was never over-ruled by oppressive lords who held -it in subjection by means of their fortified castles. The device of -Bayonne--_Nunquam polluta_--seems to express the unstained independence -that had never been subjected to feudal dominion. It doubtless had great -families who distinguished themselves by their bravery and military -services, and were noted for their wealth, like the _casas de parientes -majores_--the twenty-four families of great antiquity--in Guypuzcoa, -among which was the family of Loyola of Aspeïtia, to which the immortal -founder of the Jesuits belonged, as well as that of Balda, his mother’s -family; but they never pretended to the feudal authority of the great -nobles of France and Spain. It was only in the XVth century that several -Basque families, who had become wealthy, ventured to erect some -inoffensive towers like those of Uturbi near St. Jean de Luz, occupied by -Louis XI. while on the frontier arranging the treaty between the kings of -Castile and Arragon. - -It is said of the Basques of Spain: As many Basques, as many nobles. Many -of their villages have coats of arms on all the houses, which contrast -with the decayed lattices and crumbling roofs. The owners point to their -emblazonry with the air of a Montmorency. When the Moors invaded the -North of Spain, thousands of mountaineers rose to drive them out. As -they made war at their own expense, those who returned alive to their -cottages received the reward of gentlemen--the right of assuming some -heraldic sign and graving it on their walls as a perpetual memorial of -their deeds. In the valley of Roncal the inhabitants were all ennobled -for having distinguished themselves at the battle of Olaso, in the reign -of Fortunio Garcia. In the village of Santa Lucia, not far from Toledo, -an old house of the XIIIth century is still to be seen with double lancet -windows, which has its record over the door proving the part a former -owner had taken at the bridge of Olaso--an azure field traversed by a -river, which is spanned by a bridge with three golden arches surmounted -by the bleeding head of a Moor. - -In a faubourg of Tolosa is a modest house stating that Juan Perez having -borne arms for more than fifty years in Italy, Spain, Portugal, Flanders, -etc., and taken part in the great naval victory over the Turks at Lepanto -under Don Juan of Austria, the emperor created him knight and gave him -for his arms the imperial eagle. - -But most of these armorial bearings have reference to the chase, to -which the people were so addicted. The trophies they brought home, -instead of being nailed up over the door, were now graven there in -stone--sometimes a wolf, or a hare, or even a favorite hound. Two dogs -are on the arms inherited by the Prince of Viana, the donor of the fine -bells to the basilica of Notre Dame de Lourdes. - -In the commune of Bardos is a château which bears the name of Salla from -the founder of the family. It was he who, fighting under Alphonse the -Chaste, King of Navarre, had his legs broken by the explosion of a rock, -from which time the house of Salla has had for its arms three _chevrons -brisés, d’or, sur un champ d’azur_. The most illustrious member of this -family is Jean Baptiste de la Salle, who founded the admirable order -of the Brothers of the Christian Schools, with a special mission for -instructing the poor. - -Mgr. de Belsunce, the celebrated bishop of Marseilles, was also of Basque -origin. The Château de Belsunce is still to be seen--an old manor-house -with Gothic turrets bespeaking the antiquity of the family. The name is -associated with the legends of the country. Tradition relates that a -winged monster having terrified the whole region, a knight of this house -armed himself with a lance and went forth to attack the monster in his -den. The dragon, having received a mortal wound, sprang with a dying -effort upon his enemy, seized him, and rolled with him into the Nive. -From that time the family of Belsunce bore on its shield a dragon sable -on a field gules. - -The arms of Fontarabia is a siren on the waves bearing a mirror and a -comb--symbol of this enchanting region. This historic place, once the -rival of St. Jean de Luz, now wears a touching aspect of desolation and -mourning which only adds to its attractions. Its ruins have a hue of -antiquity that must delight a painter’s eye. The long street that leads -to the principal square carries one back three hundred years, most of the -houses being in the Spanish style of the XVIth century. There are coats -of arms over every door, and balconies projecting from every story, with -complicated trellises or lattices that must almost madden the moon-struck -serenader. Nothing could be more picturesque than this truly Spanish -place. Many of the houses bear the imposing name of _palacios_, which -testify to the ancient splendor of this _ciudad muy noble, muy leal, y -muy valerosa_. Overlooking the whole place is the château of Jeanne la -Folle, massive, heavy, its walls three yards thick, its towers round--a -genuine fortress founded in the Xth century, but mostly rebuilt by -Charles V. Its chronicles are full of historic interest. Here took place -the interview between Louis XI. and Henri IV. of Castille, whose arrogant -favorite, Beltram de la Cueva, in his mantle broidered with gold and -pearls and diamonds, and his boat with its awning of cloth of gold, must -have offered a striking contrast to the extreme simplicity of the King of -France. - -The fine, imposing church of Fontarabia, in the transition style, is a -marked exception to the Basque churches generally, which are of simple -primitive architecture, with but few ornaments; and these, at least on -the French side of the frontier, mostly confined to the sanctuary, which -is rich in color and gilding. Perhaps over the main altar is a painting, -but by no means by Murillo or Velasquez. If on the Spanish side, it may -be a S. Iago on a white steed, sword in hand, with a red mantle over his -pilgrim’s dress, looking like a genuine _matamore_, breathing destruction -against the Moors. The Madonna, too, is always there, perhaps with a -wheel of silver swords, as if in her bosom were centred all the sorrows -of the human race. - -The galleries around the nave in the Basque churches gives them the -appearance of a _salle de spectacle_; but the clergy think the separation -of the sexes promotes the respect due in the sanctuary, and the people -themselves cling to the practice. The men occupy the galleries. They -all have rosaries in their hands. From time to time you can see them -kiss their thumbs, placed in the form of a cross, perhaps to set a seal -on their vows to God, as people in the middle ages used to seal their -letters with their thumbs to give them a sacred inviolability. Licking -the thumb was, we know, an ancient form of giving a solemn pledge; and, -till a recent period, the legal form of completing a bargain in Scotland -was to join the thumbs and lick them. “What say ye, man? There’s my -thumb; I’ll ne’er beguile ye,” said Rob Roy to Bailie Nicol Jarvie. - -When Mass is over, every man in the galleries respectfully salutes his -next neighbor. This is considered obligatory. Were it even his deadliest -enemy, he must bow his head before him. Mass heard with devotion brings -the Truce of God to the heart. - -The women occupy the nave, sitting or kneeling on the black, -funereal-looking carpet that covers the stone above the tomb of their -beloved dead. For every family has a slab of wood or marble with an -inscription in large characters, which covers the family vault below, and -their notions of pious respect oblige the living to kneel on the stone -that covers the bones of their forefathers. Or this _was_ the case; for -of late years burial in churches has been forbidden, and these slabs -now only serve to designate the inalienable right of the families to -occupy them during the divine service. It is curious and interesting to -examine these sepulchral slabs; for they are like the archives of a town -inscribed with the names of the principal inhabitants, with their rank -and occupation. In some places the women, by turns, bring every morning -an offering for their pastor, which they deposit on these stones like an -expiatory libation. Several of them are daily garnished with fruit, wine, -eggs, beeswax, yarn, and linen thread, and the _curé_, accompanied by his -servant or the sacristan, goes around after Mass to collect this tribute -of rural piety in a basket, and give his blessing to the families. These -offerings of the first-fruits of the earth are still continued, though -the dead are buried elsewhere. - -The seat of that mighty potentate, the village mayor, is in the choir, as -befits his dignity, which he fully sustains by his majestic deportment in -sight of the whole congregation. Sometimes he chants at the lectern, like -Charlemagne. The square peristyle of the church is often divided between -him and the village school-master for their respective functions, as if -to invest them with a kind of sanctity. - -In Soule the belfry is formed by extending upwards the western wall of -the church in the form of three gables, looking like three obelisks. -The bell is hung in the central one. The origin of this custom is thus -explained by M. Cénac Montaut: - -“In former times, when the Basques had some difficulty about accepting -all the truths of the Gospel, the clergy were unable to make them -comprehend the doctrine of the Holy Trinity. One of the priests, like S. -Patrick with the shamrock, saw he must appeal to the senses in order to -reach the mind and heart. Entering his rude pulpit one day, he addressed -his flock something after the following manner: ‘Some of you, my dear -brethren, recently objected that the God of the Old Testament, in the -tables of the law, wished to be worshipped as one God, and that to add -now the Son and Holy Spirit to the Deity is to overthrow the law of Sinai -and affect the divine Essence itself.… My dear brethren, hitherto we have -had but one gable on our belfry, directing towards heaven the innermost -prayer of the heart, and bearing the bell by which God seems to speak to -us in return. If, now, two other gables were added to this, would not -this triple tower, standing on one base, and pointing to the same heaven, -still constitute one belfry?’” - -This appeal was effective. Those who had been unable to accept the -abstract doctrine of the Trinity perfectly comprehended this material -unity. The other priests of Soule hastened to make use of so happy an -oratorical figure, and all through the valley of the Gave rose the -three-gabled, dogmatic belfries, such as we see at the present day. - -Near the church is often a modest white house with a small garden -containing a few trees and flowers, where the Daughters of the Cross -devote themselves to the instruction of children, planting the seeds of -piety in their youthful hearts. - -The Basque houses, with their triangular, tile-covered roofs, often -project like a _châlet_, and are painted white, green, and even pink. -The casements are made in the form of a cross, and stained red. The -doorway is arched like a church-portal, and has over it a Virgin, or -crucifix, or some pious inscription. There is no bolt on the door; for a -Basque roof is too inviolable to need a fastening. At the entrance is a -_bénitier_ (for holy water), as if the house were to the owner a kind of -sanctuary to be entered with purification and a holy thought. You enter -a large hall that divides the house into two parts, and contains all the -farming utensils. It is here the husbandman husks his corn and thrashes -his wheat. The uncolored walls of the rooms are hung with a few rude -pictures, as of the Last Judgment, the Wandering Jew, or Napoleon. There -are some large presses, a few wooden chairs, a shelf in the corner with -a lace-edged covering for the statue of the Virgin, who wears a crown of -_immortelles_ on her head and a rosary around her neck. At one end of the -room is a bed large enough for a whole family, and so high as almost to -need a ladder to ascend it. The open pink curtains show the holy-water -font, the crucifix, and faded palm branch annually renewed. There is -no house without some religious symbol. The Basque has great faith in -prayer. He stops his plough or wild native dance to say the Angelus. He -never forgets to arm himself with the sign of the cross in a moment of -danger. He makes it over the loaf of bread before he divides it among the -family. The mother makes it on the foreheads of her children at night. At -Candlemas a blessed candle burns under every roof in honor of the true -Light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. It is the -boast of the country that Protestantism never found entrance therein, -even during its prevalence in Béarn at the time of Joan of Navarre, -though that princess took pains to have the Huguenot version of the New -Testament translated into Basque and published at La Rochelle in 1591 -for their benefit. The whole Bible is now translated, M. Duvoisin having -devoted six years to the work, and Prince Lucian Bonaparte a still longer -time in settling the orthography and superintending the edition. - -It must not be supposed, however, that the Basques are an austere race. -They are very fond of their national dances, and excel in the _jeu de -paume_. Among their other amusements is the _pastorale_, acted in the -open air with a _chirula_ (a kind of flute) and a tambourine for the -orchestra. The subject is borrowed from the Bible, the legend of Roland, -the wars with the Moors, etc. They are composed by native poets, and have -a certain antique simplicity not without its charm. The people flock to -these representations, as to their Cantabrian dances, in their gayest -attire. The old man wears a _béret_ drawn over his forehead, while his -long hair floats behind in token of the nobility of his ancient race. -He wears short breeches, long woollen stockings, and leather shoes with -handsome silver buckles. - -The young Basque, straight, well formed, and proud in his bearing, wears -his blue _béret_ jauntily perched on one side of his head. His jacket is -short. Silver clasps fasten his collar and wristbands. He wears sandals -on his feet, with red bars across the instep. A bright red sash girdles -his waist--as of all mountaineers, enabling them to endure fatigue the -better, like the surcingle of a horse. “Beware of that young man with the -loose girdle,” said Sulla, speaking of Cæsar. For among the Romans the -word _discinctus_ was applied to the indolent, cowardly soldier, as _alte -cinctus_ (high-girdled) meant a prompt, courageous man. - -The girls, slender in form, with regular, expressive features, are veiled -in a black mantilla, or else carry it on their arms. A gay kerchief is -wound around the back of their heads like a turban, leaving visible the -shining bands of their beautiful black hair. - -The old women wear white muslin kerchiefs on their heads, with one corner -falling on the shoulder. On the breast is suspended a golden heart or -_Saint-Esprit_. Sometimes they are enveloped from head to foot in a -great black cloak, which is absolutely requisite when they attend a -funeral. This mantle forms part of the _trousseau_ of every bride of any -substance, and she wears it on her wedding-day, as if to show herself -prepared to pay due honor to all the friends who should depart this life -before her. It must be a great comfort for them to see this mourning -garment prepared in advance, and the sight of the bride veiled in her -long black capuchin must diffuse a rather subdued gayety over the wedding -party. - -The Basques pay great respect to the dead. When a man dies, his next -neighbor on the right carries the crucifix before his bier in the funeral -procession, and his nearest neighbor on the left walks at its side. -And the whole neighborhood assembles around it in church, with lighted -candles in their hands, to hear the Mass for the Dead. They adorn their -graveyards with shrubs and flowers. And they never omit the month’s-mind, -or anniversary service. - -Of course no one goes to the Basque country without visiting the famous -Pas de Roland. The whole region is singularly wild and picturesque. -We pass through a deep gorge encumbered with rocks, over which the -Nive plunges and foams in the maddest possible way. Twin mountains of -granite rise to the very heavens, their sides covered with the golden -broom, or furrowed with deep gullies that tell of mountain torrents. The -overhanging cliffs, and the dizzy, winding road along the edge of the -abyss, create a feeling of awe; and by the time we arrive, breathless and -fatigued, at the Pas de Roland, we are quite prepared to believe anything -marvellous. - - “I lie reclined - Against some trunk the husbandman has felled; - Old legendary poems fill my mind, - And Parables of Eld: - I wander with Orlando through the wood, - Or muse with Jaques in his solitude.” - -This archway was produced by a mere blow from the heel of the great -Paladin, who did not consider the mountain worthy the use of his mighty -sword. Everything is bathed in the golden light of the wondrous legend, -which harmonizes with the spot. We even fancy we can hear the powerful -horn of Orlando--the greatest trumpeter on record. We can see Carloman, -with his black plumes and red mantle--opera-like--as he is described in -the _Chant d’Altabisçar_! The natives, _pur sang_, do not call this pass -by the name of Roland, but _Utheca gaiz_--a bad, dangerous passage, as -in truth it is. It is the only means of communication with the opposite -side of the mountain. After going through it, the mountains recede, the -horizon expands, a country full of bucolic delights is revealed to the -eye, the exaltation of the soul subsides, and the mind settles down to -its normal state of incredulity. - -Just below the Pas de Roland, on the French side, are the thermal springs -of Cambo, in a lovely little valley watered by the Nive. The air here is -pure, the climate mild, the meadows fresh and sprinkled with flowers, the -encircling hills are crowned with verdure. Never did Nature put on an -aspect of more grace and beauty than in this delicious spot. One of the -springs is sulphurous, the other ferruginous. They became popular among -the Spanish and Basques during the last century when patronized by Queen -Marie Anne de Neuberg, the second wife of Don Carlos II. of Spain. Some -of her royal gifts to the church of Cambo are still shown with pride. -These springs were visited as early as 1585, among others, by François -de Nouailles, Bishop of Dax, who is often referred to in proof of their -efficacy; but as that eminent diplomatist died a few weeks after he tried -the waters, the less said of his cure the better for their reputation. -Napoleon I., however, had faith in their virtues. He visited Cambo, and -was only prevented by his downfall from building a military hospital here. - -Not two miles from Cambo is the busy town of Hasparren. The way thither -is through a delightful country, with some fresh beauty bursting on the -eye at every step. On all sides are to be seen the neat white cottages of -the laborers in the midst of orchards, meadows, and vineyards; sometimes -in the hollows of a valley like a nest among the green leaves; sometimes -on the hills commanding the most delicious of landscapes. Hasparren has -about six thousand inhabitants, mostly farmers, but who try to increase -their income by some trade. Twelve hundred of them are shoemakers; seven -or eight hundred are weavers, curriers, or chocolate-makers. The spacious -church is hardly able to contain the crowd of worshippers on festivals. A -curious history is connected with the belfry. - -The government having imposed a tax on salt in 1784, the people around -Hasparren, who had hitherto been exempted, resolved to resist so heavy -an impost. They rang the bell with violence to call together the -inhabitants. Even the women assembled in bands with spits, pitchforks, -and sickles, to the sound of a drum, which one of their number beat -before them. The mob, amounting to two thousand, entrenched themselves -in the public cemetery, where they received with howls of rage the five -brigades the governor of Bayonne was obliged to send for the enforcement -of the law. Bloodshed was prevented by the venerable _curé_, who rose -from his sick-bed and appeared in their midst. By his mild, persuasive -words he calmed the excited crowd, induced the troops to retire and the -mob to disperse. The leaders being afterwards arrested, he also effected -their pardon--on humiliating conditions, however, to the town. The -hardest was, perhaps, the destruction of the belfry, from which they had -rung the alarm; and it was not till some time in the present century -they were allowed to rebuild it. - -It is remarkable that the ancient Basques left no poems, no war-songs to -celebrate their valorous deeds, no epic in which some adventurous mariner -recites his wanderings; for the language is flexible and easily bends to -rhythm. But the people seem better musicians than poets. There are, to be -sure, some rude plaints of love, a few smugglers’ or fishermen’s songs, -sung to bold airs full of wild harmony that perhaps used to animate -their forefathers to fight against the Moors; but these songs have no -literary merit. Only two poems in the language have acquired a certain -celebrity, because published by prominent men who ascribed to them a -great antiquity. One of these is the _Chant des Cantabres_, published by -Wilhelm von Humboldt in 1817 in connection with an essay on the Basque -language. Ushered into the world by so distinguished a linguist, it was -eagerly welcomed by German _savants_, and regarded as a precious memorial -of past ages. M. von Humboldt took it from the MSS. of a Spaniard -employed in 1590 to explore the archives of Simancas and Biscay. He -pretended to have found it written on an old, worm-eaten parchment, as -well it might be if done soon after the invasion of the country by the -Romans. We wonder he did not also find the history of the conquest of -Cantabria in five books composed by the Emperor Augustus himself, said to -have been in existence in the XVIIth century! - -The _Chant d’Altabisçar_ is said to have been discovered by M. La Tour -d’Auvergne in an old convent at St. Sebastian, in 1821, written on -parchment in characters of the XIIIth or XIVth century. It is unfortunate -so valuable a MS., like the original poems of Ossian, should have been -lost! The contents, however, were preserved and published in 1835, -and, though now considered spurious, merit a certain attention because -formerly regarded as genuine by such men as Victor Hugo, who, in his -_Légende des Siècles_, speaks of Charlemagne as “plein de douleur” to -think - - “Qu’on fera des chansons dans toutes ces montagnes - Sur ses guerriers tombés devant des paysans, - Et qu’on en parlera plus que quatre cents ans!” - -M. Olivier, in his _Dictionnaire de la Conversation_, enthusiastically -exclaims: “What shall I say of the Basque chants, and where did this -people, on their inaccessible heights, obtain such boldness of rhythm -and intonation? Every Basque air I know is grand and decided in tone, -but none more strikingly so than the national chant of the Escualdunacs, -as they call themselves in their language. And yet this fine poem has -for some of its lines only the cardinal numbers up to twenty, and then -repeated in reverse order. Often, while listening to the pure, fresh -melody of this air, I have wondered what meaning was concealed beneath -these singular lines. From one hypothesis to another I have gone back -to the time when the Vascon race, hedged in at the foot of the Pyrenees -by the Celtic invaders, sought refuge among the inaccessible mountains. -Then, it seemed to me, this _Chant_ was composed as a war-song in which, -after recounting, one by one, their years of exile, they numbered -with the same regularity, but in a contrary direction, their deeds of -vengeance!” - -Such is the power of imagination. It is the - - “Père Tournamine - Qui croit tout ce qu’il s’imagine.” - -Let us give the literal translation of the lines in which M. Olivier -finds such an expression of sublime vengeance: - - “They come! they come! What a forest of lances! - With many-colored banners floating in the midst. - How the lightning flashes from their arms! - How many are there? Boy, count them well! - One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, - eleven, twelve, - Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, - twenty. - … - They fly! they fly! Where, then, is the forest of lances? - Where the many-colored banners floating in the midst? - The lightning no longer flashes from their blood-stained arms. - How many left? Boy, count them well! - Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, - thirteen, - Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, - two, one.” - -The first book in the Basque language was printed in the XVIth century, -in the same year Rabelais published his _Pantagruel_, in which he makes -Panurge ask in the Basque language for an _erremedio_ against poverty, -that he might escape the penalty of Adam which brought sweat to his -brow--a question many are still asking in far more intelligible language. - -The most ancient specimens of genuine Basque literature show what changes -the language has undergone within four or five centuries, which is a -proof against the authenticity of these _Chants_. M. Bladé, a French -critic, says his butter-man readily translated every word of the _Chant -des Cantabres_, so admired by the Baron von Humboldt. Fortunately, it is -not needed to prove the valor of the Cantabrians when their country was -invaded by the Romans, nor that of _Altabisçar_ to show the part they -took in Roncesvalles’ fearful fight. - - -THE ETERNAL YEARS. - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE DIVINE SEQUENCE.” - - “Tranquil Hope still trims her lamp - At the Eternal Years.”--_Faber._ - -CHAPTER I. - -OUR IMPRESSIONS. - -It is probable that most of us have been, at some time in our -intellectual and spiritual life, conscious of a divergence between our -mental impressions and our received belief respecting the nature and -characteristics of the divine Being. Outside the closed-in boundaries of -our faith there has been, as it were, a margin of waste land which we -seldom explore, but the undefined, uncultivated products of which flit -athwart our imagination with something like an uncomfortable misgiving. -We do not go far into it, because we have our certain landmarks to stand -by; and while the sun of faith shines bright on these, we can say to -ourselves that we have nothing really to do with the sort of fog-land -which surrounds our own happy enclosure. Our allotment is one of peace -within the true fold of the church. - -We know where we are; we know what we have got to do; and we refuse to -be seriously troubled by the dubious questions which may possibly never -disturb us, unless we deliberately turn to them. - -To us, as Catholics, this is a safe resolve. We know the Church cannot -err. We believe, and are ready, absolutely and unreservedly ready, -to believe, all she puts before us as claiming our belief. And this -is no childish superstition. It is no unmanly laying down of our -inalienable right to know good from evil; it is no wilful deafness -or deliberate closing of our eyes. It is the absolutely necessary -and perfectly inevitable result of the one primary foundation of all -our belief--namely, that the church is the organ of the Holy Ghost, -the infallible utterance of an infallible voice, which voice is none -other and no less than the voice of God, speaking through and by the -divinely-instituted kingdom which comprises the church of God. With -this once firmly fixed in our hearts and intellects, nothing, can -disturb us. Even supposing something to be defined by the church for -which we were unprepared--as was the case with some on the definition -of the Infallibility of the Sovereign Pontiff--still these surprises, -if surprises they be, can be no otherwise than sweet and welcome. To -us there cannot be a jarring note in that voice which is the voice -of the Holy Ghost. The trumpet cannot give a false sound. It is our -fault--either intellectually our fault (which is rather a misfortune -than a fault) or spiritually (which is from our negligence and -lukewarmness)--if the blast of that trumpet painfully startle us from -our slumbers. To all who are waking and watching the sound can only be -cheering and encouraging. The good soldier is ever ready to hear it and -prompt to obey. The slumberer is among those to whom our Lord says: “You -know how to discern the face of the sky, and can you not know the signs -of the times?”[242] - -He evidently expects us to know the signs of the times. The Lord is not -in the strong wind, nor is he in the earthquake or the fire. He is in -the gentle air.[243] But the wind and the earthquake and the fire are -his precursors, and those who have experienced, and heard, and witnessed -these warnings should be all attention for the softer sound which is the -utterance of the divine Voice in the church. - -There should be no surprise save the surprise of a great joy, the -admiring astonishment of finding out how good our God is, and what -marvellous treasures of things new and old our great mother, the -church, lays before us from time to time, as the Spirit of God moves -over the ocean of divine love, as it were incubating the creations of -the world of grace. We lie down in our certainty as the infant lies -down in its mother’s lap, and we rise on the wings of hope and faith -as the lark rises in the morning light, without the shadow of a doubt -that the lambient air will uphold the little fluttering wings with -which it carries its joyous song to the gates of heaven. Underneath us -are the “everlasting arms,”[244] and therefore we “dwell in safety and -alone”--alone as regards those outside the church, who cannot understand -our security, because they have never grasped the idea that, the voice -of the church being the voice of the third Person of the ever-blessed -Trinity to doubt the church is the same as to say that God is a liar. - -If we have dwelt thus at length upon our certitude, and upon the -intellectual and spiritual repose it gives us, we have done so for the -purpose of making it absolutely impossible for our readers to suppose -that when we speak of a divergence between some of our mental impressions -and our received belief, we are in any degree insinuating that we have -not got all we require in the absolute and definite teaching of the -church; or that we have any cause to feel troubled about any question -which the church has left as an open question, and respecting which any -one of us individually may have been unable to arrive at a conclusion. -All we mean is this: that there are certain feelings, impressions, and -imaginings which we find it hard to silence and extinguish, difficult to -classify in accordance with our substantial belief, and which hang about -us like a sail on the mast of a vessel which the unwary crew have left -flapping in a dangerous gale. - -The points in question may be various as the minds that contemplate them. -They may embrace a variety of subjects, and may assume different shapes -and aspects, according to the external circumstances under which they -present themselves, or to the color of our own thoughts and feelings at -the moment they are before us. Their field is so vast and their possible -variety so great that it would be vain for us to attempt to give even -a glance at them all. Indeed, the doing so is beyond our capacity, and -would be beyond the capacity of any one man. For who shall tell what is -fermenting in the thoughts of one even of his fellow-beings? He can -merely guess blindly at the souls of others from having dwelt in the -depths of his own, and knowing, as the one great fact, that all men are -brothers. - -We are far, therefore, from intending to take up all the possible -questions not hedged in and limited and defined by dogmatic teaching, -or to try and help others to come to a conclusion on each. We might as -well attempt to count the sands of the sea-shore. All we are proposing -to ourselves for our own consolation, and, if possible, for that of our -readers, is to lay hold of certain facts which will give a clew to other -less certain facts, and, in short--if we may be allowed to resort to a -chemical term--to indicate certain solvents which will hold in solution -the little pebbles that lie in our path, and which might grow into great -stumbling-blocks had we not a strong dissolving power always at our -command. - -It is self-evident that there is one knowledge which contains all other -knowledge, and that is the knowledge of God. As all things flow from -him, therefore all things are in him; and if we could see or know him, -we should know all the rest. That knowledge, that seeing, is the “light -of glory.” Its perfection is only compatible with the Beatific Vision, -which vision is impossible to mere man in his condition of _viator_, or -pilgrim.[245] It is the conclusion of faith just as broad noon is the -termination of darkness. But as faith is the leading up to the Beatific -Vision, to the light of glory, and to the knowledge of all things, -therefore in its degree is it the best substitute for sight--the dawning -of a more perfect day, and the beginning of knowledge. Consequently, -“faith is the evidence of things that appear not.” And as it is some of -the things “that appear not” which are puzzling and bewildering many of -us, let us lay hold of our faith and go whither it shall lead us. - -We can in this life only know God mediately and obscurely by reason and -faith. But as the direct and clear intuition of God in the Beatific -Vision will include the knowledge of all else, so even our present -imperfect knowledge of him comprises in a certain sense all other and -lesser science, and is necessary to the highest knowledge of created -things. - -To do this thoroughly we will investigate the occasional divergence -between our mental impressions, as we sometimes experience them, and our -received belief of the Divine Nature and characteristics. - -In a burst of holy exultation S. Paul asks, “Who hath known the mind of -the Lord?”[246]--not as though regretting his ignorance, but rather with -the feelings of one who, having suddenly come upon an evidently priceless -treasure, exclaims, Who can tell what wealth now lies before us? - -Yes, indeed! we know him well while we know him but imperfectly. There -is more to know than we can guess at, but our hearts are too narrow to -hold it. And yet sometimes how full to overflowing has that knowledge -seemed! Have we not followed him from the cradle to the grave, in that -sweet brotherhood which he has established with each one of us? Have -we not lost ourselves in far-reaching thoughts of how, and where he was -when his brotherhood with us was not an accomplished fact, but only an -ever-enduring divine intention co-equal with his own eternal existence--a -phase of that very existence, for ever present to the Divine Idea, though -not yet subjected to the conditions of time? We have thought of him as -in the bosom of the Father in a way in which, wonderful to relate, he -never can be again in the bosom of the Father. A something has passed in -respect to the existence of God himself, and actually made a difference -in the extrinsic relations of the divine Being. - -There was an eternity in which the Son of God--he whom we most seem to -know of the three Persons of the ever-blessed Trinity--dwelt in the bosom -of the Father unconnected with his sacred humanity. There was an eternity -when his name was not Jesus, when he was the Son of God only, and not the -Son of man. - -We are expressing what everybody knows who is a Christian--a platitude -almost, and yet so full of wonder that, unless we have thoroughly gone -into it and sifted it, we have not ransacked half the riches of what we -can and may know of the “mind of the Lord.” - -In truth, we are very apt to be repelled by this contemplation. There is -something dreary to us in the eternity when the Brother of our race and -the Spouse of our souls was only the everlasting Begotten of the Father, -dwelling in that inscrutable eternity to which we, as the creatures of -time, seem to have no link. Our thoughts and imaginations are shackled -by the conditions of our own being. Yesterday we were not. And so all -before yesterday seems like a blank to us. To-morrow we know will be--if -not for us in this identical state, yet certainly for us in some other -state. But that dim yesterday, which never began and of which no history -can be written, no details given, only the great, grand, inarticulated -statement made that the QUI EST, the “I am,” filled it--this appalls -us. Can nothing be done to mitigate this stupendous though beautiful -horror? Is there no corner into which our insignificance can creep, that -so we may look out upon those unknown depths without feeling that we -are plunging into a fathomless ocean, there to sink in blank darkness -and inanition? Surely the God of the past (as from our point of view we -reckon the past) should not be so appallingly unknown to us who have -our beloved Jesus in the present, and who look forward to the Beatific -Vision of the whole blessed Trinity with trembling hope in the future. -But before we can in any degree overcome the stupor with which we think -of the backward-flowing ages of eternity, we must endeavor more fully to -realize the nature of time. - -We are all apt to speak of time as a period; whereas it is more properly -a state. - -The generality of persons, in thinking of time in relation to eternity, -represent to themselves a long, long ago, blind past, and then an -interminable but partially appreciable future, and time lying as a sort -of sliced-out period between the two, which slice is attached to the -eternity behind and the eternity in front, and about which we have the -comfort and satisfaction of being able to write history and chronicle -events, either on a large or a small scale. We treat it as we should do a -mountain of gold, which we coin into money, and we conveniently cut it up -into ages, years, months, days, and hours. It is our nature so to do, and -we cannot do otherwise. It is the condition of our being. But as it will -not be always the condition of our being, there are few things we are -more constantly exhorted to than the attempt to raise our imagination, -or rather our faith, as much as possible out of these conventional and -arbitrary trammels, and dispose ourselves for that other state which is -our ultimate end, and where there are no years and no days. - -In point of fact, time is only an imperfection of our being--an -absolutely necessary imperfection, because our being is finite, and -our state is a probationary state; and probation implies not only that -succession which is necessary in every finite being, but change and -movement in respect to things which are permanent in a more perfect -state. Our condition in time has not inaptly been compared to that of a -man looking through the small aperture of a camera-obscura, which only -permits him to behold a section of what is passing. The figures appear -and vanish. But the window is thrown wide open in eternity, and he sees -the whole at once. He is, therefore, under a disadvantage so long as he -is in the camera-obscura, viewing the landscape through a small hole. -And this is our position, judging of eternity through the aperture of -time. Even now we have a wonderful power of adding to our time, or of -shortening it, without any reference to clocks or sun-dials, and which, -if we think about it, will help to show us that time is a plastic -accident of our being. - -When we have been very much absorbed, we have taken no note of time, -and the hours have flown like minutes. During that interval we have, -as it were, made our own time, and modified our condition with -reference to time by our own act. Time, therefore, is plastic. Were we -by some extraordinary and exceptional power to accomplish in one day -all that actually we now take a year to effect, but at the same time -intellectually to retain our present perception of the succession of -events, our life would not really have been shorter for the want of -those three hundred and sixty-four days which we had been able to do -without. Life is shorter now than it was in the days of the patriarchs. -But possibly the perception of life is not shortened. Nay, rather, -from the rapidity with which events are now permitted to succeed each -other, partially owing to the progress of science and to man’s increased -dominion over material force, the probability is that our lives are not -abstractedly much, if at all, more brief than Adam’s nine hundred and -thirty years. All things now are hastening to the end. They have always -been hastening. But there is the added impetus of the past; and that -increases with every age in the world’s history. - -Now, let us imagine life, or a portion of life, without thought--that is, -without the act of thinking. Immediately we find that it is next door -to _no thing_, to no time, and no life. We can only measure life with -any accuracy by the amount of thought which has filled it--that is, by -the quantity of our intellectual and spiritual power which we have been -able to bring to the small aperture in the camera-obscura, by which to -contemplate the ever-flowing eternity which lies beyond, and cut it up -into the sections we call time. - -Another example will show us how plastic is the nature of time. Take -the life of an animal. We are inclined to give the largest reasonable -and possible importance to the brute creation. It is an open question, -in which we see great seeds of future development, all tending to -increased glory to the Creator and to further elucidation of creative -love. Nevertheless, it is obvious that brutes perceive only or chiefly -by moments. There is, as compared with ourselves, little or no sequence -in their perceptions. There is no cumulative knowledge. They are without -deliberate reflection, even where they are not without perception of -relations and circumstances, past or future. Consequently, they are more -rigorously subjects to time than ourselves. Therefore, when we deprive -an animal of life, we deprive him of a remainder of time that is equal -to little more than no time, in proportion to the degree in which his -power of filling time with perception is less than our own.[247] All -we have said tends to prove that the existence of time is a relative -existence; it is the form or phase of our own finite being. It is an -aspect of eternity--the aspect which is consistent with our present -condition. For time is the measure of successive existence in created -and finite beings. As finite spirits we cannot escape from this limit of -successive existence, any more than a body can escape from the limit of -locality and finite movement in grace. Eternal existence is the entire -possession of life, which is illimitable, in such a perfect manner that -all succession in duration is excluded. This is possible only in God -himself, who is alone most pure and perfect act, and therefore is at once -all he can be, without change or movement. But the created spirit must -ever live by a perpetual movement of increase in its duration, because it -is on every side finite. Time, therefore, will continue to exist while -creatures continue to exist. - -Having arrived at this conclusion we cannot refuse ourselves the -satisfaction of pointing out one obvious deduction--namely, that if -time has, in itself, only a relative existence, it is impossible it can -ever put an end to the existence of anything else. It is inconceivable -that the _non est_ can absorb, exterminate, annihilate, or obliterate -any one single thing that has ever had one second of real existence, -of permitted being, of sentient, or even of insentient, life. God can -annihilate, if he so will (and we do not think he will), but time -cannot. Time can hide and put away. It can slip between us and the only -reality, which is eternity; that is the condition of God, the QUI EST. -Wait awhile, and time will have, as it were, spread or overflowed into -eternity. It will hide nothing from our view. It will be “rent in two -from the top to the bottom,” from the beginning to the end, like the -veil of the Temple, which is its symbol. And then will appear all that -it has hitherto seemed, but only seemed, to distinguish. We shall find -it all in the inner recesses of eternity. What cause, in point of fact, -have we for supposing that anything which _is_ shall cease to exist? -Why, because we no longer behold certain objects, do we imagine them to -be really lost for ever? Is this a reasonable supposition on the part -of beings who are conscious that once they themselves were not, and yet -believe that they always shall be? Why should the mere diversity in other -existences make us apprehend that the missing is also the lost, and that -we have any substantial cause for doubting that all which exists will -go on existing? Do we anywhere see symptoms of annihilation? It is true -we see endless mutations, but those very mutations are a guarantee to -us of the continuousness of being. All material things change: but they -only change. They do not ever in any case go out and cease to be. If -this be true of merely material things, how absolutely true must it be -of the immaterial; and how more than probable of that which is partly -one and partly the other, of that far lower nature of the brutes, which -have a principle of life in them inferior to ours and superior to the -plants, and of which, since we do not believe their sensations to be the -result of certain fortuitous atoms that have fashioned themselves blindly -after an inexorable law, and independently of an intelligent Lawgiver, -we may reasonably predicate that they too will have a future and, in -its proper inferior order, an advanced existence. Everywhere there is -growth--through the phases of time into the portals of eternity. - -The idea in the eternal Mind, of all essences, the least as well as the -greatest, was, like the Mind that held it, eternal--that is, exempt -from all limit of succession. The past, present, and future are the -progressive modes of existence and of our own perceptions rather than -the properties of the essences themselves. Those essences had a place in -the Eternal Idea; they occupy an actual place as an actual existence in -the phases of time, and they go on in all probability--may we not say -in all certainty?--in the endlessness of the Creator’s intention. Let -no one misunderstand this as implying that matter was eternal in any -other sense than its essence being an object of the idea of the eternal -God, it was always clearly present to the eternal Mind. Its actuality, -as we know it, dates from this creation of the crude, chaotic mass. -But once formed, and then fashioned, and finally animated, we can have -no pretence for supposing that any part of it will ever cease to be. -Nor can we have any solid reason for supposing that what has once been -endowed with sentient life will ever be condemned to fall back into the -all but infinitely lower form of mere organic matter, any more than we -have reason to suppose that at some future period organic matter will -be reduced to inorganic matter, and that out of this beautiful creation -it will please God to resolve chaos back again, either the whole or in -any one the smallest part. We have nothing to do with the difficulties -of the question. They are difficulties entirely of detail, and not of -principle; and they concern us no more than it concerns us to be able -to state how many animalcula it took to heave up the vast sierras of -the western hemisphere. The details may well puzzle us, and we cannot -venture on the merest suggestion. But the principle is full of hope, -joy, and security, which in itself is a presumption in its favor. If we -would but believe how God values the work of his own hands; if we would -but try to realize how intense is creative love, what much larger and -deeper views we should have of the future of all creation, and of the -glory that is prepared for us! Even the old heathen religions began by -taking larger and more accurate measure of these questions (though they -necessarily ended in error) than too many of us do with all the light of -the Gospel thrown upon them. The animism of the heathens, which makes no -distinction between animate and inanimate existence, but lends a soul -to each alike, had in it a sort of loving and hopeful reverence for -creation which is often wanting to us who alone truly know the Creator. -In their blind groping after faith it led them to fetichism, and further -on, as a fuller development of the same notion, to pantheism, and then -to the ever-renewed and quite endless incarnations of Buddha. But these -errors took their rise originally from a respectful and tender love of -that beautiful though awful nature which man found lying all around him; -external to himself, yet linked to himself, and beneath the folds of -which he hoped to find the hidden deity. - -If these reflections have at all enabled us to understand the nature -of time, and to shake off some of the unreasonable importance we lend -to it in our imaginations--making of it a sort of lesser rival to -eternity, fashioning it into an actual, existing thing, as if it were an -attribute of God himself, instead of being, what it is, a state or phase -imposed upon us, and not in any way affecting him--we shall have done -much to facilitate the considerations we wish to enlarge upon. Eternity -is “perpetually instantaneous.” It is the _nunc stans_ of theology. -Time, on the contrary, is the past, present, and future of our human -condition--the _nunc fluens_ of theology. - -With this truth well rooted in our minds, we will now turn to the -investigation of some of those impressions to which we referred at the -beginning of this section, and endeavor to throw light upon them from out -of the additional knowledge we acquire of the nature and characteristics -of the divine Being through the simple process of clearing away some -of our false impressions with respect to time. We had in our modes of -thought more or less hemmed in the Eternal, with our human sense of time, -and subjected even him to the narrowing process of a past, present, and -future. Now we are about to think of ourselves only in that position, and -to contemplate him in eternity, dealing with us through the medium of -time, but distinctly with a reference to eternity, and only apparently -imposing on himself the conditions of time in order to bring himself, as -it were, on a level with us in his dealings with us. - -Strange as it may appear, out of the depths of our stupidity we have -fabricated a difficulty to ourselves in his very condescensions, and, -looking back from our present to the past, we find ourselves puzzled at -certain divers revelations of God made to mankind in gone-by times; just -as, in the weakness of our faith, we are sometimes troubled with doubts -about our own condition, and that of those about us, in that future which -must come, and which may not be far off to any one of us. - -The God of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob--is he really quite the same as -our own God? our God of the womb of Mary, of the manger, of the wayside -places in Palestine, and Mount Calvary, and now, of the silken-curtained -Tabernacle, and the Blessed Eucharist, and the dear, ineffable moments of -silent prayer--is he the same? - -Of course we know that, literally and absolutely, he is the same -yesterday, to-day, and for ever. Nevertheless, he appears to us -under such different aspects that we find ourselves unintentionally -contemplating the Old Testament as a revelation of the divine Being with -very different emotions from those with which we contemplate him in the -New Testament, and this, again, differing widely from our view of him -in the church. It may be a mere matter of feeling, perhaps; but it is -nevertheless a feeling which materially influences our form of devotion, -the vigor of our faith, and the power of our hope and love. - -If we could take in all these different impressions and amalgamate them; -if we could group them together, or make them like the several rays of -light directed into one focus, we should obtain a more complete and a -more influential knowledge of God than we can do while we seem rather to -be wandering out of one view of him into another, as if we walked from -chamber to chamber and closed each door behind us. - -Now, the only way we can arrive at this is by bearing in mind that the -acts of God in governing the world are not momentary and solitary facts, -but continuous acts, or rather one continuous act. - -Our difficulty lies in producing a visibly satisfactory harmony in our -own minds as regards the acts of God, and thus (though for our own -appreciation of them, they are to us broken up into fragments, or, in -other terms, into separate facts) arriving at the same mental attitude -towards them as though we saw them as one continuous act. - -It will aid us in our search if we, first of all, endeavor to qualify -that act. - -Its very continuity, its perpetual instantaneousness, must essentially -affect its character and make the definition no complex matter. It is an -act of love, and it is revealed as such in the whole creation, and in the -way God has let himself down to us and is drawing us up unto himself. -There have been many apparent modifications, but there have been no -actual contradictions, in this characteristic; for even the existence of -evil works round to greater good, to a degree sufficiently obvious to us -for us to know that where it is less obvious it must nevertheless follow -the same law. For law is everywhere; because God is law, though law is -not God. - -Modern unbelief substitutes law for God, and then thinks it has done away -with him. To us who believe it makes no difference how far back in the -long continuous line of active forces we may find the original and divine -Author of all force. It is nothing but the weakness of our imagination -which makes it more difficult to count by millions than by units. - -What does it matter to our faith through how many developments the -condition of creation, as we now see it all around us, may have passed, -when we know that the first idea sprang from the great Source of all law, -and that with him the present state is as much one continuous act as the -past state and the future state? You may trace back the whole material -universe, if you will, to the one first molecule of chaotic matter; but -so long as I find that first molecule in the hand of my Creator (and I -defy you to put it anywhere else), it is enough for my faith. - -You do not make him one whit the less my Creator and my God because -an initial law or force, with which he then stamped it, has worked -it out to what I now see it. You may increase the apparent distance -between the world as it is actually and the divine Fount from whence -it sprang; you may seem to remove the creative love which called the -universe into existence further off, by thus lengthening the chain of -what you call developments; but, after all, these developments are for -ever bridged over by the ulterior intentions of the Triune Deity when -he said,“Let us make man in our image,” and by the fact that space and -time are mere accidents as viewed in relation to the QUI EST. They are, -so to speak, divinely-constituted conventionalities, through which the -Divinity touches upon our human condition, but which in no way affect -the Divine Essence as it is in itself. On the contrary, in the broken-up -developments and evolutions which you believe you trace, and which you -want to make into a blind law which shall supersede a divine Creator, I -see only the pulsations of time breaking up the perpetually instantaneous -act of God, just as I see the pulsations of light in the one unbroken -ray. The act of God passes through the medium of time before it reaches -our ken; and the ray of light passes through the medium of air before it -strikes our senses; but both are continuous and instantaneous. - -If we have in any degree succeeded in establishing this to our -satisfaction, it will become easier for us to estimate the acts of God as -they come to us through the pulsations of Time; because we shall be able -to bear in mind that they must be in a measure interpreted to us by the -time through which they reach us. They were modified by the time in which -they were revealed, much as the ray is modified by the substance through -which it forces its way to us. - -Now, we arrive at the causes of the different impressions we receive -of the nature and characteristics of the divine Being. They are a -consequence of the different epochs in which we contemplate him. They are -the pulsations appropriate to that epoch. Other pulsations belong to our -portion of time, and to our consequent view of the divine Being; and so -on and on, till time shall be swallowed up in Eternity, and the Beatific -Vision burst upon us. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -MISSIONS IN MAINE FROM 1613 TO 1854. - -“THE BLOOD OF THE MARTYRS IS THE SEED OF THE CHURCH.” - -To the historical student the following paper can have but trifling -value, as the writer makes no pretension to originality of matter, and -seeks but to bring within the grasp of the general reader, in a condensed -form, the gist of many books, a large number of which are rare, and -almost inaccessible. - -It is hoped, however, that there are many persons who will read with -interest a paper thus compiled from undoubted authorities, who have -neither the time nor the inclination to consult these authorities for -themselves. These persons will learn with wonder of the self-abnegation -of the French priests who went forth among the savages with their lives -in their hands, with but one thought in their brains, one wish in their -hearts, one prayer on their lips--the evangelization of the Indians. - -As Shea says: “The word Christianity was, in those days, identical with -Catholicity. The religion to be offered to the New World was that of the -Church of Rome, which church was free from any distinct national feeling, -and in extending her boundaries carried her own language and rites, not -those of any particular state.” - -The Franciscan, Dominican, and Jesuit bore the heat and burden of -the day, and reaped the most bountiful harvest in that part of North -America now known as the State of Maine; and the first mission in that -neighborhood was planted at Mt. Desert, and called St. Sauveur. A hotel -at Bar Harbor is so named, but not one in a hundred of the numerous -guests who cross its threshold knows the reason of the French name of -their temporary abiding-place. - -This reason, and the facts connected therewith, we shall now proceed to -give to our readers. In 1610 Marie de Médicis was Regent of France. The -king had been assassinated in the streets of Paris in the previous month -of May. Sully was dismissed from court. All was confusion and dissension. -Twelve years of peace and the judicious rule of the king had paid the -national debt and filled the treasury. - -The famous Father Cotton, confessor of the late king, was still powerful -at court. He laid before the queen the facts that Henri IV. had been -deeply interested in the establishment of the Jesuit order in Acadia, and -had evinced a tangible proof of that interest in the bestowal of a grant -of two thousand livres per annum. - -The ambitious queen listened indulgently, with a heart softened, -possibly, by recent sorrows, and consented to receive the son of the -Baron Poutrincourt, who had just returned from the New World, where he -had left his father with Champlain. Father Cotton ushered the handsome -stripling into the presence of the stately queen and her attendant -ladies. Young Biencourt at first stood silent and abashed, but, as the -ladies gathered about him and plied him with questions, soon forgot -himself and told wondrous tales of the dusky savages--of their strange -customs and of their eagerness for instruction in the true faith. He -displayed the baptismal register of the converts of Father Fléche, and -implored the sympathy and aid of these glittering dames, and not in vain; -for, fired with pious emulation, they tore the flashing jewels from their -ears and throats. Among these ladies was one whose history and influence -were so remarkable that we must translate for our readers some account of -her from the Abbé de Choisy. - -Antoinette de Pons, Marquise de Guercheville had been famed throughout -France, not only for her grace and beauty, but for qualities more rare at -the court where her youth had been passed. - -When Antoinette was La Duchesse de Rochefoucauld, the king begged her to -accept a position near the queen. “Madame,” he said, as he presented her -to Marie de Médicis, “I give you a Lady of Honor who is a lady of honor -indeed.” - -Twenty years had come and gone. The youthful beauty of the _marquise_ had -faded, but she was fair and stately still, and one of the most brilliant -ornaments of the brilliant court; and yet she was not altogether worldly. -Again a widow and without children, she had become sincerely religious, -and threw herself heart and soul into the American missions, and was -restrained only by the positive commands of her mistress the queen from -herself seeking the New World. - -Day and night she thought of these perishing souls. On her knees in her -oratory she prayed for the Indians, and contented herself not with this -alone. From the queen and from the ladies of the court she obtained -money, and jewels that could be converted into money. Charlevoix tells -us that the only difficulty was to restrain her ardor within reasonable -bounds. - -Two French priests, Paul Biard and Enémond Massé, were sent to Dieppe, -there to take passage for the colonies. The vessel was engaged by -Poutrincourt and his associates, and was partially owned by two Huguenot -merchants, who persistently and with indignation refused to permit the -embarkation of the priests. No entreaties or representations availed, and -finally La Marquise bought out the interest of the two merchants in the -vessel and cargo, and transferred it to the priests as a fund for their -support. - -At last the fathers set sail, on the 26th of January, 1611. Their -troubles, however, were by no means over; for Biencourt, a mere lad, -clothed in a little brief authority--manly, it is true, beyond his -years--hampered them at every turn. They arrived at Port Royal in June, -after a hazardous and tempestuous voyage, having seen, as Father Biard -writes, icebergs taller and larger than the Church of Notre Dame. -The fathers became discouraged by the constant interference of young -Biencourt, and determined to return to Europe, unless they could, with -Mme. de Guercheville’s aid, found a mission colony in some other spot. - -Their zealous protectress obtained from De Monts--who, though a -Protestant, had erected six years before the first cross in Maine at -the mouth of the Kennebec--a transfer of all his claims to the lands of -Acadia, and soon sent out a small vessel with forty colonists, commanded -by La Saussaye, a nobleman, and having on board two Jesuit priests, -Fathers du Thet and Quentin. - -It was on the 1st of March, 1613, that this vessel left Honfleur, laden -with supplies, and followed by prayers and benedictions. - -On the 16th of May La Saussaye reached Port Royal, and there took on -board Fathers Massé and Biard, and then set sail for the Penobscot. A -heavy fog arose and encompassed them about; if it lifted for a moment, -it was but to show them a white gleam of distant breakers or a dark, -overhanging cliff. - -“Our prayers were heard,” wrote Biard, “and at night the stars came out, -and the morning sun devoured the fogs, and we found ourselves lying in -Frenchmans Bay opposite Mt. Desert.” - -L’Isle des Monts Déserts had been visited and so named by Champlain in -1604, and Frenchman’s Bay gained its title from a singular incident that -had there taken place in the same spring. - -De Monts had broken up his winter encampment at St. Croix. Among his -company was a young French ecclesiastic, Nicholas d’Aubri, who, to -gratify his curiosity in regard to the products of the soil in this new -and strange country, insisted on being set ashore for a ramble of a few -hours. He lost his way, and the boatmen, after an anxious search, were -compelled to leave him. For eighteen days the young student wandered -through woods, subsisting on berries and the roots of the plant known as -Solomon’s Seal. He, however, kept carefully near the shore, and at the -end of this time he distinguished a sail in the distance. Signalling -this, he was fortunate enough to be taken off by the same crew that had -landed him. On these bleak shores the colonists decided to make their -future home, and, with singular infelicity, selected them as the site of -the new colony. It is inconceivable how Father Biard, who had already -spent some time in the New World, could have failed to suggest to La -Saussaye and to their patroness that a colony, to be a success, must be -not only in a spot easily accessible to France, but that a small force of -armed men was imperative; for, to Biard’s own knowledge, the English had -already seized several French vessels in that vicinity. - -On these frowning shores La Saussaye landed, and erected a cross, and -displayed the escutcheon of Mme. de Guercheville; the fathers offered the -Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, and gave to the little settlement the name of -St. Sauveur. - -Four tents--the gift of the queen--shone white in the soft spring -sunshine. The largest of these was used as a chapel, the decorations of -which, with the silver vessels for the celebration of the Mass and the -rich vestments, were presented by Henriette d’Entraigues, Marquise de -Verneuil. - -The colonists labored night and day to raise their little fort and to -land their supplies. Their toil was nearly over, the vessel, ready for -sea, rode at anchor, when a sudden and violent storm arose. - -This storm had been felt twenty-four hours earlier off the Isles of -Shoals by a fishing vessel commanded by one Samuel Argall. Thick fogs -bewildered him, and a strong wind drove him to the northeast; and when -the weather cleared, Argall found himself off the coast of Maine. Canoes -came out like flocks of birds from each small bay. The Indians climbed -the ship’s side, and greeted the new-comers with such amazing bows and -flourishes that Argall, with his native acuteness, felt certain that they -could have learned them only from the French, who could not be far away. -Argall plied the Indians with cunning questions, and soon learned of the -new settlement. He resolved to investigate farther, and set sail for the -wild heights of Mt. Desert. With infinite patience he crept along through -the many islands, and, rounding the Porcupines, saw a small ship anchored -in the bay. At the same moment the French saw the English ship bearing -down upon them “swifter than an arrow,” writes Father Biard, “with every -sail set, and the English flags streaming from mast-head and stern.” - -La Saussaye was within the fort, Lieut. la Motte on board with Father du -Thet, an ensign, and a sergeant. Argall bore down amid a bewildering din -of drums and trumpets. “Fire!” cried La Motte. Alas! the gunner was on -shore. Father du Thet seized and applied the match. - -Another scathing discharge of musketry, and the brave priest lay dead. He -had his wish; for the day before he left France he prayed with uplifted -hands that he might not return, but perish on that holy enterprise. He -was buried the following day at the foot of the rough cross he had helped -to erect. - -La Motte, clear-sighted enough to see the utter uselessness of any -farther attempt at defence, surrendered, and Argall took possession of -the vessel and of La Saussaye’s papers, from among which he abstracted -the royal commission. On La Saussaye’s return from the woods, where he -had retreated with the colonists, he was met by Argall, who informed him -that the country belonged to his master, King James, and finally asked -to see his commission. In vain did the French nobleman search for it. -Argall’s courtesy changed to wrath; he accused the officer of piracy, and -ordered the settlement to be given up to pillage, but offered to take -any of the settlers who had a trade back to Virginia with him, promising -them protection. Argall counted, however, without his host; for on -reaching Jamestown the governor swore that the French priests should be -hung. Useless were Argall’s remonstrances, and finally, seeing no other -way to save the lives of the fathers, he produced the commission and -acknowledged his stratagem. - -The wrath of Sir Thomas Dale was unappeased, but the lives of the priests -were, of course, safe. He despatched Argall with two additional ships -back to Mt. Desert, with orders to cut down the cross and level the -defences. - -Father Biard was on board, as well as Father Massé; they, with refined -cruelty, being sent to witness the destruction of their hopes. - -This work of destruction completed, Argall set sail for Virginia. Again -a storm arose, and the vessel on which were the ecclesiastics was driven -to the Azores. Here the Jesuits, who had been so grossly ill-treated, had -but a few words to say to be avenged. The captain of the vessel was not -without uneasiness, and entreated the priests to remain in concealment -when the vessel was visited by the authorities. This visit over, the -English purchased all they needed, and weighed anchor for England. -Arrived there, a new difficulty occurred; for there was no commission -to show. The captain was treated as a pirate, thrown into prison, and -released only on the testimony of the Jesuit Fathers, who thus returned -good for evil. - -Father Biard hastened to France, where he became professor of theology at -Lyons, and died at Avignon on the 17th of November, 1622. Father Massé -returned to Canada, where he labored without ceasing until his death, in -1646. - -With the destruction of St. Sauveur, the pious designs of Mme. de -Guercheville seem to have perished. At any rate, the most diligent -research fails to find her name again in the annals of that time. -Probably the troubled state of France made it impossible for her to -provide the sinews of war, or of evangelization. Nevertheless, the good -seed was planted, and zeal for the mission cause again revived in Europe, -particularly in the Society of Jesus. Young men left court and camp to -share the privations and life of self-denial of the missionaries. Even -the convents partook of the general enthusiasm, and Ursuline Nuns came to -show the Indians Christianity in daily life, ministering to the sick and -instructing the young. - -Many years after the melancholy failure of the mission at Mt. Desert, an -apparent accident recalled the Jesuit Fathers to the coast of Maine. - -In 1642 there was a mission at Sillery, on the St. Lawrence, where had -been gathered together a large number of Indian converts, who lived, with -their families about them, in peace and harmony under the watchful care -of the kind fathers. Among these converts was a chief who, to rescue -some of his tribe who had been taken prisoners, started off through the -pathless wilderness, and finally reached the English at Coussinoe, now -known as Augusta, on the Kennebec. - -There the Indian convert so extolled the Christian faith and its mighty -promises that he took back with him several of the tribe. These were -baptized at Sillery, and became faithful servants of our Lord Jesus -Christ. In consequence of the entreaties of these converts, Father -Gabriel Drouillettes was sent to the lonely Kennebec. - -Here he built a chapel of fir-trees in a place now known as Norridgewock, -a lovely, secluded spot. Some years before Father Biard had been there -for a few weeks, so that the Indians were not totally unprepared to -receive religious instruction. Father Drouillettes was greatly blessed -in his teaching, and converted a large number, inspiring them with a -profound love for the Catholic faith, which the English, twenty years -before, had failed to do for the Protestant religion. He taught them -simple prayers, and translated for their use, into their own dialect, -several hymns. The savages even learned to sing, and it was not long -before the solemn strains of the _Dies Iræ_ awakened strange echoes in -the primeval forests. - -Even the English, biassed as they were against the Catholics, watched -the good accomplished by the faithful servant of the great Master, and -learned to regard his coming as a great blessing, though at this very -time the stern Puritans at Plymouth were enacting cruel laws against his -order. - -When the Indians went to Moosehead Lake to hunt and fish, Father -Drouillettes went with them, watching over his flock with unswerving -solicitude. But the day of his summons to Quebec came, and a general -feeling of despair overwhelmed his converts. He went, and the Assumption -Mission was deserted; for by that name, as it was asked for on that day, -was this mission always designated. - -Year after year the Abnakis--for so were called the aborigines of -Maine--sent deputations to Quebec to entreat the return of their beloved -priest, but in vain; for the number of missionaries was at that time very -limited. Finally, in 1650, Father Drouillettes set out with a party on -the last day of August for the tiresome eight days’ march through the -wilderness; the party lost their way, their provisions were gone, and it -was not until twenty-four days afterwards that they reached Norridgewock. - -From a letter written at this time by Father Drouillettes we transcribe -the following: “In spite of all that is painful and crucifying to nature -in these missions, there are also great joys and consolations. More -plenteous than I can describe are those I feel, to see that the seed of -the Gospel I scattered here four years ago, in land which for so many -centuries has lain fallow, or produced only thorns and brambles, already -bears fruit so worthy of the Lord.” Nothing could exceed the veneration -and affection of the Indians for their missionary; and when an Englishman -vehemently accused the French priest of slandering his nation, the chiefs -hurried to Augusta, and warned the authorities to take heed and not -attack their father even in words. - -The following spring Father Drouillettes was sent to a far-distant -station, and years elapsed before he returned to Quebec, where he died in -1681, at the age of eighty-eight. - -About this time two brothers, Vincent and Jacques Bigot, men of rank -and fortune, left their homes in sunny France to share the toil and -privations of life in the New World. They placed themselves and their -fortunes in the hands of the superior at Quebec, and were sent to -labor in the footprints of Father Drouillettes. During their faithful -ministrations at Norridgewock, the chapel built by their predecessor -was burned by the English, but was rebuilt in 1687 by English workmen -sent from Boston, according to treaty stipulations. And now appears upon -the scene the stately form of one of the greatest men of that age; but -before we attempt to bring before our readers the character and acts of -Sebastian Râle, we must beg them to turn from Norridgewock, the scene -of his labors and martyrdom, to the little village of Castine. For in -1688 Father Thury, a priest of the diocese of Quebec, a man of tact and -ability, had gathered about him a band of converts at Panawauski, on the -Penobscot. This settlement was protected by the Baron Saint-Castine. -This Saint-Castine was a French nobleman and a soldier who originally -went to Canada in command of a regiment. The regiment was disbanded, and -Saint-Castine’s disappointed ambition and a heart sore from domestic -trials decided him, rather than return to France, to plunge into the -wilderness, and there, far from kindred and nation, create for himself a -new home. - -After a while the baron married a daughter of one of the sachems of -the Penobscot Indians, and became himself a sagamore of the tribe. The -descendants of this marriage hold at the present day some portion of the -Saint-Castine lands in Normandy. - -Twice was the French baron driven from his home by the Dutch; twice -was the simple chapel burned by them. In 1687 Sir Edmund Andros was -appointed governor of New England, and in the following year, sailing -eastward in the frigate _Rose_, he anchored opposite the little fort and -primitive home of Saint-Castine. The baron retreated with the small band -of settlers to the woods. Andros, being a Catholic, touched nothing in -the chapel, but carried off everything else in the village. In 1703 the -war known as Queen Anne’s war broke out. Again Saint-Castine was attacked -by the English, and his wife and children carried off as prisoners, but -were soon after exchanged. From this time the name of Baron Saint-Castine -appears in all the annals of the time, as the courageous defender of his -faith and of its priests. Father Râle, at Norridgewock, turned to him for -counsel and aid, and never turned in vain. From Castine on to Mt. Desert -the shores are full of historical interest; for there were many French -settlements thereabouts, the attention of that nation having been drawn -to that especial locality by a grant of land which M. Cardillac obtained -of Louis XIV. in April, 1691. This grant was evidently made to confirm -possession. A certain Mme. de Grégoire proved herself to be a lineal -descendant of Cardillac, and in 1787 acquired a partial confirmation of -the original grant. - -Relics of the French settlers are constantly turned up by the plough in -the vicinity of Castine, and in 1840 a quantity of French gold pieces -were found; but of infinitely more interest was the discovery there, in -1863, of a copper plate ten inches in length and eight in width. The -finder, knowing nothing of the value of this piece of metal, cut off a -portion to repair his boat. This fragment was, however, subsequently -recovered. The letters on the plate are unquestionably abbreviations of -the following inscription: “1648, 8 Junii, S. Frater Leo Parisiensis, in -Capuccinorum Missione, posuit hoc fundamentum in honorem nostræ Dominæ -Sanctæ Spei”--1648, 8th of June, Holy Friar Leo of Paris, Capuchin -missionary, laid this foundation in honor of Our Lady of Holy Hope. - -In regard to this Father Leo the most diligent research fails to find -any other trace. The plate, however, was without doubt placed in the -foundation of a Catholic chapel--probably the one within the walls of the -old French fort. Father Sebastian Râle sailed in 1689 for America. After -remaining for nearly two years in Quebec, he went thence to Norridgewock. -He found the Abnakis nearly all converted, and at once applied himself to -learning their dialect. To this work he brought his marvellous patience -and energy, and all his wondrous insight into human nature. He began his -dictionary, and erected a chapel on the spot known now as Indian Old -Point. This chapel he supplied with all the decorations calculated to -engage the imagination and fix the wandering attention of the untutored -savage. The women contended with holy emulation in the embellishment of -the sanctuary. They made mats of the soft and brightly-tinted plumage -of the forest birds and of the white-breasted sea-gulls. They brought -offerings of huge candles, manufactured from the fragrant wax of the -bay-berry, with which the chapel was illuminated. A couple of nuns from -Montreal made a brief sojourn at Norridgewock, that they might teach the -Indian women to sew and to make a kind of lace with which to adorn the -altar. Busied with his dictionary and with his flock, Father Râle thus -passed the most peaceful days of his life; but this blessed quiet ended -only too soon. - -In 1705 a party of English, under the command of a Capt. Hilton, burst -from out the forest, attacking the little village from all sides at once, -finishing by burning the chapel and every hut. - -About the same time the governor-general of New England sent to the lower -part of the Kennebec the ablest of the Boston divines to instruct the -Indian children. As Baxter’s (the missionary) salary depended on his -success, he neglected no means that could attract. - -For two months he labored in vain. His caresses and little gifts were -thrown away; for he made not one convert. - -Father Râle wrote to Baxter that his neophytes were good Christians, but -far from able in disputes. - -This same letter, which was of some length, challenged the Protestant -clergyman to a discussion. Baxter, after a long delay, sent a brief -reply, in Latin so bad that the learned priest says it was impossible to -understand it. - -In 1717 the Indian chiefs held a council. The governor of New England -offered them an English and an Indian Bible, and Mr. Baxter as their -expounder. - -The Abnakis refused them one and all, and elected to adhere to their -Catholic faith, saying: “All people love their own priests! Your Bibles -we do not care for, and God has already sent us teachers.” - -Thus years passed on in monotonous labor. The only relaxation permitted -to himself by Father Râle was the work on his dictionary. The converts -venerated their priest; their keen eyes and quick instincts saw the -sincerity of his life, the reality of his affection for them, and -recognized his self-denial and generosity. They went to him with their -cares and their sorrows, with their simple griefs and simpler pleasures. -He listened with unaffected sympathy and interest. No envious rival, no -jealous competitor, no heretical teacher, disturbed the relations between -pastor and flock. So, too, was it but natural that they should look to -him for advice when they gathered about their council-fires. - -The wrongs which the Eastern Indians were constantly enduring at the -hands of the English settlers kindled to a living flame the smouldering -hatred in their hearts, which they sought every opportunity of wreaking -in vengeance on their foe. Thus, like lightning on the edge of the -horizon, they hovered on the frontier, making daring forays on the farms -of the settlers. - -It was not unnatural that the English, bristling with prejudices -against the French, and still more against Catholics, should have seen -fit to look on Father Râle as the instigator of all these attacks, -forgetting--what is undeniably true--that Father Râle’s converts were -milder and kinder and more Christian-like than any of their Indian -neighbors. The good father was full of concern when he heard that a -fierce and warlike tribe, who had steadily resisted all elevating -influences, were about settling within a day’s journey of Norridgewock. -He feared lest his children should be led away by pernicious examples; so -he with difficulty persuaded some of the strangers to enter the chapel, -and to be present at some of the imposing ceremonies of the mother -church. At the close of the service he addressed them in simple words, -and thus concluded: - -“Let us not separate, that some may go one way and some another. Let -us all go to heaven. It is our country, and the place to which we are -invited by the sole Master of life, of whom I am but the interpreter.” -The reply of the Indians was evasive; but it was evident that an -impression was made, and in the autumn they sent to him to say that if he -would come to them they would receive his teachings. - -Father Râle gladly went at this bidding, erected a cross and a chapel, -and finally baptized nearly the whole tribe. - -At this time Father Râle wrote to his nephew a letter, in which he -says: “My new church is neat, and its elegantly-ornamented vestments, -chasubles, copes, and holy vessels would be esteemed highly appropriate -in almost any church in Europe. A choir of young Indians, forty in -number, assist at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, and chant the divine -Offices for the consecration of the Holy Sacrament; and you would be -edified by the beautiful order they preserve and the devotion they -manifest. After the Mass I teach the young children, and the remainder -of the morning is devoted to seeing those who come to consult me on -affairs of importance. Thus, you see, I teach some, console others, seek -to re-establish peace in families at variance, and to calm troubled -consciences.” - -Another letter still later, in speaking of the attachment of the converts -to their faith, says: “And when they go to the sea-shore in summer to -fish, I accompany them; and when they reach the place where they intend -to pass the night, they erect stakes at intervals in the form of a -chapel, and spread a tent made of ticking. All is complete in fifteen -minutes. I always carry with me a beautiful board of cedar, with the -necessary supports. This serves for an altar, and I ornament the interior -with silken hangings. A huge bear-skin serves as a carpet, and divine -service is held within an hour.” - -While away on one of the excursions which Father Râle thus describes, the -village was attacked by the English; and again, in 1722, by a party of -two hundred under Col. Westbrook. New England had passed a law imposing -imprisonment for life on Catholic priests, and a reward was offered for -the head of Father Râle. The party was seen, as they entered the valley -of the Kennebec, by two braves, who hurried on to give the alarm; the -priest having barely time to escape to the woods with the altar vessels -and vestments, leaving behind him all his papers and his precious Abnaki -dictionary, which was enclosed in a strong box of peculiar construction. -It had two rude pictures on the lid, one of the scourging of our Blessed -Lord, and the other of the Crowning of Thorns. This box is now in the -possession of the Massachusetts Historical Society, while the dictionary -itself is at Harvard. - -Father Râle saved himself by taking refuge in a hollow tree, where he -remained for thirty-six hours, suffering from hunger and a broken leg. - -With wonderful courage Father Râle built up another chapel, and writes -thus, after recounting the efforts of the English to take him prisoner: -“In the words of the apostle, I conclude: I do not fear the threats of -those who hate me without a cause, and I count not my life dear unto -myself, so that I might finish my course and the ministry which I have -received of the Lord Jesus.” - -Again, over the council-fires, the Indian chiefs assembled. They decided -to send an embassy to Boston, to demand that their chapel, which had been -destroyed by the English, should be rebuilt. - -The governor, anxious to secure the alliance of the tribe, listened -patiently, and told them in reply that it belonged properly to the -governor of Canada to rebuild their church; still, that he would do it, -provided they would agree to receive the clergy he would choose, and -would send back to Quebec the French priest who was then with them. We -cannot forbear repeating here the unequalled satire of the Indian’s reply: - -“When you came here,” answered the chief, “we were unknown to the French -governor, but no one of you spoke of prayer or of the Great Spirit. You -thought only of my skins and furs. But one day I met a French black-coat -in the forest. He did not look at the skins with which I was loaded, but -he said words to me of the Great Spirit, of Paradise and of hell, and of -prayer, by which is the only path to heaven. - -“I listened with pleasure, and at last begged him to teach and to baptize -me. - -“If, when you saw me, you had spoken to me of prayer, I should have had -the misfortune to pray as you do; for I was not then able to know if your -prayers were good. So, I tell you, I will hold fast to the prayers of the -French. I will keep them until the earth burn up and perish.” - -At last the final and fatal effort on the life of Father Râle was made, -in 1724. - -All was quiet in the little village. The tall corn lay yellow in the -slanting rays of an August sun, when suddenly from the adjacent woods -burst forth a band of English with their Mohawk allies. The devoted -priest, knowing that they were in hot pursuit of him, sallied forth to -meet them, hoping, by the sacrifice of his own life, to save his flock. -Hardly had he reached the mission cross in the centre of the village than -he fell at its foot, pierced by a dozen bullets. Seven Indians, who had -sought to shield him with their bodies, lay dead beside him. - -Then followed a scene that beggars description. Women and children were -killed indiscriminately; and it ill became those who shot women as they -swam across the river to bring a charge of cruelty against the French -fathers. - -The chapel was robbed and then fired; the bell was not melted, but was -probably afterward buried by the Indians, for it was revealed only a few -years since by the blowing down of a huge oak-tree, and was presented to -Bowdoin College. - -The soft, dewy night closed on the scene of devastation, and in the -morning, as one by one the survivors crept back to their ruined homes -with their hearts full of consternation and sorrow, they found the body -of their beloved priest, not only pierced by a hundred balls, but with -the skull crushed by hatchets, arms and legs broken, and mouth and eyes -filled with dirt. They buried him where the day before had stood the -altar of the little chapel, and sent his tattered habits to Quebec. - -It was by so precious a death that this apostolical man closed a career -of nearly forty years of painful missionary toil. His fasts and vigils -had greatly enfeebled his constitution, and, when entreated to take -precautions for his safety, he answered: “My measures are taken. God has -committed this flock to my charge, and I will share their fate, being too -happy if permitted to sacrifice myself for them.” - -Well did his superior in Canada, M. de Bellemont, reply, when requested -to offer Masses for his soul: “In the words of S. Augustine, I say it -would be wronging a martyr to pray for him.” - -There can be no question that Sebastian Râle was one of the most -remarkable men of his day. A devoted Christian and finished scholar, -commanding in manners and elegant in address, of persuasive eloquence and -great administrative ability, he courted death and starvation, for the -sole end of salvation for the Indian. - -From the death of Father Râle until 1730 the mission at Norridgewock -was without a priest. In that year, however, the superior at Quebec -sent Father James de Sirenne to that station. The account given by this -father, of the warmth with which he was received, and of the manner in -which the Indians had sought to keep their faith, is very touching. The -women with tears and sobs hastened with their unbaptized babes to the -priest. - -In all these years no Protestant clergyman had visited them, for Eliot -was almost the only one who devoted himself to the conversion of the -Indians, though even he, as affirmed by Bancroft, had never approached -the Indian tribe that dwelt within six miles of Boston Harbor until five -years after the cross had been borne, by the religious zeal of the -French, from Lake Superior to the valley of the Mississippi. - -But Father Sirenne could not be permitted to remain any length of time -with the Abnakis. Again were they deserted, having a priest with them -only at long intervals. - -Then came the peace of 1763, in which France surrendered Canada. This -step struck a most terrible blow at the missions; for although the -English government guaranteed to the Canadians absolute religious -freedom, they yet took quiet steps to rid themselves of the Jesuit -Fathers. - -A short breathing space, and another war swept over the land, and with -this perished the last mission in Maine. In 1775 deputies from the -various tribes in Maine and Nova Scotia met the Massachusetts council. -The Indians announced their intention of adhering to the Americans, but -begged, at the same time, for a French priest. The council expressed -their regret at not being able to find one. - -“Strange indeed was it,” says Shea, “that the very body which, less than -a century before, had made it felony for a Catholic priest to visit the -Abnakis, now regretted their inability to send these Christian Indians a -missionary of the same faith and nation.” - -Years after, when peace was declared, and the few Catholics in Maryland -had chosen the Rev. John Carroll--a member of the proscribed Society of -Jesus--as bishop, the Abnakis of Maine sent a deputation bearing the -crucifix of Father Râle. This they presented to the bishop, with earnest -supplications for a priest. - -Bishop Carroll promised that one should be sent, and Father Ciquard -was speedily despatched to Norridgewock, where he remained for ten -years. Then ensued another interval during which the flock was without a -shepherd. - -At last a missionary priest at Boston, Father (afterward Cardinal) -Cheverus, turned his attention to the study of the Abnaki dialect, and -then visited the Penobscot tribe. - -Desolate, poor, and forsaken as they had been, the Indians still clung -to their faith. The old taught the young, and all gathered on Sundays to -chant the music of the Mass and Vespers, though their altar had no priest -and no sacrifice. - -Father Cheverus, after a few months, was succeeded by Father Romagné, -who for twenty years consecrated every moment and every thought to the -evangelization of the Penobscot and Passamaquoddy tribes. In July, 1827, -Bishop Fenwick visited this portion of his diocese, and in 1831 sent them -a resident missionary. A beautiful church stood at last in the place of -Romagné’s hut, and two years later Bishop Fenwick, once a father in the -Society of Jesus, erected a monument to Father Râle on the spot where he -was slain a hundred and nine years before. From far and near gathered -the crowd, Protestant as well as Catholic, to witness the ceremony. The -monument stands in a green, secluded spot, a simple shaft of granite -surmounted by a cross, and an inscription in Latin tells the traveller -that there died a faithful priest and servant of the Lord. Bishop Fenwick -became extremely anxious to induce some French priest to go to that -ancient mission, and a year later the Society of Picpus, in Switzerland, -sent out Fathers Demilier and Petithomme to restore the Franciscan -missions in Maine. They conquered the difficulties of the Abnaki dialect -with the aid of a prayer-book which the bishop had caused to be printed, -and in this small and insignificant mission Father Demilier toiled until -his death, in 1843. - -The successor of Bishop Fenwick resolved to restore the Abnaki mission -to the Fathers of the Society of Jesus, by whom it had been originally -founded. Therefore, since 1848, the Penobscots and Passamaquoddys have -been under the care of the Jesuits, who in that year sent out from -Switzerland Father John Bapst to Old Town, on the Penobscot--a short -distance from Bangor--where he ministered faithfully to the Abnakis until -he nearly lost his life in a disgraceful Know-Nothing riot in 1854. - -As we find ourselves thus at the conclusion of our narration, incidents -crowd upon our memory of the wondrous sacrifices made by the Catholic -clergy in the old missions of Maine; but we are admonished that our space -is limited. - -Little attention, however, has been paid to the fact that to these -Catholic priests alone under God is due the evangelization of the many -Indian tribes which formerly haunted our grand old forests. Of these -tribes, only a few of the Penobscots are left, and these cling still to -the cross as the blessed symbol of the faith first brought to them, “as -a voice crying in the wilderness,” by Fathers Biard and Du Thet at St. -Sauveur in 1613. - - -PRUSSIA AND THE CHURCH. - -The first attempts to introduce the Christian religion into Prussia -were unsuccessful. S. Adalbert, in 997, and S. Bruno, in 1009, suffered -martyrdom whilst preaching the Gospel there, and the efforts of Poland -to force the conquered Prussians to receive the faith only increased -the bitterness of their anti-Christian prejudices. Early in the XIIth -century Bishop Otto, of Bamberg, made many conversions in Pomerania; and -finally, in the beginning of the XIIIth, the Cistercian monk Christian, -with the approval and encouragement of Pope Innocent III., set to work -to convert the Prussians, and met with such success that in 1215 he was -made bishop of the country. The greater part of the people, however, -still remained heathens, and the progress of Christianity aroused in -them such indignation that they determined to oppose its farther advance -with the sword. To protect his flock Bishop Christian called to his aid -the knights of the Teutonic Order; in furtherance of his designs, the -Emperor Frederic II. turned the whole country over to them, and Pope -Gregory IX. took measures to increase their number, so that they might be -able to hold possession of this field, now first opened to the Gospel. -Pope Innocent IV. also manifested special interest in the welfare of the -church in Prussia; he urged priests and monks to devote themselves to -this mission, supported and encouraged the bishops in their trials and -difficulties, and exhorted the convents throughout Germany to contribute -books for the education of the people. But circumstances were not wanting -which made the position of the church in Prussia very unsatisfactory. The -people had for the most part been brought under the church’s influence by -the power of arms, and consequently to a great extent remained strangers -to her true spirit. The Teutonic Order, moreover, gave ecclesiastical -positions only to German priests, so as to hold out inducements to the -people to learn German; though, as a consequence, the priests were unable -to communicate with their flocks, except by the aid of interpreters. - -The grand master, too, had almost unlimited control over the election -of bishops, which was the cause of many evils, especially as the Order -gradually grew lax in the observance of the rule, and lost much of -its Christian character. Unworthy men were thrust into ecclesiastical -offices, the standard of morality among the clergy was lowered, and the -people lost respect for the priesthood. It is not surprising, in view of -all this, that the religious sectaries of the XIIIth and XIVth centuries -should have found favor in Prussia, and made converts among her still -half-pagan populations. - -In 1466 the Teutonic Order became a dependency of the crown of Poland. -There was no hope of its freeing itself from this humiliating subjection -without foreign aid; and with a view to obtain this, the knights resolved -to choose their grand master from one or other of the most powerful -German families. First, in 1498, they elected Frederic, Duke of Saxony; -and upon his death, in 1510, Albrecht, Margrave of Brandenburg, was -chosen to succeed him. - -Albrecht refused the oath of supremacy to Sigismund, King of Poland, who -thereupon, in 1519, declared war upon him. - -To meet the expenses of the war, Albrecht had the sacred vessels of -the church melted down and minted; but he was unable to stand against -the arms of Poland, and therefore sought the mediation of the Emperor -of Germany, through whose good offices he was able to conclude, in -1521, a four years’ truce. He now went into Germany, where Luther was -already preaching the Protestant rebellion, and asked aid from the -Imperial Parliament, which was holding its sessions at Nuremberg; and -as this was denied him, he turned with favor to the teachers of the new -doctrines. The Teutonic Order had become thoroughly corrupt, and Leo X. -urged Albrecht to begin a reformation _in capite et membris_; but the -grand master sought the advice of Luther, from whom he received the not -unwelcome counsel to throw away the “stupid, unnatural rule of his Order, -take a wife, and turn Prussia into a temporal hereditary principality.” -Albrecht accordingly asked for preachers of the new doctrines, and in -1526 announced his abandonment of the Order and the Catholic Church by -his marriage with the daughter of the King of Denmark. Acting upon the -Protestant principle, _cujus regio illius religio_--the ruler of the land -makes its religion--he forced the Prussians to quit the church from which -they had received whatever culture and civilization they had. - -At his death, in 1568, Lutheranism had gained complete possession of the -country. - -A few Catholics, however, remained, for whom, early in the XVIIth -century, King Sigismund of Poland succeeded in obtaining liberty of -conscience, which, however, was denied to those of Brandenburg Frederic -William, the second king of Prussia, and the first to form the design -of placing her among the great powers of Europe by the aid of a strong -military organization, in giving directions in 1718 for the education of -his son, afterwards Frederic the Great, insisted that the boy should be -inspired with a horror of the Catholic Church, “the groundlessness and -absurdity of whose teachings should be placed before his eyes and well -impressed upon his mind.” - -Frederic William was a rigid Calvinist; and if he tolerated a few -Catholics in his dominions, it was only that he might vent his ill-humor -or exercise his proselytizing zeal upon them. He indeed granted Father -Raymundus Bruns permission to say Mass in the garrisons at Berlin and -Potsdam, but only after he had been assured that it would tend to prevent -desertions among his Catholic soldiers, and that, as Raymundus was a -monk, bound by a vow of poverty, he would ask no pay from his majesty. - -In 1746 permission was granted the Catholics to hold public worship in -Berlin, and the S. Hedwig’s church was built; in Pomerania, however, this -privilege was denied them, except in the Polish districts. - -During the XVIIIth century congregations were formed at Stettin and -Stralsund. In the principality of Halberstadt the Catholics were allowed -to retain possession of a church and several monasteries, in which -public worship was permitted; and in what had been the archbishopric of -Magdeburg there were left to them one Benedictine monastery and four -convents of Cistercian Nuns. These latter, however, were placed under the -supervision of Protestant ministers. - -Frederic the Great early in life fell under the influence of Voltaire -and his disciples, from whom he learned to despise all religion, and -especially the rigid Calvinism of his father. He became a religious -sceptic, and, satisfied with his contempt for all forms of faith, did -not take the trouble to persecute any. He asked of his subjects, whether -Protestant or Catholic, nothing but money and recruits; for the rest, -he allowed every one in his dominions “to save his soul after his own -fashion.” He provided chaplains for his Catholic soldiers, and forbade -the Calvinist and Lutheran ministers to interfere with their religious -freedom, for reasons similar to those which had induced his father to -permit Raymundus Bruns to say Mass in the garrison at Berlin. He had -certainly no thought of showing any favor to the church, except so far as -it might promote his own ambitious projects. His great need of soldiers -made him throw every obstacle in the way of those who wished to enter -the priesthood, and his fear of foreign influence caused him to forbid -priests to leave the country. His mistrust of priests was so great that -he gave instructions to Count Hoym, his Minister of State, to place them -under a system of espionage. Catholics were carefully excluded from all -influential and lucrative positions. They were taxed more heavily than -Protestants, and professors in the universities were required to take an -oath to uphold the Reformation. - -Notwithstanding, it was in the reign of Frederic the Great that the -Catholic Church in Prussia may be said to have entered upon a new life. -For more than two hundred years it had had no recognized status there; -but through the conquest of Silesia and the division of Poland, a large -Catholic population was incorporated into the kingdom of Prussia, and -thus a new element, which was formally recognized in the constitution -promulgated by Frederic’s immediate successor, was introduced into the -Prussian state. Together with the toleration of all who believed in God -and were loyal to the king, the law of the land placed the Catholic and -Protestant churches on an equal footing. To understand how far this was -favorable to the church we must go back and consider the relations of -Prussia to Protestantism. - -What is known as the Territorial System, by which the faith of the -people is delivered into the hands of the temporal ruler, has existed in -Prussia from the time Albrecht of Brandenburg went over to the Reformers. -Protestantism and absolutism triumphed simultaneously throughout Europe, -and this must undoubtedly be in a great measure attributed to the fact -that the Protestants, whether willingly or not, yielded up their faith -into the keeping of kings and princes, and thus practically abandoned -the distinction of the spiritual and temporal powers which lies at the -foundation of Christian civilization, and is also the strongest bulwark -against the encroachments of governments upon the rights of citizens. -Duke Albrecht had hardly become a Protestant when he felt that it was -his duty (“_coacti sumus_” are his words) to take upon himself the -episcopal office. This was in 1530; in 1550 he treated the urgent request -of the Assembly to have the bishopric of Samland restored as an attack -upon his princely prerogative. - -His successor diverted to other uses the fund destined for the -maintenance of the bishops, and instituted two consistories, to which he -entrusted the ecclesiastical affairs of the duchy. - -During the XVIIth century Calvinism gained a firm foothold in Prussia. It -became the religion of the ruling family, and Frederic William, called -the Great Elector, to whose policy his successors have agreed to ascribe -their greatness, sought in every way to promote its interests, though he -strenuously exercised his _jus episcopale_, his spiritual supremacy over -both the Lutherans and the Calvinists. - -His son, Frederic, who first took the title of King of Prussia (1700), -continued the policy of his father with regard to ecclesiastical affairs. -“To us alone,” he declared to the Landstand, “belongs the _jus supremum -episcopale_, the highest and sovereign right in ecclesiastical matters.” - -The Lutherans wished to retain the exorcism as a part of the ceremony -of baptism; but Frederic published an edict by which he forbade the -appointment of any minister who would refuse to confer the sacrament -without making use of this ceremony. In the same way he meddled with the -Lutheran practice of auricular confession; and by an order issued in 1703 -prohibited the publication of theological writings which had not received -his imprimatur. - -His successor, Frederic William, the father of Frederic the Great, -looked upon himself as the absolute and irresponsible master of the -subjects whom God had given him. “I am king and master,” he was wont -to say, “and can do what I please.” He was a rigid Calvinist, and made -his absolutism felt more especially in religious matters. It seems that -preachers then, as since, were sometimes in the habit of preaching long -sermons; so King Frederic William put a fine of two thalers upon any one -who should preach longer than one hour. He required his preachers to -insist in _all their sermons_ upon the duty of obedience and loyalty to -the king, and the government officials were charged to report any failure -to make special mention of this duty. Both Lutherans and Calvinists were -forbidden to touch in their sermons upon any points controverted between -the two confessions. No detail of religious worship was insignificant -enough to escape his meddlesome tyranny. The length of the service, the -altar, the vestments of the minister, the sign of the cross, the giving -or singing the blessing, all fell under his “high episcopal supervision.” - -This unlovely old king was followed by Frederic the Great, who, though -an infidel and a scoffer, held as firmly as his father to his sovereign -episcopal prerogatives, and who, if less meddlesome, was not less -arbitrary. And now we have got back to the constitution which, after -Silesia and a part of Poland had been united to the crown of Prussia, -was partially drawn up under Frederic the Great, and completed and -promulgated during the reign of his successor; and which, as we have -already said, placed the three principal confessions of the Christian -faith in the Prussian states--viz., the Lutheran, the Reformed, and -the Catholic--on a footing of equality before the law. Now, it must be -noticed, this constitution left intact the absolute authority of the king -over the Reformed and Lutheran churches, and therefore what might seem -to be a great gain for the Catholic Church was really none at all, since -it was simply placed under the supreme jurisdiction of the king. There -was no express recognition of the organic union of the church in Prussia -with the pope, nor of the right of the bishops to govern their dioceses -according to the ecclesiastical canons, but rather the tacit assumption -that the king was head of the Catholic as of the Protestant churches in -Prussia. The constitution was drawn up by Suarez, a bitter enemy of the -church, and in many of its details was characterized by an anti-Catholic -spirit. It annulled, for instance, the contract made by parents of -different faith concerning the religious education of their children, -and manifested in many other ways that petty and tyrannical spirit which -has led Prussia to interfere habitually with the internal discipline and -working of the church. - -As the Catholic population of Prussia increased through the annexation -of different German states, this constitution, which gave the king -supreme control of spiritual matters, was extended to the newly-acquired -territories. Thus all through the XVIIIth century the church in Prussia, -though not openly persecuted, was fettered. No progress was made, abuses -could not be reformed, the appointment of bishops was not free, the -training of the priesthood was very imperfect; and it is not surprising -that this slavery should have been productive of many and serious evils. - -The French Revolution and the wars of Napoleon, which caused social and -political upheavals throughout Europe, toppled down thrones, overthrew -empires, and broke up and reformed the boundaries of nations, mark a new -epoch in the history of Prussia, and indeed of all Germany, whose people -had been taught by these disastrous wars that they had common interests -which could not be protected without national unity, the want of which -had never before been made so painfully manifest. - -After the downfall of Napoleon, the ambassadors of the Allied Powers met -in Vienna to settle the affairs of all Europe. Nations, provinces, and -cities were given away in the most reckless manner, without any thought -of the interests or wishes of the people, to the kings and rulers who -could command the greatest influence in the congress or whose displeasure -was most feared. Germany demanded the restoration of Alsace and Lorraine, -but was thwarted in her designs by Great Britain and Russia, who feared -the restoration of her ancient power. - -Prussia received from the congress, as some compensation for its -sufferings and sacrifices during the Napoleonic wars, the duchies -of Jülich and Berg, the former possessions of the episcopal sees of -Cologne and Treves, and several other territories, which were formed -into the Rhine province. On the other hand, it lost a portion of the -Sclavonic population which it had held on the east; so that, though it -gained nothing in territory, it became more strictly a German state, -and was consequently better fitted gradually to take the lead in the -irrepressible movement toward the unification of Germany. - -In the Congress of Vienna it was stipulated that Catholics and -Protestants should have equal rights before the law. The constitutional -law of Prussia was extended to the newly-acquired provinces and “all -ecclesiastical matters, whether of Roman Catholics or of Protestants, -together with the supervision and administration of all charitable funds, -the confirming of all persons appointed to spiritual offices, and the -supervision over the administration of ecclesiastics as far as it may -have any relation to civil affairs, were reserved to the government.” - -In 1817, upon the occasion of the reorganization of the government, -we perceive to what practical purposes these principles were to be -applied. The church was debased to a function of the state, her interests -were placed in the hands of the ministry for spiritual affairs, and -the education of even clerical students was put under the control of -government. - -It was in this same year, 1817, that the tercentennial anniversary of -the birth of Protestantism was celebrated. For two centuries Protestant -faith in Germany had been dying out. Eager and bitter controversies, -the religious wars and the plunder of church property during the XVIth -and early part of the XVIIth centuries, had given it an unnatural and -artificial vigor. It was a mighty and radical revolution, social, -political, and religious, and therefore gave birth to fanaticism and -intense partisan zeal, and was in turn helped on by them. - -There is a natural strength in a new faith, and when it is tried by -war and persecution it seems to rise to a divine power. Protestantism -burst upon Europe with irresistible force. Fifty years had not passed -since Luther had burned the bull of Pope Leo, and the Catholic Church, -beaten almost everywhere in the North of Europe, seemed hardly able to -hold her own on the shores of the Mediterranean; fifty years later, and -Protestantism was saved in Germany itself only by the arms of Catholic -France. The peace of Westphalia, in 1648, put an end to the religious -wars of Germany, and from that date the decay of the Protestant faith was -rapid. Many causes helped on the work of ruin; the inherent weakness of -the Protestant system from its purely negative character, the growing and -bitter dissensions among Protestants, the hopeless slavery to which the -sects had been reduced by the civil power, all tended to undermine faith. -In the Palatinate, within a period of sixty years, the rulers had forced -the people to change their religion four times. In Prussia, whose king, -as we have seen, was supreme head of the church, the ruling house till -1539 was Catholic; then, till 1613, Lutheran; from that date to 1740, -Calvinistic; from 1740 to 1786, infidel, the avowed ally of Voltaire and -D’Alembert; then, till 1817, Calvinistic; and finally again evangelical. - -During the long reign of Frederic the Great unbelief made steady -progress. Men no longer attacked this or that article of faith, but -Christianity itself. The quickest way, it was openly said by many, to -get rid of superstition and priest-craft, would be to abolish preaching -altogether, and thus remove the ghost of religion from the eyes of the -people. It seems strange that such license of thought and expression -should have been tolerated, and even encouraged, in a country where -religion itself has never been free; but it is a peculiarity of the -Prussian system of government that while it hampers and fetters the -church and all religious organizations, it leaves the widest liberty -of conscience to the individual. Its policy appears to be to foster -indifference and infidelity, in order to use them against what it -considers religious fanaticism. Another circumstance which favored -infidelity may be found in the political thraldom in which Prussia -held her people. As men were forbidden to speak or write on subjects -relating to the government or the public welfare, they took refuge in -theological and philosophical discussions, which in Protestant lands -have never failed to lead to unbelief. This same state of things tended -to promote the introduction and increase of secret societies, which, -in the latter half of the XVIIIth century, sprang up in great numbers -throughout Germany, bearing a hundred different names, but always having -anti-Christian tendencies. - -To stop the spread of infidelity, Frederic William II., the successor -of Frederic the Great, issued, in 1788, an “edict, embracing the -constitution of religion in the Prussian states.” The king declared -that he could no longer suffer in his dominions that men should openly -seek to undermine religion, to make the Bible ridiculous in the eyes -of the people, and to raise in public the banner of unbelief, deism, -and naturalism. He would in future permit no farther change in the -creed, whether of the Lutheran or the Reformed Church. This was the -more necessary as he had himself noticed with sorrow, years before he -ascended the throne, that the Protestant ministers allowed themselves -boundless license with regard to the articles of faith, and indeed -altogether rejected several essential parts and fundamental verities of -the Protestant Church and the Christian religion. They blushed not to -revive the long-since-refuted errors of the Socinians, the deists, and -the naturalists, and to scatter them among the people under the false -name of enlightenment (_Aufklärung_), whilst they treated God’s Word with -disdain, and strove to throw suspicion upon the mysteries of revelation. -Since this was intolerable, he, therefore, as ruler of the land and -only law-giver in his states, commanded and ordered that in future no -clergyman, preacher, or school-teacher of the Protestant religion should -presume, under pain of perpetual loss of office and of even severer -punishment, to disseminate the errors already named; for, as it was his -duty to preserve intact the law of the land, so was it incumbent upon him -to see that religion should be kept free from taint; and he could not, -consequently, allow its ministers to substitute their whims and fancies -for the truths of Christianity. They must teach what had been agreed upon -in the symbols of faith of the denomination to which they belonged; to -this they were bound by their office and the contract under which they -had received their positions. Nevertheless, out of his great love for -freedom of conscience, the king was willing that those who were known to -disbelieve in the articles of faith might retain their offices, provided -they consented to teach their flocks what they were themselves unable to -believe. - -In this royal edict we have at once the fullest confession of the -general unbelief that was destroying Protestantism in Prussia, and of -the hopelessness of any attempt to arrest its progress. What could be -more pitiable than the condition of a church powerless to control its -ministers, and publicly recognizing their right to be hypocrites? How -could men who had no faith teach others to believe? Moreover, what could -be more absurd, from a Protestant point of view, than to seek to force -the acceptance of symbols of faith when the whole Reformation rested upon -the assumed right of the individual to decide for himself what should or -should not be believed? Or was it to be supposed that men could invest -the conflicting creeds of the sects with a sacredness which they had -denied to that of the universal church? It is not surprising, therefore, -that the only effect of the edict should have been to increase the energy -and activity of the infidels and free-thinkers. - -Frederic William III., who ascended the throne in 1797, recognizing the -futility of his father’s attempt to keep alive faith in Protestantism, -stopped the enforcement of the edict, with the express declaration that -its effect had been to lessen religion and increase hypocrisy. Abandoning -all hope of controlling the faith of the preachers, he turned his -attention to their morals. A decree of the Oberconsistorium of Berlin, in -1798, ordered that the conduct of the ministers should be closely watched -and every means employed to stop the daily-increasing immorality of the -servants of the church, which was having the most injurious effects upon -their congregations. Parents had almost ceased having their children -baptized, or had them christened in the “name of Frederic the Great,” or -in the “name of the good and the fair,” sometimes with rose-water. - -But the calamities which befell Germany during the wars of the French -Revolution and the empire seemed to have turned the thoughts of many -to religion. The frightful humiliations of the fatherland were looked -upon as a visitation from heaven upon the people for their sins -and unbelief; and therefore, when the tercentennial anniversary of -Protestantism came around (in 1817), they were prepared to enter upon -its celebration with earnest enthusiasm. The celebration took the form -of an anti-Catholic demonstration. For many years controversy between -Protestants and Catholics had ceased; but now a wholly unprovoked but -bitter and grossly insulting attack was made upon the church from all -the Protestant pulpits of Germany and in numberless writings. The result -of this wanton aggression was a reawakening of Catholic faith and life; -whilst the attempt to take advantage of the Protestant enthusiasm to -bring about a union between the Lutheran and Reformed churches in Prussia -ended in causing fresh dissensions and divisions. The sect of the Old -Lutherans was formed, which, in spite of persecution, finally succeeded -in obtaining toleration, though not till many of its adherents had been -driven across the ocean into exile. - -As the Congress of Vienna had decided that Catholics and Protestants -should be placed upon a footing of equality, and as Prussia had received -a large portion of the _secularized_ lands of the church, with the -stipulation that she should provide for the maintenance of Catholic -worship, the government, in 1816, sent Niebuhr, the historian, to Rome, -to treat with the Pope concerning the reorganization of the Catholic -religion in the Prussian states. Finally, in 1821, an agreement was -signed, which received the sanction of the king, and was published as a -fundamental law of the state. - -In this Concordat with the Holy See there is at least a tacit recognition -of the true nature of the church, of her organic unity--a beginning of -respect for her freedom, and a seeming promise of a better future. In -point of fact, however, in spite of Niebuhr’s assurance to the Holy -Father that he might rely upon the honest intentions of the government, -Prussia began almost at once to meddle with the rights of Catholics. -A silent and slow persecution was inaugurated, by which it was hoped -their patience would be exhausted and their strength wasted. And now we -shall examine more closely the artful and heartless policy by which, -with but slight variations, for more than two centuries Prussia has -sought to undermine the Catholic religion. In 1827 the Protestants of -all communions in Prussia amounted to 6,370,380, and the Catholics -to 4,023,513. These populations are, to only a very limited extent, -intermingled; certain provinces being almost entirely Catholic, and -others nearly wholly Protestant. By law the same rights are granted to -both Catholics and Protestants; and both, therefore, should receive like -treatment at the hands of the government. - -This is the theory; what are the facts? We will take the religious policy -of Prussia from the reorganization of the church after the Congress of -Vienna down to the revolution of 1848, and we will begin with the subject -of education. For the six millions of Protestants there were four -exclusively Protestant universities, at Berlin, Halle, Königsberg, and -Greifswalde; for the four millions of Catholics there were but two _half -universities_, at Bonn and Breslau, in each of which there was a double -faculty, the one Protestant, the other Catholic; though the professors -in all the faculties, except that of theology, were for the most part -Protestants. Thus, out of six universities, to the Catholics was left -only a little corner in two, though they were forced to bear nearly -one-half of the public burdens by which all six were supported. But this -is not the worst. The bishops had no voice in the nomination of the -professors, not even those of theology. They were simply asked whether -they had any objections to make, _on proof_. The candidate might be a -stranger, he might be wholly unfitted to teach theology, he might be free -from open immorality or heresy; and therefore, because the bishops could -_prove_ nothing against him, he was appointed to instruct the aspirants -to the priesthood. - -At Breslau a foreign professor was appointed, who began to teach the -most scandalous and heretical doctrines. Complaints were useless. During -many years his pupils drank in the poison, and at length, after he had -done his work of destruction, he was, as in mockery, removed. Nor is -this an isolated instance of the ruin to Catholic faith wrought by this -system. The bishops had hardly any influence over the education of their -clergy, who, young and ignorant of the world, were thrown almost without -restraint into the pagan corruptions of a German university, in order to -acquire a knowledge of theology. At Cologne a Catholic college was made -over to the Protestants, at Erfurt and Düsseldorf Catholic _gymnasia_ -were turned into mixed establishments with all the professors, save one, -Protestants. - -Elementary education was under the control of provincial boards -consisting of a Protestant president and three councillors, _one_ of whom -might be a Catholic in Catholic districts. In the Catholic provinces -of the Rhine and Westphalia, the place of Catholic councillor was left -vacant for several years till the schools were all reorganized. Indeed, -the real superintendent of Catholic elementary education was generally a -Protestant minister. - -There was a government _Censur_ for books of religious instruction, the -headquarters of which were in Berlin, but its agents were scattered -throughout all the provinces. All who were employed in this department, -to which even the pastorals of the bishops had to be submitted before -being read to their flocks, were Protestants. The widest liberty was -given to Protestants to attack the church; but when the Catholics -sought to defend themselves, their writings were suppressed. Professor -Freudenfeld was obliged to quit Bonn because he had spoken of Luther -without becoming respect. - -Permission to start religious journals was denied to Catholics, but -granted to Protestants; and in the pulpit the priests were put under -strict restraint, while the preachers were given full liberty of speech. -Whenever a community of Protestants was found in a Catholic district, a -church, a clergyman, and a school were immediately provided for them; -indeed, richer provision for the Protestant worship was made in the -Catholic provinces than elsewhere; but when a congregation of Catholics -grew up amongst Protestants, the government almost invariably rejected -their application for permission to have a place of worship. At various -times and places churches and schools were taken from the Catholics -and turned over to the Protestants; and though Prussia had received an -enormous amount of the confiscated property of the church, she did not -provide for the support of the priests as for that of the ministers. - -At court there was not a single Catholic who held office; the heads of -all the departments of government were Protestants; the Post-Office -department, down to the local postmasters, was exclusively Protestant; -all ambassadors and other representatives of the government, though sent -to Catholic courts, were Protestants. - -In Prussia the state is divided into provinces, and at the head of each -province is a high-president (Ober-Präsident). This official, to whom -the religious interests of the Catholics were committed, was always a -Protestant. The provinces are divided into districts, and at the head of -each district was a Protestant president, and almost all the inferior -officers, even in Catholic provinces, were Protestants. - -Again, in the courts of justice and in the army all the principal -positions were given to Protestants. In the two _corps d’armées_ of -Prussia and Silesia, one-half was Catholic; in the army division of -Posen, two-thirds; in that of Westphalia and Cleves, three-fifths; and, -finally, in that of the Rhine, seven-eighths; yet there was not one -Catholic field-officer, not a general or major. In 1832 a royal order was -issued to provide for the religious wants of the army, and every care -was taken for the spiritual needs of the Protestant soldiers; but not -even one Catholic chaplain was appointed. All persons in active service, -from superior officers down to private soldiers, were declared to be -members of the military parish, and were placed under the authority of -the Protestant chaplains. If a Catholic soldier wished to get married -or to have his child baptized by a priest, he had first to obtain the -permission of his Protestant curate. What was still more intolerable, the -law regulating military worship was so contrived as to force the Catholic -soldiers to be present at Protestant service. - -Let us now turn to the relations of the church in Prussia with the Holy -See. All direct communications between the Catholics and the Pope were -expressly forbidden. Whenever the bishops wished to consult the Holy -Father concerning the administration of their dioceses, their inquiries -had to pass through the hands of the Protestant ministry, to be forwarded -or not at its discretion, and the answer of the Pope had to pass through -the same channel. It was not safe to write; for the government had no -respect for the mails, and letters were habitually opened by order of -Von Nagler, the postmaster-general, who boasted that he had never had -any idiotic scruples about such matters; that Prince Constantine was his -model, who had once entertained him with narrating how he had managed -to get the choicest selection of intercepted letters in existence; he -had had them bound in morocco, and they formed thirty-three volumes of -the most interesting reading in his private library. Thus the church -was ruled by a system of espionage and bureaucracy which hesitated not -to violate all the sanctities of life to accomplish its ends. The -bishops were reduced to a state of abject dependence; not being allowed -to publish any new regulation or to make any appointment without the -permission and approval of the Protestant high-president, from whom they -constantly received the most annoying and vexatious despatches. - -The election of bishops was reduced to a mere form. When a see became -vacant, the royal commissary visited the chapter and announced the person -whom the king had selected to fill the office, declaring at the same time -that no other would receive his approval. - -The minutest details of Catholic worship were placed under the -supervision and control of Protestant laymen, who had to decide how much -wine and how many hosts might be used during the year in the different -churches. - -We come now to a matter, vexed and often discussed, in which the trials -of the church in Prussia, prior to the recent persecutions, finally -culminated; we allude to the subject of marriages between Catholics and -Protestants. - -When, in 1803, Prussia got possession of the greater part of her Catholic -provinces, the following order was at once issued: “His majesty enacts -that children born in wedlock shall all be educated in the religion of -the father, and that, in opposition to this law, neither party shall bind -the other.” Apart from the odious meddling of the state with the rights -of individuals and the agreements of parties so closely and sacredly -related as man and wife, there was in this enactment a special injustice -to Catholics, from the fact that nearly all the mixed marriages in -Prussia were contracted by Protestant government officials and Catholic -women of the provinces to which these agents had been sent. As these men -held lucrative offices, they found no difficulty in making matrimonial -alliances; and as the children had to be brought up in the religion of -the father, the government was by this means gradually establishing -Protestant congregations throughout its Catholic provinces. In 1825 this -law was extended to the Rhenish province, and in 1831 a document was -brought to light which explained the object of the extension--viz., that -it might prove an effectual measure against the proselyting system of -Catholics. - -The condition of the church was indeed deplorable. With the name of -being free, she was, in truth, enslaved; and while the state professed -to respect her rights, it was using all the power of the most thoroughly -organized and most heartless system of bureaucracy and espionage to -weaken and fetter her action, and even to destroy her life. This was the -state of affairs when, in the end of 1835, Von Droste Vischering, one of -the greatest and noblest men of this century, worthy to be named with -Athanasius and with Ambrose, was made archbishop of Cologne. - -The Catholic people of Prussia had long since lost all faith in the -good intentions of the government, of whose acts and aims they had full -knowledge; and it was in order to restore confidence that a man so -trusted and loved by them as Von Droste Vischering was promoted to the -see of Cologne. The doctrines of Hermes, professor of theology in the -University of Bonn, had just been condemned at Rome, but the government -ignored the papal brief, and continued to give its support to the -Hermesians; the archbishop, nevertheless, condemned their writings, and -especially their organ, the _Bonner Theologische Zeitschrift_, forbade -his students to attend their lectures at the university, and finally -withdrew his approbation altogether from the Hermesian professors, -refusing to ordain students unless they formally renounced the proscribed -doctrines. - -By a ministerial order issued in 1825, priests were forbidden, under -pain of deposition from office, to exact in mixed marriages any -promise concerning the education of the offspring. A like penalty -was threatened for refusing to marry parties who were unwilling to -make such promises, or for withholding absolution from those who were -bringing up their children in the Protestant religion. To avert as far -as possible any conflict between the church and the government, Pius -VIII., in 1830, addressed a brief to the bishops of Cologne, Treves, -Münster, and Paderborn, in which he made every allowable concession -to the authority of the state in the matter of mixed marriages. The -court of Berlin withheld the papal brief, and, taking advantage of the -yielding disposition of Archbishop Spiegel of Cologne, entered, without -the knowledge of the Holy See, into a secret agreement with him, in -which still farther concessions were made, and in violation of Catholic -principle. Von Droste Vischering took as his guide the papal brief, -and paid no attention to such provisions of the secret agreement as -conflicted with the instructions of the Holy Father. - -The government took alarm, and offered to let fall the Hermesians, if -the archbishop would yield in the affair of mixed marriages; and as -this expedient failed, measures of violence were threatened, which were -soon carried into effect; for on the evening of the 20th of November, -1837, the archbishop was secretly arrested and carried off to the -fortress of Minden, where he was placed in close confinement, all -communication with him being cut off. The next morning the government -issued a “Publicandum,” in which it entered its accusations against the -archbishop, in order to justify its arbitrary act and to appease the -anger of the people. Notwithstanding, a cry of indignation and grief -was heard in all the Catholic provinces of Prussia, which was re-echoed -throughout Germany and extended to all Europe. Lukewarm Catholics grew -fervent, and the very Hermesians gathered with their sympathies to uphold -the cause of the archbishop. - -The Archbishop of Posen and the Bishops of Paderborn and Münster -announced their withdrawal from the secret convention, which the Bishop -of Treves had already done upon his death-bed; and henceforward the -priests throughout the kingdom held firm to the ecclesiastical law on -mixed marriages, so that in 1838 Frederic William III. was forced to make -a declaration recognizing the rights for which they contended. But the -Archbishop of Cologne was still a prisoner in the fortress of Minden. -Early, however, in 1839, health began to fail; and as the government -feared lest his death in prison might produce unfavorable comment, he -received permission to withdraw to Münster. The next year the king died, -and his successor, Frederic William IV., showed himself ready to settle -the dispute amicably, and in other ways to do justice to the Catholics. -A great victory had been gained--the secret convention was destroyed--a -certain liberty of communication with the Pope was granted to the -bishops. The election of bishops was made comparatively free, the control -of the schools of theology was restored to them, the Hermesians either -submitted or were removed, and the Catholics of Germany awoke from a -deathlike sleep to new and vigorous life. - -An evidence of the awakening of faith was given in the fall of 1844, when -a million and a half of German Catholics went in pilgrimage, with song -and prayer, to Treves. - -Nevertheless, many grievances remained unredressed. The _Censur_ was -still used against the church; and when the Catholics asked permission -to publish journals in which they could defend themselves and their -religious interests, they were told that such publications were not -needed; but when Ronge, the suspended priest, sought to found his sect of -“German Catholics,” he received every encouragement from the government, -and the earnest support of the officials and nearly the entire press of -Prussia; though, at this very time, every effort was being made to crush -the “Old Lutherans.” - -The government continued to find pretexts for meddling with the affairs -of the bishops, and the newspapers attacked the church in the most -insulting manner, going so far as to demand that the religious exercises -for priests should be placed under police supervision. We have now -reached a memorable epoch in the history of the Catholic Church in -Prussia--the revolution of 1848, which convulsed Germany to its centre, -spread dismay among all classes, and filled its cities with riot and -bloodshed. When order was re-established, the liberties of the church -were recognized more fully than they had been for three centuries. - - -GARCIA MORENO. - -FROM THE CIVILTA CATTOLICA. - - -I. - -The atrocious assassination of Garcia Moreno, the President of the -republic of Ecuador, has filled the minds of all good people with the -deepest grief and horror. The liberals are the only ones who have -mentioned it in their journals with indifference. One of them headed -his announcement of it, “A victim of the Sacred Heart”--alluding, -with blasphemous irony, to the act of consecration of his people to -the Adorable Heart of our Lord which this truly pious ruler had made. -But with the exception of these reprobates--who, hating God, cannot -love mankind--no one who has any admiration of moral greatness can -help deploring the death of this extraordinary man--a death the more -deplorable on account of its coming, not from a natural cause, but from a -detestable conspiracy concocted by the enemies of all that is good, who -abhorred equally the wisdom of his government and the soundness of his -faith. The London _Times_ has a despatch from Paris of October 5 with the -following communication: “It appears, from authentic information which we -have received, that Garcia Moreno, lately President of the republic of -Ecuador, has been assassinated by a secret society which extends through -all South America, as well as Europe. The assassin was selected by lot, -and obtained admission to the palace at Quito. One of his accomplices, -an official, who was arrested after the murder, was assured by the -president of the court-martial, before his trial, that he would be -pardoned if he turned state’s evidence. ‘Be pardoned?’ said he. ‘That -would be of no use to me; if you pardon me, my comrades will not. I would -rather be shot than stabbed.’” This decision of the society to kill him -was known to Moreno, and he informed the Pope of it in a letter, which we -will shortly give. - -This illustrious man had governed the republic of Ecuador for about -fifteen years--first as dictator, and afterwards, for two consecutive -terms, as president; and to this office he had just been re-elected for -a third term by an unanimous vote. He had taken charge of the state -when it was in an exceedingly miserable condition, and by his lofty -genius, practical tact, and perseverance, but above all by his piety and -confidence in God, had completely renovated and restored not only the -morals of the people, but also the whole political administration, and -made the country a perfect model of a Christian nation. He was intending -to complete the work which he had begun, and was able to rely confidently -on the co-operation of his people, whose reverence and love for him were -unbounded. But all this was intolerable to the liberals of our day; they -could not bear that in a corner of the New World the problem should be -solved, which they are trying to make so perplexing, of harmony between -the state and the church; of the combination of temporal prosperity and -Catholic piety; of obedience to the civil law and perfect submission to -ecclesiastical authority. This was an insufferable scandal for modern -liberalism,[248] especially because such a good example might do much to -frustrate the plans of this perverse sect in other countries. - -The Masons, therefore, resolved to murder this man, whom they had found -to be too brave and determined to be checked in any other way; for -all the attempts they had made to intimidate him or to diminish his -popularity had been entirely without effect. Moreno anticipated the blow, -but, far from fearing it, was only the more persuaded to persevere in -his undertaking, regarding it as the greatest happiness to be able to -give his life for so holy a cause. In the last letter which he wrote to -the Supreme Pontiff before his assassination are these words: “I implore -your apostolic benediction, Most Holy Father, having been re-elected -(though I did not deserve it) to the office of president of this Catholic -republic for another six years. Although the new term does not begin -till the 30th of August, the day on which I take the oath required by -the constitution, so that then only shall I need to give your Holiness -an official notification of my re-election, nevertheless I wish not to -delay in informing you of it, in order that I may obtain from Heaven -the strength and light which I more than any other one shall need, to -keep me a child of our Redeemer and loyal and obedient to his infallible -Vicar. And now that the lodges of neighboring countries, inspired by -Germany, vomit out against me all sorts of atrocious insults and horrible -calumnies, and even secretly lay plans for my assassination, I require -more than ever the divine assistance and protection to live and die in -defence of our holy religion and of this beloved republic which God has -given me to govern. How fortunate I am, Most Holy Father, to be hated -and calumniated for the sake of our divine Saviour; and what unspeakable -happiness would it be for me if your benediction should obtain for me -the grace to shed my blood for him who, though he was God, yet shed his -own on the cross for us!” This heroic desire of the fervent Christian -was granted. He was murdered by the enemies of Christ, in hatred of his -zeal for the restoration of the Christian state and of his fervent love -for the church. He is truly a martyr of Christ. Are not S. Wenceslaus of -Bohemia and S. Canute of Denmark numbered among the holy martyrs, for -the same cause? Both of them were killed in the precincts of the temple -of God; and Moreno was carried back to the church from which he had -only just departed, to breathe out his noble soul into the bosom of his -Creator. - - -II. - -The object of Masonic civilization is society without God. The results -which it has succeeded in achieving, and which it deems of such -importance, are the separation of the state from the church, liberty -of worship, the withdrawal of public charities from religious objects, -the exclusion of the clergy from the work of education, the suppression -of religious orders, the supremacy of the civil law, and the setting -aside of the law of the Gospel. Only by these means, according to the -Masons, can the happiness of the people, the prosperity of the state, -and the increase of morality and learning be attained. These are their -fundamental maxims. Now, the difficulty was that Moreno had practically -shown, and was continuing to show more completely every day, that the -peace, prosperity, and greatness of a nation will be in proportion to -its devotion to God and its obedience to the church; that subjection -to God and his church, far from diminishing, ensures and increases, -the true liberty of man; that the influence of the clergy promotes not -only the cause of morality, but also that of letters and science; that -man’s temporal interests are never better cared for than when they are -subordinated to those which are eternal; and that love of country is -never so powerful as when it is consecrated by love of the church. - -A man of the most distinguished talents, which had been most fully -cultivated at the University of Paris, Moreno had in his own country -occupied the most conspicuous positions. He had been a professor of the -natural sciences, rector of the university, representative, senator, -commander-in-chief of the army, dictator, and president of the republic. -In this last office, in which he would probably have been retained by -the nation through life, he showed what genius sanctified by religion -can accomplish. His first care was to establish peace throughout the -country, without which there can be no civil progress; and he succeeded -in doing so, not by compromises, as is now the fashion--not by making -a monstrous and abnormal amalgamation of parties and principles--but -by the consistent and firm assertion of the principles of morality and -justice, and by the open and unhesitating profession of Catholicity. His -success was so marked that Ecuador very soon arrived at such a perfect -state of tranquillity and concord as to seem a prodigy among the agitated -and turbulent republics in its neighborhood. - -With the exception of some local and ineffectual attempts at revolution -during his first presidency, which were quelled by placing some of the -southern provinces in a state of siege for fifty days, Ecuador was -undisturbed by sedition during the whole of his long government. This -was partly due to the splendor of his private and public virtues, which -dissipated the clouds of envy and hatred, and gained for him the esteem -even of his political opponents. He was chaste, magnanimous, just, -impartial, and so well known for clearheadedness that the people often -stopped him on the streets to decide their disputes on the spot, and -accepted his opinion as final. His disinterestedness seems fabulous when -we think of the immoderate cupidity prevailing among modern politicians. -In his first six years he would not even draw his salary, being content -to live on the income of his own moderate fortune. In his second term he -accepted it, but spent it almost entirely in works of public utility. And -in such works he employed the whole of his time. When any one endeavored -to persuade him not to shorten his life by such continual labor, he used -to say: “If God wants me to rest, he will send me illness or death.” - -Owing to this unwearying assiduity and his ardent love for the good of -his people, he was able to undertake and finish an amount of business -that would appear incredible, were not the evidence too strong to admit -of doubt. In No. 1,875 of the _Univers_ there is a catalogue of the -principal enterprises which he carried through in a brief period. They -are as follows: - -A revision of the constitution. - -The paying of the customs to the national treasury, instead of to the -provincial ones, as formerly. - -National representation for the country as well as the cities. - -The establishment of a fiscal court, and the organization of the courts -of justice. - -The foundation of a great polytechnic school, which was partially -entrusted to the Jesuits. - -The construction and equipment of an astronomical observatory, which -was built and directed by the Jesuits. On account of the equatorial -position of Quito, Garcia Moreno, who was well versed in the mathematical -sciences, wished to make this observatory equal to any in the world. He -bought most of the instruments with his own private funds. - -Roads connecting different parts of the country. Garcia Moreno laid out -and nearly completed five great national roads. The principal one, that -from Guayaquil to Quito, is eighty leagues in length. It is paved, and -has one hundred and twenty bridges. It is a solid and stupendous work, -constructed in the face of almost insuperable difficulties. - -The establishment of four new dioceses. - -A concordat with the Holy See. - -The reformation of the regular clergy; the restoration among them of a -common and monastic life. - -The reconstruction of the army. The army had been a mere horde, without -organization, discipline, or uniform; the men hardly had shoes. Moreno -organized them on the French system, clothed, shod, and disciplined them; -now they are the model as well as the defence of the people. - -The building of a light-house at Guayaquil. Previously there had been -none on the whole coast. - -Reforms in the collection of the customs. Frauds put an end to, and the -revenues trebled. - -Colleges in all the cities; schools in even the smallest villages--all -conducted by the Christian Brothers. - -Schools for girls; Sisters of Charity, Ladies of the Sacred Heart, -Sisters of the Good Shepherd, of Providence, and Little Sisters of the -Poor. - -Public hospitals. During his first presidency Moreno turned out the -director of the hospital at Quito, who had refused to receive a poor man -and was very negligent of his duties, and made himself director in his -stead. He visited the hospital every day, improved its arrangements, and -put it in good working order. He performed in it many acts of heroic -charity. - -The maintenance and increase of lay congregations and orders. He was an -active member of the Congregation of the Poor. - -The establishment of four museums. - -The Catholic Protectory, a vast and magnificent school of arts and -trades, on the plan of S. Michele at Rome, and conducted by the Christian -Brothers. - -Postal conventions with various foreign states. - -The embellishment and restoration of the cities. Guayaquil, and -especially Quito, seemed as if they had been rebuilt. - -And he accomplished all this, not only without increasing the taxes, but -even diminishing some of them. This is the reason why he was so much -beloved by the people; why they called him father of his country and -saviour of the republic. But it was also this which was his unpardonable -sin, which had to promptly receive a chastisement which should serve -as a warning for his successors, that they might not dare to imitate -his manner of government. For such a course as his was sure to ruin the -credit of Masonry in the popular mind. - - -III. - -Moreno loved his country, and worked so hard for its good, because he was -truly and thoroughly religious. Every one who really loves God loves his -neighbor also; and he who loves God intensely loves his neighbor in the -same way, because he sees in him the image of God and the price of his -blood. - -When he was a student in Paris he was admired for his piety. In his own -country, amid the continual cares and heavy responsibilities of his -office, he always found time to hear Mass every morning and say the -rosary every night. In his familiar conversation he spoke frequently of -God, of religion, of virtue, and with such fervor that all who heard -felt their hearts touched and moved by his words. Before beginning the -business of the day, he always made a visit to the church to implore -light from the Source of all wisdom; and he had just left it, as we -have said, when he met the ambuscade which was prepared for him. This -religious spirit produced in him a great zeal for the glory of God, and -that devotion to the Vicar of Christ which in him so much resembled the -affection of a child for his father. Let it suffice to say that when he -had to arrange the concordat with the Holy See, he sent his ambassador -to Rome with a blank sheet signed by himself, telling him to ask his -Holiness to write on it whatever seemed to him right and conducive to -the good of the church and the true welfare of the nation. Such was -the confidence which he reposed in the Pope, with whom politicians are -accustomed to treat as if he were an ambitious and designing foreign -prince, instead of being the father of all the faithful. When the -revolution entered Rome in triumph through the breach of Porta Pia, -Garcia Moreno was the only ruler in the world who dared to enter a solemn -protest against that sacrilegious invasion; and he obtained from his -Congress a considerable sum as a monthly subsidy and tribute of affection -to his Holiness. - -But his piety toward God and his filial love to the church can best be -seen from the message to Congress which he finished a few hours before -his death, and which was found on his dead body, steeped in his blood. -Although it is somewhat long for the limits of an article, we think that -we ought to present it to our readers as an imperishable monument of true -piety and enlightened policy, and as a lesson for the false politicians -of the present day and of days to come. - -The message is as follows: - - “SENATORS AND DEPUTIES: I count among the greatest of the great - blessings which God has, in the inexhaustible abundance of - his mercy, granted to our republic, that of seeing you here - assembled under his protection, in the shadow of his peace, - which he has granted and still grants to us, while we are - nothing and can do nothing, and only give in return for his - paternal goodness inexcusable and shameful ingratitude. - - “It is only a few years since Ecuador had to repeat daily - these sad words which the liberator Bolivar addressed in his - last message to the Congress of 1830: ‘I blush to have to - acknowledge that independence is the only good which we have - acquired, and that we have lost all the rest in acquiring it.’ - - “But since the time when, placing all our hope in God, we - escaped from the torrent of impiety and apostasy which - overwhelms the world in this age of blindness; since 1869, when - we reformed ourselves into a truly Catholic nation, everything - has been on a course of steady and daily improvement, and the - prosperity of our dear country has been continually increasing. - - “Ecuador was not long ago a body from which the life-blood was - ebbing, and which was even, like a corpse, already a prey to - a horrible swarm of vermin which the liberty of putrefaction - engendered in the darkness of the tomb. But to-day, at the - command of that sovereign voice which called Lazarus from the - sepulchre, it has returned to life, though it still has not - entirely cast off the winding-sheet and bandages--that is to - say, the remains and effects of the misery and corruption in - which it had been buried. - - “To justify what I have said, it will suffice for me to give - a short sketch of the progress which has been made in these - last two years, referring you to the various departments of - the government for documentary and detailed information. And - that you may see exactly how far we have advanced in this - period of regeneration, I shall compare our present condition - with that from which we started; not for our own glory and - self-gratulation, but to glorify Him to whom we owe everything, - and whom we adore as our Redeemer and our Father, our Protector - and our God.” - - Here follows an enumeration of all the improvements which had - been made. He continues: - - “We owe to the perfect liberty which the church has among - us, and to the apostolic zeal of its excellent prelates, the - reformation of the clergy, the amendment of morals, and the - reduction of crimes; which is so great that in our population - of a million there are not enough criminals to fill the - penitentiary. - - “To the church also we owe those religious corporations - which produce such an abundance of excellent results by the - instruction of childhood and youth, and by the succor which - they give so liberally to the sick and to the destitute. We are - also debtors to these religious for the renewal of the spirit - of piety in this year of jubilee and of sanctification, and - for the conversion to Christianity and civilization of nine - thousand savages in the eastern province, in which, on account - of its vast extent, there are good reasons for establishing a - second vicariate. If you authorize me to ask the Holy See for - this foundation, we will then consult as to what measures to - take to promote the commerce of this province, and to put an - end to the selfish speculations and the violent exactions to - which its poor inhabitants have been a prey by reason of the - cruelty of inhuman merchants. The laborers, however, for this - field are not now to be had; and that those which we shall - have may be properly trained, it is right that you should - give a yearly subsidy to our venerable and zealous archbishop, - to assist him in building the great seminary which he has not - hesitated to begin, trusting in the protection of Heaven and in - our co-operation. - - “Do not forget, legislators, that our little successes would be - ephemeral and without fruit if we had not founded the social - order of our republic upon the rock, always resisted and always - victorious, of the Catholic Church. Its divine teaching, which - neither men nor nations can neglect and be saved, is the rule - of our institutions, the law of our laws. Docile and faithful - children of our venerable, august, and infallible Pontiff, - whom all the great ones of the earth are abandoning, and who - is being oppressed by vile, cowardly, and impious men, we have - continued to send him monthly the little contribution which you - voted in 1873. Though our weakness obliges us to remain passive - spectators of his slow martyrdom, let us hope that this poor - gift may at least be a proof of our sympathy and affection, and - a pledge of our obedience and fidelity. - - “In a few days the term for which I was elected in 1869 - will expire. The republic has enjoyed six years of peace, - interrupted only by a revolt of a few days in 1872 at Riobamba, - of the natives against the whites; and in these six years it - has advanced rapidly on the path of true progress under the - visible protection of divine Providence. The results achieved - would certainly have been greater if I had possessed the - abilities for government which unfortunately I lack, or if all - that was needed to accomplish good was ardently to desire it. - - “If I have committed faults, I ask pardon for them a thousand - times, and beg it with tears from all my countrymen, feeling - confident that they have been unintentional. If, on the - contrary, you think that in any respect I have succeeded, - give the honor of the success, in the first place, to God - and to his Immaculate Mother, to whom are committed the - inexhaustible treasures of his mercy; and, in the second place, - to yourselves, to the people, to the army, and to all those - who, in the different branches of the government, have assisted - me with intelligence and fidelity in the fulfilment of my - difficult duties. - - “GABRIEL GARCIA MORENO. - - “QUITO, August, 1875.” - -That is the way that a really Catholic ruler can speak, even in this -XIXth century. It seems, while we read his words, as if we were listening -to Ferdinand of Castile or some other one of the saintly kings of the -most prosperous days of Christianity. With great justice, then, did the -government of Ecuador, when it published this message--which was found, -as we have said, on Moreno’s dead body--append to it the following note: - -“The message which we have just given is the solemn voice of one who is -dead; or, better, it is his last will and testament actually sealed with -his own blood; for our noble president had just written it with his own -hand when he was assailed by his murderers. Its last words are those of a -dying father who, blessing his children, turns for the last time toward -them his eyes, darkened by the shadow of death, and asks pardon of them, -as if he had been doing anything during all their lives but loading them -with benefits. Deeply moved and distressed by grief, we seek in vain for -words adequate to express our love and veneration for him. Posterity -no doubt will honor the undying memory of the great ruler, the wise -politician, the noble patriot, and the saintly defender of the faith who -has been so basely assassinated. His country, worthily represented by -their present legislators, will shed tears over this tomb which contains -such great virtues and such great hopes, and will gratefully record on -imperishable tablets the glorious name of this her son, who, regardless -of his own blood and life, lived and died only for her.” - -This splendid eulogy is an echo of the eternal benediction and a -reflection of the brilliant crown which we cannot doubt that God has -given to this his latest martyr. - - -IV. - -The reader will see that this message of Garcia Moreno contains a true -and genuine scheme of Christian government which he applied in the -republic of Ecuador, in direct opposition to the ideas and aspirations -of modern liberalism. Every point of it is in most marked contrast to -the liberalist programme. At some risk of repetition, we will here make -a short comparison between the two, on account of the importance of the -conclusions which all prudent men can draw from it. - -Moreno begins with God, and puts him at the head of the government of -his people; liberalism would have the state atheistic, and is ashamed -even to mention the name of God in its public documents. Moreno desires -an intimate union between the state and the Catholic Church, declaring -that the social order must be founded on the church, and that her divine -teaching must be the rule of human institutions and the law of civil -laws; liberalism, on the other hand, not only separates the state from -the church, but even raises it above her, and makes the civil laws the -standard in harmony with which the ecclesiastical laws must be framed. -It even would subject the most essential institutions of the church to -the caprice of man. Moreno desires full liberty for the bishops, and -ascribes to this liberty the reform of the clergy and the good morals -of the people; liberalism wants to fetter episcopal action, excites -the inferior clergy to rebellion against their prelates, and endeavors -to withdraw the people from the influence of either. Moreno not only -supports but multiplies religious communities; liberalism suppresses -them. Moreno respects ecclesiastical property, and promotes by the -resources of the state the foundation of new seminaries, saying that -without them it will not be possible worthily to fill the ranks of the -sacred ministry; liberalism confiscates the goods of the church, closes -the seminaries, and sends the young Levites to the barracks, to be -educated in the dissipation and license of military life. Moreno confides -to the clergy and to the religious orders the training and instruction -of youth; liberalism secularizes education, and insists on the entire -exclusion of the religious element. Moreno removes from his Catholic -nation the wiles and scandals of false religion; liberalism promulgates -freedom of worship, and opens the door to every heresy in faith and -to every corruption in morals. Moreno, finally, sees in himself the -weakness inherent in man, and gives God credit for all the good which he -accomplishes; while liberalism, full of satanic pride, believes itself -capable of everything, and places all its confidence in the natural -powers of man. The antagonism between the two systems is, in short, -universal and absolute. - -Now, what is the verdict of experience? It is that the application -of Moreno’s system has resulted in peace, prosperity, the moral and -material welfare of the people--in a word, social happiness. On the -contrary, the application of the liberalist system has produced discord, -general misery, enormous taxation, immorality among the people, and -public scandals, and has driven society to the verge of destruction and -dissolution. The liberty which it has given has been well defined by -Moreno; it is the liberty of a corpse, the liberty to rot. - -And at this juncture the infamous wickedness and the despicable logic of -the liberalist party can no longer be concealed. It has laid it down as -certain that the principles of the middle ages, as it calls them--which -are the true Catholic principles, the principles affirmed by our Holy -Father Pius IX. in his Syllabus--are not applicable to modern times, and -can no longer give happiness to nations. But here is a ruler, Garcia -Moreno by name, who gives the lie to this grovelling falsehood, and shows, -by the irresistible evidence of facts, that the happiness of his people -has actually come simply from the application of these principles. What is -the answer of the liberalist sect to this manifest confutation of their -theory? First, it endeavors to cry down its formidable adversary by -invective and calumny; and then, finding that this does not suffice to -remove him from public life, it murders him. This is the only means it -has to prove its thesis; and, having made use of it, it begins to shriek -louder than before that Catholic principles cannot be adapted to the -progress of this age. No, we agree that they cannot, if you are going to -kill every one who adapts them. What use is it to argue with a sect so -malicious and perverse? O patience of God and of men, how basely are you -abused! - - -A REVIVAL IN FROGTOWN. - -There was quite an excitement in Frogtown. The Rev. Eliphalet Notext, -“The Great Revivalist, who had made more converts than any other man in -England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, the United States and Territories, -and the British Provinces of North America,” was to “open a three weeks’ -campaign” in the town. - -Now, Frogtown prided itself on being the wickedest little town in -the West. Its inhabitants claimed for it the enviable distinction of -being “the fastest little village of its size in the United States”--a -weakness common to most small towns. This pride in vice is a widespread -weakness. The lean and slippered pantaloon will wag his fallen chaps -and give evident signs of pleasant titillation when some shank-shrunken -contemporary tells “what a rascal the dog was in his youth.” - -Well, the Frogtowners flattered themselves that Brother Notext would -find their burgh a very hard nut to crack. Brother Notext was not a -theologian. He was not a scholar. He was not a preacher. In truth, he -was almost illiterate. But he understood the “business” of getting up -revivals. He knew how to create a sensation. He could, at least, achieve -a success of curiosity, as the French say. - -He began with the newspapers, of course. He contrived to have them say -something about him and his “work” in every issue. He was not particular -whether what they said of him was favorable or unfavorable. Indeed, -he rather preferred that some of them should abuse him roundly. Abuse -sometimes helped him more than praise. It made some people his friends -through a spirit of contradiction. It appealed to the pugnacious -instincts of some “professors of religion.” It enabled him to hint that -the inimical editors were papal myrmidons, Jesuit emissaries, etc., etc. - -The Rev. Eliphalet was really an excellent organizer. He had been -originally the business manager of a circus. His advertisements, his -posters, his hand-bills, in his old occupation, were prepared with all -the gorgeous imagery of the East. He did not forget his old tactics in -his new profession. Immediately on his arrival in Frogtown he grappled -the newspapers. He begged, bullied, or badgered the editors until they -noticed him. He set the Christian Juveniles and the kindred societies to -work, with whom, of course, there was no difficulty. In a couple of days -he succeeded in drawing around him the clergymen of every denomination, -except the Episcopalian and Unitarian. Some of these, however, went much -against their will. The Episcopalian minister--a gentle, amiable man--was -very loath at first; but the pressure brought to bear upon him was too -strong. He finally succumbed and joined in what was called a Union -Christian Meeting of all the Protestant congregations. This important -point achieved, Mr. Notext had three of the “best workers” in each -congregation selected. These he sent among the people to raise the sinews -of war, without which no campaign, whether sacred or profane, can be -conducted to a successful issue. Mr. Notext’s terms were reasonable--only -three hundred dollars a week and found. A man must live; and when a man -works hard--as Mr. Notext undoubtedly did--he must live well, or he -cannot stand the strain on his physical and mental strength. Then, there -were blank weeks when he had no revival in hand, and probably a hotel -bill to pay. Taking these things into consideration, any reasonable -person will allow that three hundred dollars a week and found was not an -exorbitant price. - -Mr. Notext had a large tent which the profane said had been formerly -used in his old business. It was pitched in a vacant lot within the city -limits, and could accommodate about fifteen hundred persons. Mr. Notext -prevailed on the clergymen who united with him to close their churches -on the first Sunday of his revival. On the previous Friday he gathered -around him a number of male and female enthusiasts. Accompanied by these -people, organized in squads and led by the regular revival practitioners -who did what is profanely termed the “side-show” business in all Mr. -Notext’s tours, he sang hymns in front of every drinking-saloon in the -town. The instrumental accompaniment to the singing was furnished by a -melodeon, which was carried about in a one-horse cart. - -On Sunday the union meetings began, and, notwithstanding a heavy -rain, the tent was full. A large platform had been erected inside, -and near the door was a table on which were exposed for sale a great -variety of contributions to religious literature, all by one author, -who had evidently tried every string of the religious lyre. There were -collections of hymns by the Rev. Mr. Notext; tracts by the Rev. Mr. -Notext; sermons by the Rev. Mr. Notext; tales for the young by the Rev. -Mr. Notext; appeals to the old by the Rev. Mr. Notext; reasons for the -middle-aged by the Rev. Mr. Notext, etc., etc. There were photographs, in -every style, of the Rev. Mr. Notext, as well as likenesses of remarkable -converts who had been remarkable rascals until they “got religion” -through the efforts of the Rev. Mr. Notext. - -On the platform were seated the shepherds of most of the flocks in -Frogtown. Some among them, it is true, did not seem quite at home in that -situation, but they had to be there. In the centre of the platform was an -organ, which furnished the instrumental music. On each side of the organ -seats were arranged for a volunteer choir. Fully half those present were -children. - -The Rev. Eliphalet Notext was introduced to the audience by the minister -of the Methodist church. The revivalist was a stout, fair-haired, -fresh-colored, rather pleasant-looking man, inclined to corpulency, -evidently not an ascetic, and gifted with no inconsiderable share of -physical energy and magnetism. - -“I wish all persons who can sing to come on the platform and occupy the -seats to the right and left of the organ,” he began. - -No movement was made in response to this call. It was repeated with a -better result. A dozen young ladies summoned up enough courage to mount -the platform. - -“This will never do!” cried Mr. Notext. “I want every person present who -can sing right here on this stand. We can’t get along without music and -plenty of it.” - -“Brethren,” he continued, turning toward the clergymen on the platform, -“you know the singers in your congregations; go among them and send them -up here. Everybody must put his shoulder to the wheel in the great work -of bringing souls to Jesus.” - -The brethren meekly did as they were bid. They soon succeeded in filling -the seats reserved for the singers. These numbered about one hundred. - -“That’s more like it,” said Mr. Notext approvingly. “Now, my friends, we -will begin by singing a hymn. I want everybody to join in.” (A nod to the -organist, who began to play.) - -The singing was rather timid at first, but, led by Mr. Notext, the -singers rapidly gained confidence, and soon rolled forth in full chorus. -Having fairly launched them, their leader, after the first verse, left -them to take care of themselves. The singing was really good. The rich -volume of harmony drowned the commonplace melody and the vulgar words. -Thus Brother Notext was successful in the production of his first effect. -It was evident that he depended much on the singing. There is nothing -like a grand mass of choral music to excite the sensibilities. After two -or three hymns, the revivalist had his audience in a highly emotional -condition. “I want all the children together in front!” shouted Mr. -Notext. “_Ad_ults [the accent on the first syllable] will retire to the -back seats. Don’t stop the music! Keep up the singing! Go on! go on!” -Then he ran to the organ, whispered something to the organist, and led -off with - - “Oh! you must be a lover of the Lord, - Or you won’t go to heaven when you die,” - -leaving the singers to sing it out for themselves after the first two or -three lines. - -It took some time to get all the children to the front. If the music -flagged, Mr. Notext shouted to the singers to “keep it up.” From time to -time he would rush to the organ, pick up a hymn-book in a frantic manner, -and lead off with a new hymn, waving his hands in cadence, but, with a -due regard for his lungs, not singing a note more than was absolutely -necessary to start the other singers afresh. - -The fathers and mothers of the little ones, softened by the music, looked -with moistened eyes on their children as the latter took their seats. The -American people are very fond of children when they are old enough to -walk and talk and be interesting. Mr. Notext was alive to this fact. Even -the worst criminal or the most cynical man of the world cannot help being -touched while music charms his ears and his eyes look on the beautiful -spectacle of childish innocence. Mr. Notext evidently knew the more -amiable weaknesses of human nature. He appealed to the senses and the -affections, and won over the fathers and mothers through the children. - -“Now, my little friends,” said Mr. Notext, “I wish you all to keep -perfectly silent while I am talking to you. This first meeting is -especially for you.” - -There was considerable buzzing among the little ones. - -“I must have silence, if I am to do anything with these children,” said -Mr. Notext rather testily, and in a tone which showed that he would not -scruple to apply the birch to his little friends if they did not keep -quiet. “The slightest noise distracts their attention. There are some -boys to the right there who are still talking! I wish some one would stop -them.” - -A softly-stepping gentleman with long hair and green goggles went to the -designated group, remonstrated with, and finally succeeded in silencing, -them. Then Mr. Notext began his sermon to the children. He told the -story of the Passion in a manner which, though it inexpressibly shocked -Christians of the old-fashioned kind who happened to be present, was -exceedingly dramatic--“realistic” in the highest degree, to borrow a -word from the modern play-bill. Suddenly he broke off and said rather -excitedly: - -“There is a boy on the fourth bench who persists in talking. I must have -absolute silence, or I cannot hold the attention of these children. -The slightest noise distracts them and takes their minds away from the -picture I am endeavoring to present to them. It is that red-haired boy! -Will somebody please to take him away?” Several pious gentlemen bore -down on the poor little red-haired urchin, and all chance of “getting -religion” was taken away from him for the nonce by his summary removal. -When silence was restored, Mr. Notext resumed the story. When describing -how the divine Victim was buffeted and spat upon, he administered to -himself sounding slaps on the face, now with the left hand, now with the -right. He placed an imaginary crown of thorns on his head, pressed the -sharp points into his forehead, and, passing the open fingers of both -hands over his closed eyes and down his face, traced the streams of blood -trickling from the cruel wounds. Tears already rolled down the cheeks of -the little ones. When he reached the nailing to the cross, he produced a -large spike, exhibited it to the children, and went through the semblance -of driving it into his flesh. An outburst of sobs interrupted him. Some -of the children screamed in very terror. The desired effect was produced. -Many fathers and mothers, touched by the emotion and terror of their -children, wept in sympathy with them. - -“Now the music!” shouted Mr. Notext, stamping with impatience, as if he -wanted a tardy patient to swallow a Sedlitz-powder in the proper moment -of effervescence. “Now the music!” And he led off with - - “Oh! you must be a lover of the Lord, - Or you won’t go to heaven when you die!” - -He shouted to the “workers” to go among the people and ask them to “come -to Jesus.” A crowd of “workers,” some professional, some enthusiastic -volunteers, broke loose upon the audience. They seized people by the -hands. They embraced them. They inquired: “How do you feel now? Do you -not feel that Jesus is calling you?” They begged them to come to Jesus at -once. They asked them if they were “Ker-istians.” - -One of the workers met two gentlemen who entered together and were -evidently present through curiosity. Of the first, who seemed to be a -cool, keen, self-poised business man, the worker asked the stereotyped -question: - -“Are you a Ker-istian?” - -“Of course, of course,” said the self-possessed business man. - -The worker passed on, perfectly satisfied with the off-hand declaration. -He repeated the question to the gentleman’s companion, who, possessed of -less assurance, hesitated and humbly replied: - -“I trust so.” - -The worker immediately grappled the sensitive gentleman, much to his -mortification, and it was some time before he succeeded in effecting -his escape, regretting, doubtless, that he had not made as prompt and -satisfactory a profession of faith as that of his companion. - -The “inquiry meeting,” as the exercises toward the close were named, was -continued until late in the afternoon. When the children were dismissed, -they were instructed to beg their parents to come to Jesus--to entreat -them, with tears if necessary, until they consented. A Presbyterian -gentleman of the old school, describing his sensations after the meeting -was over, said: - -“I cannot deny that I was affected. I felt tears coming to my eyes--why, -I could not tell. The effect, however, was entirely physical. My reason -had nothing to do with it. It condemned the whole thing as merely -calculated to get up an unhealthy excitement, which, even if not -injurious, would be fleeting in its effect. I noticed some nervous women -almost worked up into spasms. As to the children, they were goaded into -a state of nervousness and terror which was pitiable to see. I can only -compare my own condition to that of a man who had drunk freely. While -the effect lasted I was capable of making a fool of myself, being all -the while aware that I was doing so. Sunlight and air have dispelled the -intoxication, and now nothing remains but nausea. - -“I am disgusted with such claptrap, and ashamed of myself for having been -affected by it, however temporarily and slightly.” - -The progress made on the first Sunday of the revival was duly chronicled -in the newspapers of the day following. It was announced that hundreds of -children had been awakened to a sense of their sinful condition. A little -girl--four years old--had recognized that she was thoroughly steeped -in sin. She had had no idea of the condition of her soul until she was -roused to it by Mr. Notext’s preaching. She was now perfectly happy. She -had experienced religion. She knew she was forgiven. She had gone to -Jesus, and Jesus had come to her. She had sought Mr. Notext’s lodgings, -leading her father with one hand and her mother with the other. - -Charley Biggs--the well-known drunken alderman--was among the converted. -He had “got religion,” and was resolved henceforth to touch the -time-honored toddy nevermore. - -A belated “local” of one of the newspapers, while returning to his -lodgings on the previous evening, had his coat-tail pulled, much to his -surprise, by a little girl about six years old. - -“Please, sir,” she asked, “do you know Jesus?” - -The “local” was struck dumb. - -“O sir!” she continued, “won’t you please come to Jesus?” - -This was enough. The hard heart-of the “local” was touched. He sobbed, he -wept, he cried aloud. He fell upon his knees. The little girl fell on -hers. They sang: - - “Come to Jesus, - Come to Jesus, - Come to Jesus just now,” etc. - -When the “local” rose, after the conclusion of the singing, he took -the little girl’s hand and went whither she led him. He, too, had “got -religion”--somewhat as one gets a _coup de soleil_ or a stroke of -paralysis. - -The opposition dailies mildly called attention to the purely emotional -character of the effects produced. They expressed their fears that the -moral and physical result of factitious excitement on minds of tender -years might be the reverse of healthy. The next day the melodeon was -carted about again and the singing continued on the sidewalks and in -front of the drinking-saloons. Mr. Notext’s machinery was in full blast. -The meeting on the second evening was devoted principally to grown -people. The tent was full. The choir was strengthened by additional -voices, and the music was good of its kind. - -After half a dozen hymns had been sung, Mr. Notext began his sermon--by -courtesy so-called. He first spoke of the number of persons he had -converted at home and abroad. For he had been “abroad,” as he took care -to let his audience know. He had been the guest and the favored companion -of the Duchess of Skippington, of the Earl of Whitefriars, of Lord This -and Lady That, and the Countess of Thingumy. In Scotland and in Ireland -immense crowds followed him and “got religion.” He converted three -thousand people in a single town in Ireland. Since the meeting on the -previous day, many children, and many adults as well, had visited him at -his lodgings. Some who came to the tent “to make fun” went away full of -religion. He would now let a dear little friend of his tell his own story -in his own way. - -A red-haired youngster, about thirteen, was introduced to the audience as -the nephew of a prominent and well-known official in a neighboring town. -(It was afterwards stated, by the way, that the official in question had -not a nephew in the world. No doubt the youngster imposed on Mr. Notext.) -If ever there were a thoroughly “bad boy,” this youngster was one, or--as -may be very possible--his face belied him atrociously. Mr. Notext placed -his arm dramatically--affectionately, rather--around the young rogue’s -neck, and led him to the front of the platform. The boy looked at the -audience with a leer, half-impudent, half-jocular, and then gave his -experiences glibly in a very harsh treble: - -“When first I heard that Rev. Mr. Notext was going to get up a revival, I -joked about it with other boys, and said he couldn’t convert me; and the -night of the first meeting I said to the other boys--who were bad boys, -too--for us to go along and make fun. And so we did. And I came to laugh -at Mr. Notext and to make fun. And somehow--I don’t know how it was--I -got religion, and I was converted; and now I am very happy, and I love -Mr. Notext, and I am going with him to Smithersville when he gets through -here. And I am very happy since I was converted and became a good boy.” -(Sensation among the audience, and music by the choir in response to Mr. -Notext’s call.) - -Another juvenile convert was brought forward. He repeated substantially -the same story as his predecessor, though more diffidently. (More music -by the choir.) - -Mr. Notext now told the affecting story of “little Jimmy.” Little Jimmy -was a native of Hindostan. He lived in some town ending in _an_. There -was in that town a missionary school. Jimmy’s master was a very bad -man--cruel, tyrannical. He forbade Jimmy to go to the mission-school. -But Jimmy went, nevertheless, whenever he could. The master was a true -believer in the national religion of Hindostan. He believed that Jimmy -would go to perdition if he left his ancestral faith to embrace the -national religion--or rather the governmental religion--of Great Britain. -Jimmy would return from his visits to the mission-school in a very happy -mood, singing as he went: - - “Yes, I love Jesus, - Yes, I love Jesus, - I know, I know I do,” etc. - -Mr. Notext gave an operatic rendering of the scene of Jimmy going home -singing the above words. One day the master heard Jimmy, and was roused -to a state of fury. He forbade the boy to sing the song. But Jimmy would -sing it (Mr. Notext did not say whether Jimmy sang the hymn in English -or Hindostanee). Then the brutal master took an enormous cowhide--or -the Hindostanee punitive equivalent thereto--and belabored poor Jimmy. -But Jimmy continued to sing, though the tears rolled down his cheeks -from pain. And the master flogged; and Jimmy sang. And still the master -flogged and flogged. And still Jimmy sang and sang and sang. It was like -the famous fight in Arkansas, wherein the combatants “fit and fit and -fit.” But there must be an end of everything--even of an Arkansas fight. -The struggle lasted for hours. Exhausted nature finally gave way, and -poor little Jimmy died under the lash, singing with his last breath: - - “Yes, I love Jesus, - Yes, I love Jesus, - I know, I know I do.” - -“Now, my friends,” said Mr. Notext, “I want you all to stand up for Jesus -and sing poor little Jimmy’s song.” And Mr. Notext led off. The choir -followed his example; but the audience remained seated. - -“I want to know,” said Mr. Notext rather testily, “how many Christians -there are in this assembly. I want every one of them to stand up!” - -Several persons now stood up, and gradually the action began to spread, -like yawning in a lecture-room. There were still many, however, who -had not hearkened to Mr. Notext’s summons to stand up. He called -attention to them, and bade some of the brethren go to them and talk -them into an erect position. Some of the recalcitrants, evidently to -avoid importunity, stood up. The rest also stood up, and hurriedly left -the tent, followed by an angry scowl from Mr. Notext. After a little -hesitation, he said: “We will now once more sing little Jimmy’s hymn.” -And when the hymn was sung, the meeting dispersed. - -Next morning the friendly newspapers chronicled the wonderful success -of Mr. Notext’s efforts. The number of converts was miraculously large. -Two thousand persons had stood up for Jesus. The meetings were continued -during the week. The _modus operandi_ was about the same. Mr. Notext -repeated himself so often that interest began to languish and his _coups -de théâtre_ to grow flat and stale. When he was at a loss for words to -continue one of his disjointed discourses, he took refuge in music and -hymns. - -“Brethren, let us sing: - - “Come to Jesus! - Come to Jesus! - Come to Jesus just now,” etc. - -When his vulgar and often unintentionally blasphemous exhortations -failed to hold the attention of his hearers, and Morpheus was making -fight against him in sundry corners of the tent, he would suddenly call -in his loudest tones on all present to stand up for Jesus. In cases of -very marked inattention, he would summon his hearers, and particularly -the children, to write down their names for Jesus in a large book kept -for that purpose by the great revivalist. This stroke generally roused -the audience pretty thoroughly. But when the children had written their -names in the book three or four times, they began to grow tired of the -practice, thinking that, if these writing lessons were continued, they -might as well be at school. - -In the beginning of the second week there were unmistakable signs of -impending collapse. The revival received a momentary impulse, however, -from the opposition of another “Reverend Doctor,” who challenged Mr. -Notext to controversy. This aroused the natural desire to witness a -“fight” which lives in the human heart. But the desire was not gratified, -owing to Mr. Notext’s refusal to accept the challenge. His failure to -exhibit a proper polemical pugnacity was a very great detriment to him. -Indeed, the end of the second week showed a marked falling off in the -number of persons present at the nightly meetings. Then the sinews of -war began to fail. The weekly wage of the great revivalist could not -be raised, though he thrice sent back “the best workers” in all the -congregations to make additional efforts to raise the stipulated sum. - -The Rev. Dr. Notext did not tarry very much longer in Frogtown. He -had barely turned his back upon the little town before every trace of -the “great tidal wave of the revival” (as the journals called it) had -disappeared. The youthful converts had gone back to their peg tops, their -kites, and their china alleys, and Alderman Charley Biggs was again -taking his whiskey-toddies in the time-honored way. - - -THE PRESIDENT’S MESSAGE. - -The President’s message, so far as it deals with the school question and -the taxation of church property, is the sequel to the speech which he -delivered at Des Moines. The article on that oration which appeared in -our last number was, to some extent, an exposition of our views on the -school question. - -We are sure that those views, when carefully examined, will be -found to contain the only solution in harmony with the spirit of -free institutions. We are willing to submit to the fairness of our -fellow-citizens, and to wait until time and thought have matured their -judgment on the following questions: - -1. Who has a right to direct the education of children--their parents or -the government? - -2. Whether, in a republic whose form of government depends more than -any other upon the virtue of its citizens, it is better to have moral -instruction given in abundance, or to have this species of instruction -restricted to the narrowest limits? - -3. Whether it is the design of a free government to legislate for all, or -whether public institutions--the common schools, for instance--are to be -directed only for the benefit of certain classes? - -4. Whether moneys raised by taxation for the common good should not be so -applied as to satisfy the conscientious demands of all citizens? - -5. Whether taxation otherwise directed than for the good of all is not a -violation of the maxim, “Taxation without representation is tyranny”? - -6. Whether Catholics have or have not shown zeal for education, both -primary and scientific? - -7. Whether they have or have not shed their blood in defence of the -nation, or furnished any of its great leaders in peace and war? - -8. Whether any instance can be shown in which they have entered or -inhabited any country on equal terms with Protestants and infidels, and -have abused their power to hamper or persecute their fellow-citizens? - -9. Whether, in paying their taxes and supporting their own schools to -the best of their power, peacefully discussing the question of public -welfare and their own rights, Catholics are acting as loyal citizens or -as factious disturbers of good-will and kindly feeling among neighbors? - -10. Finally, whether, in consideration of the foregoing, our views are -not entitled to respectful consideration? - -We have no doubt whatever that when the thoughtful and just men of our -day and race have duly pondered upon these subjects, we shall fully agree -with their deliberate reply. - -At no time in the history of our country will it be found that Catholics -have introduced religion into the arena of political discussion, and any -attempt to do so will meet with failure. In this they are in perfect -accord with the principles underlying our institutions and the genuine -spirit of this country. If, at this moment, the rancor of ancient bigotry -and fanaticism or modern hatred of Christianity has attempted to awaken a -political conflict on religious grounds, while it refuses to admit a calm -consideration of Catholic claims, we appeal from Philip drunk to Philip -sober. - -In the meantime, we shall assume, that there are those who wish to hear -more with regard to our principles and convictions. We shall endeavor to -remove all obscurity on the questions now under discussion, and to reply -to whatever reasonable objections may be made against our principles. - -With regard to the taxation of church property, we await the action of -the political world. Some politicians, whose “vaulting ambition” is of -that kind which “o’erleaps itself,” would introduce this question into -political discussion in order to draw off the attention of the American -people from the real, present issues in their politics. We ask for no -innovations; but if such be made, let there be no discrimination. We -stand before the law as do all other religious denominations. “Let us -have peace” were the memorable words spoken at a memorable time by a man -who to a large extent held the future of this country in his hands. Those -words held, and hold still, the germs of the wisest policy. We repeat -them now, and add, if we cannot have peace, let us at least have fair -play. If the projectors and advocates of this innovation suppose that, in -the event of its being carried out, they will thereby worst the Catholic -Church, their action in the end will be found to resemble that of the man -who cut off his nose to spite his neighbor. - -Since these words were written, four letters have appeared in the New -York _Times_ under the heading, “Should Church Property be Taxed?” and -over the signature of George H. Andrews. The writer is not a Catholic. -His clear, concise reasons against the taxation of church property, as -recommended by the President in his message, will have the more weight -with non-Catholic readers on that account. It is singular, yet natural, -to see how his argument strengthens our own position on the question in -a number of ways, particularly as regards the suicidal policy of many -who, through hatred or fear of the Catholic Church, may be induced to -commit themselves to a measure which would prove an irreparable mischief -to their own church or churches. Passing by the many able and suggestive -points in Mr. Andrews’ letters, we take just such as more immediately -bear on the thoughts thrown out by ourselves. - -By the census of 1870 the value of all kinds of church property in the -United States belonging to the leading denominations was placed as -follows: - - Methodist, $69,854,121 - Roman Catholic, 60,935,556 - Presbyterian, 53,265,256 - Baptist, 41,608,198 - Episcopalian, 36,514,549 - Congregational, 25,069,698 - Reformed, 16,134,470 - Lutheran, 14,917,747 - Unitarian, 6,282,675 - Universalist, 5,692,325 - Others, 24,000,000 - ------------- - $354,324,595 - -“From these it appears,” says Mr. Andrews, “that the relative proportion -of each denomination to the whole is substantially as follows: - -“Methodist, one-fifth of the aggregate; Roman Catholic, one-sixth -of the aggregate; Presbyterian, one-seventh of the aggregate; -Baptist, one-ninth of the aggregate; Episcopalian, one-tenth of the -aggregate; Congregational, one-fourteenth of the aggregate; Reformed, -one-twenty-second of the aggregate; Lutheran, one-twenty-third of the -aggregate; Unitarian, one-fifty-ninth of the aggregate; Universalist, -one-sixtieth of the aggregate.” - -And here is the case in a nutshell: “To me it seems obvious,” comments -Mr. Andrews, on reviewing his figures, “that the expectation is that -those who belong or are allied to other sects will, from dislike to or -fear of the Roman Catholic Church, impose a burden upon it, even if in -doing so they are obliged to assume an equal burden themselves; or, in -other words, that the owners of $294,000,000 of church property will -subject it to taxation in order to impose a similar tax upon the owners -of $60,000,000 of church property. So that the adherents of every other -sect, at variance among themselves about sundry matters of doctrine and -practice, essential and non-essential, can be brought to act in concert, -and to give effect to a common spirit of hostility to Roman Catholic -doctrine, to Roman Catholic exclusiveness, Roman Catholic aggression, and -Roman Catholic influence, by placing a tax upon Roman Catholic Church -property--in effect, arousing a spirit of persecution, qualified by the -condition imposed by the Constitution, that the would-be persecutor must -share in the penalty he may succeed in imposing upon the object of his -dislike.” Which is precisely what we have characterized as “cutting off -one’s nose to spite a neighbor.” - -May we presume to ask whether the taxation of church property will reduce -the expenses of the general government, render its officials more honest, -and purify our legislative halls? These are the duties of the hour. Here -are the issues of our politics. But a profound silence regarding them -reigns in the official utterance. Are the projectors of the new policy -afraid to face them? Does their conscience make cowards of them? Or is it -that they are playing the part of the cuttle-fish? - -Up to this period the state and all religious denominations have advanced -peaceably to prosperity, and there have been no real grounds of complaint -on any side. At least we have heard of none publicly. What, then, has -brought about this sudden change? Who has called for it? Why should -it be sprung upon us at this moment? No danger threatens from this -quarter. There is not visible on our political horizon even the “cloud -no bigger than a man’s hand.” Catholics, when only a handful, never -dreamed of objecting to the exemption from taxation of the property of -other religious denominations, or to the aid which their benevolent -institutions received. Can it be the rapid development of Catholicity -here which has prompted the proposed innovation? Are these exemptions, -which have been handed down from the time of our fathers, to be altered -because Catholicity has had her share in the common progress? Let truth -and error grapple on a fair and open field. Is there fear that truth will -be worsted in the struggle? - -If the exemption of church property from taxation be so great an evil -and danger to the country, those whom Americans generally are content to -regard as their great statesmen must have been very short-sighted men -after all to pass by, one after another, so glaring an evil. For the -growth of church property is not a thing of to-day. In his message the -President says that he believes that “in 1850 the church property of the -United States which paid no tax, municipal or State, amounted to about -eighty-three million dollars. In 1860 the amount had doubled. In 1875 it -is about one thousand million dollars.” - -Mr. Andrews questions the estimate for 1875 on the ground that it is too -high. But let that pass. The following table, given by Mr. Andrews, shows -the increase in value, according to the census, of the property of the -ten principal churches for the last twenty years: - - 1850 1860 1870 - Methodist, $14,825,670 $33,683,371 $69,854,121 - Roman Catholic, 9,256,753 26,744,119 60,985,556 - Presbyterian, 14,543,780 24,227,359 53,265,256 - Baptist, 11,620,855 19,789,378 41,608,198 - Episcopalian, 11,375,610 21,665,698 36,514,549 - Congregational, 8,001,995 13,327,511 25,069,698 - Reformed, 4,116,280 4,453,820 16,134,470 - Lutheran, 2,909,711 5,385,179 14,917,747 - Unitarian, 3,280,822 4,338,316 6,282,675 - Universalist, 1,718,316 2,856,095 5,692,325 - ------------- ------------- ------------- - $81,649,797 $156,470,846 $330,324,595 - -The gradation, it will be seen, has been pretty steady, and is -comparatively no more marked in 1870 than it was in 1860, or than it was, -probably, in 1850. In that year, however, the Catholics were led by four -religious bodies, and almost equalled by one. Ten years later they stood -second, and after another ten years second still. Surrounded as they are -by jealous foes, they offer fair game, therefore, to men in search of -political prey. All was right so long as the others reaped an advantage -over Catholics; but the moment there appears any prospect of Catholics -reaping an advantage equally with the rest, the cry is: The country is in -danger, and can only be saved by taxing church property. Who so blind as -not to see through this flimsy pretext? - -Not Mr. Andrews certainly, and no words of ours could be more forcible -than his. “Discarding all circumlocution,” he writes, “it is as well to -get down at once to the bottom fact, which is that whatever euphemistic -phrases may be resorted to, a desire to obstruct the growth and -circumscribe the influence of the Roman Catholic Church gives whatever -vitality it may possess to the proposition to tax church property.” - -But supposing this change to be made, is it to be imagined for a moment -that the progress of the church will be stopped by it? That is futile. -If, though so few in numbers and at a great disadvantage, the church was -able to raise herself to her present position; if, when the exemptions -were all in favor of other denominations, Catholics were able to make -so great a progress, is it to be supposed that by these changes, and -by placing other denominations on an equality with Catholics, the -advancement of the Catholic Church is to be retarded? - -We have been trained in the stern school of poverty. We are accustomed to -sacrifice. Our clergy do not receive high salaries. The personal expenses -of his Eminence the Cardinal-Archbishop are much less than those of -many a clerical family in New York City. Wherever we have arms to work -with, the church of God shall not lack all that is necessary to give it -dignity, even if we have to pay taxes for it besides. In Ireland the -priests and people have shared their crust in the midst of the famine, -and in fear of death, until within a few years. In Germany we are now -about to part with our property, under the wicked injustice of the state, -rather than submit to its interference in the affairs of conscience. Is -any person foolish enough to imagine that a few dollars, more or less, -of taxation is going to dishearten or frighten us? If you want to make -our people more liberal, if you want to see grand Catholic churches and -the cross overtopping roof and spire in every city, just put us on our -mettle. Persecution is our legacy. Martyrdom is our life. The cross on -our brows is no empty symbol. These are our feelings. We have no alarm -whatever. - -These proposed innovations are only the entrance of a wedge that, driven -home, will disturb the foundations of our government; will create -religious strife, and blast the hopes of freedom, not only in this -country, but all the world over. They count, however, without their -host who think that the American people are prepared to enter on such -a career; and the politicians who hope to ride into power by awakening -the spirit of fanaticism and religious bigotry among us, if their names -be held in memory at all, will at no remote period be pointed out with -the finger of scorn and contumely as the disturbers of that peace and -harmony which ought always to reign in a just people, and which it is the -true policy of all government and the duty of all citizens to foster and -maintain. We say nothing at the present regarding the unconstitutionality -of these proposed innovations, and of the secret banding together of men -to carry them out. - - -A NIGHT AT THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE. - -FROM THE FRENCH OF SAINT-GENEST. - -It is near midnight. I am alone in my cell, awaiting the mysterious guide -who brought me hither, and who will return to call me for the office of -Matins. - -I listen to every sound, seeking to understand its language. During the -first hour I still heard steps from time to time in the distance; then -I half opened my door and looked outside. At the end of the cloister a -white figure appeared, carrying a small light in its hand. It approached -at a slow pace, stopped near a pillar, and disappeared under the arches. - -Sometimes I have seen other shadows pass along, and have heard a few -low-spoken words, … bells which answered each other; then, little by -little, everything is extinguished and silent.… There is not another -sound, another breath; … but still I listen, and cannot cease to listen. - -Is it indeed myself who am in this monastery? Was I, only to-day, yet in -the midst of the living? Can one single day comprise so many things? This -which is just ending has been so full, so strange, that I cannot well -recount all that has happened in it. - -And yet it was but this morning that I was at Aix, in the midst of light -and noise and gayety.… The children were gambolling around me! All at -once some one said: “Suppose we go to the Grande Chartreuse!” It was said -just as one would say anything else. We set out, as if for an ordinary -excursion, a party of pleasure. Mme. B---- had provisions in readiness, -which were increased by the additions of other members of the party, and -we start in the midst of lively speeches and merriment. - -So long as we proceed along the valley this is all very well. The road -rises and descends, running through the vineyards, skirting the rocks, -while the warm breath of the south gently moves the surrounding verdure. -Then, after piercing the flank of the mountain, it slopes down toward the -plains of Dauphine, discovering a horizon all bathed in light. - -It is after passing Saint Laurent, at the foot of the _Desert_, and in -perceiving the entrance of the gorge, that one begins to understand -something more; … it is then that jesting is silenced and gayety grows -grave. - -Then, on arriving at the Guiers-Mort, we become altogether dumb. Already -we had ceased to laugh; we now ceased to speak, but regarded with a -sort of stupefaction this road without issue, which seemed to end in -chaos. The mountains rose defiantly before us, overlapping and mingling -with each other, and here and there barring the way with huge masses of -precipitous rock; the gigantic trees seem to rise to the clouds, and -torrents from unknown heights fall as if from heaven, while the rocks -crowd upon, before, around, and seem to say, “No farther shall you -go.” As we come to a turn, it seems as if all progress were indeed at -an end; two immense blocks fallen across each other completely close -the horizon.… We approach them, however, and it opens again, the rocks -forming a sort of Titanic vaulted roof overhead, and falling again in -the form of three bridges, one above the other, the horses continuing to -climb a road which the eye cannot take in. - -And whilst one is lost in these abysses, what a perfect dream of splendor -begins to break overhead! Meadows of the most exquisite green seem as if -suspended far above us, silvery rocks jutting out from among their black -firs, gigantic oaks grasping the heights of the precipices, their crowns -of verdure glittering in the wind.… It is a fantastic apparition. One -has visions in one’s childhood of unknown regions, of enchanted forests -guarded by genii, but one never thought to contemplate these marvels in -reality. - -Then, all at once, the mountains separate, the torrents disappear, and in -the midst of a gorge rise battlements and spires.… It is the monastery. -There it stands, guarded by these lofty sentinels, in this sombre -amphitheatre, which would be desolation itself if God had not scattered -there all the magical beauties of his creation. - -There is not a village, not a cottage, not a wayfarer--nothing; there is -La Chartreuse. No solitude can be compared to that! - -On the summit of St. Bernard and of the Simplon monasteries destined -for the relief of travellers present themselves to the passage of the -nations. In the sandy deserts the most isolated convents find themselves -in the road of the caravans; but here this road conducts to nothing--it -is a silent gorge; it is the Valley of Contemplation; it is the greatest -solitude that one can imagine. - -And when from those heights one has seen the gradual approach of night; -seen these masses of rock and of verdure enfolded in the vast shadows; -and, at the summons of the monastery bell, has seen the last of the white -robes descend from the mountain, he feels that it is one of those moments -in a life which will never be forgotten. Then, after having stayed awhile -to contemplate this scene, I rose and came to knock at this door, which -has been to so many others as the gate of the tomb.… A Carthusian monk -brought me to my cell, went his way in silence, and since then I have -been left to my reflections. - -There are, then, men who in the morning were in their homes, in the midst -of their friends, in life, and stir, and the noise of the outer world.… -They have climbed this mountain, they have sought this _Desert_, have -knocked at this gate; it has closed upon them, … and for ever. - -They have, as I, sat down at this table; they have gazed at the walls of -their cell, and have said to themselves: “Behold henceforth my horizon.” -Then they have heard the sound of these bells, the echo of these -litanies, and they have said to themselves: “We shall henceforth hear no -other voice.” - -You see, one reads these things in the works of poets, one sees them -represented in the drama; but one must find one’s self actually in a real -cell, and one must sleep there, to conceive anything of the reality of a -monastic life. - -To awake here in the morning; to rise and eat, alone, the food which -comes to you through a little wicket, like that of a prisoner; to meet, -when one traverses the cloister, other shadows who salute you in silence; -to go from the church to the cell, from the cell to the church, and to -say to one’s self that it is always and always to be the same! - -Always!… All through life; or rather, there is no more life, no more -space, no more time. It is the beginning of eternity. One is on the -threshold of the infinite, and it seems as if all this nature had only -been created to give these men a beginning of eternal repose. - -Always alone! The thought crushes one. No more to receive anything from -without; to nourish one’s self with spiritualities alone; to meditate, -contemplate, and pray. To pray always: … to pray for those who never pray -themselves; to pray for those who have shattered your life, and who, may -be, have led you hither; … to pray for those who have despoiled your -monastery and outraged your habit--even for the impious ones who come to -insult you in your very hospitality! And for all this one thing alone -suffices: faith. - -A bell has rung; it is the hour of Matins. Some one knocks at my door. I -open, and they conduct me to the little stall reserved for travellers. -At first the obscurity is so great that it is difficult to distinguish -anything. The church is empty, and none of the tapers are lighted. Then -a door opens in the distance, and the monks enter in procession, each -holding a long dark-lantern, of which the slanting gleams dimly lessen -the darkness of the chapel. They repair to their stalls, and the Office -begins. - -It consists principally of a monotonous psalmody of an implacable rhythm, -of which one scarcely perceives the first murmurs, and which seems as if -it would never end. I gaze at these tall white figures, these motionless -heads.… What has been the drama of life to each one? What changes, -without and within, have led them there? What have they suffered? And do -they suffer still? What has the rule of their order done for them?--and -still the psalmody goes on. - -At times they rise, uttering what seems to be a sort of lamentation; then -they fall prostrate, with their arms stretched out before them; all the -lights disappear; there is nothing but darkness and silence; it seems as -if man himself were extinguished. After which the lights reappear, the -psalmody recommences, and thus it continues. - - * * * * * - -When the rising sun shone upon the summits of the rocks, I rose from my -pallet, exclaiming: “The light at last! Hail to the light!” I open my -window and look out.… There is no other place like this; such as it was -in the night, such is it in the day. In vain may the sun mount above the -horizon to bring warmth into this gorge--the monastery remains cold and, -as it were, insensible; in vain his rays dart upon the walls, glitter on -the spires, and set the rocks on fire.… There are living men, but one -does not see them, one does not hear them; only a wagon drawn by oxen -crosses the meadow, followed by a monk, and some beggars are approaching -the monastery gate. - -Then, without guide or direction, I plunge into the forest in search of -the Chapel of S. Bruno. This forest is of incomparable beauty; neither -Switzerland nor the Pyrenees contain anything like it. Prodigious trees -rise to an immense height, wrapping their gigantic roots about the -rocks. In the midst of the waters which murmur on every side unknown -vegetations luxuriate, sheltering at their feet a world of ferns, tall -grass, and mosses, every dewy feather and spray being hung, as it were, -with precious stones, upon which the sun darts here and there rays of -gold and touches of fire. There is here a wild enchantment which neither -pen nor pencil ever can depict; and in the midst of these marvels rises, -from a rock, the Chapel of S. Bruno. There it was that the visions -appeared to him, and there he caused a spring of water to flow forth; -but to me the most wonderful of all the miracles of his legend was -that of his getting there at all--the fact of his reaching the foot of -this desert, hatchet in hand, cutting down the trees which barred his -entrance, wrestling with wild animals, the masters of this forest, and -having no other pathway than the torrent’s bed; ever mounting upwards, -in spite of the streams, in spite of the rocks, in spite of everything; -never finding himself lost enough, but ever struggling higher and higher -still. The miracle is, too, that of his having fixed himself at last upon -that spot, and to have called companions around him, who constructed each -his little hermitage about his own; that of having, in God’s name, taken -possession of these inaccessible mountains, all of which are surmounted -by a cross, and to have founded an order which spread itself over the -whole Christian world, and which is still existing. - -But the hour of departure has arrived. At the moment of quitting this -solitude we again reflect. France and Italy lie spread out beneath our -feet; … that is to say, passions, hatred, strife.… Why should we descend -again? Why resume the burden of ambitions, rivalries, the harness of -social conventionalities? To what purpose is it, since the end at last -must come alike to all? - -We look around, we reflect, and then, after having well meditated, we all -descend. - -At the foot of the desert we find again huts, then cottages, by and by a -village. With movement and life we find our speech again, and with speech -discussion. Overwhelmed until then by the wild beauty of all around us -and by the majesty of its silence, the sceptics only now recommence the -criticisms which were cut short the evening before: “What services do -these monks render to mankind? To what purpose do they bury themselves -upon those heights, when there is so much to be done below?” - -I answer nothing. These are difficult questions. Later we shall know -which has chosen the better part, those who act or those who pray; only -I remember that whilst thirty thousand Israelites were fighting in the -plain, Moses, alone on the mountain, with his arms stretched out towards -heaven, implored the God of armies. When his arms fell through weariness, -the Amalekites prevailed; and when he raised them, Israel was victorious; -and seeing this, he caused his arms to be supported, until the enemies of -Israel were overcome. - -While we are debating we cross Saint Laurent, Les Echelles, and the -Valley du Guiers. Here is Chambéry _en fête_, with its flags, its -concourse of _francs-tireurs_, and bands of music; but although we have -returned to outer life, we have brought away with us something of the -solitude we have left, where it seems as if the earth ended. - -Believe me, reader, and do not forget my words when you visit these -lands. The sight of La Grande Chartreuse is one of the most powerful -emotions here below. To whatever religion you may belong, if your soul -can be moved by the thought of the life to come, you will preserve an -imperishable remembrance of a night spent in this monastery, and will -feel that you are not altogether the same man that you were when you -entered its walls. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - LES ETATS-UNIS CONTEMPORAINS, OU LES MŒURS, LES INSTITUTIONS ET - LES IDEES DEPUIS LA GUERRE DE LA SECESSION. Par Claudio Jannet. - Ouvrage précédé d’une Lettre de M. Le Play. Paris: E. Plon. - 1876. - -The author of this volume has read carefully and seriously a large number -of works, by different American, French, and English writers, devoted -to an explanation of the institutions of the United States, and to the -history and social condition of the country. He shows also a remarkable -acquaintance with the magazines and newspapers of the United States, so -far as they bear on the subjects of which he treats. His book, indeed, -must have cost him years of assiduous labor. - -M. Jannet gives a just and impartial exposition of the laws and political -principles of our country, as also of its present social condition. -Rarely, if ever, has a foreigner displayed so conscientious a study of -all that goes to make up American civilization. He professes to have -entered upon his study and his work without any preconceived theory--a -profession not unusual with authors, and for the most part, probably, -honestly made. It is one thing, however, to profess, another thing to -adhere to the profession. Were it possible for authors to adhere strictly -to the profession made by M. Jannet, literature and all of which it -treats would certainly not suffer therefrom: But he who imagines he has -attained to so just and fair a position is the least free from illusion. -The position is simply unattainable, and M. Jannet is scarcely to be -blamed if he has not quite reached his ideal. - -Two classes of authors have written about the United States. The one -sees almost everything in _couleur de rose_, the other in a sombre hue. -M. Jannet belongs to the latter class. Throughout his volume he fastens -upon every symptom that threatens the existence or the welfare of the -republic. As an enumeration of these symptoms it is exact, and its -perusal would do no harm to our spread-eagle orators. - -M. Jannet has evidently aimed at counterbalancing the influence of -writers, French writers particularly, who have exaggerated the good -side of American political society. He seems fearful lest their tone of -thought should have too great a preponderance in France, and influence -its present transition-state too powerfully in the direction of the -United States. Whether or not this was called for is not a question -for us to consider. The book, regarded as an impartial exposition of -the present condition of the United States, resembles the picture of -an artist, the background of which is painted with a Preraphaelite -exactness, while the foreground is left unfinished, and the whole work, -consequently, incomplete. Had the obvious purpose of the book been -proclaimed at the beginning, we should have read it with a more favorable -eye. - -In his last chapter, however, M. Jannet holds out some hope for the -future of the American Republic. In our present commercial depression, -in the recent success of the Democratic party, in the number of families -who have preserved the primitive virtues and customs of our forefathers, -and in the progress of Catholicity he sees a ground for this hope, -and concludes his work by saying: “Men are everywhere prosperous or -unfortunate, according as they observe or despise the divine law. All -their free will consists in choosing between these two terms of the -problem of life, and all the efforts of the spirit of innovation only -break against, without ever being able to destroy, the eternal bounds -set by God to the ambitious feebleness of the creature. Therein lies the -lesson that the young republic of the New World sends from beyond the -ocean and across the mirage of its rapid prosperity to the old nations -of Europe, too inclined to believe in the sophisms of the great modern -error, and to mistrust their own traditions.” - -M. Jannet’s work is worthy of a more extended notice, which will be given -it at a later date. The book may be ordered directly from the publisher -in France. - - THE PUBLIC LIFE OF OUR LORD. II. Preaching of the Beatitudes. - By H. J. Coleridge, S.J. London: Burns & Oates. 1875. (New - York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) - -This is a new volume in the series which is intended, when complete, to -include the entire life of Jesus Christ. We have already commended the -preceding volume, and can only, at present, renew the expression of our -concurrence in the unanimous verdict of competent judges, which awards a -very high meed of praise to Father Coleridge’s work, so far as it is as -yet given to the public. - -It is likely to become extensive when fully completed, since the present -volume is filled up with the author’s introductory remarks on the -missionary life of Our Lord, and the exposition of one portion of the -Sermon on the Mount--to wit, the Beatitudes. It is a work which is, -strictly speaking, _sui generis_ in our language, and indeed in all -modern literature, and one hard to describe in such a way as to give -an accurate notion of its quality and scope to a person who has not -read some portion of its contents. The author has drawn from the most -various and from the purest sources, and has himself meditated in a very -attentive and minute manner upon the rich materials furnished him by the -sacred lore of his studies. He proceeds leisurely, quietly, carefully, -like the patient illuminator of a manuscript text, filling his pages with -large and small figures, all elaborately finished. The present volume -gives us a sketch of Galilee, the scene of the preaching and miracles of -our divine Redeemer during his first year of public ministry, which makes -at once the idea of that ministry, of its extraordinary laboriousness, -its extent, and the multitude of wonderful works comprehended within its -brief period, ten times more vivid than it can be made by a mere perusal -of the Gospel narrative. In this respect it is especially interesting and -instructive for those who are themselves engaged in missionary labors. We -have a picture placed before our minds of the real nature of Our Lord’s -public life and ministry, and grouped around it are other pictures, as -illustrations, from the lives of the great missionary saints. When the -author approaches to his principal theme in this volume--the Sermon on -the Mount--he makes the whole scene and all its circumstances appear -before us like a fine dioramic view. He is not, however, of that -meretricious school to which Renan and Beecher have given a false and -momentary _éclat_, as unworthy of the divine subject as the homage of -another class of witnesses on whom Our Lord frequently imposed silence. -The poetic, literary, and picturesque charms of Father Coleridge’s style -are subservient to his theological, doctrinal, and moral exposition of -sacred truths. It is the pure doctrine of the Scriptures, and of the -fathers, doctors, and saints of the church, which we are invited and -allured to drink from the ornamented chalice. - - THE HOLY WAYS OF THE CROSS; OR, A SHORT TREATISE ON THE VARIOUS - TRIALS AND AFFLICTIONS, INTERIOR AND EXTERIOR, TO WHICH THE - SPIRITUAL LIFE IS SUBJECT, AND THE MEANS OF MAKING A GOOD USE - THEREOF. Translated from the French of Henri-Marie Boudon, - Archdeacon of Evreux. By Edward Healy Thompson, M.A. London: - Burns, Oates & Co. 1875. (New York: Sold by The Catholic - Publication Society.) - -Whoever, after reading the title of this book, thinks that a treatise of -this kind would be useful and helpful, and wishes to find such a book -as may really do the service promised by the title, will probably be -satisfied with the book itself. It is standard and approved, and has been -well translated by Mr. Thompson, whose preface contains some excellent -and timely remarks of his own. - - THE STORY OF S. PETER. By W. D. S. London: Burns & Oates. 1875. - (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) - -This little book purports to be a simple sketch of the life of the -Prince of the Apostles. It will serve to recall the principal events in -his life, and therefore will possess a certain amount of interest for -Catholic readers. The binding, type, and paper are neat and elegant. -The object of the book is evidently pious, and therefore we shrink from -criticising it too minutely. The style also is pleasing and readable. -It is to be regretted, however, that the author did not take a little -more pains with his task. It is a good thing to have plenty of books -on Catholic subjects; and those who are gifted with power, and who can -command the leisure, are, to a certain extent, bound to write. But they -are also bound to study consistency and order, and, in sending forth -their productions, to show a proper respect for those who are expected to -buy them. Good-will does not excuse slovenliness, and we heartily wish -that “W. D. S.” had shown a deeper sense of this truth. The fact that a -book is small and easily read does not free the writer from a thorough -analysis of his subject and employment of all sources of information -regarding it. The present work is serviceable as an introduction to a -real treatise on the position and office of S. Peter. It is nothing more; -and we are sorry that it is not. - - LEHRBUCH DES KATHOLISCHEN UND PROTESTANTISCHEN KIRCHENRECHTS. - Von Dr. Friedrich H. Vering. Herder, Freiburg. 1875. - -A number of the most learned Catholic theologians of Germany have -combined together to prepare a complete theological library. The present -volume on canon law makes the fifth thus far issued. This library is one -which will be very valuable to German priests or those who read German. -The names of Hergenröther, Scheeben, and other writers of similar rank -who are contributors sufficiently guarantee its excellence. - - ACTA ET DECRETA CONCILII VATICANI. Collectio Lacensis, tom. - iii. Herder, Freiburg. 1875. - -These and other publications of the Herder publishing house are imported -by the enterprising firm of the Benzigers. The first is a convenient -and carefully edited text of the acts of the Vatican Council, to which -is appended a list of all the episcopal sees and prelatures called -_nullius_ in the entire Catholic Church. The second is one portion of the -magnificent collection of modern councils published at Maria-Laach, and -contains the acts of British and North American councils held during the -past century, or, to speak more precisely, from 1789 to 1869. - - CALDERON’S GROESSTE DRAMEN RELIGIOESEN INHALTS. Uebersetzt von - Dr. F. Lorinser. 3d vol. Herder, Freiburg. 1875. - -We cannot speak from personal knowledge of the merit of this translation. -Readers of German literature who cannot read Calderon in the original -will no doubt be pleased to find some of his great dramas in a German -dress, and be sufficiently interested in them to ascertain for themselves -how far the great poet has been successfully reproduced. - - VOLKSTHUEMLICHES AUS SCHWABEN. Von Dr. Anton Birlinger. Herder, - Freiburg. 1861. - -We have here in two volumes a miscellaneous collection of every kind of -_folk-lore_, in prose and verse, mostly very short pieces which must be -very amusing for children and others who like to entertain themselves -with curious odds and ends of this sort. - - THE SACRIFICE OF THE EUCHARIST, AND OTHER DOCTRINES OF THE - CATHOLIC CHURCH EXPLAINED AND VINDICATED. By the Rev. Charles - B. Garside. London: Burns & Oates. 1875. (New York: Sold by The - Catholic Publication Society.) - -This is a very thoughtful and learned treatise on the Sacrifice of the -Mass, and, though not directly controversial, it is a very lucid and -satisfactory vindication of the Catholic doctrine on the Holy Eucharist -considered as a sacrifice. - -The volume contains also essays on “Definitions of the Catholic faith, -Existence of the church in relation to Scripture, Tradition as a vehicle -of Christian doctrine, The Atonement and Purgatory,” and other subjects, -all of them well written, and some, such as the one on “Definitions of -the Catholic Faith,” occupied with discussion of questions which are -frequently talked of at the present, and upon which it is important to -have clear and accurate notions. - - THE PERSECUTIONS OF ANNAM: A History of Christianity in Cochin - China and Tonking. By J. R. Shortland, M.A. London: Burns - & Oates. 1875. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication - Society.) - -We read an account a few days since of four hundred Catholic priests who -four years ago were transported from Poland to Siberia by the Russian -government; three hundred have died, and the others can survive but a -little while. It was only a paragraph in a newspaper. The martyrs die as -of old, and we scarcely hear of their sufferings. The missionary work -of the church, too, is almost forgotten by her children who are living -at ease and in comfort; and yet it is carried on in all quarters of the -globe. Our brothers, if we be worthy to call them by this name, are -toiling, suffering, dying for Christ and the souls of men in far-off -countries of which we seem not to care even to know anything. Here is a -book, most interesting and consoling, full of edifying facts and heroic -examples, written clearly and simply. It is a history of Christianity -in Cochin China and Tonking; and as these two countries form the Empire -of Annam, and the history of the church is always one of persecution, -of triumph through suffering, the book is entitled _The Persecutions of -Annam_. For centuries Europeans have been excluded from this country, -into the interior of which the only strangers who have penetrated have -been Catholic missionaries, and they have gone at the risk of their -lives. For two hundred and fifty years the apostles of the church -have been laboring in Annam, and whoever will read this book will be -struck with wonder at the work they have done and the sufferings they -have endured. Never anywhere have there been more barbarous or cruel -persecutions, and never have they been borne with more heroic fortitude -and simple trust in God. - -And then what a wealth of instruction in the lives of these Annamite -converts! From 1615 down to our own day thousands and hundreds of -thousands have received the faith, and, rather than forfeit it, hundreds -and thousands have endured every torment, death itself. Their warm piety, -their intelligent faith, their dauntless courage, put us to shame. - -The last persecution broke out in 1858, and raged until the Christians -were relieved by the arms of France, in consequence of which a treaty -of peace was signed in June, 1862, which was soon followed by a decree -granting religious worship; and we may hope that the soil which has drunk -the blood of so many martyrs will yet become the vineyard of Christ. - -But we must refer our readers to the book itself, and close this brief -notice with the wish that some one of our Catholic houses in this country -may republish this most interesting chapter of Catholic history. - - THE AMERICAN STATE AND AMERICAN STATESMEN. By William Giles - Dix. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 171. Boston: Estes & Lauriat. 1876. - -It is refreshing in these days to meet with a non-Catholic writer like -Mr. Dix, who takes his stand on Christianity and the law of Christ as -the foundation of all right law and government. There is a class, and -a large class, of patriots among us who seem, unconsciously indeed, to -resent the idea that Almighty God had anything at all to do with the -growth and development of this country. To this class of men Mr. Dix’s -book will be a sharp reminder that there is a God above us who rules -all things, and that religion and governments did actually exist in the -world at large--and in the New World, for the matter of that--before -the _Mayflower_ touched these shores. The book deals with just what its -title indicates: the American state and American statesmen. Among the -statesmen dealt with are Abraham Lincoln, Charles Sumner, and several of -the historic names that have lent a lustre to Congress. But the larger -and graver portion of the book deals with the constitution of the States -in themselves and their relation to the States as a whole or nation. Mr. -Dix is a strong and earnest advocate for his views; but his views in the -present matter are almost diametrically opposed to the general feeling of -Americans. “Are the United States a nation?” he boldly asks in the final -chapter of the book, and his answer is “yes” and “no.” In a word, he is -strongly in favor of the centralization of sovereignty as opposed to the -local independence of States. As long as federalism exists, says Mr. Dix, -practically, so long is the nation exposed to disorder and a renewal of -the civil war. - -So important a question, it is needless to remark, is scarcely to be -settled in a book-notice; is, indeed, beyond books altogether. It is -a growth. The country and government alike are a growth, and a growth -that will not be forced. They are just entering on the hundredth year -of a life that has been seriously threatened, and, notwithstanding the -theatrical thunder which is being heard just now of politicians resolved -to make “a hit,” we cannot but look to the development of this growth -with hope and confidence. At the same time, it is the part of all who -are concerned to guard that growth well, to see that no weeds spring -up around it, to let in light and air and freedom, and to keep off all -noxious influences that would threaten the life of the parent stem. In -the desire to do this, such chapters as “Christianity the Inspirer of -Nations,” “Materialism the Curse of America,” and “America a Christian -Power,” which seem to us the strongest chapters in Mr. Dix’s book, will -be found full of eloquent suggestion and sound, even solemn, advice. -The book, as a whole, will be found a very interesting one. The writer -is a bold man, who certainly has the courage of his convictions, which -he never hesitates to express openly. The book overruns with apt -illustration and an extraordinary eloquence. Indeed, there is a fault -in parts of too great eloquence, compensated for over and over again by -passages full of terseness, purity, and strength. - - PERSONAL REMINISCENCES BY CONSTABLE AND GILLIES. (Bric-à-Brac - Series.) Edited by Richard Henry Stoddard. New York: Scribner, - Armstrong & Co. 1876. - -This volume completes the first Bric-à-Brac Series. The publishers -announce an extensive sale--proof only of its being suited to certain -literary tastes. We have not been able to pronounce a very favorable -opinion upon the merits of the series. In turning over the leaves of a -college sheet the other day, we came upon an extract from the letter of -a young lady at one of our fashionable seminaries, in which, counselling -her sisters to high resolves and noble aims, she says: “Instead of -getting a new hat this term, let us buy a Bric-à-Brac.” We think this -is good evidence of the value of these volumes as literary works. They -are admirably suited for boarding-school misses. But what the authors -and scholars who are gossiped about would say at being brought down to -this level is another question. On the whole, we would advise this young -lady to buy a new hat instead. The hat will serve a useful if not a very -exalted purpose in covering her head; the “Bric-à-Brac” will fill it with -frivolous and untrustworthy chit-chat. - -This volume treats, under distinct heads, of forty-six persons--including -a majority of the poets, novelists, historians, linguistic scholars, and -essayists of Scotland at the beginning of this century, with a sprinkling -of English and German _savants_, including Goethe--in a little over -three hundred small duodecimo pages. That is to say, it gives an average -of seven pages to each author. These seven pages are devoted almost -exclusively in each instance to trivial personal anecdotes. From this -simple inventory, therefore, it will be easy to form an accurate notion -of what the young lady gains mentally as an equivalent for the loss of -her new hat. - -Considerable space is given, however, to one or two worthies. Of these, -William Godwin, the revolutionary propagandist, holds the first place, -and with him incidentally his first wife, Mary Wollstonecraft, the author -of the _Vindication of the Rights of Woman_. This precious pair are -handled with great tenderness and unction. - -The rest of the volume is made up chiefly of reminiscences of the small -literary stars who twinkled round Sir Walter Scott in Edinburgh at the -beginning of the century, and stole something from the reflection of his -brightness, but who are now for the most part forgotten. - - IN DOORS AND OUT; OR, VIEWS FROM THE CHIMNEY CORNER. By Oliver - Optic. Boston: Lee & Shepard. 1876. - -Excellent stories, all of which might have been drawn from actual life, -are to be found in this volume. Like all of Oliver Optic’s books, it may -be safely placed in the hands of young people. Some of the sketches, such -as “Good-for-Nothings,” might be read with as much profit as amusement by -grown-up persons, especially those who are continually complaining about -servant-girls. - - - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XXII., No. 132.--MARCH, 1876. - -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. - - -A SEQUEL OF THE GLADSTONE CONTROVERSY. - -II - -One of the most mischievous prejudices of our day is the popular theory -that the cure for all evils is to be sought in the intellectual education -of the masses. Those nations, we are told by every declaimer, in which -the education of the people is most universal, are the most moral, the -richest, the strongest, the freest, and their prosperity rests upon the -most solid and lasting foundation. Make ignorance a crime, teach all to -read and write, and war will smooth its rugged front, armies will be -disbanded, crime will disappear, and mankind will have found the secret -of uninterrupted progress, the final outcome of which will surpass even -our fondest dreams. - -This fallacy, which has not even the merit of being plausible, is, -of course, made to do service in M. de Laveleye’s pamphlet on the -comparative bearing of Protestantism and Catholicism on the prosperity of -nations. - -“It is now universally admitted,” he informs us (p. 22), “that the -diffusion of enlightenment is the first condition of progress.… The -general spread of education is also indispensable to the exercise of -constitutional liberty.… In short, education is the basis of national -liberty and prosperity.” - -He then goes on to declare that in this matter of popular education -Protestant countries are far in advance of those that are Catholic; -that this is necessarily so, since “the Reformed religion rests on a -book--the Bible; the Protestant, therefore, must know how to read. -Catholic worship, on the contrary, rests upon sacraments and certain -practices--such as confession, Masses, sermons--which do not necessarily -involve reading. It is, therefore, unnecessary to know how to read; -indeed, it is dangerous, for it inevitably shakes the principle of -passive obedience on which the whole Catholic edifice reposes: reading is -the road that leads to heresy.” - -We will first consider the theory, and then take up the facts. - -“The diffusion of enlightenment is the first condition of progress. -Education is indispensable to the exercise of constitutional liberty. -Education is the basis of national liberty and prosperity.” - -Enlightenment is, of course, of the mind, and means the development, more -or less perfect, of the intellectual faculties; and education, since it -is here considered as synonymous with enlightenment, must be taken in -this narrow sense. - -Progress is material, moral, intellectual, social, political, artistic, -religious, scientific, literary, and indefinitely manifold. Now, it is -assumed that the diffusion of enlightenment is not merely promotive, but -that it is an essential condition of progress in its widest and fullest -meaning. This is the new faith--the goddess of culture, holding the torch -of science and leading mankind into the palace of pleasure, the only true -heaven. - -By conduct, we have already said, both individuals and nations are saved -or perish; and we spoke of the civilized. Barbarous states are destroyed -by catastrophes--they die a violent death; but the civilized are wasted -by internal maladies--_suis et ipsa Roma viribus ruit_. They grow and -they decay, they progress and they decline. At first poverty, virtue, -industry, faith, hopefulness, strong characters and heroic natures; at -last wealth, corruption, indolence, unbelief, despair, children too weak -even to admire the strength of their fathers, too base to believe that -they were noble. Public spirit dies out; patriotism is in the mouths -of politicians, but, like the augurs of Rome, they cannot speak the -word and look one another in the face. The country is to each one what -he can make out of it, and the bond of union is the desire of each -citizen to secure his own interests. The bondholders love their country, -and the _sans-culottes_ are disloyal; class rises against class, civil -discord unsettles everything, revolution succeeds revolution, and when -the barbarian comes he holds an inquest over the corpse. It generally -happens, too, that those civilizations which spring up quickest and -promise most fair are fated to die earliest; as precocious children -disappoint fond mothers. If the teaching of history is a trustworthy -guide, we are certainly safe in affirming that civilized states and -empires perish, not from lack of knowledge, but of virtue; not because -the people are ignorant, but because they are corrupt. - -The assumption, however, is that men become immoral because they are -ignorant; that if they were enlightened, they would be virtuous. - -“The superstition,” says Herbert Spencer (_Study of Sociology_, p. 121), -“that good behavior is to be forthwith produced by lessons learned out -of books, which was long ago statistically disproved, would, but for -preconceptions, be utterly dissipated by observing to what a slight -extent knowledge affects conduct; by observing that the dishonesty -implied in the adulterations of tradesmen and manufacturers, in -fraudulent bankruptcies, in bubble-companies, in ‘cooking’ of railway -accounts and financial prospectuses, differs only in form, and not in -amount, from the dishonesty of the uneducated; by observing how amazingly -little the teachings given to medical students affect their lives, and -how even the most experienced medical men have their prudence scarcely at -all increased by their information.” - -It is not knowledge, but character, that is important; and character -is formed more by faith, by hope, by love, admiration, enthusiasm, -reverence, than by any patchwork of alphabetical and arithmetical -symbols. The young know but little; but they believe firmly, they hope -nobly, and love generously; and it is while knowledge is feeble and these -spontaneous acts of the soul are strong that character is moulded. The -curse of our age is that men will believe that, in education, to spell, -to read, to write, is what signifies, and they cast aside the eternal -faith, the infinite hope, the divine love, that more than all else make -us men. - -“The true test of civilization,” says Emerson, “is not the census, nor -the size of cities, nor the crops--no, but the kind of man the country -turns out.” Is there some mystic virtue in printed words that to be -able to read them should make us men? And even in the most enlightened -countries what do the masses of men know? Next to nothing; and their -reading, for the most part, stupefies them. The newspaper, with its -murders, suicides, hangings, startling disclosures, defalcations, -embezzlements, burglaries, forgeries, adulteries, advertisements of -nostrums, quack medicines, and secrets of working death in the very -source of life, with all manner of hasty generalizations, crude theories, -and half-truths jumbled into intellectual _pot-pourris_; the circulating -library, with its stories, tales, romances of love, despair, death, of -harrowing accidents, of hair-breadth escapes, of successful crime, and -all the commonplaces of wild, reckless, and unnatural life--these are the -sources of their knowledge. Or, if they are ambitious, they read “How to -get on in the world,” “The art of making money,” “The secret of growing -rich,” “The road to wealth,” “Successful men,” “The millionaires of -America,” and the Mammon-worship, and the superstition of matter, and the -idolatry of success become their religion; their souls die within them, -and what wretched slaves they grow to be! - -In the newspaper and circulating library God and man, heaven and -earth--all things--are discussed, flippantly, in snatches, generally; -all possible conflicting and contradictory views are taken; and these -ignorant masses, who, in the common schools, have been through the Fourth -Reader, and who know nothing, not even their own ignorance, are confused. -They doubt, they lose faith, and are enlightened by the discovery that -God, the soul, truth, justice, honor, are only nominal--they do not -concern positivists. Can anything be more pitiful than the state of these -poor wretches?--neither knowing nor believing; without knowledge, yet -having neither faith nor love. God pity them that they are communists, -internationalists, _solidaires_; for what else could they be? No -enthusiasm is possible for them but that of destruction. - -Religion is the chief element in civilization, and consequently in -progress. For the masses of men, even though the whole energy of mankind -should spend itself upon some or any possible common-school system, -the eternal principles which mould character, support manhood, and -consecrate humanity will always remain of faith, and can never be held -scientifically. If it were possible that science should prove religion -false, it would none the less remain true, or there would be no truth. - -What children know when they leave school is mechanical, external to -their minds, fitted on them like clothes on the body; and it is soon -worn threadbare, and hangs in shreds and patches. Take the first boy -whom you meet, fourteen or fifteen years old, fresh from the common -school, and his ignorance of all real knowledge will surprise you. What -he knows is little and of small value; what is of moment is whether he -believes firmly, hopes strongly, and loves truly. Not the diffusion of -enlightenment do we want so much, but the diffusion of character, of -honest faith, and manly courage. - -Man is more than his knowledge. Simple faith is better than reading and -writing. And yet the educational quacks treat the child as though he were -mere mind, and his sole business to use it, and chiefly for low ends, -shrewdly and sharply, with a view to profit; as though life were a thing -of barter, and wisdom the art of making the most of it. - -Poor child! who wouldst live by admiration, hope, and love, how they -dwarf thy being, stunt thy growth, and flatten all thy soaring thoughts -with their dull commonplaces--thrift, honesty is the best policy, time is -money, knowledge is wealth, and all the vocabulary of a shop-keeping and -trading philosophy. Poor child! who wouldst look out into the universe -as God’s great temple, and behold in all its glories the effulgence of -heaven; to whom morning, noon, and night, and change of season, golden -flood of day and star-lit gloom, all speak of some diviner life, how they -stun thy poetic soul, full of high dreams and noble purposes, with their -cold teaching that man lives on bread alone--put money in thy purse! And -when thou wouldst look back with awe and reverence to the sacred ages -past, to the heroes, sages, saints of the olden times, they come with -their gabble and tell thee there were no railroads and common schools in -those days. - -Is it strange that this education should hurt the nation’s highest -interests by driving in crowds, like cattle to the shambles, our youths -from God and nature and tilling of the soil to town and city, or, worse, -into professions to which only their conceit or distaste for hard labor -calls them? What place for morality is there in this Poor Richard’s -Catechism--education of thrift and best policy? We grow in likeness to -what we love, not to what we know. With low aims and selfish loves only -narrow and imperfect characters are compatible. - -Science, when cherished for itself--which it seldom is and in very -exceptional cases--refines and purifies its lovers, and chastens the -force of passion; though even here we must admit that the wisest of -mankind may be the meanest, morally the most unworthy. But for the great -mass of men, even of those who are called educated, the possession of -such knowledge as they have or can have has no necessary relation with -higher moral life. Their learning may refine, smooth over, or conceal -their sin; it will not destroy it. The furred gown and intertissued robe -hide the faults that peep through beggars’ rags, but they are there all -the same. There may be a substitution of pride for sensuality, or a -skilful blending or alternation of the finer with the coarser. Vice may -lose its grossness, but not its evil. And herein we detect the wretched -sophistry of criminal statistics, which deal, imperfectly and roughly -enough, with what is open, shocking, and repulsive. The hidden sins -that “like pitted speck in garnered fruit,” slowly eating to the core -of a people’s life, moulder all; the sapping of faith, the weakening of -character, the disbelief in goodness; the luxury, the indulgence, the -heartlessness and narrowness of the rich; the cunning devices through -which “the spirit of murder” works in the very means of life, - - “While rank corruption, mining all within, - Infects unseen” - ---cannot be appreciated by the gross tests of numbers and averages. The -poor, by statistics as by the world, are handled without gloves. In the -large cities of civilized countries, both in ancient and in modern times, -we have unmistakable proof of what knowledge can do to form character -and produce even the social virtues. These populations have had the -advantage of the best schools in the most favorable circumstances, and -yet in character and morality they are far beneath the less educated -peasantry. Sensual indulgence, contempt of authority, hatred and jealousy -of those above them, make these the dangerous classes, eager for -socialistic reforms, radical upheavals of the whole existing order; and -were it not for the more religious tillers of the soil, chaos and misrule -would already prevail. In Greece and Rome it was in the cities that -civilization first perished, as it was there it began--began with men -who had great faith and strong character, but little knowledge; perished -among men who were learned and refined, but who in indulgence and debauch -had lost all strength and honesty of purpose. - -In the last report of the Commissioner of Education some interesting -facts, bearing on the relation of ignorance to crime, are taken from the -Forty-fifth Annual Report of the inspector of the State penitentiary for -the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. - -“It is doubted if in any State, or indeed in any country,” says the -commissioner, “forty-four volumes containing the annual statistical -tables relating to the populations of a penal institution, covering -nearly half a century, can, on examination, be regarded as more complete.” - -The number of prisoners received into the institution from 1850 to 1860 -was 1,605, of whom 15 per cent. were illiterate, 15 per cent. were able -to read, and 70 per cent., or more than two-thirds, knew how to read -and write; from 1860 to 1870, 2,383 prisoners were received into the -penitentiary, and of these 17 per cent. were illiterate, 12 per cent. -could read, and about 71 per cent. could read and write. - -Of the 627 convicts who were in the penitentiary during the year 1867, 62 -per cent., or five-eighths of the whole number, had attended the public -schools of the State, 25 per cent., or two-eighths, had gone to private -institutions, and 12 per cent., or one-eighth, had never gone to school. - -But, as we have said, statistics deal with crime, and chiefly with the -more open and discoverable sort, not with morality; whereas nations are -destroyed not so much by crime as by immorality. - -The thief is caught and sent to the penitentiary; but the trader -who adulterates or gives short measure, the banker who puts forth -a false or exaggerated statement, the merchant who fails with full -hands, the stock-gambler who robs thousands, Crédit-Mobilier men and -“ring” men generally who plunder scientifically, Congressmen who take -money for helping to swindle the government, getters-up of “bubble -companies”--salted diamond-fields and Emma Mines--compared with whom -pickpockets and burglars are respectable gentlemen--these know not of -penitentiaries; prisons were not built for such as they. The poor man -abandons his wife, without divorce marries another, and is very properly -sent to State prison. His rich and educated fellow-citizen gets a -divorce, or is a free-lover, or keeps a harem, and for him laws were not -made. Even that respectable old dame Society only gently shakes her head. -We must not expect too much of gentlemen, you know. The ignorant girl -falls, commits infanticide, and is incarcerated or hanged--heaven forbid -that we should attempt to tell what she would have done had she been -educated!--at any rate, she would not have gone to prison, though her -guilt would not have been less. - -Has the very great diffusion of enlightenment among our people during -the hundred years that we have been an independent nation made them more -moral and more worthy? - -“The true test of civilization is not the census, nor the size of cities, -nor the crops--no, but the kind of man the country turns out.” - -The Yankee is smarter than the Puritan--is he as true a man? Is the -inventor of a sewing-machine or a patent bedstead as worthy as he who -believes in God and in liberty against the whole earth with all his -heart and soul, even though the heart be hard and the soul narrow? What -compensation is there in all our philanthropies, transcendentalisms, -sentimentalities, patent remedies for social evils, for the loss of the -strong convictions, reverent belief, and simple dignity of character -that made our fathers men? Do we believe in the goodness and honesty -of men as they did, or is it possible that we should? What can come of -beliefs in oversouls, whims, tendencies, abstractions, developments? If -we were shadows in a shadow-land, this might do. - -Look at a famous trial where the very aroma and fine essence of our -civilization was gathered: What bright minds, keen intellects! Poetry, -eloquence, romance; the culture, the knowledge, the scientific theories, -of the age--all are there. And yet, when the veil is lifted, we simply -turn away heart sick and nauseated. Not a hundred statistical prison -reports would reveal the festering corruption and deep depravity, the -coarse vulgarity and utter heartlessness that is there, whatever the -truth may be, if in such surroundings it can be found at all. - -In Laing’s _Notes of a Traveller_ (p. 221) we find a most striking -example of almost incredible corruption united with great intellectual -culture. “In this way,” he says, “we must account for the singular fact -that the only positively immoral religious sect of the present times in -the Christian world arose and has spread itself in the most educated -part of the most educated country in Europe--in and about Königsberg, -the capital of the province of Old Prussia. The Muckers are a sect -who combine lewdness with religion. The conventicles of this sect are -frequented by men and women in a state of nudity; and to excite the -animal passion, but to restrain its indulgence, is said to constitute -their religious exercise. Many of the highest nobility of the province, -and two of the established clergy of the city, besides citizens, -artificers, and ladies, old and young, belong to this sect; and two -young ladies are stated to have died from the consequences of excessive -libidinous excitement. It is no secret association of profligacy -shunning the light. It is a sect--according to the declarations of Von -Tippelskirch and of several persons of consideration in Königsberg who -had been followers of it themselves--existing very extensively under the -leadership of the established ministers of the Gospel, Ebel and Diestel, -of a Count von Kaniz, of a Lady von S----, and of other noble persons.… -The system and theory of this dreadful combination of vice with religion -are, of course, very properly suppressed.… The sect itself appears, by -Dr. Bretscheider’s account of it, to have been so generally diffused that -he says ‘it cannot be believed that the public functionaries were in -ignorance of its existence; but they were afraid to do their duty from -the influence of the many principal people who were involved in it.’” - -But we are not the advocates of ignorance. We will praise with any man -the true worth and inestimable value of education. Even mere mental -training is, to our thinking, of rare price. Water is good, but without -bread it will not sustain life. Wine warms and gladdens the heart of man; -but if used without care, it maddens and drives to destruction. We are -crying out against the folly of the age which would make the school-room -its church, education its sacrament, and culture its religion. It is the -road to ruin. Culture is for the few; and what a trumpery patchwork of -frippery and finery and paste diamonds it must ever remain for the most -of these! For the millions it means the pagan debauch, the bacchanal -orgy, and mere animalism. - -“The characters,” wrote Goethe--who was pagan of the pagans and -“decidirter Nicht-Christ”--“which we can truly respect have become -rarer. We can sincerely esteem only that which is not self-seeking.… I -must confess to have found through my whole life unselfish characters -of the kind of which I speak only there where I found a firmly-grounded -religious life; a creed, which had an unchangeable basis, resting upon -itself--not dependent upon the time, its spirit, or its science.” - -This foundation of a positive religious faith is as indispensable to -national as to individual character, and without it the diffusion of -enlightenment cannot create a great or lasting civilization. Religion -ought to constitute the very essence of all primary education. It alone -can touch the heart, raise the mind, and evoke from their brutish apathy -the elements of humanity, especially the reason; and it is therefore the -one indispensable element in any right system of national education. -A population unable to read or write, but with a religious faith and -discipline, has before now constituted, and may again constitute, a great -nation; but a people without religious earnestness has no solid political -character. Religion is the widest and deepest of all the elements of -civilization; it reaches those whom nothing else can touch; but for the -masses of men there can be no religion without the authoritative teaching -of a church. - -And now let us return to M. de Laveleye. “The general spread of -education,” he says (p. 23), “is indispensable to the exercise of -constitutional liberty.… Education is the basis of national liberty and -prosperity.” - -In view of the facts that constitutional liberty has existed, and for -centuries, in states in which there was no “general spread of education,” -and that “the diffusion of enlightenment” is found in our own day to -co-exist with the most hateful despotisms, we might pass on, without -stopping to examine more closely these loose and popular phrases; but -since the fallacies which they contain form a part of the culture-creed -of modern paganism, and are accepted as indisputable truths by the -multitude, they have a claim upon our attention which their assertion by -Mr. Gladstone’s friend could not give them. - -There is no necessary connection between popular education and civil -liberty, as there is none between the enlightenment and the morality of -a people. This is a subject full of import--one which, in this age and -country, ought to be discussed with perfect freedom and courage. Courage -indeed is needed precisely here; for to deny that there is a God, to -treat Christ as a myth or a common man, to declaim against religion as -superstition, to make the Bible a butt for witticisms and fine points, -to deny future life and the soul’s immortality, to denounce marriage, to -preach communism, and to ridicule whatever things mankind have hitherto -held sacred--this is not only tolerable, it is praiseworthy and runs -with the free thought of an enlightened and inquiring age. But to raise -a doubt as to the supreme and paramount value of intellectual training; -of its sovereign efficacy in the cure of human ills; of its inseparable -alliance with freedom, with progress, with man’s best interests, is -pernicious heresy, and ought not to be borne with patiently. In our -civilization, through the action of majorities, there is special -difficulty in such discussions, since with us nothing is true except what -is popular. Majorities rule, and are therefore right. With rare eloquence -we denounce tyrant kings and turn to lick the hands of the tyrant people. -Whoever questions the wisdom of the American people is not to be argued -with--he is to be pitied; and therefore both press and pulpit, though -they flaunt the banner of freedom, are the servants of the tyrant. To -have no principles, but to write and speak what will please the most and -offend the fewest--this is the philosophy of free speech. We therefore -have no independent, and consequently no great, thinkers. It is dangerous -not to think with majorities and parties; for those who attempt to break -their bonds generally succeed, like Emerson, only in becoming whimsical, -weak, and inconclusive. It is not surprising, then, that the Catholics, -because they do not accept as true or ultimate what is supposed to be the -final thought and definite will of American majorities on the subject of -education, should be denounced, threatened, and made a Trojan Horse of to -carry political adventurers into the White House. - -Nevertheless, the observant are losing confidence in the theory, so -full of inspiration to demagogues and declaimers, that superstition -and despotism must be founded on ignorance. In Prussia at this moment -universal education co-exists with despotism. Where tyrannical -governments take control of education they easily make it their ally. - -Let us hear what Laing says of the practical results of the Prussian -system of education, which it is so much the fashion to praise. - - “If the ultimate object,” he says, “of all education and - knowledge be to raise man to the feeling of his own moral - worth, to a sense of his responsibility to his Creator and to - his conscience for every act, to the dignity of a reflecting, - self-guiding, virtuous, religious member of society, then - the Prussian educational system is a failure. It is only a - training from childhood in the conventional discipline and - submission of mind which the state exacts from its subjects. - It is not a training or education which has raised, but - which has lowered, the human character.… The social value or - importance of the Prussian arrangements for diffusing national - scholastic education has been evidently overrated; for now that - the whole system has been in the fullest operation in society - upon a whole generation, we see morals and religion in a more - unsatisfactory state in this very country than in almost any - other in the north of Europe; we see nowhere a people in a more - abject political and civil condition, or with less free agency - in their social economy. A national education which gives a - nation neither religion, nor morality, nor civil liberty, - nor political liberty is an education not worth having.… If - to read, write, cipher, and sing be education, the Prussian - subject is an educated man. If to reason, judge, and act as an - independent free agent, in the religious, moral, and social - relations of man to his Creator and to his fellow-men, be the - exercise of the mental powers which alone deserves the name - of education, then is the Prussian subject a mere drum boy - in education, in the cultivation and use of all that regards - the moral and intellectual endowments of man, compared to one - of the unlettered population of a free country. The dormant - state of the public mind on all affairs of public interest, - the acquiescence in a total want of political influence or - existence, the intellectual dependence upon the government - or its functionary in all the affairs of the community, the - abject submission to the want of freedom or free agency in - thoughts, words, or acts, the religious thraldom of the people - to forms which they despise, the want of influence of religious - and social principle in society, justify the conclusion that - the moral, religious, and social condition of the people was - never looked at or estimated by those writers who were so - enthusiastic in their praises of the national education of - Prussia.” - -In spite of the continued progress of education, there is even less -liberty, religious, civil, and political, in Prussia to-day than when -these words were written, thirty years ago. - -Nothing more dazzles the eyes of men than great military success; and -this, together with the habit which belongs to our race of applauding -whoever wins, has produced, especially in England and the United States, -where Bismarck is looked upon, ignorantly enough, as the champion of -Protestantism, a kind of blind admiration and awe for whatever is -Prussian. “Protestant Prussia,” boasts M. de Laveleye, “has defeated -two empires, each containing twice her own population, the one in seven -weeks, the other in seven months”; and in the new edition of Appleton’s -_Encyclopædia_ we are informed that these victories are attributed to -the superior education of her people. As well might the tyranny of the -government and the notorious unchastity and dishonesty of the Prussians -be ascribed to their superior education. Not to the general intelligence -of the people, but to the fact that the whole country has been turned -into a military camp, and that to the one purpose of war all interests -have been made subservient, must we seek for an explanation of the -victories of Sadowa and Sedan. - -Who would pretend that the Spartans were in war superior to the -Athenians because they had a more perfect system of education and -were more intelligent or had a truer religion? Or who would think of -accounting in this way for the marvellous exploits of Attila with his -Huns, of Zingis Khan with his Moguls, of Tamerlane with his Tartars, of -Mahmood, Togrul-Beg, and Malek-Shah with their Turkish hordes? - -In fact, it may be said, speaking largely and in general, that the -history of war is that of the triumph of strong and ignorant races over -those which have become cultivated, refined, and corrupt. The Romans -learned from their conquered slaves letters and the vices of a more -polished paganism. Barbarism is ever impending over the civilized world. -The wild and rugged north is ever rushing down upon the soft and cultured -south: the Scythian upon the Mede, the Persian, and the Egyptian; the -Macedonian upon Greece, and then upon Asia and Africa; the Roman upon -Carthage, and in turn falling before the men of the North--Goth, Vandal, -Hun, Frank, and Gaul; the Mogul and the Tartar upon China and India; -the Turk upon Southern Europe, Asia, and Africa; and to-day, like black -clouds of destiny, the Russian hordes hang over the troubled governments -of more educated Europe. Look at Italy during the middle ages--the focus -of learning and the arts for all Christendom, and yet an easy prey for -every barbarous adventurer; and in England the Briton yields to the -Saxon, who in turn falls before the Norman. It would be truer to say -that Prussia owes her military successes to the ignorance of her people, -though they nearly all can read and write. Had she had to deal with -intelligent, enlightened, and thinking populations, she could not have -made the country a camp of soldiers. - -The Prussian policy of “blood and iron” has been carried out, in defiance -of the wishes of the people as expressed through their representatives, -who were snubbed and scolded and sent back home as though they were a -pack of schoolboys; yet the people looked on in stolid indifference, and -allowed the tax to be levied after they had refused to grant it. - -We will now follow M. de Laveleye a step farther. - -“With regard to elementary instruction,” he says, “the Protestant states -are incomparably more advanced than the Catholic. England alone is no -more than on a level with the latter, probably because the Anglican -Church, of all the reformed forms of worship, has most in common with the -Church of Rome.” - -If any one has good reason to praise education, and above all the -education of the people, certainly we Catholics have. The Catholic -Church created the people; she first preached the divine doctrine of the -brotherhood and equality of all men before God, which has wrought and -must continue to work upon society until all men shall be recognized -as equals by the law. She drew around woman her magic circle; from the -slave struck his fetters and bade him be a man; lifted to her bosom the -child; baptized all humanity into the inviolable sacredness of Christ’s -divinity; she appealed, and still appeals, from the tyranny of brute -force and success, in the name of the eternal liberties of the soul, to -God. Her martyrs were and are the martyrs of liberty; and if she were not -to-day, all men would accept accomplished facts and bow before whatever -succeeds. - -The barbarians, who have developed into the civilized peoples of Europe, -despised learning as they contemned labor. War was their business. The -knight signed his name with his sword, in blood; the pen, like the -spade, was made for servile hands. To destroy this ignorant, idle life -of pillage and feud, the church organized an army, unlike any the world -had ever seen, unlike any it will ever see outside her pale--an army -of monks, who, with faith in Christ and the higher life, believed in -knowledge and in work. They became the cultivators of the mind and soil -of Europe. - -“The praise,” says Hallam, speaking of the middle ages, “of having -originally established schools belongs to some bishops and abbots of the -VIth century.” - -Ireland is converted and at once becomes a kind of university for all -Europe. In England the episcopal sees became centres of learning. -Wherever a cathedral was built a school with a library grew up under its -shadow. Pope Eugenius II., in a council held in Rome in 826, ordered that -schools should be established throughout Christendom at cathedral and -parochial churches and other suitable places. The Council of Mayence, -in 813, admonishes parents that they are in duty bound to send their -children to school. The Synod of Orleans, in 800, enjoins the erection in -towns and villages of schools for elementary instruction, and adds that -no remuneration shall be received except such as the parents voluntarily -offer. The Third General Council of Lateran, in 1179, commanded that in -all cathedral churches a fund should be set aside for the foundation and -support of schools for the poor. Free schools were thus first established -by the Catholic Church. The monasteries were the libraries where the arts -and letters of a civilization that had perished were carefully treasured -up for the rekindling of a brighter and better day. - -As early as the XIIth century many of the universities of Europe were -fully organized. Italy took the lead, with universities at Rome Bologna, -Padua, Naples, Pavia, and Perugia--the sources - - “Whence many rivulets have since been turned, - O’er the garden Catholic to lead - Their living waters, and have fed its plants.” - -The schools founded at Oxford and Cambridge in the IXth and Xth centuries -had in the XIIth grown to be universities. At Oxford there were thirty -thousand, at Paris twenty-five thousand, and at Padua twenty thousand -students. Scattered over Europe at the time Luther raised his voice -against the church were sixty six universities. - - “Time went on,” says Dr. Newman, speaking of the mediæval - universities; “a new state of things, intellectual and social, - came in; the church was girt with temporal power; the preachers - of S. Dominic were in the ascendant: now, at length, we may - ask with curious interest, did the church alter her ancient - rule of action, and proscribe intellectual activity? Just the - contrary; this is the very age of universities; it is the - classical period of the schoolmen; it is the splendid and - palmary instance of the wise policy and large liberality of - the church, as regards philosophical inquiry. If there ever - was a time when the intellect went wild, and had a licentious - revel, it was at the date I speak of. When was there ever a - more curious, more meddling, bolder, keener, more penetrating, - more rationalistic exercise of the reason than at that time? - What class of questions did that subtle metaphysical spirit not - scrutinize? What premise was allowed without examination? What - principle was not traced to its first origin, and exhibited - in its most naked shape?… Well, I repeat, here was something - which came somewhat nearer to theology than physical research - comes; Aristotle was a somewhat more serious foe then, beyond - all mistake, than Bacon has been since. Did the church take a - high hand with philosophy then? No, not though that philosophy - was metaphysical. It was a time when she had temporal power, - and could have exterminated the spirit of inquiry with fire and - sword; but she determined to put it down by _argument_; she - said: ‘Two can play at that, and my argument is the better.’ - She sent her controversialists into the philosophical arena. It - was the Dominican and Franciscan doctors, the greatest of them - being S. Thomas, who in those mediæval universities fought the - battle of revelation with the weapons of heathenism.”[249] - -To find fault with the church because popular education in the middle -ages was not organized and general as it has since become would be -as wise as to pick a quarrel with the ancient Greeks for not having -railroads, or with the Romans because they had no steamships. Reading and -writing were not taught then universally as they are now because it was -physically and morally impossible that they should have been. Without -steam and the printing-press, common-school systems would not now be -practicable, nor would the want of them be felt. We have great reason to -be thankful that the art of printing was invented and America discovered -before Luther burned the Pope’s bull, else we should be continually -bothered with refuting the cause-and-effect historians who would have -infallibly traced both these events to the Wittenberg conflagration. - -All Europe was still Catholic when gunpowder drove old Father Schwarz’s -pestle through the ceiling, when Gutenberg made his printing-press, when -Columbus landed in the New World; and these are the forces which have -battered down the castles of feudalism, have brought knowledge within the -reach of all, and some measure of redress to the masses of the Old World, -by affording them the possibility and opportunity of liberty in the New. -These forces would have wrought to even better purpose had Protestantism -not broken the continuity and homogeneity of Christian civilization. The -Turk would not rest like a blight from heaven upon the fairest lands of -Europe and Asia, nor the darkness of heathenism upon India and China, had -the civilized nations remained of one faith; and thus, though our own -train might have rushed less rapidly down the ringing grooves of change, -the whole human race would have advanced to a level which there now seems -but little reason to hope it will ever reach. - -But to come more nearly to M. de Laveleye’s assertion that the Protestant -states are incomparably more advanced than the Catholic, with the -exception of England, which in this matter is at least up to the standard -of Catholic countries. In the report of the Commissioner of Education for -1874 there is a statistical account of the state of education in foreign -countries which throws some light upon this subject. - -The school attendance, compared with the population, is in Austria as -1 to 10; in Belgium, as 1 to 10½; in Ireland, as 1 to 16; in Catholic -Switzerland, as 1 to 16; in England, as 1 to 17. In Bavaria it is as 1 -to 7, upon the authority of Kay, in his _Social Condition of the People -in England and Europe_. Catholic Austria, Bavaria, Belgium, and Ireland -have proportionately a larger school attendance than Protestant England. -England and Wales (report of 1874), with a population of 22,712,266, -had a school population of 5,374,700, of whom only about half were -registered, and not half of these attended with sufficient regularity to -bring grants to their schools. Ireland, with a population of 5,411,416, -had on register 1,006,511, or nearly half as many as England and Wales, -though her population is not a fourth of that of these two countries. -“The statistical fact,” says Laing, speaking of Rome as it was under the -popes, “that Rome has above a hundred schools more than Berlin, for a -population little more than half that of Berlin, puts to flight a world -of humbug about systems of national education carried on by governments -and their moral effects on society.… In Catholic Germany, in France, -Italy, and even Spain, the education of the common people in reading, -writing, arithmetic, music, manners, and morals, is at least as generally -diffused and as faithfully promoted by the clerical body as in Scotland. -It is by their own advance, and not by keeping back the advance of the -people, that the popish (_sic_) priesthood of the present day seek to -keep ahead of the intellectual progress of the community in Catholic -lands; and they might, perhaps, retort on our Presbyterian clergy, and -ask if they, too, are in their countries at the head of the intellectual -movement of the age. Education is in reality not only not repressed, but -is encouraged, by the popish church, and is a mighty instrument in its -hands, and ably used.”[250] - -Professor Huxley’s testimony is confirmatory of this admission of Laing. -“It was my fortune,” he says, “some time ago to pay a visit to one -of the most important of the institutions in which the clergy of the -Roman Catholic Church in these islands are trained; and it seemed to me -that the difference between these men and the comfortable champions of -Anglicanism and Dissent was comparable to the difference between our -gallant Volunteers and the trained veterans of Napoleon’s Old Guard. The -Catholic priest is trained to know his business and do it effectually. -The professors of the college in question, learned, zealous, and -determined men, permitted me to speak frankly with them. We talked like -outposts of opposed armies during a truce--as friendly enemies; and when -I ventured to point out the difficulties their students would have to -encounter from scientific thought, they replied: ‘Our church has lasted -many ages, and has passed safely through many storms. The present is but -a new gust of the old tempest; and we do not turn out our young men less -fitted to weather it than they have been in former times to cope with the -difficulties of those times.’”[251] - -“It is a common remark,” says Kay, “of the operatives of Lancashire, -and one which is only too true: ‘Your church is a church for the rich, -but not for the poor. It was not intended for such people as we are.’ -The Roman church is much wiser than the English in this respect.… It is -singular to observe how the priests of Romanist (_sic_) countries abroad -associate with the poor. I have often seen them riding with the peasants -in their carts along the roads, eating with them in their houses, -sitting with them in the village inns, mingling with them in their -village festivals, and yet always preserving their authority.”[252] - -With us, too, the masses of the people are fast abandoning Protestantism. -There is no Catholic country in Europe in which the social condition of -the masses is so wretched as in England, the representative Protestant -country. For three hundred years, it may be said, the Catholic Church -had no existence there. The nation was exclusively under Protestant -influence; and yet the lower classes were suffered to remain in stolid -ignorance, until they became the most degraded population in Christendom. - -“It has been calculated,” says Kay, writing in 1850, “that there are -at the present day, in England and Wales, nearly 8,000,000 persons who -cannot read and write.” That was more than half of the whole population -at that time. But this is not the worst. A population ignorant of -reading and writing may nevertheless, to a certain extent, be educated -through religious teaching and influence; but these unhappy creatures -were left, helpless and hopeless, to sink deeper and deeper beneath the -weight of their degradation, without being brought into contact with -any power that could refine or elevate them; and if their condition has -somewhat improved in the last quarter of a century, this is no more to -be attributed to Protestantism than the Catholic Emancipation Act or the -Atlantic cable. - - -THE SEVEN FRIDAYS IN LENT - - First, thy most holy Passion, dearest Lord, - Doth set the keynote of our love and tears; - And then thy holy Crown of Thorns appears-- - Strange diadem for thee, of lords the Lord! - The holy Lance and Nails we clasp and hoard: - What pierced thee sore heals sin-sick souls to-day; - Then thy Five Wounds we glorify for aye-- - Hands, feet, and broken Heart, beloved, adored. - Now tears of bitter grief flow fast like rain: - Our Lord’s most Precious Blood for us flows fast. - Alas! what tears of ours, what love, what pain, - Can match that tide of blood and love and woe? - Mother, we turn to thy Seven Griefs at last; - Teach us to stand, with thee, the cross below. - - -ARE YOU MY WIFE? - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” “PIUS VI.,” -ETC. - -CHAPTER XIII. - -THE SEARCH NEARLY OVER. - -It was one of those exquisitely lovely mornings that we sometimes see -in early spring. The night had been frosty, and had hurried to meet the -dawn, leaving her moonlight mantle behind her, frozen to silver, on every -field or hill-side. The sky was of a heavenly blue--liquid turquoise, -swept with feathery dashes of pink, that set off the glistening landscape -like a velvet curtain spread for the purpose. The sun was shining through -a pearly mist that hung, a silver gauze veil, in the air and made -everything look dreamy and vision-like. The meadows were silvered with -frost; so were the hedges--every twig and thorn finished like a jewel. -The trees stood up like immense bouquets of filigree against the pink and -blue curtain. No wonder Franceline, who had been awake and watching the -sunrise from her window, stole a march on Angélique, and hastened out to -enjoy the beauty of the morning. It was impossible it could hurt her; it -was too lovely to be unkind. But besides this outward incentive, there -was another one that impelled her to the daring escapade. She felt an -irresistible longing to go to church this morning--one of those longings -that she called presentiments, and seldom rejected without having reason -to regret it. It was not that she was uneasy, or alarmed, or unhappy -about anything. Nothing had occurred to awake the dormant fires that -were still smouldering--though she thought them dead--and impel her to -seek for strength in a threatened renewal of the combat. Sir Simon’s -disappearance the morning after the dinner-party, some few days ago, -had not surprised her; that was his way, and this time she had been -prepared for it. It was true that ever since then her father had been -more preoccupied, more inseparable from his work. It was a perfect mania -with him for the last three or four days. He scarcely let the pen out of -his hand from morning till night. He seemed, moreover, to have got to a -point where he could no longer use her as an amanuensis, but must write -himself. Franceline was distressed at the change; it deprived her of -the pleasure of helping him and of their daily walk together, which had -of late become the principal enjoyment of her life. But he could not be -persuaded to go beyond the garden gate, and then only for ten minutes to -take a breath of air. He was in a hurry to get back to his study, as if -the minutes were so much gold wasted. Franceline was obliged to accept -this sudden alteration in his habits, with the assurance that it would -not be for long; that the great work was drawing to a close; and that, -when it was finished, he would be free to walk with her as much as she -liked, and in more beautiful places than Dullerton. This last she did -not believe. No place could ever be so beautiful as this familiar one, -because none would ever be hallowed by the same sweet early memories, -or sanctified by the same sufferings and regrets. There was a spirit -brooding over these quiet sylvan slopes that could never dwell, for her, -elsewhere. She looked around her at the leafless woods that lay white and -silent in the near distance, and at the river winding slowly towards them -like an azure arm encircling the silver fields, and she sighed at the -thought of ever leaving them. The sigh escaped from her lips in a little -column of sapphire smoke; for the air was as clear as crystal, but it was -cold too, and the bell was already ringing; so she drew her shawl closer -and hurried on. What was that fly doing before the presbytery door? Who -could have business with Father Henwick at such an unearthly hour as -seven A.M.? When people live in a small place where everybody’s life is a -routine as well known as their own to everybody else, the smallest trifle -out of the usual way is magnified into an event. Franceline was not -very curious by nature; she passed the mysterious fly with a momentary -glance of interest, and then dismissed it from her thoughts. The little -white-washed church was never full on week-days, its congregation being -mostly of the class who can only afford the luxury of going to church -on Sundays. A few kindly glances greeted her as she walked up to her -place near the sanctuary. Since her health had become delicate, it was a -rare occurrence to see her there during the week, so her presence was -looked on as of good omen. She answered the welcoming eyes with a sweet, -grateful smile, and then knelt down and soon forgot them. - -We talk of magnetic atmospheres where instinct warns us of a presence -without any indication from our senses. I don’t know whether Franceline -believed in such influences; but her attitude of rapt devotion as she -knelt before the altar, seemingly unconscious of anything earthly near -her, her soul drawn upwards through her eyes and fixed on the Unseen, -did not suggest that there was any human presence within reach which had -power to move her. When Father Henwick had left the altar, she rose and -went to the sacristy door to ask if she could see him. She wanted to -speak to him about a poor woman in the village. It was not the clerk, -but Father Henwick himself, who came to answer her message. He did not -welcome his young penitent in his usual gracious, affectionate manner, -but asked sharply “who gave her leave to be out at that hour?” - -“The morning was so sunny I thought it would do me no harm to come,” -replied the culprit, with a sudden sense of having done something very -wicked. - -“You had no business to think about it at all; you should not have come -without your father’s permission. Go home as fast as you can.” - -Franceline was turning away, when he called her back. - -“Come this way; you can go out through the house.” Then he added in a -mollified tone: “You foolish child! I hope you are warmly clad? Keep your -chest well covered, and hold your muff up to your mouth. Be off, now, as -quick as you can, and let me have no more of these tricks!” - -He shook hands with her, half-smiling, half-frowning, and, opening the -sacristy door that led into the presbytery, hurried her away. Franceline -was too much discomfited by the abrupt dismissal to conjecture why she -was hustled out through the house instead of being allowed to go back -through the church, the natural way, and quite as short. She could not -understand why Father Henwick should have shown such annoyance and -surprise at the sight of her. This was not the first time she had played -the trick on them at home of coming out to church on a sunny morning, and -it had never done her any harm. She was turning the riddle in her mind, -as she passed through the little sitting-room into the entry, when she -saw the front door standing wide open, and a gentleman outside speaking -to the fly-man. The moment he perceived Franceline he raised his hat and -remained uncovered while he spoke. - -“Good-morning, mademoiselle! How is M. de la Bourbonais?” - -“Thank you, my father is quite well.” - -She and Clide looked at each other as they exchanged this commonplace -greeting; but they did not shake hands. Neither could probably have -explained what the feeling was that held them back. Franceline went on -her way, and Clide de Winton entered the presbytery, each bearing away -the sound of the other’s voice and the sweetness of that rapid glance -with a terrible sense of joy. - -Franceline’s heart beat high within her as she walked on. What right had -it to do so? How dared it? Poor, fluttering heart! No bitter upbraidings -of indignant conscience, no taunts of womanly pride, could make it stop. -The more she tried to silence it, the louder it cried. She was close by -The Lilies, and it was crying out and throbbing wildly still. She could -not go in and face her father in this state; she must gain a few minutes -to collect and calm herself. The snow-drops grew in great profusion on -a bank in the park at the back of the cottage. Raymond was fond of wild -flowers; she would go and gather him some: this would account for her -delay. She laid her muff on the grass. It was wet with the hoar-frost -melting in the sun; but Franceline did not see this. She stooped down and -began to pluck the snow-drops. It was a congenial task in her present -frame of mind. Snow-drops had always been favorites with her. In her -childish days of innocent pantheism she used to fancy that flowers had -spirits, or some instinct that enabled them to enjoy and to suffer, to be -glad in the sunshine and unhappy in the cold and the rain. She fancied -that perfume was their language, and that they conversed in it as birds -do in songs and chirpings. She used to be sorry for the flowers that had -no perfume, and called them “the dumb ones,” connecting their fate in -some vague, pitying way with that of two deaf and dumb little children -in the village. But the snow-drops she pitied most of all. They came in -the winter-time, when everything was cold and dreary and there were no -kindred flowers to keep them company; no roses; no bees and butterflies -to make music for them; no nightingales to sing them to sleep in the -scented summer nights; no liquid, starry skies and sweet, warm dews -to kiss them as they slept; their pale, ascetic little slumbers were -attuned to none of these fragrant melodies, and Franceline loved them -all the more for their loveless, lonely life. But she was not pitying -them now, as, one by one, she plucked the drooping bells and the bright -green leaves under the silver hedge; she was envying them and listening -to them. Every flower and blade of grass has a message for us, if we -could but hear it; the woods and fields are all tablets on which the -primitive scriptures of creative love are written for us. “Your life -is to be like ours,” the snow-drops were whispering to Franceline. “We -dwell alone in cold and silence--so must you; we have no sister flowers -to make life joyous, no roses to gladden us with their perfume and -their beauty--neither shall you; roses are emblems of love, and love is -not for you. You must be content with us. We are the emblems of purity -and hope; take us to your heart. We are the heralds of the spring; -we bring the promise, but we do not wait for its fulfilment. You are -happier than we; you will not have the summer here, but you know that it -will come hereafter, and that the flowers and fruits will be only the -more beautiful for the waiting being prolonged. Look upwards, sister -snow-drop, and take courage.” Franceline listened to the mystic voice, -and, as she did so, large tears fell from her eyes on the white bells of -the messengers, as pure as the crystal dew that stood in frozen tears -upon their leaves. - -M. de la Bourbonais had not heard her go out; and when she came in and -handed him her bouquet, fresh-gathered, he took for granted she had gone -out for the purpose, and did not chide her for the slight imprudence. -Angélique was not so lenient; she was full of wrath against the truant, -and threatened to go at once and inform on her, which Franceline remarked -she might have done an hour ago, if she had any such intention; and then, -with a kiss and two arms thrown around the old woman’s mahogany neck, it -was all made right between them. - -Franceline did not venture out again that day. She was afraid of meeting -Clide. She strove hard to forget the morning’s incident, to stifle the -emotions it had given rise to, and to turn away her thoughts from even -conjecturing the possible cause of Mr. de Winton’s presence at Dullerton -and at Father Henwick’s. But strive as she might, the thoughts would -return, and her mind would dwell on them. She was horrified to see the -effect that Clide’s presence had had on her; to find how potent his -memory was with her still, how it had stirred the slumbering depths and -broken up the stagnant surface-calm of her heart, filling it once more -with wild hopes and ardent longings that she had fondly imagined crushed -and buried for ever. Was her hard-earned self-conquest a sham after all? -She could not help fearing it when she saw how persistently the idea -kept returning again and again to her, banish it as she would: “Had he -come to tell Father Henwick that he was free?” Then she wondered, if it -were so, what Father Henwick would do; whether he would come and see her -immediately, or let things take their course through Sir Simon and her -father. Then again she would discard this notion as impossible, and see -all sorts of evidence in the circumstances of the morning’s episode to -prove that it could not be. Why should Father Henwick have tried so hard -to prevent their meeting, if the one obstacle to it were removed? and why -should Clide have been so restrained and distant when she came upon him -suddenly? If only she could ask this one question and have it answered, -Franceline thought she could go back again to her state of stagnation, -and trample down her rebellious heart into submission once more. - -She slept very little that night, and the next morning she determined -that she would go out at any risk. Sitting still all day in this state -of mind was unbearable; so about eleven o’clock, when the sun was high -and the frost melted, she put on her bonnet and said she was going for a -walk to see Miss Merrywig. As the day was fine and she had not taken cold -yesterday, Angélique made no difficulty. Franceline started off to the -wood, and was soon crushing the snow-drops and the budding lemon-colored -primroses as she threaded her way along the foot-paths. - -For some mysterious reason which no one could fathom, but which the -oldest inhabitant of the place remembered always to have existed, you -were kept an hour waiting at Miss Merrywig’s before the door was opened. -You rang three times, waited an age between each ring, and then Keziah, -the antediluvian factotum of the establishment, came limping along the -passage, and, after another never-ending interval of unbarring and -unbolting, you were let in. It was not Keziah who opened the door for -Franceline this morning; it was Miss Merrywig herself, shawled and -bonneted, ready to go out. - -“O my dear child! _is_ it you? I am _so_ delighted to see you! Do come -in! No, no, I am _not_ going out. That is to say, I _am_ going out. It’s -the luckiest thing that you did not come two minutes later, or you would -not have found me. I _am_ so glad! No, no, you are not putting me about -the least bit in the world. Come and sit down, and I’ll explain all about -it. I _cannot_ imagine what is keeping Keziah, and she knows I am waiting -to be off, and that the negus will be getting cold, though it was boiling -mad, and I _have_ only this moment put it into the flask. But what can -be keeping her? It didn’t so much matter; in fact, it didn’t matter at -all, only I _have_ promised little Jemmy Torrens--you know Mary Torrens’ -boy on the green?--well, I _promised_ him I would make the negus for -him myself and _take_ it to him myself. He won’t take anything except -from me, poor little fellow! You see he’s known me since I was a baby--I -mean since _he_ was--and that’s why, I suppose; and Keziah knows it, and -why she dallies so long I _cannot_ conceive! She knows I can’t leave -the house unprotected and go off before she comes in--there are so many -tramps about, you see, my dear. It _is_ provoking of Keziah!” - -“Let me take the negus to Jemmy,” said Franceline, when there was a break -in the stream and she was able to edge in a word. “I will explain why you -could not go.” - -“Oh! that’s _just_ like you to be _so_ kind, my dear; but I _promised_, -you see, and I really _must_ go myself. What can Keziah be about?” - -“Then go, and I will wait and keep the house until either of you comes -back,” suggested Franceline. - -“Oh! that _is_ a bright idea. That is as witty as it is kind. Well, then, -I will just run off. I shall find you here when I return. I won’t be -twenty minutes away, and you can amuse yourself looking over _Robinson -Crusoe_ till I come back; here it is!” And the old lady rooted out a -book from under a pile of all sorts of odds and ends on the table, and -handed it to Franceline. “Sit down, now, and read that; there’s nothing I -enjoyed like that book when I was your age, and, indeed, I make a point -of reading it at least once every year regularly.” - -With this she took up her wine-flask, well wrapped in flannel to protect -her from the scalding-hot contents, and bustled away. - -“If any one rings, am I to let them in?” inquired Franceline, running -into the hall after her. - -“Oh! no, certainly not, unless it happens to be Mr. Langrove; you would -not mind opening the door to _him_, would you?” - -“Not the least; but how shall I know it is he?” - -“You will be sure to hear the footsteps first and the click of the gate -outside, and then run out and peep through _this_,” pointing to the -narrow latticed window in the entry; “but you must be quick, or else they -will be close to the door and see you.” - -Franceline promised to keep a sharp lookout for the warning steps, -closed the door on Miss Merrywig, and went back to _Robinson Crusoe_; -but she was not in a mood to enjoy Friday’s philosophy, so she sat down -and began to look about her in the queer little apartment. It was much -more like a lumber-room than a sitting-room; the large round table in -the middle was littered with every description of rubbish--the letters -of two generations of Miss Merrywig’s correspondents, old pamphlets, -odds and ends of ribbon and lace, little boxes, bags of stale biscuits -that were kept for the pet dogs of her friends when they came to visit -her, quantities of china cats and worsted monkeys, samplers made for her -by great-grandnieces, newspapers of the year one, tracts and books of -hymns, all huddled pell-mell together. Fifty years’ smoke and lamp-light -had painted the ceiling all over in dense black clouds, and the cobwebs -of innumerable defunct spiders festooned the cornices. The carpet had -half a century ago been bright with poppies and bluebells and ferns; but -these vanities, like the memory of the unrighteous man, had been blotted -out, and had left no trace behind them. Franceline was considering how -singular it was that anything so bright and simple and happy as Miss -Merrywig should be the presiding genius of this abode of incongruous -rubbish, and wishing she could make a clean sweep of it all, and tidy the -place a little, when her attention was roused by a sound of footsteps. -She ran out at once to look through the lattice; but she had waited too -long. There was only time to shrink behind the door when the visitors -had come up and the bell was sounding through the cottage. There were -two persons, if not more; she knew this by the footsteps. Presently some -one spoke; it was Mr. Charlton. He was continuing, in a low voice, a -conversation already begun. Then another voice answered, speaking in a -still lower key; but every word was distinctly audible through the open -casement, which was so covered by an outer iron bar and the straggling -stem of a japonica that no one from the outside would see that it was -open, unless they looked very close. The words Franceline overheard -had nothing in them to make her turn pale; but the voice was Clide de -Winton’s. What fatality was this that brought them so near again, and -yet kept them apart, and condemned her to hide and listen to him like an -eavesdropper? There was a pause after the first ring. Mr. Charlton knew -the ways of the house; he said something laughingly, and rang again. -Then they reverted to the conversation that had been interrupted. Good -God! did Franceline’s ears deceive her, or what were these words she -heard coupled with her father’s name? She put her hand to her lips with -a sudden movement to stifle the cry that leaped up from her heart of -hearts. She heard Clide giving an emphatic denial: “I don’t believe it. I -tell you it is some mistake--one of those unaccountable mistakes that we -can’t explain or understand, but which we _know_ must be mistakes.” - -She could not catch what Mr. Charlton said; but he was evidently -dissenting from Clide, and muttered something about “being convicted on -his own showing,” which the other answered with an impatient exclamation -the drift of which Franceline could not seize; neither could she make -sense out of the short comments that followed. They referred to some -facts or circumstances that were clear to the speakers, but only -bewildered her more and more. - -“It strikes me the old lady does not mean to let us in at all this time,” -said Mr. Charlton; and he gave another violent pull to the bell. - -“There can’t be any one in the house,” said Clide, after a pause that -exhausted the patience of both. “We may as well come away. I will call -later. I must see her before.…” - -The rest of the sentence was lost, as the two speakers walked down the -gravel-walk, conversing in the same low tones. - -Franceline did not move even when the sound of their steps had long died -away. She seemed turned to stone, and did not stir from the spot until -Keziah came back. She gave her a message for Miss Merrywig, left the -cottage, and went home. - -She found her father just as she had left him--busy at his desk, with -books and papers strewn on the table beside him. She saw this through the -window, but did not go in to him. She could not go at once and speak to -him as if nothing had happened in the interval. She went to her room, and -remained there until dinner-time, and then came down, half-dreading to -see some alteration in him corresponding with what had taken place in her -own mind. But he was gentle and serene as usual. No mental disturbance -was visible on his features; at least, she did not see it. Looking at -him, nevertheless, with perceptions quickened by what she had heard since -they parted, it struck her that his eyes were sunk and dim, as if from -overwork and want of sleep combined; but there was no cloud of shame or -humiliation on his brow. Never had that dear head seemed so venerable, -never had such a halo of nobleness and goodness encircled it, in his -daughter’s eyes, as at this moment. - -She did not tease him to come out to walk with her, but asked him to read -aloud to her for an hour while she worked. It was a long time--more than -a week--since they had had any reading aloud. Raymond complied with the -request, but soon returned to his work. - -Franceline expected that Father Henwick would call, and kept nervously -looking out of the window from time to time; but the day wore on, and -the evening, and he did not come. She did not know whether to be glad -or sorry. She was in that frame of feeling when the gentlest touch of -sympathy would have stung her like the bite of a snake. It was not -sympathy she wanted, but a voice to join with her in passionate contempt -for the liars who had dared to slander her father, and in indignant -denunciation of the lie. She wanted to fling it in the teeth of those -who had uttered it. If Father Henwick would help her to do this, let him -come; if not, let him leave her alone. Let no one come near her with -words of pity; pity for her now meant contempt for her father. She would -resent it as a lioness might resent the food that was thrown to her in -place of the cubs she had been robbed of. No love--no, not the best and -noblest she had ever dreamed of--would compensate her for the absence of -reverence and respect for her father. - -But Clide did not suspect him. She had heard him indignantly spurn the -idea. “He no more stole it than you did,” he had said. Stolen what? Would -no one come to tell her what it all meant? Would not Clide come? Was he -still at Dullerton? Was there any fear--or hope?--of her meeting him -again if she went out? She might have gone with impunity. Clide was far -enough away, on a very different errand from that which had brought him -yesterday across her path. - - * * * * * - -On coming back to the Court from his abortive attempt to see Miss -Merrywig, Clide found Stanton in great excitement with a telegram that -had arrived for his master that instant. It was from Sir Simon, summoning -him back by the first train that started. Some important news awaited -him. He did not wait to see Miss Merrywig, but took the next train to -London, and arrived there in the early afternoon. The news that awaited -him was startling enough to justify Sir Simon’s peremptory summons. One -of the detectives, whose sagacity and coolness fitted him for delicate -missions of the kind, had been despatched to gather information in the -principal lunatic asylums of England and Scotland. He had come that -morning to tell Sir Simon Harness that he thought he had found Mrs. de -Winton in one of them. Sir Simon went straight to the place, and, after -an interview with the superintendent, telegraphed for Clide, as we have -seen. - -It was an old-fashioned Elizabethan manor-house in the suburbs of London, -situated in the midst of grounds almost large enough to be called a park. -There was nothing in the outward aspect of the place to suggest its real -character. Everything was bright and peaceful and well ordered as in the -abode of a wealthy private family. The gardens were beautifully kept; the -shrubbery was trim and neat; summer-houses with pretty climbing plants -rose in shady places, inviting the inmates of the fine old mansion to sit -out of doors and enjoy the sunshine unmolested; for there was sunshine in -this early spring-time, and here in this sheltered spot some bits of red -and gold and blue were peeping through the tips of closed flower-cups. -Nothing externally hinted at the discord and disorder that reigned in so -many human lives within the walls. The sight of the place was soothing -to Clide. He had so often pictured to himself another sort of dwelling -for his unhappy Isabel that it was a great relief to him to see this -well-ordered, calm abode, and to think of her being a resident there. A -lady-like matron received him, and conversed with him kindly and sensibly -while they were waiting for the doctor to come in. The latter accosted -him with the same reassuring frankness of manner. - -“I hope,” he said, “that your informant has not exaggerated matters, as -that class of people are so apt to do, and that you are _expecting_ to -see the right person. All I dare say to you is that you may hope; the -points of coincidence are striking enough to warrant hope, but by no -means such as to establish a certainty.” - -“I am too much taken by surprise to have arrived at any conclusion,” -replied Clide; “and I have been too often disappointed to do so in a -hurry. Until I see and speak to the patient I can say nothing.” - -“You can see her at once. As to speaking to her, that is not so easy. The -sun is clouding over. That is unlucky at this moment.” - -His visitor looked surprised. - -“Oh! I forgot that I had not explained to you the nature of the delusion -which this lady is suffering from,” continued the medical man. “It is -one of the most poetic fancies that madness ever engendered in a human -brain. She is enamored of the sun, and fancies herself beloved of him; -she believes him to be a benign deity whose love she has been privileged -to win, and which she passionately responds to. But there is more -suffering than joy in this belief. She fancies that when the sun shines -he is pleased with her, and that when he ceases to shine he is angry; -the sunbeams are his smiles and the warmth his kisses. At such times she -will deck herself out with flowers and gay colors, and sit and sing to -her lover by the hour, pretending to turn away her face and hide from -him, and going through all the pretty coyness of love. Then suddenly, -when the sun draws behind a cloud, she will burst into tears, fling aside -her wreath, and give way to every expression of grief and despair. It is -at such moments, when they are prolonged, that the crisis is liable to -become dangerous. She flings herself on the ground, and cries out to her -lover to forgive her and look on her kindly again, or she will die. Very -often she cries herself to sleep in this way. I fear you have come at an -unfortunate moment, for the sun seems quite clouded; however, he may come -out again, and then you will get a glimpse of the patient at her best.” - -He rose and led the way upstairs along a softly-carpeted corridor with -doors opening on either side. Pointing to one, he motioned Clide to -advance. One of the panels was perforated so as to admit of the keeper’s -seeing what went on inside when it was necessary to watch the patient, -without irritating her by seeming to do so or remaining in the room. At -first the occupant was standing up at the window, her hands clasped, -while she conversed with herself or some invisible companion in low tones -of entreaty. Then, uttering a feeble cry, she turned mournfully away, -laid aside the flowers that decked her long black hair, and, taking a -large black cloak, drew it over her dress, and sat down in a dark corner -of the room, with her face to the wall, crying to herself like a child. -Clide watched her go through all this with growing emotion. He had not -yet been able to catch a glimpse of her face, but the small, light -figure, the wayward movements, the streaming black hair, all reminded him -strikingly of Isabel. The voice was too inarticulate, so far, for him to -pronounce on its resemblance with any certainty; but the low, plaintive -tones fell on his ear like the broken bars of an unforgotten melody. He -strained every nerve to see the features. But, stay! She is moving. She -has drawn away her hands from her face, and has turned it towards him. -The movement did not, however, dispel his doubts; it increased them. -It was almost impossible to discover any trace of beauty in that worn, -haggard face, with its sharp features, its eyes faded and sunk, and from -which the tears streamed in torrents, as if they were melting away in -brine. The skin was shrivelled like an old woman’s--one, at least, double -the age that Isabel would be now. Was it possible that this wreck could -be the bright, beautiful girl of ten years ago? - -“Are _you_ my wife?” was Clide’s mental exclamation, as he looked at the -sad spectacle, and then, with a shudder, turned away. - -“I see you are unable to arrive at any conclusion,” said the doctor when -they were out of ear-shot in an adjoining room. - -“I will say nothing till I have spoken to her,” replied the young man -evasively. “When can I do this?” - -“I cannot possibly fix a time. She is not in a mood to be approached -now; any violent shock in her present state might have a fatal result. -It would, in all probability, quench for ever the feeble spark of light -that still remains, and might bring on a crisis which no skill could -alleviate. On the other hand, if we could apply the test at the right -moment, the effect might be unexpectedly beneficial. I say unexpectedly, -because, for my own part, I have not the slightest hope of any such -result.” - -“Has her memory quite gone, or does she recall any passages of her past -life accurately?” - -“Not accurately, I fancy; she seems to have some very vivid impressions -of the past, but whether they be clear or not I cannot say. The balance -of the mind is, I believe, too deeply shaken for clearness, even on -isolated points, to survive in any of the faculties. She talks frequently -of going over a great waterfall with her nurse, and describes scenery in -a way that rather gave me a hope once. I spoke to her guardian, however, -and he said she had never been near a waterfall in her life; that it was -some picture which had apparently dwelt in her imagination.” - -“He might have his own reasons for deceiving you in that respect,” -observed Clide. “His name, you say, is Par…? - -“Percival--Mr. Percival.” - -“Humph! When people change their names, they sometimes find it convenient -to retain the initial,” remarked Clide. - -He went home and desired Stanton to look out for a lodging as near as -possible to the asylum. A tolerably habitable one was found without -delay, and he and his valet installed themselves there at once. The very -next day he received a letter from Sir Simon Harness, informing him -that Lady Rebecca seemed this time in earnest about betaking herself -to a better world, and had desired him, Sir Simon, to be sent for -immediately. The French _dame de compagnie_ who wrote to him said they -hardly expected her to get through the week. - - * * * * * - -M. de la Bourbonais had never been a social man since he lived at -Dullerton. He said he did not care for society, and in one sense this -was true. He did not care for it unless it was composed of sympathetic -individuals; otherwise he preferred being without it. He did not want -to meet and talk with his fellow-creatures simply because they were his -fellow-creatures; there must be some common bond of interest or sympathy -between them and him, or else he did not want to see them. When, in the -early days at The Lilies, Sir Simon used to remonstrate with him on being -so “sauvage,” and wonder how he could bear the dulness, Raymond would -reply that no dulness oppressed him like uncongenial company. He had no -sympathies in common with the people about the neighborhood, and so he -would have no pleasure in associating with them. There was truth in this; -but Sir Simon knew that the count’s susceptible pride had influenced him -also. He did not want rich people to see his poverty, if they were not -refined and intelligent enough to respect it and value what went along -with it. He had studiously avoided cultivating any intimacies beyond -the few we know, and had so persistently kept aloof from the big houses -round about that they had accepted his determination not to go beyond -mere acquaintanceship, and never stopped to speak when they met him out -walking, but bowed and passed on. But of late Raymond began to feel quite -differently about all this. He longed to see these distant acquaintances -as if they had been so many near friends; to meet their glance of -kindly, if not cordial, recognition; to receive the homage of their -passing salutation. It was the dread of seeing these hitherto valueless -greetings refused that prevented him stirring beyond his own gate. He -marvelled himself at the void that the absence of them was making in -his life. He did not dream they had filled such a space in it; that the -reflection of his own self-respect in the respect of others had been -such a strength and such a need to him. Up to this time Franceline had -more than satisfied all his need of society at home, with the pleasant -periodical addition of Sir Simon’s presence, while his work had amply -supplied his intellectual wants; but suddenly he was made aware of a new -need--something undefined, but that he hungered for with a downright -physical hunger. - -Franceline’s spirit and heart were too closely bound up in her father’s -not to feel the counter-pang of this mental hunger. She could not help -watching him, though she strove not to do it, and, above all, not to let -him see that she was watching him. She might as well have tried not to -draw her breath or to stop the pulsations of her heart. Her eyes would -fasten on him when he was not looking, and she could not but see that -the expression of his face was changed. A hard, resolved look had come -over it; his eyebrows were always protruded now, and his lips drawn -tight together under the gray fringe of his mustache. She knew every -turn of his features, and saw that what had once been a passing freak -under some sudden thought or puzzling speculation in his work had now -become a settled habit. She longed to speak; to invite him to speak. It -would have been so much easier for both; it would lighten the burden to -them so much if they could bear it together, instead of toiling under it -apart. But Raymond was silent. It never crossed his mind for a moment -that Franceline knew his secret. If he _had_ known it, would he have -spoken? Sometimes the poor child felt the silence was unbearable; that -at any cost she must break it and know the truth of the story which -had reached her in so monstrous a form. But the idea that her father -knew possibly nothing of it kept her back. But supposing he was silent -only to spare her? Perhaps he was debating in his own mind what the -effect of the revelation would be on her; wondering if she, too, would -join with his accusers, or, even if she did not do this, whether she -might not be ashamed of a father who was branded as a thief. When these -thoughts coursed through her mind, Franceline felt an almost irresistible -impulse to rush and fling her arms around his neck and tell him how -she venerated him, and how she scorned with all her might and main the -envious, malignant fools who dared to so misjudge him. But she never -yielded to the impulse; the inward conflict of lodgings and shrinkings -and passionate, tender cries of her heart to his made no outward sign. -Raymond sat writing away at his desk, and Franceline sat by the fire -or at the window reading and working, day after day. The idea occurred -to her more than once that she would write to Sir Simon; but she never -did. She did not dare open her heart to Father Henwick. How could she -bring herself to tell him that her father was accused of theft? It was -most probable--she hoped certain--that the abominable suspicion had not -travelled to his ears; and if so, she could not speak of it. This was -not her secret; it was no breach of confidence towards her spiritual -father to be silent, and the selfish longing to pour out her filial anger -and outraged love into a sympathizing ear should not hurry her into a -betrayal of what was, even in its falsity, humiliating to Raymond. It -was hard to refrain from speech when speech would have been a solace; -but Franceline knew that the sacrifice of the cup of cold water has its -reward, just as the bestowal has. Peace comes to us on surer and swifter -wing when we go straight to God for it, without putting the sympathy of -creatures between us and his touch. - -Mr. Langrove had never been a frequent visitor at The Lilies; but -Franceline never remembered him to have been so long absent as now, -and she could not but see a striking coincidence in the fact. She knew -he had been one of the party at Dullerton that night; and if, as she -felt certain, that had been the occasion of the extraordinary mistake -she had heard of, the vicar, of course, knew all about it. He believed -her father had committed a theft, and was keeping aloof from him. Did -everybody at Dullerton know this? Mr. Langrove was not a man to spread -evil reports in any shape. Franceline knew him well enough to be sure -of that; but her father’s reputation was evidently at the mercy of less -charitable tongues. She did not know that the six witnesses had promised -Sir Simon to keep silence for his sake; but if she had known it, it would -not have much reassured her. A secret that is known to six people can -scarcely be considered safe. The six may mean to guard it, and may only -speak of it among themselves and in whispers; but it is astonishing how -far a whisper will travel sometimes, especially when it is malignant. A -vague impression had in some inexplicable way got abroad that the count -had done something which threw him under a cloud. The gentlemen of the -neighborhood were very discreet about it, and had said nothing positively -to be taken hold of, but it had leaked out that there was a screw loose -in that direction. Young Charlton had laughed at the notion of his friend -Anwyll thinking of Mlle. de la Bourbonais _now_; and the emphasis and -smile which accompanied the assurance expressed pretty clearly that there -was something amiss which had not been amiss a little while ago. - -Franceline had gone out for her usual mid-day walk in the park. It was -the most secluded spot where she could take it, as well as warm and -sheltered. She was walking near the pond; the milk-white swans were -sailing towards her in the sunlight, expecting the bits of bread she -had taken a fancy to bring them every day at this hour, when she saw -Mr. Langrove emerge from behind a large rockery and step out into the -avenue. She trembled as if the familiar form of her old friend had been -a wild animal creeping out of the jungle to pounce upon her. What would -he do? Would he pass her by, or stop and just say a few cold words of -politeness? The vicar did not keep her long in suspense. - -“Well! here, you are enjoying the sunshine, I see. And how are you?” he -said, extending his hand in the mild, affectionate way that Franceline -was accustomed to, but had never thought so sweet before. “Is the cough -quite gone?” - -“Not quite; but I am better, thank you. Angélique says I am, and she -knows more about it than I do,” replied the invalid playfully. “How is -everybody at the vicarage?” - -“So-so. Arabella has one of her bad colds, and Godiva is suffering from a -toothache. It’s the spring weather, no doubt; we will all be brisker by -and by. Are you going my way?” - -“Any way; I only came for a walk.” - -They walked on together. - -“And how is M. de la Bourbonais?” said the vicar presently. “I’ve not met -him for a long time; we used to come across each other pretty often on -the road to Dullerton. He’s not poorly, I hope?” - -“No, only busy--so dreadfully busy! He hardly lets the pen out of his -hand now; but he promises me there will soon be an end of it, and that -the book will soon be finished.” - -“Bravo! And you have been such a capital little secretary to him!” said -Mr. Langrove. “The next thing will be that we shall have you writing a -book on your own account.” - -Franceline laughed merrily at this conceit; her fears were, if not -banished by his cordial manner, sufficiently allayed to rid her of her -momentary awkwardness. They were soon chatting away about village gossip -as if nothing were amiss with either. - -“Angélique brought home news from the market a few days ago that Mr. -Tobes was going to marry Miss Bulpit; is it true?” inquired the young -girl. - -“Far too good to be true!” said the vicar, shaking his head. “The report -has been spread so often that this time I very nearly believed in it. -However, I saw Miss Bulpit, and she dispelled the illusion at once, and, -I fear, for ever.” - -“But would it have been such a good thing if they got married?” - -“It would be a very desirable event in some ways,” said Mr. Langrove, -with a peculiar smile; “it would give her something to do and some one to -look after her.” - -“And it would have been a good thing for Mr. Tobes, too, would it not? He -is so poor!” - -“That’s just why she won’t have him, poor fellow! When he proposed--she -told me the story herself, and I find she is telling it right and left, -so there is no breach of confidence in repeating it--when he proposed, -Miss Bulpit asked him point-blank how much money he had; ‘because,’ she -said, ‘I have only just enough for one!’” - -“Oh! but that was a shame. She has plenty for two; and, besides, it was -unfeeling. Don’t you think it was?” inquired Franceline, looking up at -the vicar. But he evidently did not share either her indignation against -Miss Bulpit or her pity for the discarded lover. He was laughing quietly, -as if he enjoyed the joke. - -They reached the gate going out on the high-road while thus pleasantly -chatting. - -“Now I suppose we must say good-by,” said Mr. Langrove. “This is my way; -I am going to pay a sick visit down in the valley.” - -They shook hands, and Franceline turned back. - -“Mind you give my compliments to the count!” said the vicar, calling -after her. “Tell him I don’t dare go near him, as he is so busy; but if -he likes me to drop in of an evening, let him send me word by you, and -I’ll be delighted. By-by.” - -He nodded to her and closed the gate behind him. - -“He did not dare because he is so busy!” repeated Franceline as she -walked on. “How did he know papa was busy? It was I who told him so a few -minutes ago. That was an excuse.” - -She gave the message, nevertheless, on coming home, scarcely daring to -look at her father while she did so. - -“May I tell him to come in one of these evenings, petit père?” - -“No; I cannot be disturbed at present,” was the peremptory answer, and -Franceline’s heart sank again. - -She told him the gossip about Miss Bulpit and Mr. Tobes, thinking it -would amuse him; he used to listen complacently to the little bits of -gossip she brought in about their neighbors. Raymond had the charming -faculty, common to great men and learned men, of being easily and -innocently amused; but he seemed to have lost it of late. He listened to -Franceline’s chatter to-day with an absent air, as if he hardly took it -in; and before she had done, he made some irrelevant remark that proved -he had not been attending to what she was saying. Then he had got into -a way of repeating himself--of saying the same thing two or three times -over at an interval of an hour or so, sometimes even less. Franceline -attributed these things to the concentration of his thoughts on his work, -and to his being so entirely absorbed in it as not to pay attention to -anything that did not directly concern it. She was too inexperienced to -see therein symptoms of a more alarming nature. - -M. de la Bourbonais had all his life complained of being a bad -sleeper; but Angélique, who suffered from the same infirmity, always -declared that he only imagined he did not sleep; that she was tossing -on her pillow, listening to him snoring, when he said he had been wide -awake. The count, on his side, was sceptical about Angélique’s “white -nights,” and privately confided to Franceline that he knew for a fact -she was fast asleep often when she fancied in the morning she had been -awake. Some people are very touchy at being doubted when they say they -have not “closed an eye all night.” Angélique resented a doubt on her -“white nights” bitterly, and Franceline, who from childhood had been -the confidant of both parties, found an early exercise for tact and -discretion in keeping the peace between them. The discrepancies in the -two accounts of their respective vigils often gave rise to little tiffs -between herself and Angélique, who would insist upon knowing what M. -le Comte had said about _her_ night; so that Franceline was compelled -to aggravate her whether she would or not. She “knew her place” better -than to have words with M. le Comte, but she had it out with Franceline. -“Monsieur says he didn’t get to sleep till past two o’clock this morning, -does he? Humph! I only wish I had slept half as well, I know. Pauvre, -cher homme! He drops off the minute his head is on the pillow, and then -dreams that he’s wide awake. That’s how it is. Why, this morning I was up -and lighted my candle at ten minutes to two, and he was sleeping as sound -as a wooden shoe! I heard him.” Franceline would soothe her by saying she -quite believed her; but as she said the same thing to M. le Comte, and -as Angélique generally overheard her saying so, this seeming credulity -only aggravated her the more. Laterly Raymond had taken up a small -celestial globe to his room, for the purpose, he said, of utilizing his -long vigils by studying the face of the heavens during the clear, starry -nights; and he would give the result of his nocturnal contemplations -to Franceline at breakfast next morning--Angélique being either in the -room pouring out the hot milk for her master’s coffee, or in the kitchen -with the door ajar, so that she had the benefit of the conversation. -The pantomimes that were performed at these times were a severe trial -to Franceline’s gravity: Angélique would stand behind Raymond’s chair, -holding up her hands aghast or stuffing her apron into her mouth, so as -not to explode in disrespectful laughter. Sometimes she would shake her -flaps at him with an air of despondency too deep for words, and then walk -out of the room. - -“I heard M. le Comte telling mam’selle that he saw the Three Kings (the -popular name for Orion’s belt in French) shining so bright this morning -at three o’clock. I believe you; he saw them in his sleep! I was up and -walking about my room at that hour, and it so happened that I opened my -door to let in the air _just_ as the clock in the _salon_ was striking -three!” - -As ill-luck would have it, Raymond overheard this confidential comment -which Angélique was making to Franceline under the porch, not seeing that -the sitting-room window was open. - -“My good Angélique,” said the count, putting his head out of the window, -“you must have opened the door two seconds too late; it was striking -five, most likely, and you only heard the last three strokes. I suspect -you were sound asleep at the hour I was looking at the Three Kings.” - -“La! as if I were an infant not to know when I wake and when I sleep!” -said Angélique with a shrug. “It was M. le Comte that was asleep and -dreaming that he saw the Three Kings.” - -“Nay, but I lighted my candle; it was pitch-dark when I got up to set the -globe,” argued M. de la Bourbonais. - -“When M. le Comte _dreamt_ that he got up and lighted his candle,” -corrected the incorrigible sceptic. Raymond laughed and gave it up. But -it was true, notwithstanding Angélique’s obstinate incredulity, that he -did pass many white nights now, and the wakefulness was insensibly and -imperceptibly telling on his health. It was a curious fact, too, that -the more the want of sleep was injuring him, the less he was conscious -of suffering from it. He had been passionately fond of astronomy in his -youth, and he had resumed the long-neglected study with something of -youthful zest, enjoying the observation of the starry constellations in -the bright midnight silence with a sense of repose and communion with -those brilliant, far-off worlds that surprised and delighted himself. -Perhaps the feeling that he was now cut off from possible communion with -his fellow-men threw him more on nature for companionship, urging him to -seek on her glorious brow for the smiles that human faces denied him, and -to accept her loving fellowship in lieu of the sympathy that his brothers -refused him. - -But rich and inexhaustible as the treasures of the great mother are, -they are at best but a compensation; nothing but human love and human -intercourse can satisfy the cravings of a human heart. Raymond was -beginning to realize this. His forced isolation was becoming poignantly -oppressive to him. He longed to see Sir Simon, to hear his voice, to -feel the warm clasp of his hand; he longed, above all, to get back his -old feeling of gratitude to him. Raymond little suspected what a moral -benefactor his light-hearted, worldly-minded friend had been to him all -those years when he was perpetually offering services that were so seldom -accepted. Sir Simon was all the time feeding his heart with the milk of -human kindness, making a bond between the proud, poor brother and the -rest of the rich and happy brotherhood who were strangers to him. Raymond -loved them all for the sake of this one. Nothing nourishes our hearts -like gratitude. It widens our space for love, and enlarges our capacity -for kindness; it creates a want in us to send the same happy thrills -through other hearts that are stirring our own. We overflow with love -to all in thankfulness for the love of one. This is often our only way -of giving thanks, and the good it does us is sometimes a more abiding -gain than the service that has called it forth. It was all this that -Raymond missed in Sir Simon. In losing his loving sense of gratefulness -he seemed to have lost some vital warmth in his own life. Now that the -source which had fed this gratitude was dried up, all that was tender and -kind and good in him seemed to be running dry or turning to bitterness. -The estrangement of one had estranged him from all; he was at war with -all humanity. Would any sacrifice of pride be too great to win back -the old sweet life, with its trust, and ready sympathy, and indulgent -kindness? Why should he not write to Sir Simon? He had asked himself -this many times, and had written many letters in imagination, and some -even in reality; but Angélique had found them torn up in the waste-paper -basket next morning, and had been surprised to see the fresh sheets of -note-paper, which she recognized as her master’s, wasted in that manner -and thrown away. He knew what he was doing, probably; it was not for her -to lecture him on such matters, but she could not help setting down the -unnatural extravagance as a part of the general something that was amiss -with her master. - -One morning, however, after one of those white nights that gave rise to -so much discussion in the family, Raymond came down with his mind made -up to write a letter and send it. He could stand it no longer; he must -go to his friend and lay bare his heart to him, so that they might come -together again. If Sir Simon’s silence was an offence, Raymond’s was not -free from blame. He sat down and wrote. It was a long letter--several -sheets closely filled. When it was finished, and Raymond was folding it -and putting it into the envelope, he remembered that he did not know -where the baronet was. If he sent it to the Court, the servants would -recognize the handwriting and think it odd his addressing a letter there -in their master’s absence. He thought of forwarding it to Sir Simon’s -bankers; but then, again, how did matters stand at present between him -and them? He might have gone abroad and not left them his address, and -the letter might remain there indefinitely. While Raymond was debating -what he should do he closed up and stamped the blank envelope, making it -ready to be addressed; then he laid it on the top of his writing desk, -and wrote a few lines to the bankers, requesting them to forward Sir -Simon’s address, if they had it or could inform him how a letter would -reach him. - -He seemed relieved when this was done, and, for the first time for nearly -a month, called Franceline to come and write for him. She did so for a -couple of hours, and noticed with thankfulness that her father was in -very good, almost in high, spirits, laughing and talking a great deal, as -if elated by some inward purpose. Her glad surprise was increased when he -said abruptly: - -“Now, my little one, run and put on thy bonnet, and we will go for a walk -in the park together.” - -The day was cold, and there was a sharp wind blowing; but the sun was -very bright, and the park looked green and fresh and beautiful as they -entered it, she leaning on him with a fond little movement from time to -time and an exclamation of pleasure. He smiled on her very tenderly, -and chatted about all sorts of things as in the old days of a month ago -before the strange cloud had drawn a curtain between their lives. He -talked with great animation of his work, and the excitement it would be -to them both when it was published. - -“We shall go to Paris for the publication, and then I will show thee the -wonderful sights of the great city: the Louvre, and the Museum of Cluny, -and many antiquities that will interest thee mightily; and we will go to -some fine _modiste_ and get thee a smart French bonnet, and thou wilt be -quite a little _élégante_!” - -“Oh! how nice it will be, petit père,” cried Franceline, squeezing his -arm in childish glee; “and many learned men will be coming to see you, -will they not, and writing articles in praise of your great work?” - -“Ha! Praise! I know not if it will all be praise,” said the author, with -a dubious smile. “Some will not approve of my views on certain historical -pets. I have torn the masks off many _soi-disant_ heroes, and replaced -others in the position that bigotry or ignorance has hitherto denied -them. I wonder what Simon will say to it all?” - -Raymond smiled complacently as he said this. It was the first time he had -mentioned the baronet. Franceline felt as if a load were lifted off her, -and that all the mists were clearing away. - -“He is sure to be delighted with it!” she exclaimed. “He always is, -even when he quarrels with you, petit père. I think he quarrels for the -pleasure of it; and then he is so proud of you!” - -They walked as far as the house, and then Raymond said it was time to -turn back; it was too cold for Franceline to stay out more than half an -hour. - -An event had taken place at The Lilies in their absence. The postman had -been there and had brought a letter. Raymond started when Angélique met -him at the door with this announcement, adding that she had left it on -the chimney-piece. - -He went straight in and opened it. It was from Sir Simon. After -explaining in two lines how Clide de Winton had arrived in time to save -him at the last hour, the writer turned at once to Raymond’s troubles. -Nothing could be gentler than the way he approached the delicate -subject. “Why should we be estranged from one another, Raymond? Do you -suppose I suspect you? And what if I did? I defy even that to part us. -The friendship that can change was never genuine; ours can know no -change. I have tried in every possible way to account satisfactorily -for your strange, your suicidal behavior on that night, and I have -not succeeded. I can only conclude that you were beside yourself with -anxiety, and over-excited, and incapable of measuring the effect of your -refusal and your conduct altogether. But admitting, for argument’s sake, -that you did take it; what then? There is such a thing as momentary -insanity from despair, as the delirium of a sick and fevered heart. -At such moments the noblest men have been driven to commit acts that -would be criminal if they were not mad. It would ill become _me_ to -cast a stone at _you_--I, who have been no better than a swindler these -twenty years past! Raymond, there can be no true friendship without -full confidence. We may give our confidence sometimes without our love -following; but when we give our love, our confidence must of necessity -follow. When we have once given the key of our heart to a friend, we have -given him the right to enter into it at all times, to read its secrets, -to open every door, even that, and above that, behind which the skeleton -stands concealed. You and I gave each other this right when we were boys, -Raymond; we have used it loyally one towards the other ever since, and I -have done nothing to forfeit the privilege now. All things are arranged -by an overruling Providence, and God is wise as he is merciful; yet I -cannot forbear asking how it is that I should have been saved from -myself, and that you should not have been delivered from temptation--you, -whose life has been one long triumph of virtue over adversity! It will be -all made square one day; meantime, I bless God that the weaker brother -has been mercifully dealt with and permitted to rescue the nobler and the -worthier one. The moment I hear from you I will come to Dullerton, and -you and Franceline must come away with me to the south. I will explain -when we meet why this letter has been so long delayed.” Then came a -postscript quite at the bottom of the page: “Send that wretched bauble -to me in a box, addressed to my bankers. Rest assured of one thing: you -shall be cleared before men as you already are before a higher and a more -merciful tribunal.” - -Many changes passed over Raymond’s countenance as he read this letter; -but when his eye fell on the postscript, the smile that had hovered -between sadness, tenderness, and scorn subsided into one of almost -saturnine bitterness, and a light gathered in his eyes that was not -goodly to see. But the feelings which these signs betrayed found no other -outward vent. M. de la Bourbonais quietly and deliberately tore up the -letter into very small pieces, and then, instead of throwing them into -the waste-paper basket, he dropped them into the grate. The fire was low; -he took the poker and stirred it to make a blaze, and then watched the -flame catching the bits one by one and consuming them. - -“It is fortunate I did not send mine!” was his mental congratulation as -he turned to his desk, intending to feed the dying flame with two more -offerings. But where were they? Raymond pushed about his papers, but -could not find either of the letters. Angélique was called. Had she seen -them? - -“Oh! yes; I gave them both to the postman,” she explained, with a nod of -her flaps that implied mystery. - -“How both? There was only one to go. The other had no address on it,” -said Raymond. - -“I saw it, M. le Comte.” Another mysterious nod. - -“And yet you gave it to the postman?” - -“Yes. I am a discreet woman, as M. le Comte knows, and he might have -trusted me to keep a quiet tongue in my head; but monsieur knows his own -affairs best,” added Angélique in an aggrieved tone. - -“My good Angélique, explain yourself a little more lucidly,” said M. de -la Bourbonais with slight impatience. “What could induce you to give the -postman a letter that had neither name nor address on it?” - -“Bless me! I thought M. le Comte did not wish me to know who he was -writing to!” - -“Good gracious!” exclaimed Raymond, too annoyed to notice the absurdity -of the reply. “But how could the postman take it when he saw it was a -blank envelope?” - -“I did not let him see it; I slipped the two with my own hands into the -bag,” said Angélique. - -M. de la Bourbonais moved his spectacles, and shrugged his shoulders in -a way that was expressive of anything but gratitude for this zeal. He -hesitated a moment or two, debating what he should do. The only way to -ensure getting back his letter immediately was to go off himself to the -post-office, and claim it before it was taken out to be stamped with -the postmark, when it would be opened in order to be returned to the -writer. There might be no harm in its being opened; the postmaster was -not a French scholar that Raymond knew of, but he might have a friend at -hand who was, and who would be glad to gratify his curiosity, as well as -exhibit his learning, by reading the count’s letter. - -Raymond set off at once, so as to prevent this. It was the first time -for some weeks that he had shown himself in or near the town; and if his -mind had not been so full of his errand, he would have been painfully -conscious and shy at finding himself abroad in open daylight in his old -haunts and within the observation of many eyes that knew him. But he did -not give this a thought; he was calculating the chances for and against -his arriving at the post-office before the postman had come back from -his rounds and handed in the out-going letters to be marked, and his -imagination was running on to the wildest conclusions in the event of his -being too late. He walked as if for a wager; not running, but as near to -it as possible. The pace and his intense look of preoccupation attracted -many glances that he would have escaped had he walked on quietly at his -ordinary pace. He was not a minute too soon, however, just coming up -as the postman appeared with his replenished bag. M. de la Bourbonais -hastened to describe the shape and color of his blank envelope, and -to explain how it had come to be where it was, and was most emphatic -in protesting that he did not mean the letter to go, and that he was -prepared to take any steps to prevent its going. There was no need to be -so earnest, about it. The postmaster assured him at once that the letter -would be forthcoming in a moment, and that his word would be quite enough -to identify it and ensure its being returned to him. It seemed an age to -Raymond while the letters were being turned out and sorted, but at last -the man held up the blank envelope, with its queen’s head in the corner, -and exclaimed jubilantly: “Here it is!” - -The count seized it with avidity, and hurried away, leaving the -postmaster half-amused, half-mystified, at his excited volubility and -warm expressions of thanks. There was no necessity to rush home at -the same pace that he had rushed out, but Raymond felt like a machine -wound up to a pitch of velocity that must be kept up until the wheel -stopped of its own accord. His hat was drawn over his eyes, and his head -bent like a person walking on mechanically, neither seeing nor hearing -what might be going on around him. He was soon beyond the streets and -shop-windows, and back amidst the fields and hedges. There was a clatter -of horses coming down the road. M. de la Bourbonais saw two gentlemen -on horseback approaching. He recognized them, even in the distance, at -a glance: Sir Ponsonby Anwyll and Mr. Charlton. Raymond’s heart leaped -up to his throat. What would they do? Stop and speak, or cut him dead? -A few seconds would decide. They were close on him now, but showed no -sign of reining in to speak. Ponsonby Anwyll raised his hat in a formal -salutation; Mr. Charlton looked straight before him and rode on. All the -blood in his body seemed to rush at the instant to Raymond’s face. He -put his hand to his forehead and stood to steady himself; then he walked -home, never looking to the right or the left until he reached The Lilies. - -Angélique called out from the kitchen window to know if he had made -it right about the letter; but he took no heed of her, only walked in -and went straight up to his room. She heard him close the door. There -certainly was something queer come to him of late. What did he want, -going to shut himself in his bedroom this time of day, and then passing -her without answering? - -Franceline was in the study, busy arranging some primroses and wild -violets that she had been gathering under the hedge while her father -was out. A noise as of a body falling heavily to the ground in the room -overhead made her drop the flowers and fly up the stairs. Angélique had -hastened from the kitchen to ask what was the matter; but a loud shriek -rang through the house in answer to her question. - -“Angélique, come! O my God! Father! father!” - -Raymond was lying prostrate on the floor, insensible, while Franceline -lifted his head in her arms, and kissed him and called to him. “Oh! What -has happened to him? Father! father! speak to me. O my God! is he dead?” -she cried, raising her pale, agonized face to the old servant with a -despairing appeal. - -“No! no! Calm thyself! He has but fainted; he is not dead,” said -Angélique, feeling her master’s pulse and heart. “See, put thy hand here -and feel! If he were dead, it would not beat.” - -Franceline laid her finger on the pulse. She felt the feeble beat; it -was scarcely perceptible, but she could feel it. - -“We must lift him on to the bed,” said Angélique, and she grasped the -slight form of her master with those long, brown arms of hers, and laid -it gently on the bed, Franceline assisting as she might. - -“Now, my petite, thou wilt be brave,” said the faithful creature, -forgetting herself in her anxiety to spare and support Franceline. “Thou -wilt stay here and do what is necessary whilst I run and fetch the -doctor.” - -She poured some eau-de-cologne into a basin of water, and desired her -to keep bathing her father’s forehead and chafing his hands until she -returned. This, after loosing his cravat and letting in as much air as -possible, was all her experience suggested. - -Franceline sat down and did as she was told; but the perfect stillness, -the deathlike immobility of the face and the form, terrified her. She -suspended the bathing to breathe on it, as if her warm breath might bring -back consciousness and prove more potent than the cold water. But Raymond -remained insensible to all. The silence began to oppress Franceline like -a ghastly presence; the cooing of her doves outside sounded like a dirge. -Could this be death? His pulse beat so faintly she hardly knew whether it -was his or the pulse of her own trembling fingers that she felt. A chill -of horror came over her; the first vague dread was gradually shaping -itself in her mind to the most horrible of certainties. If he should -never awake, never speak again, never open those closed eyes on her with -the old tender glance of love that had been as familiar and unfailing as -the sunlight to her! Oh! what a fearful awakening came with this first -realization of that awful possibility. What vain shadows, what trivial -empty things, were those that she had until now called sorrows! What a -joy it would be to take them all back again, and bear them, increased -tenfold in bitterness, to the end of her life, if this great, this real -sorrow might be averted! Franceline dropped on her knees beside the -bed, and, clasping her hands, sent up one of those cries that we all of -us find in our utmost need, when there is only God who can help us: “O -Father! thy will be done. But if it be possible, … if it be possible, … -let this cup pass from me!” - -There were steps on the stairs. It was Angélique come back. She had only -been ten minutes away--the longest ten minutes that ever a trembling -heart watched through--but Franceline knew she could not have been to the -doctor’s and back so quickly. “I met M. le Vicaire just at the end of the -lane, and he is gone for the doctor; he was riding, so he will be there -in no time.” - -Then she made Franceline go and fetch hot water from the kitchen, and -busied her in many little ways, under pretence of being useful, until Dr. -Blink’s carriage was heard approaching. The medical man was not alone; -Mr. Langrove and Father Henwick accompanied him. - -Angélique drew the young girl out of her father’s room, and sent her to -stay with Father Henwick, while the doctor, assisted by Mr. Langrove and -herself, attended to M. de la Bourbonais. - -“Oh! what is it? Did the doctor tell you?” she whispered, her dark eyes -preternaturally dilated in their tearless glance, as she raised it to -Father Henwick’s face. - -“He could say nothing until he had seen him. Tell me, my dear child, did -your father ever have anything of this sort happen him before?” inquired -Father Henwick, as unconcernedly as he could. - -“Never, never that I heard of, unless it may have been when I was too -little to remember,” said Franceline; and then added nervously, “Why?” - -“Thank God! It is safe, then, not to be so serious,” was the priest’s -hearty exclamation. “Please God, you will see him all right again soon; -he has been overdoing of late, working too hard, and not taking air or -exercise enough. The blade has been wearing out the sheath--that’s what -it is; but Blink will pull him through with God’s help.” - -“Father,” said Franceline, laying both hands on his arm with an -unconscious movement that was very expressive, “do you know it seems to -me as if I were only waking up, only beginning to live now. Everything -has been unreal like a dream until this. Is it a punishment for being so -ungrateful, so rebellious, so blind to the blessings that I had?” - -“If it were, my child, punishment with God is only another name for -mercy,” said Father Henwick. “Our best blessings come to us mostly in -the shape of crosses. Perhaps you were not thankful enough for the great -blessing of your father’s love, for his health and his delight in you; -perhaps you let your heart long too much for other things; and if so, -God has been mindful of his foolish little one, and has sent this touch -of fear to teach her to value more the mercies that were vouchsafed to -her, and not to pine for those that were denied. We seldom see things in -their true proportions until the shadow of death falls on them.” - -“The shadow of death!” echoed Franceline, her white lips growing still -whiter. “Oh! if it be but the shadow, my life will be too short for -thanksgiving, were I to live to the end of the world.” - -“Ha! here they come,” said Father Henwick, opening the study-door as he -heard the doctor’s steps, followed by Mr. Langrove’s, on the stair. - -Franceline went forward to meet them; she did not speak, but Dr. Blink -held out his hand in answer to her questioning face, and said cheerfully: -“The count is much better; he has recovered consciousness, and is doing -very nicely, very nicely indeed for the present. Come! there is nothing -to be frightened at, my dear young lady.” - -Franceline could not utter a word, not even to murmur “Thank God!” But -the dead weight that had been pressing on her heart was lifted, she -gasped for breath, and then the blessed relief of tears came. - -“My poor little thing! My poor Franceline!” said the vicar, leading -her gently to a chair, and smoothing the dark gold hair with paternal -kindness. - -“Let her cry; it will do her good,” said Dr. Blink kindly; and then he -turned to speak in a low voice to Father Henwick and Mr. Langrove. - -He had concluded, from the incoherent account which Mr. Langrove had -gathered from Angélique, that he should come prepared for a case of -apoplexy, and had brought all that was necessary to afford immediate -relief. He had recourse to bleeding in the first instance, and it had -proved effective. M. de la Bourbonais was, as he said, doing very well -for the present. Consciousness had returned, and he was calm and free -from suffering. Franceline was too inexperienced to understand where the -real danger of the attack lay. She fancied that, since her father had -regained consciousness, there could be nothing much worse than a bad -fainting fit, brought on by fatigue of mind and body, and, now that the -Rubicon was past, he would soon be well, and she would take extra care -of him, so as to prevent a relapse. Her passionate burst of tears soon -calmed down, and she rose up to thank her visitors with that queenly -self-command that formed so striking a part of her character. - -“I am very grateful to you for coming so quickly; it was very good of -you,” she said, extending her hand to Dr. Blink: “May I go to him now?” - -“No, no, not just yet,” he replied promptly. “I would rather he were left -perfectly quiet for a few hours. We will look in on him later; not that -it is necessary, but we shall be in the neighborhood, and may as well -turn in for a moment.” He wished them good-afternoon, and was gone. - -“And how did you happen to come in just at the right moment?” said -Franceline, turning to Father Henwick. “It did not occur to me before how -strange it was. Was it some good angel that told you to come to me, I -wonder?” - -“The very thing! You have hit it to a nicety!” said Mr. Langrove. “It was -an angel that did it.” - -“Yes,” said Father Henwick, falling into the vicar’s playful vein, “and -the odd thing was that he came riding up to my house on a fat Cumberland -pony! Now, we all know S. Michael has been seen on a white charger, but -this is the first time, to my knowledge, that an angel was ever seen -mounted on a Cumberland pony.” - -“Dear Mr. Langrove, how good of you!” said Franceline, with moistened -eyes, and she pressed his hand. - -“Had you not better come out with me now for a short walk?” said the -vicar. “I sha’n’t be more than half an hour, and it will do you good. -Come and have early tea at the vicarage, and we will walk home with you -before Blink comes back. What do you say?” - -“Oh! I think I had better not go out, I feel so shaken and tired; and -then papa might ask for me, you know. I shall not go near him unless he -does, after what Dr. Blink said.” - -“Well, perhaps it is as well for you to keep quiet. Good-by, dear. I will -look in on you this evening.” - -“And so will I, my child,” said Father Henwick, laying his broad hand on -her head; and the two gentlemen left the cottage together. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -THE FRIENDS OF EDUCATION. - -To pass from the discussion of arguments to the question of motives is -a most common yet most unjustifiable manœuvre of popular debate. This -is usually done when the field of calm and logical reasoning has become -tolerably clear. The flank movement is attempted as a final struggle -against defeat otherwise inevitable. If the motive thus impugned be -really indefensible; if it be, at the same time, glaring or manifest, a -positive advantage is sometimes gained by a vigorous diversion from the -real object of contention. But if such a motive has to be alleged--or, -still worse, invented--the demonstration against it, however violent, is -but a reluctant and ungracious acknowledgment of defeat and a flight from -the real point at issue. The most recent instance of this sort is taking -place before the American public, and has been afforded by those who -endeavor to represent Catholics as opposed to free and liberal education, -thereby attainting the motives of the position which Catholics have been -forced to assume with regard to what are falsely called “common” schools. - -This attitude of our opponents, however, we regard not without -complacency. Our object is not war, but peace and good-will among -citizens. We hail the present violent misrepresentation as a sign -that the enemy is close to the “last ditch,” and that the discussion -approaches its conclusion. When this final effort to distort the Catholic -object and to asperse the Catholic character has exhausted itself and -been held up to the inspection of the American people, we shall have -seen the end of the “school question.” We insist upon an improvement in -our educational system which is necessary to perfect its character and -to satisfy the requirements of the times. The present system does not -meet the wishes of a very large portion of the community, is unfair to -others besides Catholics, and is out of harmony with the spirit of free -institutions. A system is wanted which shall at least be equal to that of -monarchical countries, fair to all citizens alike, and which will relieve -Catholics from the double burden of educating their own children, besides -paying for a system of education of which they cannot conscientiously -avail themselves. - -The correctness of the Catholic position is so manifest, and is so -rapidly gaining the recognition of all thoughtful classes, that those who -are unwilling to allow Catholics equal rights as citizens are forced, in -order to hide the truth, not only to maintain that the present system -is absolutely perfect and incapable of any improvement, but to accuse -Catholics of harboring ideas of which they are not only innocent, but -which it would be wholly impossible for them to entertain--such as -that they are afraid of the light; that they attack the present system -because they are inimical to all education; and that their object is, if -possible, to do away with it altogether. Accusations similar to these -are daily repeated, garnished with rhetoric, and sent forth to alarm our -fellow-citizens and to encourage them to turn a deaf ear to whatever -Catholics may say. The weak point of this movement against us is that -the people will notice that it does not deal at all with the validity -of Catholic claims, and that it shirks the only question at issue. They -will be led to suspect that it is emphatically a “dodge”; and the mere -suspicion of this will awaken curiosity as to what Catholics really have -to say--a curiosity fatal to the success of the flank attack. - -In the language of those who advance the charge with which we propose -to deal, education means either primary instruction in the elements of -knowledge, or else higher academic culture, such as is to be furnished -by colleges and universities. If, therefore, Catholics are hostile to -education, in this sense of the word, they must be opposed either to -the general spread of such information as is aimed at in elementary and -normal schools, or to the existence and growth of the higher institutions -of science and art. - -We are perfectly aware that there is another meaning given to the word -education, to which reference is made, simply in order to avoid obscurity. - -Philosophers of the class to which Mr. Huxley belongs understand by -education a certain specific course of moral and intellectual training, -the aim of which is to ensure its pupils against ever being affected by -“theological tendencies.” Such impressions are to be made upon childhood, -and matured in more advanced stages, as will rid men of that natural -but awkward habit of reasoning from cause to effect; which will free -them from all hope of any life but the present, and any fear of future -responsibility, in order that they may be impelled to devote themselves -solely to the analysis and classification of material phenomena, since -this is the only purpose of man’s existence--such a course of spiritual -defloration as was practised upon the tender and noble genius of the late -John Stuart Mill, the results of which, as manifested by the revelation -of his biography, afford, in the words of an ingenuous, critic, “a most -unpleasant spectacle.” A process of this kind is not education; it is a -heartrending and lamentable destruction of that which is noblest and -most essential in man, and as a definition has not yet obtained a place -in the English language. - -If any of our readers would care to know our own ultimate definition -of education, we should describe it as the complete and harmonious -development of all the powers of man in reference to his true end. But -for present purposes it is sufficient to adopt the ordinary sense of the -word, as meaning the diffusion of knowledge by scholastic exercises in -academies and colleges. - -If it appears singular to enlightened Protestants to hear a demand for -circumscription and discouragement of Catholics, and, if possible, the -suppression of religious education, from that faction whose motto is -“Liberty and Light,” we trust that it will seem none the less paradoxical -to hear the charge of favoring ignorance urged with most vehemence -against us by those whose boast, up to within a few years, has been “a -ministry without education, and a way to heaven without grammar.” - -The first demand does not in the least surprise us, coming, as it does, -from a crude and undigested assumption of the principles of European -radicalism. We have seen its consistency illustrated by madmen chasing, -robbing, and killing one another to the cry of “liberty, equality, -fraternity.” We understand what it is to be assaulted by this party, -which knows not how to act except in the way of destruction, which is -never at rest except in the midst of agitation, and never at peace, so to -speak, except when at war. - -Nor is it strange to see an attempt against Catholics made outside the -field of theological controversy, inasmuch as the result of controversy -for the past two centuries has tended rather to the disintegration of -Protestantism than to the conversion of Catholics to the new faith. Nor -is it surprising to find this assault directed against the equal rights -of Catholics in education; for here some earnest but short-sighted men -imagine that there is not simply ground to be gained, but that the -present system is a stronghold not to be given up. It is a stronghold, -truly, but rather of infidelity than of Protestantism. - -But educated Protestants and heathen will marvel with us that the attack -has been made on the theory that Protestantism is the born friend, and -Catholicity the natural enemy of education, knowing as well as we the -fatal evidence of history. - -The contempt for education which, until more recent times, has always -existed, to a certain extent, among the orthodox Protestants, was founded -upon their erroneous doctrines of the total depravity of human nature, -the consequent invalidity of human reason, and the principle of private -illumination. - -When Luther said, “The god Moloch, to whom the Jews immolated their -children, is to-day represented by the universities” (_Wider den -Missbrauch der Messe_), it was not simply on the ground of the -universities being centres of association for boisterous and disorderly -youth, or fortresses of the ancient faith, but because of that “pagan and -impious science” which was taught in them. - -In his furious onslaught against them Luther was sustained by his -well-known hatred of anything which tended to assert the prerogatives -of human nature or the dignity of reason. No man was ever more -intemperate in denunciation than this so-called “liberator of humanity -and emancipator of human reason.” “True believers strangle reason,” said -he; and he never alluded to it except in terms of most outrageous abuse. -The last sermon of his at Wittenberg[253] is monumental in this respect; -and his well-known reply to the Anabaptists is one of the most startling -examples of his intensely idiomatic style.[254] - -The feelings of the master were fully communicated to the disciples. The -results were fearful. The free schools which existed in every city were -overturned by the very men whom they had educated; the _gymnasia_ were in -many places wholly destroyed, in others so reduced as never to recover -their former position. - -At Wittenberg itself the two preachers, Spohr and Gabriel Didymus, -announced from the pulpit that the study of science was not simply -useless but noxious, and that it was best to do away with the colleges -and schools. The upshot was to change the academy of that city into a -bakery. Similar measures were carried into effect throughout the entire -duchy of Anspach. The history of the Reformation by Dr. Döllinger gives a -long list of the numerous scholars, rectors of high schools and colleges, -who were driven into exile, and also details a minute account of many of -the institutions which were destroyed. - -The statements of Erasmus, as to the disastrous results of the -Reformation on studies, are constant and numberless. They may -be formulated in a sentence of one of his letters to Pirkheimer -(1538): “_Ubicumque regnat Lutheranismus, ibi litterarum est -interitus_”--“Wherever Lutheranism reigns, there is the destruction of -letters.” - -The testimony of Sturm, Schickfuss, Bucer, and others is no less -forcible. Luther and Melancthon in later days seem to have been appalled -by their own work, and George Major thus sums up the melancholy condition -of things in his own day: “Thanks to the wickedness of men and the -contempt which we ourselves have shown for studies, the schools have more -than ever need of patrons and protectors to save them from ruin, and to -prevent us from falling into a state of barbarism worse than that of -Turks and Muscovites.” - -The interesting works of the Benedictines of St. Maur of the XVIIIth -century, the Bollandists, and the collections of a few other Catholic -scholars have preserved nearly all the material that is left from which -to construct the history of the middle ages, so thorough was the work -of destruction done on libraries by the Calvinists and Huguenots. The -Bodleian library is but a fragment--a few torn leaves of the literature -which was weeded out of England by the enlightened zeal of the -much-married father of Anglicanism. - -“What mad work this Dr. Coxe did in Oxon, while he sat chancellor, by -being the chief man that worked a reformation there, I have elsewhere -told you,” says Anthony Wood “To return at length to the royal delegates, -some of whom yet remained in Oxford, doing such things as did not -at all become those who professed to be learned and Christian men. -For the principal ornaments, and at the same time supports, of the -university--that is, the libraries, filled with innumerable works, both -native and foreign--they permitted or directed to be despoiled.… Works -of scholastic theology were sold off among those exercising the lowest -description of arts; and those which contained circles or diagrams it -was thought good to mutilate or burn, as containing certain proof of the -magical nature of their contents.” - -What was left undone by the royal delegates was thoroughly attended to by -the Puritans, who never did their work by halves, and whose views with -regard to the Bible and literature bore a close resemblance to those of -the early Mohammedans in their comparative estimate of the Koran and -secular writings. - -For a full account of the effect of the revolution of the XVIth century -on learning, people who may suspect Catholic writers of exaggeration can -compare their statements with those of the learned Protestant Huber, in -his exhaustive history of the universities. Even “honest Latimer,” who -certainly was not a zealot for profane learning, lifted up his voice in -complaint: “It would pity a man’s heart to hear that that I hear of the -state of Cambridge; what it is in Oxford I cannot tell.” How it was at -Oxford we have already seen. Throughout the length and breadth of the -land the monastic schools, which were asylums both of mercy and learning, -were destroyed; the mere list of their names, as given by the Protestant -historian Cobbett, occupies one hundred and forty-five pages of his -work. The present condition of the lower classes in England, which is -due to their being thus deprived of means of education and assistance -in distress, is the Nemesis of the Reformation. In listening to the -demand that the government shall dispossess the present landlords as -it despoiled the churchmen of old, we hear arguments of fearful power -as to the extent of eminent domain. When it is asked why the crown and -people shall not exercise for the common good the prerogative which was -conceded and exercised formerly for the benefit of the crown alone, the -present holders of property acquired by sacrilege may well take alarm -at the progress of revolutionary ideas. And the question as to how far -the people were forcibly deprived of the benefits of a trust vested for -them in the church, may be decided “without constitutional authority and -through blood.” God avert such a calamity from England! May the prayers -of Catholic martyrs, of More and Fisher, intercede in her behalf, and -save her from the consequences of that act, to prevent which, these, -her truest sons, did not hesitate to offer up their lives! However, -with these facts in view, it is scarcely wise for English Protestantism -to assume the position of a necessary and perpetual friend of popular -education. It is best to wait until the ink has become dry which has -scored from the statute book of that realm the law making it felony to -teach the alphabet to Catholics. - -It would be gratifying to us to contrast with the conduct of the authors -of Protestantism that of the great educators of Europe who laid the -foundations of our civilization. A fierce and violent revolution has -turned that civilization aside, and introduced into it principles of -anarchy and death. A shallow and ungrateful era has failed to perceive -and to acknowledge its debts. It is only in the pages of scholars such -as Montalembert, the Protestants Maitland and Huber, and the author of -that recent modest but most charming book entitled _Christian Schools and -Scholars_, that we begin to notice a thoughtful inquiry into the history -of our intellectual development. The masters slumber in forgetfulness -and oblivion. We know not the builders of the great structures of the -middle ages; and people generally know almost as little of its great -intellectual and social system. The history of the human race for a -thousand years of most intense activity is summed up in a few unmeaning -words. - -Time and space fail for such a comparison. But the fact that the first -Protestants found themselves educated, the fact that they found schools -to denounce and to destroy, in the XVIth century, is sufficient to -justify us with regard to history prior to that date. - -It would also be a pleasure to describe the progress of those magnificent -bodies of Catholic educators which rose, under divine inspiration, as a -check to the wave of revolution, and whose successes first stimulated -the action of Protestants by the wholesome influence of fear. But this -also is beyond our compass. We are ready to discuss the charge that -Catholics are opposed to education, independently of all reference to -Protestantism, by the test of positive facts, and to stand or fall by the -Catholic record in modern times. - -It is not necessary to cross the ocean or to visit countries where the -munificence of ages has endowed the universities of Catholic lands; as, -for instance, the seven great universities of the Papal States--Ferrara, -Bologna, Urbino, Macerata, Camerino, Perugia, and Rome, each containing -thousands of students. Nor is it necessary to remind the reader that -the great Protestant universities, and notably those of England, are, -to use the expression of a distinguished Anglican prelate, “a legacy -of Catholicism.” The charge that Catholics are opposed to university -education is simply laughable, considering that the university is -essentially a Catholic idea, and has never, even in Europe, been -successfully counterfeited. - -It is not necessary, although it may be instructive, to refer to the -free schools of the city of Rome, which, according to the testimony of -a Protestant traveller, thirty years ago surpassed even those of Berlin -in efficiency and relative number. They were, before the recent seizure -by the Piedmontese government, the most numerous in proportion to the -population and the most varied in character of any city in the world. -They presented to their scholars the choice of day or night with regard -to time, and prepared them for every profession, art, and trade. This -matchless variety was doubtless the result of centuries of growth; but it -was also the spontaneous outcome of zeal for education, and laid not a -penny of taxation upon the people. So high was the standard of gratuitous -education that private schools, at the beginning of the reign of our Holy -Father Pius IX., had to struggle hard in order to retain the patronage -of the wealthy classes. At that time there were in Rome 27 institutions -and 387 schools for free education. Of these last, 180 were for little -children of both sexes. Of the remainder, 94 were devoted to males and -113 to females. The total number of pupils in elementary schools amounted -to 14,157, of which number 3,790 were of the infant class. Of those more -advanced, 5,544 were males and 4,823 females. In elementary schools, -_purely gratuitous_, 7,579 received education--viz., 3,952 boys and 3,627 -girls. - -There appears, however, in Cardinal Morichini’s report, a feature which -has never yet been introduced into the American system--to wit, in -_schools paying a small pension_ there were 1,592 boys and 1,196 girls; -making a total in such schools of 2,788. This last item may furnish a -hint to those who are anxious to secure the attendance of poor children -in our own schools; although it is scarcely practicable where common -education has to be provided by taxation alone. Of these 387 schools to -which we have referred, 26 belonged to religious communities of men, -and 23 to religious communities of women. The rest belonged to, or were -conducted by, seculars. Besides these, 2,213 children of both sexes -received free instruction in special conservatories. - -In addition to this system of free primary education, there was the vast -system of colleges and academies connected with the university, the -advantages of which were at the command of the most limited and humble -means. - -It would be interesting to ask some of the high-school graduates in this -country the simple historical question, “Who, in modern times; have done -most for free education?” General Grant has doubtlessly contributed -liberally towards it; so, it is to be presumed, has Mr. Blaine; so have -many other distinguished lecturers on the subject of education. But -if the question is rightly answered, the date will have to be assigned -much earlier, and St. Joseph Calasanctius, Venerable de la Salle, -Catherine McAuley, and a hundred thousand other “Papists” will have to -take precedence of our illustrious fellow-citizens. The spectacle of -one Christian Brother, or Ursuline Nun, or Sister of Mercy whose life -is devoted to the instruction of the poor, with no recompense but the -sweet privilege of being worn out in the service of fellow-men for the -sake of Jesus Christ--such a spectacle as was afforded by the gifted -Gerald Griffin, or by Mother Seton in our own country, and is daily shown -among us by thousands of calm, intelligent men and amiable women, in the -various religious orders--this is a testimony to education which none but -Catholics can produce. And yet these men and women, these bright martyrs -of charity, are they whom it is thought good to attack by every means -within the reach of calumny. - -Let it be understood that we do not overlook the efforts made by -noble men and women in the ranks of Protestantism. Though few, and -insignificant in intensity of zeal when compared with the daily and -common sacrifices made by Catholics, nevertheless it must be borne in -mind that these isolated attempts have been ineffectual, save only in -so far as they have produced imperfect copies of the great works of -Catholicity. Protestantism, as such, has never prompted or organized -any great attempt at general free primary education. Indeed, it might -be safely challenged to produce any instance of the kind. And if the -American people to-day were to be seized with remorse for its injustice -towards Catholics, and to propose immediately to do away with all public -schools, we should object most strongly on the ground that no adequate -means would then exist for the education of Protestant children. The -problem of general education has never been faced by Protestantism. The -system of godless education is an extremely modern and thoroughly pagan -idea. If it has found favor among the leaders of Protestantism, this -has been because they have accepted it as a solution of the educational -problem; not having given the matter sufficient attention to observe the -ruinous effect which it is producing on themselves. - -From similar thoughtlessness comes their maintenance of the present -system. It is a comparatively cheap solution, as far as individuals are -concerned. It calls for no sacrifices. It is supposed to be sufficiently -Protestant as long as the Bible is read in the schools. But if the -present movement of the infidel party succeeds, and the “common” schools -are reduced to purely irreligious institutions, the matter will soon -force itself upon Protestant attention. We are convinced that they will -perceive that Catholics have given the subject much more consideration -than they supposed, and have been right throughout. Many of them will -regret having misunderstood our views, and will be prepared to endorse -the proposition that such schools are subversive of Christianity and -demoralizing in their tendency. They will then endeavor to repair the -evils which may still result from their ill-judged neglect of Catholic -remonstrance. They will demand to be put upon at least an equal footing -with infidels, probably with as much vehemence as Catholics have -demanded an equal footing for all citizens alike. If they find themselves -hopelessly debarred from this by the radical changes in the constitution -which some of their number are even now proposing, they will impeach -these amendments. This failing, they will find themselves in the position -in which Catholics now are. Then, for the first time in history, will -Protestantism have a fair chance to show how much it cares for education. - -But, as already intimated, it is not necessary to cross the seas to -discover testimony in rebuttal of the gratuitous slander which is urged -against Catholics. Nor is there need to summon from the tomb the teachers -of those who founded the so-called Reformation, nor to institute an -historic comparison between the labors of Catholics and Protestants. -Still less need is there to attempt to penetrate the future as to what -Catholics may do for education when they are relieved of one-half of -their present twofold burden. - -We live in the XIXth century and in America; and in this, very age and -country Catholics are doing more for education than is actually done -by any other denomination, and, in proportion to their numbers and -means, more than is done by all other denominations put together, which -outnumber Catholics by at least four to one--Catholics, forsooth, who are -impudently charged with being opposed to primary schools and collegiate -training! - -This assertion will doubtless sound strangely in the ears of those who -have allowed themselves to remain in ignorance of the facts which we -shall presently adduce. But, in view of them, it will be acknowledged -that our statement is the most modest that can be made, and that, if -disposed to be boastful, we could increase it many fold without fear -of exaggeration. Catholics in this country have, it is true, no great -university such as those produced by the efforts and endowments of -generations. Besides the lack of time necessary for such a development, -two other causes have thus far prevented its origin. The first is the -poverty of Catholics here--not simply their lack of means--but the fact -that the extent of the country and the comparatively small number of very -wealthy families require that educational institutions of the higher -class should be plentifully distributed. Secondly, Catholic resources -have actually been applied to satisfy this condition of things. We -feel quite sanguine that, before the close of the century, in spite of -all disadvantages, a Catholic university of the very highest character -will be established here; but, without it, there exist at present, in -every city of importance throughout the Union, colleges which, for -scholarship, will fairly compete with the chartered universities of this -country, and which, in certain localities and in special departments, -will surpass their older and more pretentious rivals. Although these -colleges do not approach the ideal of a university--_i.e._, a great -city of learning, which can no more be built in a day than a great -commercial metropolis--nevertheless there is no reason to be ashamed of -our colleges. Scarcely one of them can be found which does not contain -the children of non-Catholics, sent thither by the preference of parents -and guardians. Our great academies for young ladies are recognized as -possessing advantages which are without a parallel; and, as a class, the -convent schools for girls are without even a rival, and contain a very -large proportion of Protestant children. - -Nor are Catholics lacking in efforts to provide primary education for -Catholic children, although their efforts in this direction are sadly out -of proportion to their necessities. In higher intellectual culture the -wealthy are naturally interested. They must provide suitable education -for their children. To do this in every place is a most severe tax upon -them. Nevertheless, it has been their duty to accomplish this, and, -at the same time, to subscribe liberally toward the education of the -children of their poorer brethren. - -The poorer classes, also, with less natural impulse to make sacrifices -for education, exposed to the temptation of hundreds of proselytizing -institutions, forced to pay also for the lavish expenditure of the -public schools, have had to bear the burden of procuring the necessary -instruction for their children without exposing them to sectarianism and -the scorn of their religion too often openly manifested in the “common” -schools. How far they have done their duty will presently be shown. -Honorable men shall judge whether they have or have not valued education. -But if it be suddenly discovered that they have valued it, let it be -acknowledged also that they have acted as Catholics and from the deepest -religious motives. - -The general statistics of the Catholic Church in America are very -imperfect. Nevertheless, from the _Catholic Directory_ of 1875 a few -figures may be gleaned which will abundantly sustain the statements here -advanced. It is to be regretted that the statistics as given in the -_Directory_ are not more complete, those of some dioceses being quite -minute and exact, those of others very imperfect. - -With regard to colleges and academies for higher education, there are, -under Catholic direction, in the United States, at least 540, with an -attendance of not less than 48,000 pupils. In dioceses of which both -the numbers of institutions and their attendance have been given there -are 270 institutions, with an attendance of 24,000. A mathematical -computation gives for the attendance in the others the amount which we -have allowed as a safe estimate--viz., a total attendance of no less than -48,000 souls. How does this appear to those who have listened hitherto -to the revilers of Catholics? Are we right in repelling their charge, or -are they right, who have nothing but their angry feelings with which to -sustain it? - -If Catholics are wanting in zeal for education, the spirit of obstruction -is not apparent in their higher institutions. But, as we have said, -the mass of our people are poor. What provision have they made for -themselves, besides paying for the education of others? - -The Catholic parochial schools are principally designed to supply the -need of Catholic education for the masses. It would be wrong, however, to -consider them as merely primary schools. Many of the parochial schools -are really high schools, and have a course of studies equal to the best -normal schools. Nevertheless, under the head of parish schools are not -included any of those already mentioned as colleges or academies. In -the Archdiocese of Cincinnati there are 140 parish schools, in which -are educated about 35,000 children free of cost to the State. In the -Archdiocese of New York there are 93 parish schools, with not less than -37,600 children. In the Diocese of Cleveland there are 100 parish schools -and 16,000 children. In some places the attendance of the Catholic -schools is fully equal to that of the public schools. So that in these -districts Catholics not only pay for the education of their own children, -but half the expenses of the public schools, and--supposing both systems -to be conducted with equal economy--enough to pay for the education -of all the other children as well as their own, _free of cost_ to -Protestants, Jews, and infidels. And yet Catholics are charged with being -hostile to education! - -In the United States we have statistics of 1,400 parochial schools, the -given attendance at which amounts to 320,000 pupils. The entire number of -parish schools foots up 1,700, and the total figure of attendance may be -set down at 400,000 scholars. Add to this the number of 48,000 who are -being educated in colleges and academies, and farther increase the sum by -the probable number of children in asylums, reformatories, and industrial -schools, and there will appear something very like half a million of -scholars who are receiving their education at the expense of Catholics. - -Taking into account Catholic numbers, Catholic means, and the time in -which Catholics have made these provisions for education, we can safely -challenge, not only every denomination singly, but all of them put -together, to show any corresponding interest in the matter of education, -whether elementary or scientific. This challenge is made, not in the -spirit of pride (though certainly without shame), but in the name of -truth and of generous rivalry to outstrip all others in the service -of humanity and our country. Let it stand as the fittest reply to the -disingenuous charge that Catholics are opposed to education. - -The candid reader to whom these facts are new will use his own language -in characterizing the “flank movement” against Catholics, and will -be disposed to credit us with honesty and consistency in our open -criticism of the present hastily-adopted system of education. But we -are persuaded that he will also be led, if not to make, at least to -concur in, farther reflections on the facts which are here adduced. If -Catholics are actually providing instruction for so vast a number of the -people of the United States, is not this a very considerable saving to -the public? We think it is. The average cost of education in New York -City is $13 60 per child; in the State of New York, $11; in the United -States and Territories, $9 26. The saving represented by such a number -in our schools amounts, at the rate of New York City, to $6,800,000; -at the rate of the State of New York, to $5,500,000, and at the lowest -rate, to $4,630,000 per annum. In addition to this direct saving, we must -be credited with the amount of our taxes for the public schools. When -Catholics stand before the American people, and state the reasons why -they do not consider the present educational system that prevails here to -be either wise or just, they are not beggars in any sense. They ask for -no favor. They demand an equitable system of disbursing the funds raised -for education, so that no class of citizens shall be deprived of that for -which they are forced to contribute. They would arrange it so that none -could justly complain. As Catholics, we must have religion and morality -(which, whatever others may think, are to us inseparable) taught in the -schools to which we send our children. No time or place will ever alter -our convictions on this point. What we demand for ourselves we gladly -concede to others. We are ready to consult with them on a common and just -basis of agreement. Nothing is wanting for a harmonious settlement except -fairness on the part of our opponents. There is no flaw in our position, -no evil design in our heart, nor have we the slightest disposition to -drive a close bargain. Let the word be spoken. Let any of the Protestant -denominations make a step forward, intimate a desire for settlement on -the basis of equal justice to all, and Catholics are with them. But while -we thus maintain our demand as strictly just, whether it be received or -rejected, we are not debtors but creditors of the state. We not only ask -our fellow-citizens, Will you stand by and see us taxed for a system of -education of which we cannot conscientiously avail ourselves? but we -further ask, Can you, as honest men, disregard what Catholics are doing -for education? Do you want them not only to educate their own children, -thereby saving you this cost, but to educate yours also? - -What kind of a soul has the man or the nation who would deliberately -resist such an appeal? The time will come when people will ask--as, -indeed, many do ask at present--“Why is not a louder outcry made for -the Catholics in the school question?” And the answer is that we feel -a certainty, which nothing can shake, that the American people are -intelligent enough to understand Catholics after a time; and when they -do understand them, they will be fair enough to do them justice. - -In the meantime let the Catholic laborer pay not only for the education -of his own children at the parish school, and save this expense to -his rich neighbor; let him also pay for the same neighbor’s children, -not merely in primary schools, but in high schools, where ladies and -gentlemen (whom poverty does not drive to labor at the age when the poor -man’s children have to be apprenticed) may learn French and German and -music, and to declaim on the glorious principles of American liberty and -of the Constitution, under which all men are (supposed to be) free and -equal. We love to hear their young voices and hearty eloquence. Let these -institutions be costly in structure and furnished with every improvement. -Let the teachers have high salaries. Let gushing editors issue forth, -to manifest to the astonished world the wisdom and deep thought which -they have acquired at the expense of their humbler and self-sacrificing -neighbor. But let honest and thoughtful men ponder on the meaning of -American equality, and judge who are the true friends of education. -The wages of the laborers will be spent, if the shallowness and crude -imperfection of the present system are learned, and the spirit of equal -rights among citizens peacefully preserved; though the credit will belong -to those who have kept their calmness of mind and made the greatest -sacrifices. - -The candid reader to whom we have alluded will readily admit that -Catholics are true friends of education, and are doing most for it -proportionately to their means; that, instead of suspicion and abuse, -they deserve respect, honor, and acknowledgment of their services. - -We think, however, that our fellow-citizens will go much farther, and -will, in time, endorse our statement when we affirm that Catholics at -present, and as a body, are the only true friends of popular education. -By this is not meant simply to say that they have not been backward in -obtaining, by their intelligence and integrity, the highest positions in -the country; that they count as representatives such men as Chief-Justice -Taney, Charles O’Conor, a Barry at the head of the navy, a Sheridan and -a Rosecrans in the army, and others of the highest national and local -reputation; or that, when the Roman purple fell upon the shoulders of the -Archbishop of New York, it suffered no loss of dignity in touching a true -and patriotic American, well fitted to wear it in any court or academy -of Europe. But we do mean that, outside of the Catholic Church and those -who sympathize with our views on this subject, there is no body whose -representatives are not biassed in their plan for common education by -prejudice or hostility toward some other body. - -With what utter disregard for the rights of conscience the infidel and -atheistic faction coolly avows its purpose to enforce a secular and -irreligious education upon all the people--a system known to be no less -antagonistic to the spirit of our democratic institutions than hostile to -the religious convictions of Catholics as well as Protestants! What loud -outcries and stormy denunciations echo from certain popular pulpits when -this faction demands the expulsion of the Bible from the public schools! -Is any person cool in the midst of this confusion? Is there any class of -citizens which looks to the common good and adheres to the principle of -equal regard for religious rights and education free for all? There are -such persons. There is such a class. Those are they who never shrink from -avowing their principles, and whose principles are always right, in spite -of temporary unpopularity--the representatives of the Catholic Church of -America. - -When the excitement of the hour has died away, and the schemes of -politicians to gain power by fastening upon the country a system fatal to -liberty, and radical in its assault upon the spirit of our government, -have met their just fate, then we shall receive the honor due to those -who have defended the country from the danger of adopting partisan -measures aimed against a certain class of citizens. - -We hope to live to see the day when there will not be a child in the -whole land capable of instruction who shall not receive a thorough -education, fitting him to be a patriotic citizen of our country, and, -at the same time, in nowise interfering with his religious duties. -The present system signally fails to accomplish this. Those who so -strenuously uphold its organization and attempt to make it compulsory -upon all are hostile to the genius of our institutions and fanatical -in their zeal. That they are not lovers of education is evident from -their own ignorance of facts. That they are in earnest when they charge -Catholics with hostility to education we can scarcely believe; for we -hear from the same lips hints and warnings against Catholic success in -education. We hear also that the Catholic Church is growing, and, unless -something is done to stop her, she will convert all the Protestants -in the country; and, still at other times, that she is an effete and -worn-out thing which cannot live through the century in a free republic. -At one time Catholics are derided as idiots; at another represented -as deep and insidious conspirators. There is scarcely anything which -is not affirmed or denied of them, according as it suits the mood of -their revilers. If our people were cooler and more dispassionate, we -should find all those calumnies answering one another. As it is, we are -constrained to pay them more or less attention, though the nature of the -testimony against us scarcely allows us to take up more than one point at -a time. - -If Catholics or Methodists or Episcopalians or Baptists can give a -better and a cheaper education, we see no reason why the state should -interfere with those who choose to avail themselves of it. Let the state -set up any standard it may choose, or make it obligatory; Catholics -will cheerfully come up to it, no matter how high it may be, provided -equal rights are allowed to all. The government has a right to demand -that its voters shall possess knowledge. It has no right to say how or -where they shall acquire knowledge. The government is bound by public -policy to promote education. This is to be done by stimulating in this -department the same activity which has made Americans famous in other -branches of social economy, by encouraging spontaneous action, and not -by an ill-judged system of “protection” of one kind of education against -another, or by creating a state monopoly. Bespeaking candor and due -respect on the part of those who may differ from us, we take our stand on -what we conceive to be the true American ground, and are willing to abide -by the consequences--fair play, universal culture, obligatory knowledge, -non-interference of the state in religion, and free trade in education. - - -SUGGESTED BY A CASCADE AT LAKE GEORGE. - - Not idly could I watch this torrent fall - Hour after hour; not vainly day by day - Visit the spot to meditate and pray. - The charm that holds me in its giant thrall - Has too much of the infinite to pall. - For though, like time, the waters pass away, - They fling a freshness, a baptismal spray, - Which breathes of the Eternal Fount of all. - And so, my God, does thy revealed word, - In living dogma or on sacred page, - Flow to us ever new; though read and heard - Immutably the same from age to age. - And thither Nature sends us to assuage - The higher longings by her voices stirred. - - -SIR THOMAS MORE. - -_A HISTORICAL ROMANCE._ - -FROM THE FRENCH OF THE PRINCESSE DE CRAON. - -V. - -Time glides rapidly by, leaving no footprints on the dreary road -over which it has passed, as the wild billows, rolling back into the -fathomless depths whence the tempest has called them forth, leave no -traces behind them. And so passes life--fleeting rapidly, noiselessly -away; while man, weary with striving, tortured by cares and unceasing -anxieties, is born, suffers, weeps, and in a day has withered, and, like -a fragile flower of the field, perishes from the earth. - -Wolsey, fallen from the summit of prosperity, continued to experience a -succession of reverses. Unceasingly exposed to the malice of his enemies, -he struggled in vain against their constantly-increasing influence; and -if they failed in bringing about his death, they succeeded, at least, -in poisoning every moment of his existence. Thus, at the time even when -Henry VIII. had sent him a valuable ring as a token of amity, they forced -the king to despoil the wretched man of the valuable possessions which -they pretended to wish restored to him. He received one day from his -master a new assurance of his royal solicitude; the next, his resources -failing, he was obliged, for want of money, to dismiss his old servants -and remain alone in his exile. - -Cromwell, with an incredible adroitness, had succeeded by degrees in -disengaging himself from the obligations he owed the cardinal, and -in making the downfall and misfortunes of his master serve to advance -his own interests. He had made numerous friends among the throng of -courtiers surrounding the king, in obtaining from the unhappy Wolsey his -recognition of the distribution which the king had made of his effects, -by adding the sanction of his own seal. After repeated refusals on the -part of the cardinal, he was at last successful in convincing him of -the urgent necessity for making this concession, in order to try, he -said with apparent sincerity, to lessen the animosity and remove the -prejudices they entertained against him. But, in reality, the intention -of Cromwell had been, by that manœuvre, to strip him of his entire -possessions; for the courtiers, being well aware their titles were not -valid under the law, were every moment afraid they might be called on to -surrender the gifts they had received, and consequently desired nothing -so much as to have the cardinal confirm them in their unjust possessions. - -It was by means of this monstrous ingratitude that Cromwell purchased the -favor of the court, began to elevate himself near the king in receiving -new dignities and honors, and at length found himself saved from the -fate he had so greatly apprehended at the moment of his benefactor’s -downfall. Of what consequence was Wolsey to him now? Banished from his -archbishopric of York, he was but a broken footstool which Cromwell no -longer cared to remember. He scarcely deigned to employ his new friends -in having Wolsey (reduced to the condition of an invalid) removed from -the miserable abode at Asher to the better situated castle of Richmond; -and later, when the heads of the council, always apprehensive and uneasy -because of his existence, obtained his peremptory exile, he considered -this departure as completely liberating him from every obligation to his -old benefactor. - -Events were thus following each other in rapid succession, when, toward -the middle of the day, the door of the king’s cabinet opened, and Sir -Thomas More, in the grand costume of lord chancellor, entered as had been -his custom. - -The king turned slightly around on his chair, and fixed upon him a -searching glance, as if he sought to read the inmost soul of More. - -The countenance of the chancellor was tranquil, respectful, and assured, -such as it had always been. In vain Henry sought to discover the -indications of fear, the impetuous desires and ambitions which he was -accustomed to excite or contradict in the agitated heart of Wolsey, and -by which, in his turn master of his favorite, of his future, and of his -great talents, he made him pay so dearly for the honors at intervals -heaped upon him. - -Nothing of all this could he discover! More seated himself when invited -by the king, and entered upon the discussion of a multitude of affairs -to which he had been devoting himself with unremitting attention day and -night. - -“Sire,” he would urge, “this measure will be most useful to your -kingdom; sire, justice, it seems to me, requires you to give such a -decision in that case.” - -Never were any other considerations brought to bear nor other demands -made; nothing for himself, nothing for his family, but all for the good -of the state, the interests of the people; silence upon all subjects -his conscience did not oblige him to reveal, though the king perceived -only too clearly the inmost depths of the pure and elevated soul of his -chancellor. - -By dazzling this man of rare virtues with a fortune to which a simple -gentleman could never aspire, Henry had hoped to allure him to his own -party and induce him to sustain the divorce bill. Thus, by a monstrous -contradiction, in corrupting him by avarice and ambition, he would have -destroyed the very virtues on which he wished to lean. He perceived with -indignation that all his artifices had been unsuccessful in influencing -a will accustomed to yield only to convictions of duty, and he feared -his ability to move him by any of the indirect and abstract arguments -which he felt and acknowledged to himself were weak and insufficient. -Revolving all these reflections in his mind, the king eagerly opened the -conversation with More, but in a quiet tone and with an air of assumed -indifference. - -“Well! Sir Thomas,” he said, “have you reflected on what I asked you? -Do you not find now that my marriage with my brother’s wife was in -opposition to all laws human and divine, and that I cannot do otherwise -than have it pronounced null and void, after being thus advised by so -many learned men, and ecclesiastics also?” - -“Sire,” replied More, “I have done what your majesty requested me; but -it occurs to my mind that, in an affair of so much importance, it will -not be sufficient to ask simply the advice of those immediately around -you; for it might be feared that, influenced by the affection they bear -for you, they would not decide as impartially as your majesty would -desire. Perhaps, also, some of them might be afraid of offending you. I -have, therefore, concluded that it would be better for your majesty to -consult advisers who are entirely removed from all such suspicions. That -is why I have endeavored to collect together in this manuscript I have -here the various passages of Holy Scripture bearing on this subject. I -have added also the opinions of S. Augustine and several other fathers -of the church, with whose eminent learning and high authority among the -faithful your majesty is familiar.” - -“Ah!” said the king, with a slightly-marked movement of impatience, “that -was right. Leave it there; I will read it.” - -Sir Thomas deposited the manuscript on the king’s table. - -“My lord chancellor,” he continued, “the House of Commons has taken some -steps toward discharging my debts. What do they think of this in the -city?” - -“Sire,” replied More, “I must tell you candidly they complain openly and -loudly. They say if the ministers had not taken care to introduce into -the house members who had received their positions from themselves, the -bill would never have passed; for it is altogether unjust and iniquitous -for Parliament to dispose in this manner of private property. They say -still farther that it has been inserted in the preamble of the bill that -the prosperity of the kingdom under the king’s paternal administration -had induced them to testify their gratitude by discharging his debts. -If this pretext is sincere, it reflects the greatest honor on Cardinal -Wolsey; and if, on the contrary, it is false, it covers his successors -with shame.” - -“What!” exclaimed the king, “do they dare express themselves in this -manner?” - -“Yes,” replied Sir Thomas; “and I will frankly say to the king that it -would have been far better to have imposed a new tax supported equally by -all than thus to despoil individuals of their patrimony.” - -“They are never contented!” exclaimed the king impatiently. “I have -sacrificed Wolsey to their hatred, whom there is no person in the kingdom -now able to replace. This Dr. Gardiner torments me with questions which -are far from satisfactory to his dull comprehension. Everything goes -wrong, unless I take the trouble of managing it myself; while with the -cardinal the slightest suggestion was sufficient. I constantly feel -inclined to recall him! Then we will see what they will say! But no!” -he continued, with an expression of gloomy sullenness, “they gave me no -rest until I had banished him from his archbishopric of York. It was, -they said, the sole means of preventing Parliament from pronouncing his -condemnation. By this time he is doubtless already reconciled; he is so -vain a creature that the three or four words I have said in his favor to -my nobles of the north will have been worth more to him than the homage -and adulation of a court, without which he cannot exist. He is pious now, -they say, occupying himself only with good works and in doing penance -for his many sins of the past. In fact, he is entirely reconciled! -He has already forgotten all that I have done for him! I shall devote -myself, then, to those who now serve me!” - -“I doubt very much if your majesty has been correctly informed with -regard to the latter fact,” replied More. “Indeed, I know that the order -compelling him to be entirely removed from your majesty’s presence is the -one that caused him the deepest grief.” - -“Ah! More,” interrupted the king very suddenly, as if to take him by -surprise, “you are opposed to my divorce. I have known it perfectly well -for a long time; and these extracts from the fathers of the church to -which you refer me are simply the expression of your own opinions, which -you wish to convey to me in this indirect manner.” - -“Sire,” replied More, slightly embarrassed, “I had hoped your majesty -would not force me to give my opinion on a subject of such grave -importance, and one, as I have already explained, on which I possess -neither the authority nor the ability to decide.” - -“Ah! well, Sir Thomas,” replied the king in a confident manner, wishing -to discover what effect his words would produce on More, “being entirely -convinced of the justice of my cause, and that nothing can prevent me -from availing myself of it, I am determined, if the pope refuses what -I have a right to demand, to withdraw from the tyrannical yoke of his -authority. I will appoint a patriarch in my kingdom, and the bishops -shall no longer submit to his jurisdiction.” - -“A schism!” exclaimed More, “a schism! Dismember the church of Jesus -Christ for a woman!” - -And he paused, appalled at what Henry had said and astonished at his own -energetic denunciation. - -The king felt, as by a violent shock, all the force of that exclamation, -and, dropping his head on his breast, he remained stupefied, like one who -had just been aroused from a painful and terrible dream. - -Just at that moment the cabinet door was thrown violently open, and Lady -Anne Boleyn entered precipitately. She was drowned in tears, and carried -in her arms a hunting spaniel that belonged to the king. - -She threw it into the centre of the apartment, evidently in a frightful -rage. - -“Here,” she cried, looking at the king--“here is your wretched dog, that -has tried to strangle my favorite bird! You never do anything but try -to annoy me, make me miserable, and cause me all kinds of intolerable -vexations. I have told you already that I did not want that horrid animal -in my chamber.” - -In the meantime the dog, which she had thrown on the floor, set up a -lamentable howl. - -The king felt deeply humiliated by this ridiculous scene, and especially -on account of the angry familiarity exhibited by Anne Boleyn in presence -of Sir Thomas More; for she either forgot herself in her extreme -excitement and indignation, or she believed her empire so securely -established that she did not hesitate to give these proofs of it. She -continued her complaints and reproaches with increasing haughtiness, -until she was interrupted by Dr. Stephen Gardiner, who came to bring some -newly-arrived despatches to the king. - -Henry arose immediately, and, motioning Sir Thomas to open the door, -without saying a word, he took Anne Boleyn by the hand, and, leading her -from the room, ordered her to retire to her own apartment. - -He then returned, and, seating himself near the chancellor, concealed, as -far as he was able, his excitement and mortification. - -Sir Thomas, still more excited, could not avoid, as they went over the -despatches, indignantly reflecting on the manner in which Anne Boleyn -had treated the king, on his deplorable infatuation, and the terrible -consequences to which that infatuation must inevitably lead. - -The king, divining the nature of his reflections, experienced a degree of -humiliation that made him inexpressibly miserable. - -“What say these despatches?” he asked, endeavoring to assume composure. -“What does More think of me?” he said to himself--“he so grave, so pious, -so dignified! He despises me!… That silly girl!” - -“They give an account of the emperor’s reception of the Earl of -Wiltshire,” answered More. “I will read it aloud, if your majesty wishes.” - -“No, no,” said the king, whom the name of Wiltshire confused still more; -“give them to me. I am perfectly familiar with the cipher.” He did not -intend that More should yet be apprised of the base intrigues he had -ordered to be practised at Rome to assist the father of his mistress in -obtaining the divorce. - -Having taken the letters, he found the emperor had treated his -ambassador with the utmost contempt, remarking to Wiltshire that he was -an interested party, since he was father of the queen’s rival, and he -would have to inform Henry VIII. that the emperor was not a merchant -to sell the honor of his aunt for three hundred thousand crowns, even -if he proposed to abandon her cause, but, on the contrary, he should -defend it to the last extremity; and after saying this, the emperor had -deliberately turned his back on the ambassador and forbidden him to be -again admitted to his presence. - -Henry grew red and white alternately. - -“I am, then, the laughing-stock of Europe,” he murmured through his -firmly-set teeth. - -Numerous other explanations followed, in which the Earl of Wiltshire -gave an exact and circumstantial account of the offer he had made to the -Holy Father of the treatise composed by Cromwell on the subject of the -divorce, saying that he had brought the author with him, who was prepared -to sustain the opinions advanced against all opposition. He ended by -informing the king that, in spite of his utmost efforts, he had not been -able to prevent the pope from according the emperor a brief forbidding -Henry to celebrate another marriage before the queen’s case had been -entirely decided, and enjoining him to treat her in the meantime as his -legitimate wife. - -Wiltshire sent with his letter an especial copy of that document, -adding that he feared the information the Holy Father had received of -the violence exercised by the English universities toward those doctors -who had voted against the divorce, together with the money and promises -distributed among those of France, especially the University of Paris, to -obtain favorable decisions, had not contributed toward influencing him. - -The king read and re-read several times all these statements, and was -entirely overwhelmed with indignation and disappointment. - -“And why,” he angrily exclaimed, dashing the earl’s letter as far as -possible from him--“why have these flatterers surrounding me always -assured me I would succeed in my undertaking? Why could they not -foresee that it would be impossible? and why have I not found a sincere -friend who might have admonished me? More!” he cried after a moment’s -silence--“More, I am most miserable! What could be more unjust? I am -devoted to Lady Anne Boleyn as my future wife; and now they wish to make -me renounce her. The emperor’s intrigues prevail, and against all laws, -human and divine, they condemn me to eternal celibacy!” - -“Ah!” replied Sir Thomas in a firm but sadly respectful manner, “yes, it -is indeed distressing to see your majesty thus voluntarily destroy your -own peace, that of your kingdom, the happiness of your subjects, the -regard for your own honor, so many benefits, in fact, and all for the -foolish love of a girl who possesses neither worth nor reputation.” - -“More,” exclaimed the king, “do not speak of her in this manner! She is -young and thoughtless, but in her heart she is devoted to me.” - -“That is,” replied More, “she is entirely devoted to the crown; she loves -dearly the honors of royalty, and her pride is doubly flattered.” - -“More,” said the king, “I forgive you for speaking thus to me; your -severe morals, your austere virtues, have not permitted you to experience -the torments of love, and that is why,” he added gloomily, “you cannot -comprehend its irresistible impulses and true sentiments.” - -“Nothing that is known to one man is unknown to another,” replied More. -“Love, in itself, is a sublime sentiment that comes from God; but, alas! -men drag it in the dust, like all else they touch, and too often mistake -the appearance for the reality. To love anyone, O my king!” continued -More, “is it not to prefer them in all things above yourself, to consider -yourself as nothing, and be willing to sacrifice without regret all that -you would wish to possess?” - -“Yes,” said Henry VIII.; “and that is the way I love Anne--more than my -life, more than the entire world!” - -“No, no, sire!” exclaimed More, “don’t tell me that. No, don’t say you -love her; say you love the pleasure she affords you, the attractions she -possesses, which have charmed your senses--in a word, acknowledge that -you love yourself in her, and consider well that the day when nature -deprives her of her gifts and graces your memory will no longer represent -her to you but as an insipid image, worthy only of a scornful oblivion! -Ah! if you loved her truly, you would act in a different manner. You -would never have considered aught but her happiness and her interests; -you would blush for her, and you would not be able to endure the thought -of the shame with which you have not hesitated to cover her yourself in -the eyes of all your court!” - -“Perhaps,” … replied Henry in a low and altered voice. “But she--she -loves me; I cannot doubt that.” - -“She loves the King of England!” replied More excitedly, “but not Henry; -she loves the mighty prince who ignominiously bends his neck beneath the -yoke which she pleases to impose on him. But poor and destitute, her -glance would never have fallen upon you. Proud of her beauty, vain of -her charms, she holds you like a conquered vassal whom she governs by a -gesture or a word. She loves riches, honors and the pleasures with which -you surround her. She is dazzled by the _éclat_ of the high rank you -occupy, and, to attain it, she fears not to purchase it at the price of -your soul and all that you possess. What matters to her the care of your -honor or the love of your subjects? Has she ever said to you: ‘Henry, I -love you, but your duty separates you from me; be great, be virtuous’? -Has she said: ‘Catherine, your wife, is my sovereign, and I recognize no -other’? Do you not hear the voice of your people saying to your children: -‘You shall reign over us’? But what am I saying? No, of course she has -not spoken thus; because she seeks to elevate herself, she thinks of her -own aggrandizement--to see at her feet men whom she would never otherwise -be able to command.” - -“What shall I do, then, what shall I do?” cried Henry dolorously. - -“Marry Anne Boleyn,” replied Thomas More coolly; “you should do it, since -you have broken off her marriage with the Earl of Northumberland. If not, -send her away from court.” - -“I will do it! … No, I will not do it!” he exclaimed, almost in the same -breath. “I shall never be able to do it.” - -“That is to say, you never intend to do it,” replied More. “We can always -accomplish what we resolve.” - -“No, no,” replied Henry; “we cannot always do what we wish. Everything -conspires against me. Tired of willing, I can make nothing bend to my -will! Of what use is my royal power? To be happy is a thing impossible!” - -“Yes, of all things in this life most impossible,” answered More; “and he -who aspires to attain it finds his miseries redoubled at the very moment -he thinks they will terminate. The possession of unlawful pleasures is -poisoned by the remorse that follows in their train; and, frightened by -their insecurity and short duration, we are prevented from enjoying them -in quietness and peace.” - -“Then,” cried Henry VIII., stamping his foot violently on the floor, “we -had better be dead.” - -“Yes,” replied Thomas More, “and to-morrow perhaps we may be!” - -“To-morrow!” repeated the king, as if struck with terror. “No, no, More, -not to-morrow. … I would not be willing now to appear in the presence of -God.” - -“Then,” replied More, “how can you expect to live peaceably in a -condition in which you are afraid to die? In a few hours, or at least in -a few years (that is as certain as the light of day which shines this -moment), your life and mine will have to end, leaving nothing more than -regrets for the past and fears for the future.” - -“You say truly, More,” replied the king; “but life appears so long to -us, the future so far removed! Is it necessary, then, that we be always -thinking of it and sacrificing our pleasures?… Later--well, we will -change. Will we not have more time then to think of it?” - -“Ah!” replied More sadly, “there remains very little time to him who is -always putting off until to-morrow.” - -As he heard the last words, the king’s face grew instantly crimson. He -kept More with him, entertaining him with his trials and vexations, and -the night was far advanced before he permitted him to retire. - - * * * * * - -During four entire days the king remained shut up in his apartment, and -Anne Boleyn vainly attempted to gain admittance. - -Meanwhile, a rumor of her downfall spread rapidly through the palace. The -courtiers who were accustomed to attend her _levées_ in greater numbers -and much more scrupulously than those of Queen Catherine, suddenly -discontinued, and on the last occasion scarcely one of them made his -appearance. They also took great care to preserve a frigid reserve and -doubtful politeness, which excited to the last degree her alarm and that -of her ambitious family. - -The latter were every moment in dread of the blow that seemed ready to -fall upon them. In this state of gloomy disquiet every circumstance -was anxiously noted and served to excite their apprehensions. They -continually discussed among themselves the arrival of the despatches -from Rome, the nature of which they suspected from the very long time -Sir Thomas More had remained with the king. Then they refreshed their -memories with reflections on the inflexible severity of the lord -chancellor, his old attachment for Queen Catherine--an attachment which -the elevation of More had never interrupted, as they had hoped would be -the case. Finally, the sincerity of his nature and the estimation in -which he was held by the king made them, with great reason, apprehend -the influence of his counsel. Already they found themselves abandoned -by almost all of those upon whose support they had relied. Suffolk, -leagued with them heretofore, in order to secure the downfall of Cardinal -Wolsey, now regarded them in their disgrace as of little consequence to -one so closely related as himself to his majesty by the princess, his -wife. The Duke of Norfolk, justly proud of his birth, his wealth, and his -reputation, could not believe the power with which the influence of his -niece had clothed him in the council by any means bound him to engage -in or compromise himself in her cause. In the meantime they realized -that they would inevitably be compelled to succumb or make a last and -desperate effort, and they resolved with one accord to address themselves -to Cromwell, whose shrewdness and cunning, joined to the motives of -self-interest that could be brought to bear on him, seemed to offer them -a last resort. - -Cromwell immediately understood all the benefit he would be likely to -derive from the situation whether he succeeded or failed in the cause -of Anne Boleyn, and determined, according to his own expression, to -“make or unmake.” He wrote to the king, demanding an audience. “He fully -realized,” he wrote, with his characteristic adroitness, “his entire -incapacity for giving advice, but neither his devoted affection nor his -sense of duty would permit him to remain silent when he knew the anxiety -his sovereign was suffering. It might be deemed presumptuous in him -to say it, but he believed all the difficulties embarrassing the king -arose from the timidity of his advisers, who were misled by exterior -appearances or deceived by the opinions of the vulgar.” - -The king immediately granted him an audience, although his usual custom -was to remain entirely secluded and alone while laboring under these -violent transports of passion. He hoped that Cromwell might be able to -present his opinions with such ability as would at least be sufficient to -divert him from the wretchedness he experienced. - -Cromwell appeared before him with eyes cast down and affecting an air of -sadness and constraint. - -“Sire,” he said, as he approached the king, “yesterday, even yesterday, -I was happy--yes, happy in the thought of being permitted to present -myself before your majesty; because it seemed to me I might be able to -offer some consolation for the anxieties you experience by reminding you -that nothing should induce you to pause in your efforts to advance the -interests of the kingdom and the state. But to-day, in appearing before -you, I know not what to say. This morning Lady Boleyn, being informed -that I was to have the happiness of seeing your majesty, sent for me and -charged me with the commission of asking your majesty’s permission for -her to withdraw from court.” - -“What!” exclaimed Henry, rising hastily to his feet, “she wishes to leave -me?--she, my only happiness, my only joy? Never!” - -“I have found her,” continued Cromwell, seeming not to remark the -painful uneasiness he had aroused in the king’s mind--“I have found her -plunged in a state of indescribable grief. She was almost deprived of -consciousness; her beautiful eyes were weighed down with tears, her long -hair hanging neglected around her shoulders; and her pale, transparent -cheek made her resemble a delicate white rose bowed on its slender stem -before the violence of the tempest. ‘Go, my dear Cromwell,’ she said to -me with a tremulous voice, but sweet as the soft expiring notes of an -æolian lyre--‘go, say to my king, to my lord, I ask his permission to -retire this day to my father’s country-seat. I know that I am surrounded -by enemies, but, while favored by his protection, I have not feared their -malice. But now I feel, and cannot doubt it, I shall become their victim, -since they have succeeded in prejudicing my sovereign against me to such -an extent that he refuses to hear my defence.’” - -“What can she be afraid of here?” cried the king. “Who would dare offend -her in my palace?” - -“Who will be able to defend her if your majesty abandons her?” replied -Cromwell in a haughty tone, feigning to forget the humble demeanor he had -assumed, and mentally applauding the success of his stratagem. “Has she -not given up all for you? Every day she has wounded by her refusals the -greatest lords of the realm, who have earnestly sued for her heart and -hand; but she has constantly refused to listen to them because of the -love she bears for you--always preferring the uncertain hope of one day -becoming yours to all the brilliant advantages of the wealthiest suitors -she has been urged to accept. But to-day, when her honor is attacked, -when you banish her from your presence, she feels she will not have -the courage to endure near you such wretchedness, and she asks to be -permitted to withdraw from court at once and for ever!” - -“For ever?” repeated the king. “Cromwell, has she said that? Have you -heard her right? No, Cromwell, you are mistaken! I know her better than -you.” And he turned on Cromwell a keen, scrutinizing glance. - -But nothing could daunt this audacious man. - -“She said all I have told you,” replied the hypocrite, with the coolest -assurance, raising his head haughtily. “Would I dare to repeat what I -have not heard? And your majesty can imagine that my devotion has alone -induced me to become the bearer of so painful a message; for I could not -believe, your majesty had ceased to love her.” - -“Never!” cried the king. “Never have I for one moment ceased to adore -her! But listen, dear Cromwell, and be convinced of how wretched I am! -Yesterday I received from Rome the most distressing intelligence. I -had written the pope a letter, signed by a great number of lords of my -court and bishops of the kingdom, in which they expressed the fears they -entertained of one day seeing the flames of civil war break out in this -country if I should die without male heirs, as there would be grounds for -contesting the right of my daughter Mary to the throne on the score of -her legitimacy. But nothing can move him.” - - * * * * * - -Here the king rose, furiously indignant. “He has answered this petition,” -he cried, walking with hurried strides up and down the floor; “and -how?… By my faith, I can scarcely repeat it.… That he pardons the terms -they have used in their letter, attributing them to the affection they -bear for me; that he is under still greater obligations to me than -they have mentioned; that it is not his fault if the affair of the -divorce remains undecided; that he has sent legates to England; that -the queen has refused to recognize them, and appealed from all they -have done; that he has tried vainly in every possible way to terminate -the affair amicably; and, furthermore, ‘You will, perhaps, be ready to -say,’ he writes, ‘that, being under so many obligations to the king as -I am, I should waive all other considerations and accord him absolutely -everything he asks.’ Although that would be sovereignly unjust, yet he -can conclude nothing else from their letter; that they reflect not on -the queen having represented to him, that all Christendom is scandalized -because they would attempt to annul a marriage contracted so many years -ago, at the request of two great kings and under a dispensation from the -pope--a marriage confirmed by the birth of several children! And what -else? Let me see:… That if I rely on the opinion of several doctors and -universities, he refers, on his part, to the law of God upon the sanctity -and unity of marriage, and the highest authorities taken from the Hebrew -and Latin writers; that the decisions of the universities which I bring -forward are supported by no proofs; he cannot decide finally upon that, -and, if he should precipitate his judgment, they would no longer be able -to avert the evils with which it is said England is threatened; that he -desires as much as they that I may have male heirs, but he is not God -to give them to me; he has no greater wish than to please me as far as -lies in his power, without at the same time violating all the laws of -justice and equity; and, finally, he conjures them to cease demanding -of him things that are opposed to his conscience, in order that he may -be spared the pain of refusing! Mark that well, Cromwell--the pain of -refusing! Thus, you see, after having tried everything, spent everything, -and used every possible means, what remains now for me to hope?” - -“All that you wish,” replied Cromwell; “everything without exception! -Why permit yourself to be governed by those who ought to be your slaves? -Among all the clergy who surround you, and whom you are able to reduce, -if you choose, to mendicity, can you not find a priest who will marry -you? If I were King of England, I would very soon convince them that -the happiness of _their_ lives depended entirely upon _mine_! Threaten -to withdraw from the authority of Rome, and you will very soon see them -yielding, on their knees, to all your demands.” - -“Cromwell,” said Henry VIII., “I admire your spirit and the boldness of -the measures you advocate. From this moment I open to you the door of my -council. Remember the kindness and the signal favor with which I have -honored you. However, your inexperienced zeal carries you too far; you -forget that the day I would determine really to separate myself from the -Church of Rome, I would become schismatic, and the people would refuse to -obey me. Moreover I am a Catholic, and I wish to die one.” - -“What of that?” replied Cromwell. “Am I not also a Catholic? Because your -majesty frightens the pope, will he cease to exist? Declare to him that -from this day you no longer recognize his authority; that you forbid the -clergy paying their tithes to, or receiving from him their nominations. -You will see, then, if the next day your present marriage is not -annulled and the one you wish to contract approved and ratified.” - -“Do you really believe it?” said the king. - -“I am sure of it,” replied Cromwell. - -“No,” said the king. “It is a thing utterly impossible; the bishops would -refuse to accede to any such requirements, and they would be right. They -know too well that it is essential for the church to have a head in order -to maintain her unity, and without it nothing would follow but confusion -and disorder.” - -“Well! who can prevent your majesty from becoming yourself that head?” -exclaimed Cromwell. “Is England not actually a monster now with two -heads, one of them wanting a thing, and the other not? Follow the example -given you by those German princes who are freeing themselves from the -yoke which has humbled them for so many years before the throne of a -pontiff who is a stranger alike to their affections and their interests! -Then everything anomalous will rectify itself, and your subjects cease -to believe that any other than yourself is entitled to their homage or -submission.” - -“You are right, little Cromwell!” cried Henry VIII., this seductive and -perfidious discourse flattering at the same time his guilty passion and -the ambition that divided his soul. “But how would you proceed about -executing this marvellous project, of which a thought had already crossed -my own mind?--for, as I have just told you, the clergy will refuse to -obey me, and I shall then have no means of compelling them.” - -“Your consideration and kindness make you forget,” replied Cromwell -adroitly, afraid of wounding the king’s pride, “the statutes of præmunire -offer you means both sure and easy. Is it not by those laws they have -tried Wolsey before the Parliament? In condemning him they have condemned -themselves, and have made themselves amenable to the same penalties. You -have them all in your power. Threaten to punish them in their turn, if -they refuse to take the oath acknowledging you as head of the church; and -do it fearlessly if they dare attempt to resist you.” - -“Well, little Cromwell,” said Henry VIII., slapping him familiarly on -the shoulder, “I observe with great satisfaction your coolness and the -variety of resources you have at command. You see everything at a glance -and fear nothing. I have made all these objections only to hear how -you would meet them. Here, take these Roman documents, read them for -yourself, and you will be better able to appreciate their contents; while -I go and beg Anne to forget the wrongs I so cruelly reproach myself with -having inflicted on her.” - -Saying this, Henry VIII. went out, and Cromwell followed him with his -eyes as he walked through the long gallery. - -An ironical smile hovered over his thin and bloodless lips as he watched -him. “Go, go,” he murmured to himself, “throw yourself at the feet of -your silly mistress, and ask her pardon for wishing her to be queen -of England. They are grand, very grand, these kings, and yet they -find themselves very often held in the hollow of the hand of some low -and crafty flatterer! ‘Despicable creature!’ they will say. Yes, I am -despicable in the eyes of many; and yet they prepare, by my advice, -to overthrow the pillars of the church, in order to enrich me with its -consecrated spoils.” - -He laughed a diabolical laugh; then suddenly his face grew dark, and a -fierce, malignant gleam shot from his eyes. “Go,” he continued--“go, -prince as false as you are wicked. I, at least, am your equal in cunning -and duplicity. You were not created for good, and the odious voice of -More will call you in vain to the path of virtue. My tongue--ay, mine--is -to you far sweeter! It carries a poison that you will suck with eager -lips. The son of the poor fuller will make you his partner in crime. He -will recline with you on your velvet throne, and perfidious cruelty will -unite us heart and soul!… Go, seek that fool whom you adore and who will -weary you very soon, and the vile, ambitious father who has begotten -her. But, for me! … destroy your kingdom, profane the sanctuary, light -the funeral pyre, and compel all those to mount it who shall oppose the -laws Cromwell will dictate to you! Two ferocious beasts to-day share the -throne of England! You will surfeit me with gold, and I will make you -drunk with blood! You shall proclaim aloud what I shall have whispered -in your ear! Ha! who of the two will be really king--Henry VIII. or -Cromwell? Why, Cromwell, without doubt; because he was born in the mire. -He has learned how to fly while the other was being fledged beneath the -shadow of the crown! You have been reared within these walls of gold,” -continued Cromwell, surveying the magnificent adornings of the royal -chamber; “these exquisite perfumes, escaping from fountains and flowers, -have always surround you. You have never known, like me, abandonment and -want, suffered from cold and hunger in a thatched cottage, and imbibed -the hatred, fostered in those abodes of wretchedness, against the rich; -but I have cherished that rage in my inmost soul! There it burns like a -consuming fire! I will have a palace. I will have power and be feared. -Servile courtiers shall fawn at my feet, adulation shall surround me. I -would grasp the entire world, and yet the cry of my soul would be, More, -still more!” - -Saying this, Cromwell threw himself into the king’s arm-chair, and, -pushing contemptuously from him the papers he had taken to read, -abandoned himself entirely to the furious thirst of avarice and ambition -that devoured him. - - * * * * * - -The curfew had already sounded many hours, and profound silence reigned -over the city. Not a sound was heard throughout the dark and winding -streets, save the boisterous shouts of some midnight revellers returning -from a party of pleasure, or the dreary and monotonous song of a besotted -inebriate as he staggered toward his home. - -In the mansion of the French ambassador, however, no one had retired; and -young De Vaux, impatiently waiting the return of M. du Bellay, paced with -measured tread up and down the large hall where for many hours supper had -been served. - -Weary with listening for the sound of footsteps, and hearing only -the mournful sighing of the night-wind, he at length seated himself -before the fire in a great tapestried arm-chair whose back, rising -high above his head, turned over in the form of a canopy, and gave him -the appearance of a saint reposing in the depths of his shrine. For -a long time he watched the sparks as they flew upward from the fire, -then, taking a book from his pocket, he opened it at random; but before -reaching the bottom of the first page his eyes closed, the book fell from -his hands, and he sank into a profound sleep, from which he was aroused -only by the noise made by the ambassador’s servants on the arrival of -their master. - -M. de Vaux, being suddenly aroused from sleep, arose hastily to his feet -on seeing the ambassador enter. - -“I have waited for you with the greatest impatience,” he exclaimed with a -suppressed yawn. - -“Say, rather, you have been sleeping soundly in your chair,” replied M. -du Bellay, smiling. “Here!” he continued, turning toward the valets who -followed him, “take my cloak and hat, and then leave us; you can remove -the table in the morning.” - -Obedient to their master’s orders, they lighted several more lamps and -retired, not without regret, however, at losing the opportunity of -catching, during the repast, a word that might have satisfied their -curiosity as to the cause of M. du Bellay having remained at the king’s -palace until so late an hour. - -“Well, monsieur! what has been done at last?” eagerly inquired young De -Vaux as soon as they had left. - -“In truth, I cannot yet comprehend it myself,” replied Du Bellay. “In -spite of all my efforts, it has been impossible to clearly unravel the -knot of intrigue. This morning, as you know, nothing was talked of but -the downfall of Anne Boleyn. I was delighted; her overthrow would have -dispensed us from all obligations. Now the king is a greater fool about -her than ever, and, unless God himself strikes a blow to sever them, I -believe nothing will cure him of his infatuation. As I entered, his first -word was to demand why I had been so long in presenting myself. ‘Sire,’ -I replied, ‘I have come with the utmost haste, I assure you, and am here -ready to execute any orders it may please you to give!’” - -“‘Listen,’ he then said to me. ‘I have several things to tell you; but -the first of all is to warn you of my determination to arrest Cardinal -Wolsey. I am aware that you have manifested a great deal of interest in -him; … that you have even gone to see him when he was sick; … but that -is of no consequence. I am far from believing that you are in any manner -concerned in the treason he has meditated against me. Therefore I have -wished to advise you, that you may feel no apprehension on that account.’ -I was struck with astonishment. ‘What! sire,’ I at last answered, ‘the -cardinal betray you? Why, he is virtually banished from England, where he -occupies himself, they say, only in doing works of charity and mercy.’ -‘I know what I say to you,’ replied the king; ‘his own servants accuse -him of conspiring against the state. But I shall myself examine into the -depths of this accusation. In the meantime he shall be removed to the -Tower, and I will send Sir Walsh with instructions to join the Earl of -Northumberland, in order to arrest Wolsey at Cawood Castle, where he is -now established.’” - -“Is it possible?” cried De Vaux, interrupting M. du Bellay. “That -unfortunate cardinal! Who could have brought down this new storm on his -head? M. du Bellay, do you believe him capable of committing this crime, -even if it were in his power?” - -“I do not believe a word of it,” replied M. du Bellay, “and I know -not who has excited this new storm of persecution. I have tried every -possible means to ascertain from the king, but he constantly evaded -my questions by answering in a vague and obscure manner. I have been -informed in the palace that he had seen no person during the day, except -Cromwell, Lady Boleyn, and the Duke of Suffolk. Might this not be the -result of a plot concocted between them? This is only a conjecture, and -we may never get at the bottom of the affair. But let us pass on to -matters of more importance. The mistress is in high favor again. The king -is determined to marry her, and has proclaimed in a threatening manner -that he will separate himself from the communion of Rome, and no more -permit the supremacy of the Sovereign Pontiff to be recognized in his -kingdom. He demands that the King of France shall do the same, and rely -on his authority in following his example.” - -“What!” cried De Vaux, astounded by this intelligence. “And how have you -answered him, my lord?” - -“I said all that I felt authorized or could say,” replied Du Bellay; -“but what means shall we use to persuade a man so far transported and -subjugated by his passions that he seems to be a fool--no longer capable -of reasoning, of comprehending either his duty, the laws, or the future? -I have held up to him the disruption of his kingdom, the horrors that -give birth to a war of religion, the blood that it would cause him to -spill.” - -“‘I shall spill as much of it as may be necessary,’ he replied, ‘to make -them yield. They will have their choice. Already the representatives of -the clergy have been ordered to assemble. Well! they shall decide among -themselves which is preferable--death, exile, or obedience to my will.’ - -“Whilst saying this,” continued M. du Bellay, with a gloomy expression,… -“he played with a bunch of roses, carelessly plucking off the leaves with -his fingers.” - -“But what has been able to bring the king, in so short a time, to such an -extremity?” asked De Vaux, whose eyes, full of astonishment and anxiety, -interrogated those of M. du Bellay. - -“His base passions, without doubt; and, still more, the vile flattery -coming from some one of those he has taken into favor,” replied Du -Bellay impatiently.… “I tried in vain to discover who the arch-hypocrite -could be, but the king was never for a moment thrown off his guard; he -constantly repeated: ‘_I_ have resolved on this; _I_ will do that!’ … I -shall find out, however, hereafter,” continued Du Bellay; “but at present -I am in ignorance.” - -“Has he said anything to you about the grand master?” asked De Vaux. - -“No; but it seems he has been very much exercised on account of the -cordial reception Chancellor Duprat gave Campeggio when he passed through -France. ‘That man has behaved very badly toward me,’ he said sharply. ‘I -was so lenient as to let him leave my kingdom unmolested, after having -hesitated a long time whether I should not punish him severely for his -conduct; and, behold, one of your ministers receives and treats him with -the utmost magnificence!’ - -“I assured him no consequence should be attached to that circumstance, -and pretended that Chancellor Duprat was so fond of good cheer and -grand display he had doubtless been too happy to have an opportunity of -parading his wealth and luxury before the eyes of a stranger. - -“He then renewed the attack against Wolsey. ‘If that be the case,’ he -exclaimed, ‘this must be a malady common to all these chancellors; for my -lord cardinal was also preparing to give a royal reception in the capital -of his realm of York; but, unfortunately,’ he added with an ironical -sneer, ‘I happen to be his master, and we have somewhat interfered with -his plans.’ He then attacked the pope, then our king; and finally, while -the hour of midnight was striking, exhausted with anger and excitement, -to my great relief, he permitted me to retire. Now,” added M. du Bellay, -“we will have to spend the rest of the night in writing, and to-morrow -the courier must be despatched.” - -TO BE CONTINUED - - -PRUSSIA AND THE CHURCH. - -II. - -In February, 1848, Louis Philippe was driven from his throne by the -people of Paris, and the Republic was proclaimed. This revolution rapidly -spread over the whole of Europe. The shock was most violent in Germany, -where everything was in readiness for a general outburst. Most of the -governments were compelled to yield to the popular will and to make -important concessions. New cabinets were formed in Würtemberg, Darmstadt, -Nassau, and Hesse. Lewis of Bavaria was forced to abdicate. Hanover and -Saxony held out until Berlin and Vienna were invaded by the revolutionary -party, when they too succumbed. On the 13th of March the Vienna mob -overthrew the Austrian ministry, and Metternich fled to England. -Italy and Hungary revolted. Berlin was held all summer by an ignorant -revolutionary faction. In September fierce and bloody riots broke out in -Frankfort. - -Popular meetings, secret societies, revolutionary clubs, violent -declamations, and inflammatory appeals through the press kept all Germany -in a state of agitation. Occasional outbreaks among the peasantry, -followed by pillage and incendiarism, increased the general confusion. - -It was during this time of wild excitement that the elections for the -Imperial Parliament were held. To this assembly many avowed atheists, -pantheists, communists, and Jacobins were chosen--men who fully agreed -with Hecker when he declared that “there were six plagues in Germany--the -princes, the nobles, the bureaucrats, the capitalists, the parsons, -and the soldiers.” The parties in the Parliament took their names from -their positions in the assembly hall, and were called the extreme left, -the left, the left centre, the right centre, the right, and the extreme -right. The first three were composed of red republicans, Jacobins, and -liberals. To the right centre belonged the constitutional liberals; and -on the right and right centre sat the Catholic members, the predecessors -of the party of the _Centrum_ of the present day. The extreme right was -occupied by functionaries and bureaucrats, chiefly from Prussia. The -Parliament of Frankfort, in the _Grundrechte_, or _Fundamental Rights_, -which it proclaimed, decreed universal, suffrage, abolished all the -political rights of the aristocracy, the hereditary chambers in all the -states of Germany, set aside the existing family entails, and, though -nominally it retained the imperial power, degraded the emperor to a -republican president by giving him merely a suspensive veto. - -While this Parliament was sitting the Catholic bishops of Germany -assembled in council at Würzburg, and, at the conclusion of their -deliberations, drew up a Memorial as firm in tone as it was clear and -precise in expression, in which they set forth the claims of the church. - -“To bring about,” they said, “a separation from the state--that is -to say, from public order, which necessarily reposes on a moral and -religious foundation--is not according to the will of the church. If the -state will perforce separate from the church, so will the church, without -approving, tolerate what it cannot avoid; and when not compelled by the -duty of self-preservation, she will not break the bonds of union made -fast by mutual understanding. - -“The church, entrusted with the solemn and holy mission, ‘As my Father -hath sent me, so send I ye,’ requires for the accomplishment of this -mission, whatever the form of government of the state may be, the fullest -freedom and independence. Her holy popes, prelates, and confessors have -in all ages willingly and courageously given up their life and blood for -the preservation of this inalienable freedom.” - -In virtue of these principles the bishops, in this Memorial, claimed the -right of directing, without any interference on the part of the state, -theological seminaries, and of founding schools, colleges, and all kinds -of educational establishments; of exerting canonical control, unfettered -by state meddling, over the conduct of their clergy, as well as that of -introducing into their dioceses religious orders, congregations, and -pious confraternities, for which they demanded the same rights which the -new political constitution had granted to secular associations. Finally, -they asserted their right to free and untrammelled communication with the -Holy See; and, as included in this, that of receiving and publishing all -papal bulls, briefs, and other documents without the Royal Placet, which -they declared to be repugnant to the honor and dignity of the ministers -of religion. - -The Frankfort Parliament decreed the total separation of church and -state, and was therefore compelled to guarantee the freedom of all -religions. This separation was sanctioned by the Catholic members of the -Assembly, who looked upon it as less dangerous to the cause of religion -and morality than ecclesiastical Josephism. In the present conflict -between the church and the German Empire the Catholic party has again -demanded, and in vain, the separation of church and state. In rejecting -their urgent request, Dr. Falk declared that the leading minds in England -and America are already beginning to regret that their governments have -so little control over the ecclesiastical organizations within their -limits. - -Whilst the representatives of the German people at Frankfort were -abolishing the privileges of the nobles, decreeing the separation of -church and state, and forgetting the standing armies, the governments -were quietly gathering their forces. Marshal Radetzky put down the -Italian rebellion, Prince Windischgrätz quelled the democracy of Vienna, -and General Wrangel took possession of Berlin, without a battle. Russia, -at the request of Austria, sent an army into Hungary to destroy the -rebellion in that country, and the disturbances in Bavaria and in the -Palatinate were suppressed by Prussian troops under the present Emperor -of Germany. The representatives of the larger states withdrew from the -Frankfort Parliament, which dwindled, and finally, amidst universal -contempt and neglect, came to an end at Stuttgart, June 18, 1849. - -But the liberties of the church were not lost. In Prussia, as we have -seen, a better state of things had begun with the imprisonment of the -heroic Archbishop of Cologne in 1837. In the face of the menacing -attitude of the German democrats and republicans, Frederick William IV. -confirmed the liberties of the Catholic Church by the letters-patent of -1847. - -The constitutions of December 5, 1848, and January 31, 1850, were drawn -up in the lurid light of the revolution, which had beaten fiercest upon -the house of Hohenzollern. The king had capitulated to the insurgents, -withdrawn his soldiers from the capital, and abandoned Berlin, and with -it the whole state, for nine months to the tender mercies of the mob. He -was forced to witness the most revolting spectacles. The dead bodies of -the rioters were borne in procession under the windows of his palace, -while the rabble shouted to him: “Fritz, off with your hat.” - -It is not surprising, in view of this experience, that we should -find in the constitution of 1850 (articles 15 to 18 inclusive) a -very satisfactory recognition of the rights of the church. Why these -paragraphs granting the church freedom to regulate and administer its -own affairs; to keep possession of its own revenues, endowments, and -establishments, whether devoted to worship, education, or beneficence; -and freely to communicate with the Pope, were inserted in the -constitution, we know from Prince Bismarck himself. In his speech in -the Prussian Upper House, March 10, 1873, he affirmed that “they were -introduced at a time when the state needed, or thought it needed, help, -and believed that it would find this help by leaning on the Catholic -Church. It was probably led to this belief by the fact that in the -National Assembly of 1848 all the electoral districts with a preponderant -Catholic population returned--I will not say royalist representatives, -but certainly men who were the friends of order, which was not the case -in the Protestant districts.” - -The provisions of the constitution of 1850 with regard to the church were -honorably and faithfully carried out down to the beginning of the present -conflict. Never since the Reformation had the church in Prussia been -so free, never had she made such rapid progress, whether in completing -her internal organization or in extending her influence. The Prussian -liberals and atheists, who had fully persuaded themselves that without -the wealth and aid of the state the Catholic religion would have no -force, were amazed. The influence of the priests over the people grew -in proportion as they were educated more thoroughly in the spirit and -discipline of the church under the immediate supervision of the bishops, -unfettered by state interference; the number of convents, both of men -and women, rapidly increased; associations of all kinds, scientific, -benevolent, and religious, spread over the land; religious journals and -reviews were founded in which Catholic interests were ably advocated and -defended; and all the forces of the church were unified and guided by the -harmonious action of a most enlightened and zealous episcopate. - -This was the more astonishing as the Evangelical Church, whose liberties -had also been guaranteed by the constitution of 1850, had shown itself -unable to profit by the greater freedom of action which it had received. -In fact, the Evangelical Church was lifeless, and it needed only this -test to prove its want of vitality. It was a state creation, and in an -age when the world had ceased to recognize the divine right of kings to -create religions. It was only in 1817 that the Lutheran and Calvinistic -churches of Prussia, together with the very name of Protestant, were -abolished by royal edict, and a new Prussian establishment, under the -title of “evangelical,” was imposed by the civil power upon a Protestant -population of nearly eight millions, whose religious and moral sense -was so dead that they seemed to regard with stolid indifference this -interference of government with all that freemen deem most sacred in -life. Acts of parliament may make “establishments,” but they cannot -inspire religious faith and life; and it was therefore not surprising -that, when the mummy of evangelicalism was put out into the open air of -freedom by the constitution of 1850, it should have been revealed to all -that the thing was dead. - -Nevertheless, the Prussian government continued to act toward the -Catholic Church with great justice, and even friendliness, and the war -against Catholic Austria in 1866 wrought no change in its ecclesiastical -policy. Even the opening of the Vatican Council caused no alarm in -Prussia; on the contrary, King William, as it was generally believed at -least, was most civil to the Holy Father; and Prince Bismarck himself at -that time saw no reason for apprehension, though he had been the head -of the ministry already eight years. To what, then, are we to attribute -Prussia’s sudden change of attitude toward the church? Who began the -present conflict, and what was its provocation? - -This is a question which has been much discussed in the Prussian House of -Deputies and elsewhere. Prince Bismarck has openly asserted in the House -of Deputies within the past year that the provocation was the definition -of papal infallibility by the Vatican Council on the 18th of June, 1870, -and subsequently the hostile attitude of the party of the _Centrum_ -toward the German Empire. - -Herr von Kirchmann, a member of the German Parliament and of the Prussian -House of Deputies, a national liberal, and not a Catholic, but in the -main a sympathizer with the spirit of the Falk legislation, has recently -discussed this whole subject with great ability, and--as far as it is -possible for one who believes in the Hegelian doctrine that “the state is -the present god”--also with fairness.[255] - -To Prince Bismarck’s first assertion, that the definition of papal -infallibility was the unpardonable offence, which has been so strongly -emphasized by Mr. Gladstone and re-echoed with parrot-like fidelity by -the anti-Catholic press of Europe and America, Herr von Kirchmann makes -the following reply: - - “It is difficult to understand how so experienced a statesman - as Prince Bismarck can ascribe to this decree of the - council such great importance for the states of Europe, and - particularly for Prussia and Germany. To a theorizer sitting - behind his books such a decree, it may be allowed, might - appear to be something portentous, since, taken from a purely - theoretical stand-point and according to the letter, the - infallibility of the Pope in all questions of religion and - morals gives him unlimited control over all human action; - and many a Catholic, when called upon to receive this - infallibility as part of his faith, may have found that he - was unable to follow so far; but a statesman ought to know - how to distinguish, especially where there is question of - the Catholic Church, between the literal import of dogmas - and their use in practical life. In the Catholic Church as a - whole, this infallibility, as is well known, has existed from - the earliest times; its organ hitherto has been the Ecumenical - Council in union with the Pope; but already before 1870 it was - disputed whether the Pope might not alone act as the organ of - infallibility. In 1870 the question was decided in favor of - the Pope; but we must consider that the ecumenical councils - have, as history shows, nearly always framed their decrees - in accordance with the views of the court of Rome; and this, - of itself, proves that the change made in 1870 is rather one - of form than of essence. Especially false is it to maintain - that by this decree a complete revolution in the constitution - of the church has been made. To the theorizer we might grant - the abstract possibility that something of this kind might - some day or other happen; but such _possibilities_ of the - abuse of a right are found in all the relations of public - life, in the state and its representatives as well as in the - church. Even in constitutions the most carefully drawn up such - possibilities are found in all directions. What a statesman - has to consider is not mere possibilities, but the question - whether the possessor of such right is not compelled, from the - very nature of things, to make of it only the most moderate and - prudent use. So long, therefore, as the Pope does not alter - the constitution of the church, that constitution remains, - precisely in its ancient form, such as it has been recognized - and tolerated by the state for centuries: and wherever the - relations between particular states and the court of Rome - have been arranged by concordats, these too remain unchanged, - unless the states themselves find it convenient to depart from - them. We see, in fact, that this infallibility of the Pope - has in no country of Europe or America altered one jot or - tittle in the constitution of the Catholic Church; and where - in particular countries such changes have taken place, they - have not been made by the ecclesiastical government, but by - the state and in its interest. In Germany even, and in Prussia - itself, the Pope has, since 1870, made no change in the church - constitution, as determined by the Canon Law; and when, in - some of his encyclicals and other utterances, he has taken up - a hostile attitude towards the German Empire and the Prussian - state, he has done this only in defence against the aggressive - legislation of the civil government. He has never hesitated to - express his disapprobation of the new church laws, but he has - in no instance touched the constitution of the Catholic Church - or the rights of the bishops.”[256] - -It seems almost needless to remark that there is no necessary connection -between the doctrine of Papal infallibility and that of the essential -organization of the church; that the jurisdiction of the Pope was as -great, and universally recognized as such by Catholics, before the -Vatican Council as since; and consequently that it is not even possible -that the definition of 1870 should make any change in his authoritative -relation to, or power over, the church. His jurisdiction is wider than -his infallibility, and independent of it; and the duty of obedience to -his commands existed before the dogma was defined precisely as it exists -now; and therefore it is clearly manifest that the Vatican decree cannot -give even a plausible pretext for such legislation as the Falk Laws. - - “Not less singular,” continues Herr von Kirchmann, “does it - sound to hear the party of the _Centrum_ in the Reichstag - and Prussian Landtag denounced as the occasion of the new - regulations between church and state. The members of this party - notoriously represent the views and wishes of the majority - of their constituents, and just as faithfully as the members - of the parties who side with the government. The reproach - that they receive their instructions from Rome is not borne - out by the facts; and if there were an understanding with - Rome of the kind which their adversaries affirm, this could - only be the result of a similar understanding on the part of - their constituents. Nothing could more strikingly prove that - the Catholic party faithfully represent the great majority in - their electoral districts than the repeated re-election of the - same representatives or of men of similar views. To this we - must add that the _Centrum_, though strong in numbers, is yet - in a decided minority both in the Reichstag and the Prussian - Landtag, and has always been defeated in its opposition to the - recent ecclesiastical legislation. If in other matters, by - uniting with opposition parties, it has caused the government - inconvenience, we have no right to ascribe this to feelings - of hostility; for on such occasions its orators have given - substantial political reasons for their opposition, and - instances enough might be enumerated in which, precisely - through the aid of the _Centrum_, many illiberal and dangerous - projects of law have fallen through; and for this the party - deserves the thanks of the country. - - “The present action of the state against the Catholic Church - would be unjustifiable, if better grounds could not be adduced - in its favor. For the attentive observer, however, valid - reasons are not wanting. They are to be found, to put the - whole matter in a single word, in the great power to which - the Catholic Church in Prussia had attained by the aid of the - constitution and the favor of the government--a power which, if - its growth had been longer tolerated, would have become, not - indeed dangerous to the existence of the state, but a hindrance - to the right fulfilment of the ends of its existence.”[257] - -Neither the Vatican Council, then, nor the Catholics of Prussia have -done anything to provoke the present persecution. To find fault with the -German bishops for accepting the dogma of infallibility, after having -strongly opposed its definition by the council, would be as unreasonable -as to blame a member of Congress for admitting the binding force of a -law the passage of which he had done everything in his power to prevent. -Their duty, beyond all question, was to act as they have acted. This -was not the offence: the unpardonable crime was that the church, as -soon as she was unloosed from the fetters of bureaucracy, had grown too -powerful. We doubt whether any more forcible argument in proof of the -indestructible vitality of the church can be found than that which may be -deduced from the universal consent of her enemies, of whatever shade of -belief or unbelief, that the only way in which she can be successfully -opposed is to array against her the strongest of human powers--that of -the state. A complete revolution of thought upon this subject has taken -place within the last half-century. Up to that time it was confidently -held by Protestants as well as infidels that, to undermine and finally -destroy the church, it would be simply necessary to withdraw from her the -support of the state; that to her freedom would necessarily prove fatal. -The experiment, as it was thought, had not been satisfactorily tried. -Ireland, indeed, had held her faith for three hundred years, in spite of -all that fiendish cruelty could invent to destroy it; but persecution -has always been the life of the faith. In the United States the church -had been free since the war of independence, but of us little was known; -and, besides, down to, say, 1830 even the most thoughtful and far-sighted -among us had serious doubts as to the future of the church in this -country. - -But with the emancipation of the Catholics in Great Britain, the new -constitution of the kingdom of Belgium, and the completer organization -of the church in the United States, the test as to the action of freedom -upon the progress of Catholic faith began to be applied over a wide and -varied field and under not unfavorable circumstances. What the result -has been we may learn from our enemies. Mr. Gladstone expostulates for -Great Britain, and reaches a hand of sympathy to M. Emile de Laveleye -in Belgium. Dr. Falk, Dr. Friedberg, and even the moderate Herr von -Kirchmann, defend the tyrannical _May Laws_ as necessary to stop -the growth of the church in Germany; and at home the most silent of -Presidents and the most garrulous of bishops, forgetting that the cause -of temperance has prior claims upon their attention, have raised the -cry of alarm to warn their fellow-citizens of the dangerous progress of -popery in this great and free country. Time was when “the Free Church in -the Free State” was thought to be the proper word of command; but now -it is “the Fettered Church in the Enslaved State,” since no state that -meddles with the consciences of its subjects can be free. - -If there is anything for which we feel more especially thankful, it is -that henceforth the cause of the church and the cause of freedom are -inseparably united. We have heard to satiety that the Catholic Church is -the greatest conservative force in the world, the most powerful element -of order in society, the noblest school of respect in which mankind have -ever been taught. Praised be God that now, as in the early days, he is -making it impossible that Catholics should not be on the side of liberty, -as the church has always been; so that all men may see that, if we love -order the more, we love not liberty the less! - -“I will sing to my God as long at I shall be,” wrote an inspired king; -“put not your trust in princes.” No, nor in governments, nor in states, -but in God who is the Lord, and in the poor whom Jesus loved. From God -out of the people came the church; through God back to the people is she -going. We know there are still many Catholics who trust in kings and -believe in salvation through them; but God will make them wiser. The -Spirit that sits at the roaring Loom of Time will weave for them other -garments. The irresistible charm of the church, humanly speaking, lies in -the fact that she comes closer to the hearts of the people than any other -power that has ever been brought to bear upon mankind. - -Having shown that the oppressive ecclesiastical legislation of Germany -was not provoked by the church, and that its only excuse is the -increasing power of the church, Herr von Kirchmann reduces all farther -discussion of this subject to the two following heads: 1st. How far ought -the state to go in setting bounds to this power of the Catholic Church? -and 2d. What means ought it to employ? - -In view of the dangers with which every open breach of the peace between -church and state is fraught for the people, it would have been advisable, -he thinks, from political motives, to have tried to settle the difficulty -by a mutual understanding between the two powers; nor would it, in his -opinion, be derogatory to the sovereignty of the state to treat the -church as an equal, since she embraces in her fold all the Catholics of -the world, who have their directing head in the Pope, whose sovereign -ecclesiastical power cannot, therefore, as a matter of fact, be called in -question. - -That Prussia did not make any effort to see what could be effected by -this policy of conciliation may, in the opinion of Herr von Kirchmann, -find some justification in the fact that the government did not expect, -and could not in 1871 foresee, the determined opposition of the Catholics -to the May Laws of 1873. At any rate, as he thinks, the high and -majestatic right of the state is supreme, and it alone must determine, in -the ultimate instance, how far and how long it will acknowledge any claim -of the church. Thus even this statesman, who is of the more moderate -school of Prussian politicians, holds that the church has no rights which -the state is bound to respect; that political interests are paramount, -and conscience, in the modern as in the ancient pagan state, has no claim -upon the recognition of the government. English and American Protestants, -where their own interests are concerned, would be as little inclined to -accept this doctrine as Catholics; in fact, this country was born of a -protest against the assumption of state supremacy over conscience; and -yet so blinding and misleading is prejudice that the Falk Laws receive -their heart-felt sympathy. - -Though Herr von Kirchmann accepts without reservation the principles -which underlie the recent Prussian anti-Catholic legislation, and -thinks the May Laws have been drawn up with great wisdom and consummate -knowledge of the precise points at which the state should oppose the -growing power of the church, he yet freely admits that there are grave -doubts whether the present policy of Prussia on this subject can be -successfully carried out. That Prince Bismarck and Dr. Falk had but a -very imperfect knowledge of the difficulties which lay in their path, -the numerous supplementary bills which have been repeatedly introduced -in order to give effect to the May Laws plainly show. Where there is -question of principle and of conscience Prince Bismarck is not at home. -He believes in force; like the first Napoleon, holds that Providence is -always on the side of the biggest cannons; sneers about going to Canossa, -as Napoleon mockingly asked the pope whether his excommunication would -make the arms fall from the hands of his veterans. He knows the workings -of courts, and is a master in the devious ways of diplomacy. He can -estimate with great precision the resources of a country; he has a keen -eye for the weak points of an adversary. His tactics, like Napoleon’s, -are to bring to bear upon each given point of attack a force greater -than the enemy’s. He has, in his public life, never known what it is to -respect right or principle. With the army at his back he has trampled -upon the Prussian constitution with the same daring recklessness with -which he now violates the most sacred rights of conscience. Nothing, in -his eyes, is holy but success, and he has been consecrated by it, so -that the Bismarck-cultus has spread far beyond the fatherland to England -and the United States. Carlyle has at last found a living hero, the very -impersonation of the brute force which to him is ideal and admirable; and -at eighty he offers incense and homage to the idol. We freely give Prince -Bismarck credit for his remarkable gifts--indomitable will, reckless -courage, practical knowledge of men, considered as intelligent automata -whose movements are directed by a kind of bureaucratic and military -mechanism; and this is the kind of men with whom, for the most part, -he has had to deal. For your thorough Prussian, though the wildest of -speculators and the boldest of theorizers, is the tamest of animals. No -poor Russian soldier ever crouched more submissively beneath the knout -than do the Prussian pantheists and culturists beneath the lash of a -master. Like Voltaire, they probably prefer the rule of one fine Lion to -that of a hundred rats of their own sort. Prince Bismarck knew his men, -and we give him credit for his sagacity. Not every eye could have pierced -the mist, and froth, and sound, and fury of German professordom, and -beheld the craven heart that was beneath. - -Only men who believe in God and the soul are dangerous rebels. Why should -he who has no faith make a martyr of himself? Why, since there is nothing -but law, blind and merciless force, throw yourself beneath the wheels -of the state Juggernaut to be crushed? The religion of culture is the -religion of indulgence, and no godlike rebel against tyranny and brute -force ever sprang from such worship. So long as Prince Bismarck had -to deal with men who were nourished on “philosophy’s sweet milk,” and -who worshipped at the altar of culture, who had science but not faith, -opinions but not convictions, amongst whom, consequently, organic union -was impossible, his policy of making Germany “by blood and iron” was -successful enough. But, like all great conquerors, he longed for more -kingdoms to subdue, and finding right around him a large and powerful -body of German citizens who did not accept the “new faith” that the -state--in other words, Prince Bismarck--is “the present god,” just as -a kind of diversion between victories, he turned to give a lesson to -the _Pfaffen_ and clerical _Dummköpfe_, who burnt no incense in honor -of his divinity. In taking this step it is almost needless to say that -Prince Bismarck sought to pass over a chasm which science itself does -not profess to have bridged--that, namely, which lies between the -worlds of matter and of spirit. Of the new conflict upon which he was -entering he could have only vague and inaccurate notions. Nothing is so -misleading as contempt--a feeling in which the wise never indulge, but -which easily becomes habitual with men spoiled by success. To the man who -had organized the armies and guided the policy which had triumphed at -Sadowa and Sedan what opposition could be made by a few poor priests and -beggar-monks? Would the arms fall from the hands of the proudest soldiers -of Europe because the _Pfaffen_ were displeased? Or why should not the -model culture-state of the world make war upon ignorance and superstition? - -Of the real nature and strength of the forces which would be marshalled -in this great battle of souls a man of blood and iron could form no just -estimate. “To those who believe,” said Christ, “all things are possible”; -but what meaning have these words for Prince Bismarck? The soul, firm in -its faith, appealing from tyrant kings and states to God, is invincible. -Lifting itself to the Infinite, it draws thence a divine power. Like -liberty, it is brightest in dungeons, in fetters freest, and conquers -with its martyrdom. Needle-guns cannot reach it, and above the deadly -roar of cannon it rises godlike and supreme. - - “For though the giant Ages heave the hill - And break the shore, and evermore - Make and break and work their will; - Though world on world in myriad myriads roll - Round us, each with different powers - And other farms of life than ours, - What know we greater than the soul? - On God and godlike men we build our trust.” - -Men who have unwrapt themselves of the garb and vesture of thought and -sentiment with which the world had dressed them out, who have been born -again into the higher life, who have been clothed in the charity and -meekness of Christ, who for his dear sake have put all things beneath -their feet, who love not the world, who venerate more the rags of the -beggar than the purple of Cæsar, who fear as they love God alone, for -whom life is no blessing and death infinite gain, form the invincible -army of Christ foredoomed to conquer. “This is the victory which -overcometh the world--our Faith.” - -Who has ever forgotten those lines of Tacitus, inserted as an altogether -trifling circumstance in the reign of Nero?--“So for the quieting of -this rumor [of his having set fire to Rome] Nero judicially charged with -the crime, and punished with most studied severities, that class, hated -for their general wickedness, whom the vulgar call _Christians_. The -originator of that name was one _Christ_, who in the reign of Tiberius -suffered death by sentence of the procurator, Pontius Pilate. The baneful -superstition, thereby repressed for the time, again broke out, not only -over Judea, the native soil of the mischief, but in the City also, -where from every side all atrocious and abominable things collect and -flourish.”[258] - -“Tacitus,” says Carlyle, referring to this passage, “was the wisest, most -penetrating man of his generation; and to such depth, and no deeper, has -he seen into this transaction, the most important that has occurred or -can occur in the annals of mankind.” - -We doubt whether Prince Bismarck to-day has any truer knowledge of the -real worth and power of the living Catholic faith on which he is making -war than had Tacitus eighteen hundred years ago, when writing of the rude -German barbarians who were hovering on the confines of the Roman Empire, -and who were to have a history in the world only through the action -of that “baneful superstition” which he considered as one of the most -abominable products of the frightful corruptions of his age. - -That the Prussian government was altogether unprepared for the determined -though passive opposition to the May Laws which the Catholics have made, -Herr von Kirchmann freely confesses. It was not expected that there -would be such perfect union between the clergy and the people; on the -contrary, it was generally supposed that, with the aid of the Draconian -penalties threatened for the violation of the Falk Laws, the resistance -of the priests themselves would be easily overcome. These men love their -own comfort too much, said the culturists, to be willing to go to prison -and live on beans and water for the sake of technicalities; and so they -chuckled over their pipes and lager-beer at the thought of their easy -victory over the _Pfaffen_. They were mistaken, and Herr von Kirchmann -admits that the courage of the bishops and priests has not been broken -but strengthened by their sufferings for the faith. - - “So long as we were permitted to hope,” he says, “that we - should have only the priests to deal with, there was less - reason for doubt as to the policy of executing the laws in - all their rigor; but the situation was wholly altered when it - became manifest that the congregations held the same views as - the bishops and priests.… It is easy to see that all violent, - even though legal, proceedings of the government against these - convictions of the Catholic people can only weaken those - proper, and in the last instance alone effective, measures - through which the May Laws can successfully put bounds to - the growing power of the church. These measures--viz., a - better education of the people and a higher culture of the - priests--can, from the nature of things, exert their influence - only by degrees. Not till the next generation can we hope to - gather the fruit of this seed; and not then, indeed, if the - reckless execution of the May Laws calls forth an opposition - in the Catholic populations which will shake confidence in - the just intentions of the government, and beget in the - congregations feelings of hatred for everything connected - with this legislation. Such feelings will unavoidably be - communicated to the children, and the teacher will in - consequence be deprived of that authority without which his - instructions must lack the persuasive force that is inherent - in truth. In such a state of warfare even the higher culture - of the clergy must be useless. Those who stand on the side of - the government will, precisely on that account, fail to win the - confidence of their people; and the stronger the aged pastors - emphasize the Canon Law of the church, the more energetically - they extend the realms of faith even to the hierarchical - constitution of the church, the more readily and faithfully - will their congregations follow them. - - “It cannot be dissembled that the government, through the - rigorous execution of the May Laws, is raging against its own - flesh and blood, and is thereby robbing itself of the only - means by which it can have any hope of finally coming forth - victorious from the present conflict. It may be objected that - the resistance which is now so widespread cannot be much longer - maintained, and that all that is needed to crush it and bring - about peace with the church is to increase the pressure of the - law. Assertions of this kind are made with great confidence - by the liberals of both Houses of the Landtag whenever the - government presents a new bill; and the liberal newspapers, - which never grow tired of this theme, declare that the result - is certain and even near at hand. - - “Now, even though we should attach no importance to the - contrary assertions of the Catholic party, it is yet evident, - from the declarations of the government itself, that it is not - all confident of reaching this result with the aid of the means - which it has hitherto employed or of those in preparation, - but that it is making ready for a prolonged resistance of the - clergy, who are upheld and supported by the great generosity - of the Catholic people. The ovations which the priests receive - from their congregations when they come forth from prison are - not falling off, but are increasing; and this is equally true - of the pecuniary aid given to them. It is possible that much - of this may have been gotten up by the priests themselves - as demonstration; but the displeasure of the still powerful - government officials which the participants incur, and the - greatness of the money-offerings, are evidence of earnest - convictions. - - “Nothing, however, so strongly witnesses to the existence of a - perfect understanding between the congregations and the priests - as the fact that, though the law of May, 1874, gave to those - congregations whose pastors had been removed or had not been - legally appointed by the bishops the right to elect a pastor, - yet not even one congregation has up to the present moment - made any use of this privilege. When we consider that the - number of parishes where there is no pastor must be at least - a hundred; that in itself such right of choice corresponds - with the wishes of the congregations; farther, that the law - requires for the validity of the election merely a majority - of the members who put in an appearance; that a proposition - made to the _Landrath_ by ten parishioners justifies him in - ordering an election; and that, on the part of the influential - officials and their organs, nothing has been left undone to - induce the congregations to demand elections, not easily could - a more convincing proof of the perfect agreement of the people - with their priests be found than the fact that to this day in - only two or three congregations has it been possible to hunt - up ten men who were willing to make such a proposal, and that - not even in a single congregation has an election of this kind - taken place.”[259] - -This is indeed admirable; and it may, we think, be fairly doubted -whether, in the whole history of the church, so large a Catholic -population has ever, under similar trials, shown greater strength -or constancy. Of the peculiar nature of these trials we shall speak -hereafter; the present article we will bring to a close with a few -remarks upon what we conceive to have been one of the most important -agencies in bringing about the perfect unanimity and harmony of action -between priests and people to which the Catholics of Prussia must in -great measure ascribe their immovable firmness in the presence of a most -terrible foe. We refer to those Catholic associations in which cardinals, -bishops, priests, and people have been brought into immediate contact, -uniting their wisdom and strength for the attainment of definite ends. - -Such unions have nowhere been more numerous or more thoroughly organized -than in Germany, though their formation is of recent date. It was during -the revolution of 1848, of which we have already spoken, that the German -Catholics were roused to a more comprehensive knowledge of the situation, -and resolved to combine for the defence of their rights and the -protection of their religion. Popular unions under the name and patronage -of Pius IX. (Pius-Vereine) were formed throughout the fatherland, with -the primary object of bringing together once a week large numbers of -Catholic men of every condition in life. At these weekly meetings the -questions of the day, in so far as they touched upon Catholic interests, -were freely discussed, and thus an intelligent and enlightened Catholic -public opinion was created throughout the length and breadth of the land. -In refuting calumnies against the church the speakers never failed to -demand the fullest liberty for all Catholic institutions. - -On the occasion of beginning the restoration and completion of the -Cathedral of Cologne, the most religious of churches, the proposition -that an annual General Assembly of all the unions should be held was -made and received with boundless enthusiasm. The first General Assembly -took place at Mayence in October, 1848; and thither came delegates from -Austria, Prussia, Bavaria, Saxony, Hanover, and all the other states of -Germany, whose confidence and earnestness were increased by the presence -of the Catholic members of the Parliament of Frankfort. For the first -time since Luther’s apostasy the Catholics of Germany breathed the air of -liberty. The bishops assembled at Würzburg, gave their solemn approbation -to the great work, and Pius IX. sent his apostolic benediction. Since -that time General Assemblies have been held at Breslau, May, 1849; -Ratisbon, October, 1849; Linz, 1850; Mayence, 1851; Münster, 1852; -Vienna, 1853; Linz, 1856; Salzburg, 1857; Cologne, 1858; Freyburg, 1859; -Prague, 1860; Munich, 1861; Aix-la-Chapelle, 1862; Frankfort, 1863, and -in other cities, down to the recent persecutions. - -These assemblies represented a complete system of organization, in which -no Catholic interest was forgotten. Every village and hamlet in the land -was there, if not immediately, through some central union. We have -had the honor of being present at more than one of these assemblies, -and the impressions which we then received are abiding. Side by side -with cardinals, bishops, princes, noblemen, and the most learned of -professors sat mechanics, carpenters, shoemakers, and blacksmiths--not -as in the act of worship, in which the presence of the Most High -God dwarfs our universal human littlenesses to the dead-level of an -equal insignificance, but in active thought and co-operation for the -furtherance of definite religious and social ends. The brotherhood of the -race was there, an accomplished fact, and one felt the breathing as of a -divine Spirit compared with whose irresistible force great statesmen and -mighty armies are weak as the puppets of a child’s show. - -We have not the space to describe more minutely the ends, aims, and -workings of the numberless Catholic associations of Germany; but we must -express our deep conviction that no study could be more replete with -lessons of practical wisdom for the Catholics of the United States. -Organization is precisely what we most lack. Our priests are laborious, -our people are devoted, but we have not even an organized Catholic -public opinion--nay, no organ to serve as its channel, and make itself -heard of the whole country. Many seem to think that the very question -of the necessity of Catholic education is still an open one for us; and -this is not surprising, since we have no system of Catholic education. -Catholic schools, indeed, in considerable number, there are, but there -is no organization. The great need of the church in this country is -the organization of priests and people for the promotion of Catholic -interests. Through this we will learn to know one another; our views -will be enlarged, our sympathies deepened, and the truth will dawn upon -us that, if we wish to be true to the great mission which God has given -us, the time has come when American Catholics must take up works which -do not specially concern any one diocese more than another, but whose -significance will be as wide as the nation’s life. - - -A STORY WITH TWO VERSIONS. - -Yes, sir, this is Brentwood. And you are of the race, you say, though not -of the name. Clarkson, sir? Surely, surely. I remember well. Miss Jane -Brent--the first Miss Brent I can recall--married a Clarkson. So you are -her grandson, sir? Then you are right welcome to me and mine. Come in, -come in. Or, if you will do me the honor, sit here in the porch, sir, and -my Kate will bring you of her best, and right glad will we be to wait -again on one with the Brent blood in him. - -None of the name left? Ah! Mr. Clarkson, have you never heard, then? But -you must have heard of James Brent. Surely, surely. He lives still, God -pity him! What’s that? You want to hear the story out? Well, sir, no man -living can tell you better than I, unless it be Mr. James’ self. Settle -yourself comfortably, Mr. Clarkson, and I’ll tell you all. - -Yes, this is Brentwood. ’Twas your great-great-grandsire founded it, two -hundred years back, he and his brother--James and William. They began the -work which was to grow and grow into foundries and factories, and the -bank that was to ruin all. But I’m telling the end afore the beginning. -The next two brothers built the church you see there, sir, down the road; -and the next two after them added the tower and founded the almshouses; -and then came the fourth James and William Brent, and one of them was an -idiot, and the other was and is the last of the name. - -I was twenty years older than Mr. James, and, before ever he came into -business, had served with his father. I watched him grow up, and I loved -him well. But from the first I knew he was different from the rest of his -race. He was his mother all over again--a true Mortimer, come of nobles, -not of townsfolk; all fire and sweetness and great plans for people’s -good and happiness, but with little of the far-sighted Brent prudence. -He was just as tender of Mr. William as if he had had all the wits of -himself, and used to spend part of every day with him, and amuse him part -of many a night when the poor gentleman could not sleep. - -Their father died just when they came of age. They were twins, the last -Brent Brothers, sir; and ’twas a great fortune and responsibility to fall -full and with no restraint into such young hands. Mr. James seemed like -one heart-broken for nigh a year after, and carried on everything just as -his father had done, till we all wondered at it; then he saw Miss Rose -Maurice, and loved her--as well indeed he might--and after that things -changed. She was as simple in all her ways as she was beautiful, and -would have thought my cottage good enough, so long as he was in it with -her. But he!--well, sir, I know he has kissed the very ground she trod -on, and he didn’t think a queen’s palace too fine for her. As soon as -ever he saw her he loved her and set his soul to win her; and the very -next day he began a new home in Brentwood. Where is it? Alack! alack! -sir. Wait till ye _must_ hear. Let’s think, for a bit, of only the glad -days now. - -You could not call it extravagance exactly. It set the whole town alive. -So far as he could, he would have none but Brentwood folk to work upon -the place where his bride was to dwell. And he said it was time that so -old a family should have a home that would last as long as they. Ah! me, -as long as they! - -Of course there was a city architect and a grand landscape gardener; but, -oh! the thoughtfulness of him whom we were proud to call our master. -There, in the very flush of his youth and love and hope, he took care of -the widows and the little children; contrived to make work for them; was -here and there and everywhere; and there was not a beggar nor an idler in -Brentwood--not one. The house rose stately and tall; he had chosen a fair -spot for it, where great trees grew and brooks were running, all ready -to his hand; and that city man--why, sir, ’twas marvellous how he seemed -to understand just how to make use of it all, and to prune a little -here and add a little there, with vines and arbors and glades and a -wilderness, till you didn’t know what God had done and what he had given -his creatures wit to do. And in the sunniest corner of the house--Brent -Hall, as they called it--Mr. James chose rooms for Mr. William, who was -pleased as a child with it all, and used to sit day by day and watch the -work go on. - -All the time, too, the Brent iron-foundries were being added to and -renovated, till there was none like them round about; and the town -streets were made like city streets, and the town itself set into such -order as never before; and when all was ready--’twas the work of but -three years, sir--when the house was hung with pictures and decked with -the best; in the spring, when the grass and the trees were green, and -the flowers were blooming fair, then he brought her home. And when I saw -her--well, sir, first I thought of the angels; but next (if I may say it; -and I wot it is not wrong)--next I thought of our Blessed Lady. There was -a great painting in the Hall oratory--by some Spanish painter, they said. -Murillo? Yes, sir, that is the name. It looked like Mrs. James Brent, -sir. Not an angel, but a woman that could suffer and weep and struggle -sore; and, pure and stainless, would still remember she was of us poor -humans, and so pity and pray for us. - -We had been used to have Mr. Brent come into our houses, and to see him -in the poorest cottages and the almshouses, with smiles and cheery words -and money; but Mrs. James gave more than that, for she gave herself. -I’ve seen those soft hands bind wounds I shrank from; and that delicate -creature--I’ve seen her kneeling by beds of dying sinners, while her face -grew white at what she saw and heard, and yet she praying over ’em, and, -what’s more, _loving_ ’em, till she made the way for the priest to come. -And she laid out dead whom few of us would have touched for hire, and -she listened to the stories of the sad and tiresome, and her smile was -sunshine, and the very sight of her passing by lifted up our minds to -God. Her husband thwarted her in nothing. What was there to thwart her -in? He loved her, and she should do what she would in this work which was -her heart’s joy. - -Then we had been used to see Mr. James in church regular, weekday Mass -and Sunday Mass; but Mrs. James was there any time, early mornings and -noons and nights. I fancy she loved it better than the stately Hall. -After she came, her husband added the great south transept window from -Germany, and the organ that people came miles to hear; and he said it was -her gift, not his. The window picture is a great Crucifixion and Our Lady -standing by. You’ll understand better, Mr. Clarkson, ere I finish, what -it says to Brentwood folk now. - -The first year there was a daughter only; but the next there came a son. -After that, for six long years there were no more children, but then -another son saw the light. What rejoicings, what bonfires, what clanging -of bells, there was! But ere night the clanging changed to tolling and -the shouts to tears; for the child died. And when Mrs. James came among -us again, very white and changed and feeble, we all knew that with Mr. -James and Mr. William, we were seeing the last Brent Brothers, whatever -our grandchildren might see. - -However, _she_ was spared, and Mr. James took heart of such grace as -that, and said it would be Brent and Son, which sounded quite as well -when one was used to it. And to make himself used to it--or to stifle the -disappointment, as I really think--he began the Brent Bank. There had -been a Brent Bank here for years past, and to it all Brentwood and half -the country round trusted their earnings. Only a few really rich people -had much to do with it, but men in moderate circumstances, young doctors -and lawyers with growing families, widows, orphans, seamstresses, the -factory people, laborers, thought there was no bank like that. Mr. James’ -kind spirit showed itself there as elsewhere, and nobody felt himself too -insignificant to come there, if only with a penny. - -Often and often I sit here and wonder, Mr. Clarkson, why it all was--why -God ever let it be--the shame and the sorrow and the suffering that came. -I know Mr. James was lavish, but, if he spent much on himself, he spent -much on others too; and he made God’s house as beautiful as his own. For -a time it looked as if God’s blessing was on him; for he prospered year -by year, and, except for his child’s dying and his wife’s frail health, -his cup of joy seemed running over. - -By and by came a year--you may just remember it, sir--a year of very hard -times for the whole country. Banks broke, and old houses went by the -board, and men were thrown out of work, and there was a cry of distress -through all the land. But Brentwood folk hadn’t a thought of fear. Still, -in that year, from the very first of it, something troubled me. Master -was moody now and then; went up to the city oftener; had letters which -he did not show to me, who had seen all his business correspondence -and his father’s for thirty years and more. Sometimes he missed Mass, -and presently I noted with a pang that he did not receive the Blessed -Sacrament regular as he used. And Mrs. James was pale, and her eyes, that -once were as bright and clear as sunshine, grew heavy and dark, and she -looked more and more like the picture in her oratory; but it made one -very sad somehow to see the likeness. - -The hard times began at midsummer. The Lent after there was a mission of -Dominican friars here. I was special busy that week, and kept at work -till after midnight. One evening, about eight, Mr. James came hurriedly -into the office and asked for the letters. He turned them over, looked -blank, then said the half-past eleven mail would surely bring the one -he wanted, and he should wait till then and go for it himself. For five -minutes or so he tried to cast up some accounts; then, too nervous-like -to be quiet longer, he said: “I’ll go and hear the sermon, Serle. It will -serve to fill up the time.” And off he went. - -The clock struck the hour and the half-hour, and the hour and the -half-hour, and I heard the half-past eleven mail come in, and, soon -after, Mr. James’ step again, but slow now, like one in deep thought. In -he came, and I caught a glimpse of his face, pale and stern, with the -lips hard set. He shut himself into his private room, and I heard him -pacing up and down; then there came a pause, and he strode out again. He -seemed very odd to me, but he tried to laugh, as he put down two slips -for telegrams on my desk. “Which would you send?” said he. - -One was, “Go on. I consent to all your terms.” The other was, “Stop. I -will have nothing more to do with it, no matter what happens.” - -Something told me in my heart that, though he was trying to pass this off -in his old way like a joke, my master--my dear master--was in a great -strait. I looked up and answered what he had not said at all to get an -answer, with words which rose to my lips in spite of myself. Says I: -“Send what Mrs. James would want you to send, sir.” And then his ruddy, -kind face bleached gray like ashes, and he gave a groan, and the next -minute he was gone. - -Though my work was done for that night, I would not leave the bank; for -I thought he might come back. And back he did come, a full hour after, -steady and grave and not like my master. For, Mr. Clarkson, the bright -boy-look I had loved so, which, with the boy-nature too, had never seemed -to leave him, was all gone out of his face, and I knew surely I never -should see it there again. He wrote something quickly, then handed it to -me, bidding me send telegrams to the bank trustees as there ordered. The -slip which bore my direction bore also the words, with just a pencil-line -erasure through them, “Go on. I consent to all your terms.” So, for good -or for ill, whichever it might be, the other was the one he must have -sent. - -These telegrams notified the trustees of a most important meeting to -which they were summoned, and at that meeting I had, as usual, to be -present. Perhaps his colleagues saw no change in him; but I, who had -served him long, saw much. O Mr. Clarkson, Mr. Clarkson! whatever you may -be--and you are young still--_be honest_. For, sir, there’s one thing of -many terrible to bear, and it’s got to be borne here or hereafter by them -as err from uprightness; and that thing is shame. I’d seen him kneel at -the altar that morning, and she beside him, bless her! That’s where he -got strength to endure the penance he had brought upon himself; else I -don’t know how he ever could have borne it or have done it. - -They sat there about him where they had often sat before, those fifteen -country gentlemen, some of whom had been his father’s and his uncle’s -friends, and some his own schoolmates and companions. And he stood up, -and first he looked them calm and fearless full in their faces, and then -his voice faltered and stopped, and then they all felt that it was indeed -something beyond ordinary that was coming. - -Don’t ask me to tell my master’s shame as he told it, without a gloss or -an excuse, plain and bald and to the point. I knew and they knew that -there was excuse for his loving and lavish nature, but he made none for -himself. - -Well, there’s no hiding what all the world knows now. He had let himself -be led away into speculation and--God pity and forgive him!--into fraud, -till only ruin or added and greater sin stared him in the face; then, -brought face to face with that alternative, he had chosen--just ruin, sir. - -There was dead silence for a space, till Sir Jasper Meredith, the oldest -man there, and the justest business man I ever met, said gravely: “Do you -realize, Mr. Brent, that this implies ruin to others than to you?” - -He was not thinking of himself, though this trouble would straiten him -sorely; he was thinking, and so was my master, and so was I, of poor men, -and lone women, and children and babies, made penniless at a blow; of the -works stopped; of hunger and sickness and cold. Mr. James bowed his head; -he could not speak. - -Then I had to bring out the books, and we went carefully over them -page by page. It was like the Day of Judgment itself to turn over those -accounts, and to read letters that had to be read, and to find out, step -by step, and in the very presence of the man we had honored and trusted, -that he had really fallen from his high place. He quivered under it, body -and soul, but answered steadily every question Sir Jasper put to him; -spoke in such a way that I was sure he as well as I thought of the last -great day, and was answering to One mightier than man. And presently, -when they had reached the root of it--well, Mr. Clarkson, it was sin -and it was shame, and I dare not call it less before God; yet it was -sin which many another man does unblushingly, and had he persisted in -it--had he only the night previous sent that message, “Go on”--it was -possible and probable that he could have saved himself. Yet, if I could -have had my choice then or now, I would rather have seen him stand there, -disgraced and ruined by his own act and will, than have had him live for -another day a hypocrite. - -But Sir Jasper said never a word of praise or blame till the whole -investigation was ended; listened silently while Mr. James told his plan -to sell all he owned in Brentwood, pay what debts he could, and then -begin life over again abroad, and work hard and steadily to retrieve his -fortunes, that he might pay all and stand with a clear conscience before -he died. Then Sir Jasper rose and came to him, put his two hands on Mr. -James’ shoulders, and looked him straight in the eyes. “James Brent,” -he said, “I knew your father before you, and your father’s father, but -I never honored them more, and I never honored you more, than on this -day when you confess to having disgraced your name and theirs, but have -had the honesty and manliness to confess it. Disgrace is disgrace; but -confession is the beginning of amendment.” - -That was all. There was no offer of money help; all Sir Jasper could -offer would have been but a drop in the ocean of such utter ruin. There -was no advice to spare himself before he spared his neighbor; Sir Jasper -was too just for that. But after those words I saw my master’s eyes grow -moist and bright, and a gleam of hope come into his face. My poor master! -my poor master! Thank God we cannot see the whole of suffering at the -beginning! - -The intention was not to let the news get abroad that night. Mr. James -went home to tell his wife and children--how terrible that seemed to -me!--and I sat busy in the office. It was the spring of the year. Fifteen -years ago the coming month he had brought his bride home in the sunshine -and the flowers. This afternoon darkened into clouds, and rain came and -the east wind. I lighted the lamps early and went to my work again. -Presently I heard a sound such as I never heard before--a low growl, or -roar, or shout, that wasn’t thunder or wind or rain. It grew louder; it -was like the tramp of many feet, hurrying fast, and in the direction of -the bank. Then cries--a name, short, distinct, repeated again and again: -“Brent! Brent! James Brent!” - -I went to the window. There they were, half Brentwood and more, clamoring -for the sight of the man they trusted above all men. I flung the window -up and they saw me. - -“Halloo, there, Joseph Serle!” cried the leader, a choleric Scot who had -not been many years among us. “Where’s our master?” - -“Not here,” says I, with a sinking at my heart. - -“He knows,” piped a woman’s shrill voice; “make him tell us true.” - -And then the Scot cries again: “Halloo, Joseph Serle, there! Speak us -true, mon, or ye’ll hang for’t. Is our money safe?” - -What could I say? Face after face I saw by the glare of torches--faces of -neighbors and friends and kin--and not one but was a loser, and few that -were not well-nigh ruined. And while I hesitated how to speak again that -woman spoke: “Where’s James Brent? Has he run, the coward?” - -That was too much. “He’s home,” cried I, “where you and all decent folk -should be.” - -“Home! home!” They caught the word and shouted it. “We’ll go home too. -We’ll find James Brent.” And the tide turned towards the Hall. - -I flew down the back-stairs to the stable, mounted the fleetest horse, -and galloped him bareback to Brent Hall; but, fast as I rode, the east -wind bore an angry shout behind me, and, if I turned my head, I saw -torches flaring, and the ground seemed to tremble with the hurrying tramp -of feet. - -I don’t know how they bore it or how I told ’em. I know I found them -together, him and her, and she was as if she had not shed a tear, and her -eyes were glowing like stars, bright, and tender, and sad, and glad all -at once. I had hardly time to tell the news, when the sound I had dreaded -for ’em broke upon us like the rush and the roar of an awful storm. On -they came, trampling over the garden-beds, waving their torchlights, -calling one name hoarse and constant--“Brent! Brent! James Brent!” - -“My love,” he said, bending down to her, “stay while I go to them.” - -And then she looked at him with a look that was more heavenly than any -smile, and said only: “James, my place is by your side, and I will keep -it.” - -He put his hand quick over his eyes like one in great awe, smiled with a -smile more sad than tears, then opened the hall door and stood out before -the crowd--there where many a man and woman of them had seen him bring -his young bride home. And the sudden silence which fell upon them his own -voice broke. “My friends,” he said, “what would you have of me?” - -Straight and keen as a barbed arrow, not from one voice, but from many, -the question rose, “Is our money safe?” And after that some one called: -“We’ll trust your word, master, ’gainst all odds.” - -I had thought that scene in the bank was like the Judgment Day; but what -was this? He tried to speak, but his lips clave together. Then I saw her -draw a little nearer--not to touch him or to speak to him; she did not -even look at him, neither at the people, but out into the darkness, and -up and far away; and her very body, it seemed to me, was praying. - -“Is our money safe?” It was like a yell now, and James Brent made answer: -“My friends, I am a ruined man.” - -“Is our money safe?” Little children’s voices joined in the cry. My God, -let Brentwood never hear the like again! - -My master held out his hands like any beggar; then he fell down upon his -knees. “I confess to you and to God,” he said, “there is not one penny -left.” - -Mr. Clarkson, I am Brentwood born and bred. I love my master, but I love -my place and people too. We are a simple folk and a loving folk. It is -an awful thing to shake the trust of such. They had deemed their honor -and their property for ever safe with this one man, and in an hour and at -a word their trust was broken, their scanty all was gone, their earthly -hopes were shattered. Mr. Clarkson, sir, it drove them wild. - -That day had set on Brent Hall fair and stately; the morrow dawned on -blackened ruins. The grounds lay waste; the fountains were dry; pictures -which nobles had envied had fed the flames; fabrics which would have -graced a queen stopped the babbling of the brooks; and in front of Brent -Bank hung effigies of the last Brent Brothers, with a halter about the -neck of each. - -He had planned--my master, my poor master!--to retrieve all. Why could it -not be? God knows best, but it is a mystery which I cannot fathom. That -night’s horror and exposure brought him to the very gates of death; and -when he rose up at last, it was as a mere wreck of himself, never to work -again. His wife’s dowry went to the people whom he had ruined and who had -ruined him. They lived until her death, as he lives still, on charity. - -And that is all? No, Mr. Clarkson, not quite all. He was brave enough, -since he could not win back his honor otherwise, to stay among us and -gain a place again in the hearts he had wounded sore. Sometimes I think -he teaches us a better lesson, old, and alone, and poor, than if he had -come to build his fallen home once more. I think, sir, we have learned to -pity and forgive as we never should have done otherwise, since we have -seen him suffering like any one of us; as low down as any one of us. - - -JAMES BRENT’S VERSION. - -He has told you the story, then, my boy, has he? And you are the last of -us, and you have my name--James Brent Clarkson. The last? Then I will -tell you more than he could tell you. Do not shrink or fancy it will pain -me. I would like to let you know all, my boy--not for my sake; but you -say you are only half a Catholic, and I would have you learn something of -the deep reality of the true faith. - -The night I waited for the half-past eleven train I had been stopped on -my way to the bank by a crowd at the church door, and I heard one man say -to another: “They’re dark times, neighbor--as dark as our land’s seen -these hundred years.” And his mate answered him: “Maybe so, Collins; -maybe so. But Brentwood don’t feel ’em much. I believe, and so does -most folks, that if all other houses fell, and e’en the Bank of England -broke, Brent Brothers would stand. It’s been honest and true for four -generations back, and so ’twull be to the end on’t.” Then the crowd -parted, the men went into the church, and I passed down the street. - -“Honest and true for four generations back, and so ’twull be to the end -on’t.” The words haunted me. At last, in desperation, to rid myself of -the thought, I went to church also. Going in by a side door, I found -myself in a corner by a confessional, quite sheltered from view, but -with the pulpit in plain sight. There, raised high above the heads of -the people, the preacher stood, a man of middle age, who looked as if -he had been at some time of his life in and of the world; his face that -of one who has found it almost a death-struggle to subdue self to the -obedience and the folly of the cross. He seemed meant for a ruler among -his fellows. I wondered idly what he was doing there in the preacher’s -frock, speaking to the crowd. - -He was telling, simply and plainly, of our Lord’s agony in the garden. -But simple and plain as were his words, there was something in the face -and voice which drew one into sympathetic union with this man, who spoke -as if he were literally beholding the load of our sin lying upon the -Lord’s heart till his sweat of blood started. And when he had painted -the scene to us, he paused as hearing the awful cry echo through the -stillness that reigned in the crowded church, then bent forward as if his -eyes would scan our very hearts, and spoke once more. - -I cannot tell you what he said, but before he ended I knew this: my sin -cost our Lord’s agony; added sin of mine would be added anguish of his. -The choice lay before me. When I showed Serle those two despatches, the -one “Stop,” the other “Go on,” I held there what would be my ruin for -time or for eternity. - -There is a world unseen, and mighty; its powers were round me that -night like an army. Hitherto I had been deceiving myself with the plea -of necessity of others’ interests to be considered, of my honor to be -sustained. That night another motive rose before me, but it was of an -honor put to dishonor--the Lord of glory bowed down to the earth by shame. - -The letter must be answered before morning, so pressing was my need. -I decided to go to the telegraph office, and by the time I reached it -my mind must be made up. But, in the street, I came face to face with -the preacher I had heard that night. The moon was near the full. We two -looked straight at each other, passed, then turned as by one impulse, -and faced again. They who fight a fight to its end, and conquer, but -only with wounds whose scars they must bear to their graves, sometimes -gain a great power of reading the souls of those who are fighting a like -contest, and know not yet if it will end in victory or defeat. Some fight -like mine I felt sure that priest had fought. “What would you have, my -brother?” he asked. - -“Answers to two questions, father,” I replied. “If a man has done wrong -to others, and can only repair it by added wrong, shall he disgrace -his own good name for ever by avowal, or shall he sin? And if his fall -involves the suffering of his innocent wife and children, may he not save -himself from shame for their sake? It is a matter which may not wait now -for confession even. Answer as best you may, for the love of God.” - -I fancied that the stern face before me softened and grew pale, and in -the momentary stillness I understood that the Dominican was praying. Then -he answered, few words and firm, as one who _knew_: - -“To choose disgrace is to choose the path our divine Lord chose. To -involve our dearest in suffering is to know his anguish whose blessed -Mother stood beneath his cross.” - -Then, after one more slight, intense silence, “My brother,” he said -earnestly, “I do not know your life, but I know my own. To drink the -Lord’s cup of shame to its dregs--_with him_--is a blessed thing to do, -if he gives a sinner grace to do it.” - -Tell me a thousand times that you have no faith yourself; that to love -God passionately is a dream, a delusion, unworthy of our manly nature; -that to choose shame is folly, to choose suffering is a mad mistake--what -shame could atone for my sins or give back to the poor the means of which -my folly had robbed them? What can your words count with those who have -once tasted the bitter sweetness of the Lord’s own chalice? Suddenly, -standing there, I knew what it means to love God more than houses or -lands, wife or children; to have him more real to the soul than they to -the heart; to be willing and glad to forsake all for him; to know I had -one more chance left to do his will, not Satan’s; and to make my choice. -Having brought his agony on him, there was nothing more I _could_ do but -bear it with him. - -My boy, though you came on my invitation, you chose the twilight in -which to come to me, that I might hide my shame at meeting you. Such -shame _died dead_ in two awful nights and days: First, confession before -the priest of God; then to colleagues and friends; then to my wife and -to my son--oh! that stings yet; then to an angry throng, whose trust I -had betrayed, whose hopes I had blasted, whose love and reverence I had -turned to hate and scorn. I have seen my home in ruins, my effigy hung -up and hooted at in the public square, my name become a byword, my -race blotted out. I am an old man now, and still they tell my story in -Brentwood; each child learns it; strangers hear of it. Yet, if the power -were mine to alter these twenty years of humiliation, I would not lose -one hour of suffering or shame. - -You ask me why? Thirty-five years ago I stood here, the centre and the -favorite of this town, and I set myself to work my own will, to gain -glory for me and mine. My wife, my name, my home, were my idols. It -seemed an innocent ambition, but it was not for God, and it led me into -evil work. You told me that since you came of age you have been but once -to confession. It is by the light of that sacrament that what seems to -you the mystery of my life is read. For a Catholic--whether striving -after perfection, or struggling up from sin to lasting penitence--has -for pattern the life of Jesus, the doing all in union with him, after -his example. What is the sacrament of penance but the bearing of shame, -though in the presence of a compassionate priest, with him who, when -he could have rescued us at the price of one drop of his most precious -blood, chose to die in ignominy, bearing before the world the entire -world’s disgrace? My boy, if in any way, by the love of our common name, -I can influence you, _go back to confession_. It is the very sacrament -for men who would be upright, and loyal, and strong, and true; or who, -having fallen, would humbly and bravely bear for Christ’s sake the -disclosure and the penalty. - -My penance--given by God, mark you--was heavy, men think. Was it heavier -than my sin? They do not know everything. All my life I had been helped, -guarded, upheld; and for such to fall is a deadlier sin than for others. -The infinite love of God bore with me and saved me. And as, day by day, -like the unremitted lashes of a scourge, suffering fell to my portion, -I tell you that a strange, an awful sweetness mingled with the anguish. -I knew it was the hand of God that smote me, and that he smote here to -spare hereafter. - -Oh! do not look at me. Stop! Turn your face away! I thought all such -shame was dead, but there are moments when it overwhelms me with its -sting. Did I say or dare to think that _God loves me_? Wait, wait, till I -can remember what it means! - -Yes, I know now. Through all that night, while the torches glared, and -wrathful faces looked curses at me, and lips shouted them, ever through -all I saw, as it were, One sinless but reputed with the wicked; stripped -of his garments as I of my pride; made a spectacle to angels and to men; -mocked, reviled, scourged, crucified; and through the wild tumult I heard -a voice say, as of old to the repentant thief on the cross: “This day -thou shalt be with me.” And through all my heart was answering to his -most Sacred Heart, “I, indeed, justly; for I receive the due reward of -my deeds: but this man hath done no evil.” How could I wish to be spared -a single pang or lose one hour of shame with him? What part could any -Christian take but to suffer with him, having made him suffer? And when -one has said “with him,” one has explained all. But, somehow, people do -not always seem to understand. - - * * * * * - -Understand? Ah! no. It is a story, not of two versions, but of many. Some -called James Brent a fool, and some a madman, and some said he should -have saved his honor and his name at all hazards; and some, that he had -no right to entail such suffering on his household. But there is one -light by which such stories should be read, that is truer than these. -When time is gone, and wealth is dust, and earthly honor vanishes like -smoke, then, by the standard of the cross of Christ, wealth, and pomp, -and pleasure, and business shall be duly tried. Shun humiliation here -as we will, there shall be after this the judgment, when the Prince of -Glory, who pronounces final sentence, will be he who, while on earth, -chose for his portion a life of suffering and a death of shame. - - -ANTI-CATHOLIC MOVEMENTS IN THE UNITED STATES. - -Like commercial panics, periodical outbursts of irreligious fanaticism -seem to have become regular incidents in the history of the United -States--occurrences to be looked for with as much certainty as -if they were the natural outgrowth of our civilization and the -peculiarly-constituted condition of American society. Though springing -from widely different causes, these intermittent spasms have a marked -resemblance in their deleterious effects on our individual welfare -and national reputation. Both are demoralizing and degrading in their -tendencies, and each, in its degree, finally results in the temporary -gain of a few to the lasting injury and debasement of the multitude. -In other respects they differ materially. Great mercantile reverses -and isolated acts of peculation, unfortunately, are not limited to one -community or to the growth of any particular system of polity, but are -as common and as frequent in despotic Asia and monarchical Europe as in -republican America. Popular ebullitions of bigotry, on the contrary, -are, or, more correctly, ought to be, confined to those countries where -ignorance and intolerance usurp the place of enlightened philanthropy and -wise government. They are foreign to the spirit of American institutions, -hostile to the best interests of society, and a curse to those who -tolerate or encourage them. The brightest glory of the fathers of the -republic springs, not so much from the fact that they separated the -colonies from the mother country and founded a new nation--for that is -nothing strange or unheard-of in the world’s history--but that they made -its three millions of inhabitants free as well as independent: free -not only from unjust taxation and arbitrary laws, but for ever free to -worship their Creator according to the dictates of their conscience, -unawed by petty authority and unaffected by the shifting counsels of -subsequent legislators. - -From this point of view the Revolution appears as one of the grandest -moral events in the records of human progress; and when we reflect on -the numerous pains, penalties, and restrictions prescribed by the -charters and by-laws of the colonies from whence our Union has sprung, -it challenges our most profound admiration and gratitude. This complete -religious equality, guaranteed by our fundamental law, has ever been -the boast of every true American citizen, at home and abroad. From the -halls of Congress to the far Western stump-meeting we hear it again -and again enunciated; it is repeated by a thousand eloquent tongues -on each recurring anniversary of our independence, and is daily and -weekly trumpeted throughout the length and breadth of the land by the -myriad-winged Mercuries of the press. This freedom of worship, freedom -of conscience, and legal equality, as declared and confirmed by our -forefathers, has become, in fact, not only the written but also the -common law of the land--the birthright of every native-born American, the -acquired, but no less sacred, privilege of every citizen by adoption. -Whoever now attempts to disturb or question it, by word or act, disgraces -his country in the eyes of all mankind, and defiles the memory of our -greatest and truest heroes and statesmen. - -So powerful, indeed, were the example and teachings of those wise men who -laid broad and deep the foundations of our happy country that, during the -first half-century of our national existence, scarcely a voice was raised -in opposition or protest against the principle of religious liberty -as emphatically expressed in the first amendment to the Constitution. -A whole generation had to pass away ere fanaticism dared to raise its -crest, until the solemn guarantees of our federal compact were assailed -by incendiary mobs and scouted by so-called courts of justice. The -first flagrant instance of this fell spirit of bigotry happened in -Massachusetts, and naturally was directed against an institution of -Catholic learning. - -In 1820 four Ursuline nuns arrived in Boston and established there a -house of their order. Six years later they removed to the neighboring -village of Charlestown, where they purchased a piece of ground, and, -calling it Mt. St. Benedict, erected a suitable building and reduced the -hitherto barren hill-side to a state of beautiful cultivation. In 1834 -the community had increased to ten, all ladies of thorough education -and refinement. From the very beginning their success as teachers was -acknowledged and applauded, and their average attendance of pupils was -computed at from fifty to sixty. Of these, at least four-fifths were -Protestants, the daughters of the best American families, not only of New -England, but of the Middle and Southern States. Though it was well known -that the nuns had ever been most scrupulously careful not to meddle with -the religious opinions of their scholars, and that not one conversion to -the church could be ascribed to their influence, the fact that a school -conducted by Catholic religious should have acquired so brilliant a -reputation, and that its patrons were principally Protestants of high -social and political standing, was considered sufficient in the eyes of -the Puritan fanatics to condemn it. - -Its destruction was therefore resolved on, and an incident, unimportant -in itself, occurred in the summer of 1834 which was eagerly seized upon -by the clerical adventurers who then, as now, disgraced so many sectarian -pulpits. It appears that an inmate of the convent, a Miss Harrison, -had, from excessive application to music, become partially demented, and -during one of her moments of hallucination left the house and sought -refuge with some friends. Her brother, a Protestant, having heard of her -flight, accompanied by Bishop Fenwick, brought her back to the nunnery, -to her own great satisfaction and the delight of the sisterhood. This -trifling domestic affair was eagerly taken up by the leaders of the -anti-Catholic faction and magnified into monstrous proportions. The nuns, -it was said, had not only driven an American lady to madness, but had -immured her in a dungeon, and, upon her attempting to escape, had, with -the connivance of the bishop and priests, actually tortured her to death. -Falsehoods even more diabolical were invented and circulated throughout -Boston. The following Sunday the Methodist and Congregational churches -rang again with denunciations against Popery and nunneries, while one -self-styled divine, a Dr. Beecher, the father of a numerous progeny of -male and female evangelists, some of whom have since become famous in -more senses than one, preached no less than three sermons in as many -different churches on the abominations of Rome. All the bigotry of Boston -and the adjacent towns was aroused to the highest pitch of frenzy, and -threats against the convent were heard on every side. - -To pacify the public mind the selectmen of Charlestown, on the following -day, the memorable 11th of August, appointed a committee to examine into -the truth of the charges. They waited on the nuns, and were received -by Miss Harrison, who was alleged to have been foully murdered. Under -her personal guidance they searched every part of the convent and its -appurtenances, till, becoming thoroughly satisfied with the falsity of -the reports, they retired to draw up a statement to that effect for -publication in the newspapers. This was what the rabble dreaded, and, as -soon as the intention of the committee became known, the leaders resolved -to forestall public sentiment by acting at once. - -Accordingly, about nine o’clock in the evening, a mob began to collect -in the neighborhood of Mt. St. Benedict. Bonfires were lit and exciting -harangues were made, but still there were many persons reluctant to -believe that the rioters were in earnest. They would not admit that any -great number of Americans could be found base and brutal enough to attack -a house filled with defenceless and delicate women and children. They -were mistaken, however; they had yet to learn to what lengths fanaticism -can be carried when once the evil passions of corrupt human nature are -aroused. Towards midnight a general alarm was rung, calling out the -engine companies of Boston, not to quell any fire or disturbance, but, -as was proved by their conduct, to reinforce the rioters, if necessary. -The first demonstration was made by firing shot and stones against the -windows and doors of the main building, to ascertain if there were any -defenders inside; but, upon becoming satisfied that there were none, the -cowardly mob burst open the gates and doors, and rushed wildly through -the passages and rooms, swearing vengeance against the nuns. - -Trusting to the protection of the authorities, the gentle sisters were -taken by surprise. The shots of their assailants, however, awakened -them to a sense of danger. Hastening from their beds, they rushed to -the dormitories, aroused the sleeping children, and had barely time -to avoid the fury of the mob by escaping through a back entrance in -their night-clothes. Everything portable, including money and jewelry -belonging to the pupils, was laid hold of by the intruders, the furniture -and valuable musical instruments were hacked in pieces, and then the -convent was given to the flames amid the frantic cheers of assembled -thousands. “Not content with all this,” says the report of Mr. Loring’s -committee, “they burst open the tomb of the establishment, rifled it of -the sacred vessels there deposited, wrested the plates from the coffins, -and exposed to view the mouldering remains of their tenants. Nor is it -the least humiliating feature, in this scene of cowardly and audacious -violation of all that man ought to hold sacred, that it was perpetrated -in the presence of men vested with authority and of multitudes of our -fellow-citizens, while not one arm was lifted in the defence of helpless -women and children, or in vindication of the violated laws of God and -man. The spirit of violence, sacrilege, and plunder reigned triumphant.” - -The morning of the 12th of August saw what for years had been the quiet -retreat of Christian learning and feminine holiness a mass of blackened -ruins; but the character of Massachusetts had received even a darker -stain, a foul blot not yet wiped from her escutcheon. It was felt by -the most respectable portion of the citizens that some step should be -taken to vindicate the reputation of the State, and to place the odium -of the outrage on those who alone were guilty. Accordingly, a committee -of thirty-eight leading Protestant gentlemen, with Charles G. Loring -as chairman, was appointed to investigate and report on the origin and -results of the disgraceful proceeding. It met in Faneuil Hall from day -to day, examined a great number of witnesses, and made the most minute -inquiries from all sources. Its final report was long, eloquent, and -convincing. After the most thorough examination, it was found, those -Protestant gentlemen said, that all the wild and malicious assertions put -forth in the sectarian pulpits and repeated in the newspapers, regarding -the Ursulines, were without a shadow of truth or probability; they -eulogized in the most glowing language the conduct of the nuns, their -qualifications as teachers, their Christian piety and meekness, and their -careful regard for the morals as well as for the religious scruples of -their pupils. They also attributed the wanton attack upon the nunnery to -the fell spirit of bigotry evoked by the false reports of the New England -press and the unmitigated slanders of the anti-Catholic preachers, and -called upon the legislative authorities to indemnify, in the most ample -manner, the victims of mob law and official connivance. - -But the most significant fact brought to light by this committee was -that the fanatics, in their attack on Mt. St. Benedict, were not a mere -heterogeneous crowd of ignorant men acting upon momentary impulse, but -a regular band of lawless miscreants directed and aided by persons -of influence and standing in society. “There is no doubt,” says the -report, “that a conspiracy had been formed, extending into many of the -neighboring towns; but the committee are of opinion that it embraced -very few of respectable character in society, though some such may, -perhaps, be actually guilty of an offence no less heinous, morally -considered, in having excited the feelings which led to the design, -or countenanced and instigated those engaged in its execution.” Here -we find laid down, on the most unquestionable authority, the origin -and birth-place of all subsequent Native American movements against -Catholicity. - -But the sequel to the destruction of the Charlestown convent was -even more shameful than the crime itself. Thirteen men had been -arrested, eight of whom were charged with arson. The first tried was -the ringleader, an ex-convict, named Buzzell. The scenes which were -enacted on that occasion are without a parallel in the annals of our -jurisprudence. The mother-superior, several of the sisters, and Bishop -Fenwick, necessary witnesses for the prosecution, were received in court -with half-suppressed jibes and sneers, subjected to every species of -insult by the lawyers for the defence, and were frowned upon even by -the judge who presided. Though the evidence against the prisoner was -conclusive, the jury, without shame or hesitation, acquitted him, and he -walked out of court amid the wildest cheers of the bystanders. Similar -demonstrations of popular sympathy attended the trials of the other -rioters, who were all, with the exception of a young boy, permitted to -escape the penalty of their gross crimes. - -Even the State legislature, though urged to do so by many of the leading -public men of the commonwealth, refused to vote anything like an adequate -sum to indemnify the nuns and pupils for their losses, amounting to over -a hundred thousand dollars. The pitiful sum of ten thousand dollars was -offered, and of course rejected; and to this day the ruins of the convent -stand as an eloquent monument of Protestant perfidy and puritanical -meanness and injustice. - -The impunity thus legally and officially guaranteed to mobs and -sacrilegious plunderers soon bore fruit in other acts of lawlessness -in various parts of Massachusetts. A Catholic graveyard in Lowell was -shortly after entered and desecrated by an armed rabble, and a house -in Wareham, in which Mass was being celebrated, was set upon by a gang -of ruffians known as the “Convent Boys.” A couple of years later the -Montgomery Guards, a regular militia company, composed principally of -Catholic freeholders of Boston, were openly insulted by their comrades on -parade, and actually stoned through the streets by a mob of over three -thousand persons. - -As there were no more convents to be plundered and burned in the -stronghold of Puritanism, the war on those glories of religion was kept -up in a different manner, but with no less rancor and audacity. Taking -advantage of the excitement created by such men as Lyman Beecher and -Buzzell, a mercenary publisher issued a book entitled _Six Months in -a Convent_, which was put together by some contemptible preacher in -the name of an illiterate girl named Reed, who, the better to mislead -the public, assumed the title of “Sister Mary Agnes.” “We earnestly -hope and believe,” said the preface to this embodiment of falsehood, -“that this little work, if universally diffused, will do more, by its -unaffected simplicity, in deterring Protestant parents from educating -their daughters in Catholic nunneries than could the most labored and -learned discourses on the dangers of Popery.” Though the book was -replete with stupid fabrications and silly blunders, so grossly had -the popular taste been perverted that fifty thousand copies were sold -within a year after its publication. The demand was still increasing, -when another contribution to Protestant literature appeared, before the -broad, disgusting, and obscene fabrications of which the mendacity of -“Sister Mary Agnes” paled its ineffectual fires. This latter candidate -for popular favor, though it bore the name, destined for an immortality -of infamy, of Maria Monk--a notoriously dissolute woman--was actually -compiled by a few needy and unscrupulous adventurers, reverend and -irreverend, who found a distinguished Methodist publishing house, not -quite so needy, though still more unscrupulous, to publish the work for -them, though very shame compelled even them to withhold their names from -the publication. And it was only owing to a legal suit arising from this -infamous transaction many years after that the fact was revealed that the -publishers of this vilest of assaults on one of the holiest institutions -of the Catholic Church was the firm of Harper Brothers. True to their -character, they saw that the times were favorable for an assault on -Catholicity, even so vile as this one; and true to their nature again, -they refused to their wretched accomplice her adequate share in the wages -of sin. Though bearing on its face all the evidences of diabolical malice -and falsehood, condemned by the better portion of the press and by all -reputable Protestants, the work had an unparalleled sale for some time. -The demand might have continued to go on increasing indefinitely, but, -in an evil hour for the speculators, its authors, under the impression -that the prurient taste of the public was not sufficiently satiated with -imaginary horrors, issued a continuation under the title of _Additional -Awful Disclosures_. This composition proved an efficient antidote to -the malignant poison of the first. Its impurity and falsehoods were so -palpable that its originators were glad to slink into obscurity and their -patrons into silence, followed by the contempt of all honest men. - -Just ten years after the Charlestown outrage the spirit of Protestant -persecution began to revive. Premonitory symptoms of political -proscription appeared in 1842, in the constitutional conventions of Rhode -Island and Louisiana, and in the local legislatures of other States; but -it was not till the early part of 1844 that it became evident that secret -measures were being taken to arouse the dormant feeling of antipathy to -the rights of Catholics, so rife in the hearts of the ignorant Protestant -masses. New York, at first, was the principal seat of the disorder. -Most of the newspapers of that period teemed with eulogistic reviews of -books written against the faith; cheap periodicals, such as the Rev. Mr. -Sparry’s _American Anti-Papist_, were thrust into the hands of all who -would read them by the agents of the Bible and proselytizing societies; -and a cohort of what were called anti-papal lecturers, of which a -reverend individual named Cheever was the leader, was employed to attack -the Catholic Church with every conceivable weapon that the arsenal of -Protestantism afforded. - -The popular mind being thus prepared for a change, the various elements -of political and social life opposed to Catholicity were crystallized -into the “American Republican” party, better known as the Native -Americans. On the 19th of March, 1844, the new faction nominated James -Harper for mayor of the city of New York, and about the same time William -Rockwell was named for a similar office in Brooklyn. The platform upon -which these gentlemen stood was simple but comprehensive: the retention -of the Protestant Bible and Protestant books in the public schools; -the exclusion of Catholics of all nationalities from office; and the -amendment of the naturalization laws so as to extend the probationary -term of citizenship to twenty-one years. The canvass in New York was -conducted with some regard to decency; but in the sister city, the -Nativists threw off all respect for law, their processions invaded the -districts inhabited mainly by adopted citizens, assailed all who did -not sympathize with them, and riot and bloodshed were the consequence. -In Brooklyn the Nativist candidate was defeated, but Harper was elected -triumphantly by about twenty-four thousand votes. The ballots that placed -such a man at the head of the municipality of the American metropolis -were deposited by both Whigs and Democrats, though each party had a -candidate in the field. The former contributed upwards of fourteen -thousand, or three-fourths of their strength; their opponents somewhat -less than ten thousand. - -But the action of the city politicians was quickly repudiated and -condemned throughout the State. On the 13th of April the Whigs assembled -in Albany and passed a series of resolutions denouncing in unequivocal -terms the tenets of the Native Americans; and in two days after, at the -same place, and in, if possible, a more forcible manner, the Democracy -entered their protest against the heresies and evil tendencies of the -persecuting faction. Still, the “American Republicans” showed such -signs of popular strength in various municipal elections that year -that the lower classes of politicians, of all shades of opinion, who -dared not openly support them, were suspected of secretly courting -their friendship. The nomination of Frelinghuysen with Henry Clay at -the Whig presidential convention of May 1, 1844, was well understood at -the time to be a bid for Nativist support, and eventually defeated the -distinguished Kentucky orator. - -It is difficult to imagine how far the madness of the hour might have -carried ambitious political leaders and timid conventions, had not the -scenes of sacrilege and murder which soon after disgraced the city of -Philadelphia, and stained its streets with innocent blood, sent a thrill -of horror throughout the entire country. - -Philadelphia had followed, if not anticipated, the example of New York -in sowing broadcast the seeds of civil strife. Early in the year secret -Nativist societies were formed; sensational preachers like Tyng, in and -out of place, harangued congregations and meetings; cheap newspapers were -started for the sole purpose of vilifying Catholics and working upon the -baser passions of the sectarian population of the country. The motives -of those engineers of discord were the same as those of their New York -brethren, and their method of attack equally treacherous and cowardly. -One of the principal charges against their Catholic fellow-citizens was -that they were hostile to free schools and education generally. To this -unjust aspersion Bishop Kenrick, on the 12th of March, publicly replied -in a short but lucid letter, in which he said: - -“Catholics have not asked that the Bible be excluded from the public -schools. They have merely desired for their children the liberty of using -the Catholic version, in case the reading of the Bible be prescribed by -the controllers or directors of the schools. They only desire to enjoy -the benefit of the constitution of the State of Pennsylvania, which -guarantees the rights of conscience and precludes any preference of -sectarian modes of worship. They ask that the school laws be faithfully -executed, and that the religious predilections of the parents be -respected.… They desire that the public schools be preserved from all -sectarian influence, and that education be conducted in a way that may -enable all citizens equally to share its benefits, without any violence -being offered to their conscientious convictions.” - -So deliberate and emphatic a denial had no effect on the wretched men who -tyrannized over the second city in the Union, except that it was resolved -to substitute brute force for reason, and to precipitate a collision -with their comparatively weak victims. Accordingly, on the 5th of May, a -Nativist meeting was held in Kensington. The design of the managers of -the meeting was evidently to provoke an attack; for, finding the place -first selected for the gathering unmolested, they deliberately moved to -the market-house, in the actual presence of several adopted citizens. -This trick and the insulting speeches that followed had the desired -effect. A riot took place, several shots were fired on both sides, and -four or five persons were more or less seriously wounded. The Nativists -retreated, and made an unsuccessful attempt to burn a nunnery. - -The most exaggerated reports of this affair were immediately circulated -through Philadelphia. The next day the Nativists, fully armed, assembled -and passed a series of resolutions of the most violent character. -Preceded by an American flag, which bore an inscription as malicious as -it was untrue, they attacked the Hibernian Hose Company, destroyed the -apparatus, and broke the fire-bell in pieces. Twenty-nine dwellings were -burned to the ground, their hapless occupants, mostly women and children, -fleeing in all directions amid the insults and shots of their savage -assailants. The citizens were now thoroughly aroused, the military, under -Gen. Cadwalader, was called out, and Bishop Kenrick addressed a public -admonition to his flock to preserve peace, and, notwithstanding the -provocation, to exercise forbearance. But the demon of fanaticism, once -let loose, could not be easily laid. Rioting continued throughout the day -and far into the night. Early on Wednesday morning S. Michael’s Church, -the female seminary attached to it, and a number of private houses in the -neighborhood were ruthlessly plundered and destroyed. “During the burning -of the church,” said one of the Philadelphia papers, “the mob continued -to shout; and when the cross at the peak of the roof fell, they gave -three cheers and a drum and fife played the ‘Boyne Water.’” - -The burning of S. Augustine’s Church took place on the evening of the -same day. This building, one of the finest in the city, was peculiarly -endeared to the Catholic inhabitants as having been one of their oldest -churches in Philadelphia. Many of the contributors to its building fund -were men of historic fame, such as Washington, Montgomery, Barry, Meade, -Carey, and Girard. It had adjoining it extensive school-houses and a -commodious parsonage, and the clock in its tower was the one which had -struck the first tones of new-born American liberty. But the sacred -character of the building itself, and the patriotic memories which -surrounded it, could not save it from the torch of the Philadelphia mob. - -“The clock struck ten,” wrote an eye-witness, “while the fire was raging -with the greatest fury. At twenty minutes past ten the cross which -surmounted the steeple, and which remained unhurt, fell with a loud -crash, amid the plaudits of a large portion of the spectators.” A very -valuable library and several splendid paintings shared the fate of the -church. - -But bad as was the conduct of the rioters, that of the authorities was -even worse. The militia, when ordered out, did not muster for several -hours after the time appointed, and when they did arrive they were only -passive, if not gratified, spectators of the lawless scenes before them. -When S. Michael’s was threatened, the pastor, Rev. Mr. Donohue, placed -it under the charge of Capt. Fairlamb, giving him the keys; yet the mob -was allowed to wreak its vengeance on it undisturbed. The basement of -S. Augustine’s was occupied by some armed men who had resolved to defend -it at all hazards; but on the assurance of Mayor Scott and the sheriff -that they had troops and police enough to protect it, it was agreed, in -the interests of peace, to evacuate it. This had scarcely been done when -the militia and civic guard fell back before a thousand or more armed -ruffians and left the church to its fate. For nearly sixty hours the -rioters were left in undisputed possession of the city; everything the -Catholics held sacred was violated; men were dragged out of their homes, -half-hanged and brutally maltreated, when not murdered outright; the -houses of adopted citizens were everywhere plundered, an immense amount -of property was destroyed, and over two hundred families left desolate -and homeless, without the slightest attempt being made to enforce the -law. How many fell victims to Nativist hate and rage on this occasion has -never been known, but the killed and wounded were counted by scores. - -An attempt to outrival Philadelphia in atrocity was made in New York -a few days after, but the precautionary steps of the authorities, the -firm attitude assumed by the late Archbishop Hughes, and the resolute -stand taken by the Catholic population, headed by Eugene Casserly--who -was at that time editor of the _Freeman’s Journal_--together with some -young Irish-American Catholic gentlemen, so impressed the leaders of -the Nativists that all attempts of an incendiary nature, and all public -efforts to sympathize with the Philadelphia mob, were abandoned. Nativism -staggered under the blow given it by its adherents in Philadelphia, and -soon sank into utter insignificance as a political power. - -Another decade, however, passed, and we find it again rejuvenated. -This time it assumed the name of the Know-nothing party, and extended -its ramifications through every State in the Union. Its declaration of -principles contained sixteen clauses, as laid down by its organs, of -which the following were regarded as the most vital: 1st. The repeal of -all naturalization laws. 2d. None but native Americans for office. 3d. -A Protestant common-school system. 4th. Perpetual war on “Romanism.” -5th. Opposition to the formation of military companies composed of -“foreigners.” 6th. Stringent laws against immigration. 7th. Ample -protection to Protestant interests. Though partly directed, apparently, -against all persons of foreign birth, this new secret society was -actually only opposed to Catholics; for many of the prominent members -in its lodges were Irish Orangemen and Welsh, Scotch, and English -unnaturalized adventurers who professed no form of belief. - -Like their predecessors of 1844, the Know-nothings employed a host of -mendacious ministers and subsidized a number of obscure newspapers to -circulate their slanders against Catholics, native as well as adopted -citizens; but they also added a new feature to the crusade against -morality and civil rights. This was street-preaching--a device for -creating riots and bloodshed, for provoking quarrels and setting neighbor -against neighbor, worthy the fiend of darkness himself. Wretched -creatures, drawn from the very dregs of society, were hired to travel -from town to town, to post themselves at conspicuous street-corners, -if possible before Catholic churches, and to pour forth, in ribald and -blasphemous language, the most unheard-of slanders against the church. -As those outcasts generally attracted a crowd of idle persons, and were -usually sustained by the presence of the members of the local lodge, the -merest interruption of their foul diatribes was the signal for a riot, -ending not unfrequently in loss of life or limb. - -The first outrage that marked the career of the Know-nothings of 1854 -was the attack on the Convent of Mercy, Providence, R. L., in April of -that year. Instigated by the newspaper attacks of a notorious criminal, -who then figured as a Nativist leader, the rowdy elements of that -usually quiet city surrounded the convent, pelted the doors and windows -with stones, to the great alarm of the ladies and pupils within, and -would doubtless have proceeded to extremities were it not that the -Catholics, fearing a repetition of the Charlestown affair, rallied for -its protection and repeatedly drove them off. In June Brooklyn was the -scene of some street-preaching riots, but in the following August St. -Louis, founded by Catholics and up to that time enjoying an enviable -reputation for refinement and love of order, acquired a pre-eminence in -the Southwest for ferocious bigotry. For two days, August 7 and 8, riot -reigned supreme in that city; ten persons were shot down in the streets, -many more were seriously wounded, and a number of the houses of Catholics -were wrecked. - -On the 3d of September of the same year the American Protestant -Association of New York, an auxiliary of the Know-nothings, composed -of Orangemen, went to Newark, N. J., to join with similar lodges of New -Jersey in some celebration. In marching through the streets of that -city they happened to pass the German Catholic church, and, being in a -sportive mood, they did not hesitate to attack it. A _mêlée_ occurred, -during which one man, a Catholic, was killed and several were seriously -injured. The evidence taken by the coroner’s jury showed that the -admirers of King William were well armed, generally intoxicated, and that -the assault and partial destruction of the church were altogether wanton -and unprovoked. Early in the same month news was received of a succession -of riots in New Orleans, the victims, as usual, being Catholics. - -But the spirit of terrorism was not confined to one section or particular -State. The virus of bigotry had inoculated the whole body politic. In -October people of all shades of religious opinion were astounded to hear -from Maine that the Rev. John Bapst, S. J., a clergyman of exemplary -piety and mildness, had actually been dragged forcibly from the house -of a friend by a drunken Ellsworth mob, ridden on a rail, stripped -naked, tarred and feathered, and left for dead. His money and watch were -likewise stolen by the miscreants. Father Bapst’s crime was that, when -a resident of Ellsworth some time previously, he had entered into a -controversy about public schools. - -Yet, in the face of all these lawless proceedings, the Know-nothing -party increased with amazing rapidity. “Without presses, without -electioneering,” said the New York _Times_, “with no prestige or power, -it has completely overthrown and swamped the two old historic parties -of the country.” This was certainly true of New England, and notably -so of Massachusetts, where, in the autumn of 1854, the Know-nothings -elected their candidate for governor and nearly every member of the -legislature. In the State of New York Ullman, the standard-bearer of -the new army of persecution, received over 122,000 votes, and, though -defeated in the city, it was more than suspected that the Democrat who -was chosen as mayor had been a member of the organization. In many other -States and cities the power of the sworn secret combination was felt and -acknowledged. - -Its influence and unseen grasp on the passions and prejudices of the -lower classes of Protestants were plainly perceptible in the halls of -Congress and in the executive cabinet. In the Senate William H. Seward -was the first and foremost to denounce the so-called American party. As -early as July, 1854, in a speech on the Homestead Bill, he took occasion -to remark: - -“It is sufficient for me to say that, in my judgment, everything is -un-American which makes a distinction, of whatever kind, in this country -between the native-born American and him whose lot is directed to be cast -here by an over-ruling Providence, and who renounces his allegiance to a -foreign land and swears fealty to the country which adopts him.” - -The example of the great statesman was followed by such men as Douglas, -Cass, Keitt, Chandler, and Seymour, while Senators Dayton and Houston, -Wilson, the late Vice-President, N. P. Banks, and a number of other -politicians championed the cause of intolerance as has since been -confessed, for their own selfish aggrandizement as much as from inherent -littleness of soul. - -Meanwhile, Massachusetts was completely controlled by the Know-nothings. -Their governor, Gardiner, had not been well in the chair of state when -he disbanded all the Irish military companies within his jurisdiction. -These were the Columbian, Webster, Shields, and Sarsfield Guards of -Boston, the Jackson Musketeers of Lowell, the Union Guard of Lawrence, -and the Jackson Guard of Worcester. The General Court, too, not to be -outdone in bigotry by the executive, passed a law for the inspection of -nunneries, convents, and schools, and appointed a committee to carry -out its provisions. The first--and last--domiciliary visit of this body -was made to the school of the Sisters of Notre Dame in Roxbury. It is -thus graphically described by the Boston _Advertiser_, an eminently -Protestant authority: “The gentlemen--we presume we must call members of -the legislature by this name--roamed over the whole house from attic to -cellar. No chamber, no passage, no closet, no cupboard, escaped their -vigilant search. No part of the house was enough protected by respect for -the common courtesies of civilized life to be spared in the examination. -The ladies’ dresses hanging in their wardrobes were tossed over. The -party invaded the chapel, and showed their respect--as Protestants, we -presume--for the One God whom all Christians worship by talking loudly -with their hats on; while the ladies shrank in terror at the desecration -of a spot which they believed hallowed.” - -Still, the work of proscription and outrage went on in other directions. -Fifteen school-teachers had been dismissed in Philadelphia because -they were Catholics; the Rev. F. Nachon, of Mobile, was assaulted and -nearly killed while pursuing his sacred avocations; a military company -in Cincinnati, and another in Milwaukee, composed of adopted citizens, -were disbanded, and on the 6th and 7th of August, 1855, the streets of -Louisville ran red with the blood of adopted citizens. In this last and -culminating Know-nothing outrage eleven hundred voters were driven from -the polls, numbers of men, and even women, were shot down in the public -thoroughfares, houses were sacked and burned, and at least five persons -are known to have been literally roasted alive. - -A reaction, however, had already set in. Men of moderate views and -unbiassed judgments began to tire of the scenes of strife, murder, and -rapine that accompanied the victories of the Know-nothings. The first -to deal it a deadly blow, as a political body, was Henry A. Wise, of -Virginia, in his noble canvass of that State against the combined Whig -and Nativist elements in 1855; and to the late Archbishop of New York, -in his utter discomfiture of State Senator Brooks, is justly due the -merit of having first convinced the American people that the so-called -American party was actually the most dangerous enemy of American laws and -institutions, the advocate of spoliation and persecution under the guise -of patriotism and reform. - -The decline of Nativism, though not so rapid as its growth, was equally -significant, and its history as instructive. In 1856 a national -convention was called by the wreck of the party to nominate Fillmore for -the presidency, after overtures had been made in vain to the Republicans -and Democrats. Fillmore was so badly defeated that he retired into -private life and lost whatever little fame he had acquired in national -affairs as Taylor’s successor. Four years later Bell and Everett appeared -on the Know-nothing ticket, but so far behind were they in the race with -their presidential competitors that very few persons cared to remember -the paucity of their votes. Gradually, silently, but steadily, like -vermin from a sinking ship, the leaders slunk away from the already -doomed faction, and, by a hypocritical display of zeal, endeavored to -obtain recognition in one or other of the great parties, but generally -without success. Disappointed ambition, impotent rage, and, let us hope, -remorse of conscience occasionally seized upon them, and the charity of -silence became to them the most desired of blessings. Perhaps if the late -civil war had not occurred, to swallow in the immensity of its operations -all minor interests, we might have beheld in 1864 the spectre of Nativism -arising from its uneasy slumber, to be again subjected to its periodical -blights and curses. - -From present appearances many far-seeing persons apprehend the recurrence -in this year of the wild exhibitions of anti-Catholic and anti-American -fanaticism which have so often blotted and blurred the otherwise -stainless pages of our short history; that the centennial year of -American independence and republican liberty is to be signalized by a -more concerted, better organized, and more ramified attack on the great -principles of civil and religious freedom which underlie and sustain -the fabric of our government. We trust, sincerely hope, that these men -are mistaken. But if such is to be the case; if we Catholics are doomed -once more to be subjected to the abuse of the vile, the slander of the -hireling, and the violence of an armed mob, the sooner we are prepared -for the contingency the better. If the scenes which have indelibly -disgraced Boston and Philadelphia, Ellsworth and Louisville, are to be -again rehearsed by the half-dozen sworn secret societies whose cabalistic -letters disfigure the columns of so many of our newspapers, we must be -prepared to meet the danger with firmness and composure. As Catholics, -demanding nothing but what is justly our due under the laws, our position -will ever be one of forbearance, charity, and conciliation; but as -American citizens, proud of our country and zealous for the maintenance -of her institutions, our place shall be beside the executors of those -grand enactments which have made this republic the paragon and exemplar -of all civil and natural virtues, no matter how imminent the danger or -how great the sacrifice. In lands less favored Catholic rights may be -violated by prince or mob with impunity, but we would be unworthy of -our country and of its founders were we to shrink for a moment from the -performance of our trust as the custodians of the fundamental ordinance -which guarantees full and absolute religious liberty to all citizens of -the republic. - - -LOUISE LATEAU BEFORE THE BELGIAN ROYAL ACADEMY OF MEDICINE.[260] - - -I. - -How is the name of Louise Lateau to be mentioned without immediately -calling up all the tumulta which that name has provoked? Books of science -and philosophy, official reports, academic discourses, reports of visits, -_feuilletons_, conferences, pamphlets, articles in journals, every kind -of literary production has been placed under contribution to keep the -public informed about the _stigmatisée_ of Bois d’Haine. For a year, -however, these studies have betaken themselves to a region that might be -called exclusively scientific, and have even received a kind of official -consecration from the recent vote of the Royal Academy of Medicine. - -It may be of service to the reader who cannot occupy himself with -special studies to give a brief exposition of the affair of Bois d’Haine -in itself, to show the different interpretations of it that have been -attempted, and to indicate clearly the actual phase of the question from -a scientific point of view. - -As early as about the middle of 1868 vague rumors were heard of strange -events which were taking place in a little village of Hainault. Every -Friday a young girl showed on the different portions of her body -corresponding to the wounds of our Saviour Jesus Christ red stains from -which blood flowed in greater or less abundance. It was also said that on -every Friday this young girl, ravished in ecstasy, remained for several -hours completely unconscious of all that was passing around her. Such -were the principal facts. Over and above these rumor spread the story of -certain accessory incidents, some of which, though true, were distorted, -while others were pure fancy. Thanks to the daily press, the young girl -soon became known to the general public, and the name of Louise Lateau -passed from mouth to mouth. Here and there one read among “current -events” that large crowds rushed from all sides, from Belgium and from -without, to assist every Friday at the scenes which were being enacted in -the chamber at Bois d’Haine. Some journals profited by the occasion to -deliver themselves anew of declamations against “Catholic superstitions, -the stupidity of the masses, and the intriguing character of the clergy”; -while even many men of good faith were of opinion that the story told of -Louise Lateau might indeed be true, but ought to be attributed to some -trickery or another of which either the girl or her family was culpable. - -Happily for the public, a light came to clear up this chaos of versions, -suppositions, and diverse and contradictory opinions. The _Revue -Catholique_ of Louvain reproduced by instalments, beginning in 1869, a -study by Prof. Lefebvre on these extraordinary events. Some time after, -this study appeared in the form of a volume. Here is how the eminent -physician expresses himself on the origin of his study: - - “The story told by the first witnesses of these extraordinary - events produced a lively emotion in the public mind, and soon - crowds assembled every week around the humble house which was - their theatre. The ecclesiastical authorities took up the - facts. This was their right and duty. From the very beginning - they recognized that the different elements of the question - ought to pass through the crucible of science. The periodic - hemorrhage and the suspension of the exercise of the senses - were within the competence of physicians. I was asked to study - them, the desire being expressed that the examination of these - facts should be of the most thorough description, and that they - should not be allowed to escape any one of the exigencies and - severities of modern science.… I deemed it right, therefore, - to accept the mission which was offered me. As a physician, I - was only asked for what I could give--that is to say, a purely - medical study of the facts.”[261] - -After having examined the events of Bois d’Haine in all their phases; -after having put to the proof the sincerity of the young girl in a -thousand different ways and by means of a variety of tests, the eminent -Louvain professor pronounced the facts of the stigmatization and ecstasy -to be real and free from deception. Passing, then, to the interpretation -of the events themselves, the author thus concludes: - - “Studying first the question of hemorrhage, I have demonstrated - that the periodic bleedings of Louise Lateau belong to no - species of hemorrhage admitted in the regular range of science; - that they cannot be assimilated to any of the extraordinary - cases recorded in the annals of medicine; that, in fine, the - laws of physiology do not afford an explanation of their - genesis. Coming next to the question of ecstasy, I have - carefully gone over the characters of the standard nervous - affections which could offer certain traits of a resemblance, - however remote, to the ecstasy of Louise Lateau, and I believe - I have demonstrated that it is impossible to connect it with - any of the nervous affections known to-day. I have penetrated - the domain of occult sciences; those dark doctrines have - furnished us with no more data for an interpretation of the - events of Bois d’Haine than the free sciences which expand in - the full light of day.” - -I do not hesitate to say that the appearance of this book was a -veritable event, and that it marked an important halting-place in the -study of the question of Louise Lateau. By those who knew the calm and -reflective spirit of M. Lefebvre, and the independence of his character -and convictions, the fact of the real existence of the extraordinary -events taking place at Bois d’Haine was no longer called in question; -and if some doubt still remained, it regarded only the sense in which -those events were to be interpreted. Was it, then, true that the union of -stigmata and ecstasies belonged to no known malady? Was it true that they -could find no place in the classification of diseases, under a new title, -with physiological proofs to accompany them? - -Notwithstanding the immense credit allowed to the science of M. Lefebvre, -doubt still hovered around this question, and I make bold to say, in the -honor of the progress of science, that such doubt was legitimate. A loyal -appeal was made to the _savants_ of the country and of foreign countries, -urging them to go and study the facts at Bois d’Haine and publish their -opinion. Soon a study on Louise Lateau, made by a French physician,[262] -came to confirm still further the medical study of M. Lefebvre. Then a -German _savant_, M. Virchow, seemed to accept as true the conclusions of -the Belgian doctor by that famous phrase that the events of Bois d’Haine -must be considered either as a trick or as a miracle. - -Meanwhile, certain persons seemed still reluctant to accept facts -which a hundred different witnesses affirmed in the face of the world. -Among the reluctant are to be ranked, first of all, those who are of -bad faith--with whom there is no reason to trouble; others who, for -philosophic motives, seemed to accuse the witnesses of those scenes -of sacrificing the interest of science to that of their religious -convictions. Nevertheless, M. Lefebvre’s book continued to make headway. -I do not say that it did not meet with some attacks here and there, and -certain objections in detail; but throughout the country no publication -of any pretension to seriousness affected either to deny the facts or to -give a natural explanation of them. This state of things continued up -to July, 1874. At this epoch Dr. Charbonnier, a physician of Brussels, -presented to the Belgian Royal Academy of Medicine a work entitled -_Maladies et facultés diverses des mystiques. Louise Lateau._ - -M. Boëns, on his part, submitted to the same learned body, in the session -of October 3, 1874, a new production, entitled _Louise Lateau, ou les -mystères de Bois d’Haine dévoilés_. - - -II. - -The events of Bois d’Haine continued to occupy public attention. -The scenes of the stigmatic flows of blood and of the ecstasies were -presented every Friday. It was even stated that from the middle of 1871 -Louise Lateau had taken no sort of nourishment. The Belgian Royal Academy -of Medicine, whether because it dreaded to enter upon a question which -involved, beyond the scientific side, a side purely philosophic, or -whether also because a fitting and favorable opportunity of taking up -the question of Louise Lateau was not presented, remained mute as to the -events of Bois d’Haine. - -The almost simultaneous presentation of two works treating on the very -subject indicated clearly that the question was ripe. Moreover, in the -session of October 3, 1874, the chief medical body of the country, -conformably with usage, appointed a special committee to make a report on -the works read in its sessions. This committee consisted of MM. Fossion, -president; Mascart and Warlomont, colleagues. - -The important report of the committee was read in the session of the 13th -of February by M. Warlomont. That gentleman to show how the study of M. -Charbonnier’s work necessitated an examination into the affair at Bois -d’Haine, said: - - “Ought the committee to confine itself to examining the - memorial placed before it from the simple point of view of - its absolute scientific value, without occupying itself with - the fact which gives occasion for the memorial? It would be - easier to do so, perhaps, but an opportunity would thus be - neglected of putting the Academy in possession of an actual - medical observation, as complete as possible, relative to a - fact of which, whether we like it or not, the discussion can no - longer be eluded. It assumed, therefore the task of inquiring - into the affair forthwith; resolved, however arduous might be - the mission thus undertaken, to accept it without regret, to - pursue it without weakness as without bias, and to set before - the society such elements as its investigation--one altogether - official--should have procured. This is the trust which, in its - name, I this day fulfil.”[263] - -MM. Charbonnier and Boëns were the first in our country who undertook to -find fault with the conclusions of M. Lefebvre’s book, and to explain by -scientific data the events of Bois d’Haine. M. Boëns, almost immediately -after the reading of a portion of his work, withdrew it, and was able -by this means to escape the report of the committee. Was this disdain -for the judgment of his _confrères_ on the part of the distinguished -physician of Charleroi, or was it want of confidence in the solidity of -his own arguments? I know not. I state a fact and continue. - -There remained, then, for the committee to examine the work of M. -Charbonnier. This memoir is voluminous. The theory of the author is -substantially as follows: The absence of aliment and the concentration of -the faculties of the soul towards one object have been the primary and -indispensable conditions of ecstasies and stigmata. As far as abstinence -is concerned, it is perfectly compatible, if not with a state of health, -at least with the maintenance of life. “The question of abstinence,” says -the author, “is the most important, because without it nothing happens. -It being well explained, there is no longer anything supernatural in any -of the physiological and pathological phenomena of the mystics.”[264] - -But how is this abstinence compatible with life? By the law of the -substitution of functions and organs. - -“The organs,” says the author, “are conjointly associated (_solidaires_) -one with another, working for the common health; so that when an organ, -for one cause or another, cannot adequately fulfil its functions, another -immediately supplies its place.” - -Supposing all this admitted, here is what the author says of -stigmatization: - - “Abstinence and contemplation are the causes of stigmatization: - i. Abstinence, in suppressing the vegetative functions, frees - both the nervous influx and the blood which were distributed - among the digestive organs. 2. Contemplation gathers together - the contingent of pain dispersed through all the body, to fix - and concentrate it on certain points which it sees, admires, - loves, in Jesus Christ. It suppresses all the functions of - the life of relation to devote itself exclusively to the - object of its passion. The bloody flux, which has been drawn - to the surface of the skin by the great functional activity, - follows to the end the nervous influx which is constantly - directed towards certain points, and the stigmatization is - effected.”[265] - -Of the ecstasy, according to M. Charbonnier, “abstinence is the -principal, contemplation the secondary, cause.” We cannot, indeed, enter -into all the details furnished by the author of this strange theory. In -order to arrive at a judgment regarding it, we know of nothing better -than to cite the conclusions of the reader of the report on the work -itself: - - “All this,” says M. Warlomont, “forms a whole which must have - cost the author long and laborious research. As far as the - inquiries of physiology are concerned, the source, respectable - though it may be, on which he has relied, must be a cause for - regret. His principal, almost his only, authority is that of - Longet, who is now many years dead. But the questions relative - to nutrition--those precisely which are at stake--have, since - Longet, been placed in an absolutely new light. The work which - we have just analyzed is altogether a work of the imagination. - The demonstration of the _à priori_ thesis which the author - has set up he has pursued by every means, clearing out of - his road the obstacles of nature which embarrass it, and - creating at will new functions whereon to apply his organs; - all this written in a lively, imaginative style, and bearing - the impress of conviction. There is only one thing which is - sadly wanting--experimental proof. A few simple experiments on - animals, logically carried out, would have informed him how - they withstand a progressive abstinence, and what changes this - abstinence effects in their organs and functions. It is to be - regretted that he has not instituted these experiments.”[266] - -If the theory advanced by M. Charbonnier, based on such doubtful -physiological facts, finds no weight with the learned representative -of the Academy of Medicine, it is not because he himself admits the -conclusions arrived at in the study of M. Lefebvre on Louise Lateau. -For him, indeed, the events taking place at Bois d’Haine, apart from -the question of fasting, which has not been positively established, and -which, on that account, rightly passes beyond scientific discussion,[267] -are exempt from all fraud and deception. But let M. Warlomont himself -speak: - - “After having analyzed,” he says, “the memoir which the - Academy has confided to our examination, and having refuted it - principally in the portions which concern Louise Lateau, it - remains for us in our turn to give our own ideas relative to - a fact of such interest which has formed the subject of the - memoir. - - “And first of all, are the facts cited real? According to - our thinking, the simulation of the ecstasies is simply - impossible, accompanied as they are by functional troubles the - provocation for which would pass quite beyond the empire of the - will. As for the actual spontaneity of the stigmata, we have - demonstrated this experimentally.” - -And now for the chief part of the report. It is that in which the learned -academician attempts to give a physiological explanation of the facts. -For him ecstasies are a species of double life, of a second condition, -such as may be presented in ordinary and extraordinary nervous states, as -well as in others: (_a_) in consequence of material injury to the brain; -(_b_) during the existence of well-determined neurotic disorders; (_c_) -under the influence of certain special appliances (magnetism, hypnotism); -(_d_) spontaneously, without the intervention of any external provocation -(as somnambulism or extraordinary neurotic affections). - -After having examined each of these points in detail, the author thus -continues: - - “This point established, what of ecstasies? Well, whatever - we may do, it is impossible for us not to class them in the - same order of facts, not to see in them the influence of a - neurotic perturbation analogous to that which controls neurotic - diseases. It is in both cases the passage of a human being into - a state of second condition, characterized by the suspension, - more or less complete, of the exercise of the senses, with a - special concentration of all the cerebral powers towards a - limited object. Among the ecstatics, as among the hypnotics, - there prevails a perturbation, diminution, or abolition of - external sensibility. All is concentrated in a new cerebral - functional department.” - -So far for the ecstasies. Passing next to the production of stigmata, -the report admits in principle the theory of Alfred Maury. That is to -say, the imagination plays the principal _rôle_ in the production of -these phenomena. But to meet the brilliant member of the Institute, he -calls to his aid the physiological laws and most recent discoveries, -in order to show how the imagination can, by the irritation of certain -given parts, provoke a veritable congestion of those parts, and then a -hemorrhage. - - “In virtue of what mechanism,” he asks, “are blisters first - produced, and bleeding afterwards? We have established the - genesis of stigmatic angiomata.[268] The attention has given - place to pain, and pain to repeated touchings; from this - proceeds the congestion which has brought on the arrest of - the blood in the capillaries, and, as a consequence, their - enlargement. Then comes the rush of blood, giving place to - congestive motions, determined by a hemorrhagic diathesis, and - the phenomena disclose themselves in all their simplicity; - the leucocytes[269] will pass across the capillaries, will - discharge themselves under the skin, and the blister is the - result. The accumulation of blood continuing in proportion to - the enlargement of the capillaries, the fleshly tegument will - end by bursting; then the blood itself, whether by traversing - the channels created by the previous passage of the leucocytes, - or by the rupture of the vessels, the likelihood of which can - be sustained, ends by an external eruption, and the hemorrhage - follows.” - -But M. Warlomont goes still farther. He says that not only are stigmata -and ecstasies capable of explanation when taken apart from one another, -but that by their union they constitute what in pathology is called -aggregate of symptoms. According to this, stigmata and ecstasies would -constitute an altogether unique morbid state, to which the professor -gives the following name and definition: “Stigmatic neuropathy is a -nervous disease, having its seat in the base of the _medulla oblongata_, -the first stage of which consists in the paralysis of the vaso-motor -centre, and the second in its excitation.” Presented in this way, the -report of the distinguished member of the Academy was not only a report, -but a veritable original work. Thus this book, wherein the author had -joined loyalty of procedure to elegance of style and deep erudition, -produced a profound sensation. The theory which he advances might -well leave certain doubts with the reader relative to the solidity of -the bases on which it leans, but by its method it exercised a real -fascination on the mind. M. Warlomont’s conclusions were, as far as the -interpretation of the facts went, diametrically opposed to those of the -book which M. Lefebvre had published several years before, and it was not -without a very great curiosity that the public awaited the reply of the -latter. - -The reply was not long in coming. M. Lefebvre’s discourse occupied, so -to say, exclusively the sessions of May 29 and June 26. After having -rendered due homage to the courtesy and science of the distinguished -reader of the report, the Louvain professor hesitated not to sustain the -first conclusions advanced in his book, and to demonstrate the small -foundation of the theory of his adversary on this question. It is to be -regretted that the limits at my disposal do not allow me to enter into -all the physiological details and pathological considerations on which -M. Lefebvre builds his conclusions. I regret it the more because the -brilliant words of the orator exercise a very special impression by the -clearness of their exposition, the logic of their reasoning, and the -exquisite charm which they give to even the driest questions. - -First, as to the stigmatic hemorrhages, we cannot be astonished, after -having followed the proofs which the learned orator gives us, to find him -lay down the following conclusions: - - “1. M. Warlomont is driven to admit a single vaso-motor centre; - the most recent researches are against this localization: the - vaso-motor centres are several and disseminated. - - “2. The distinguished reader of the report constructs his - doctrine of the action of the imagination on a series of - hypotheses. - - “The two chief ones are: that the imagination has the power, - every Friday morning, of completely paralyzing the vaso-motor - centre and the vaso-constrictor nerves; and after midday, - by a contradictory action, to excite violently this centre, - and consequently to close up the vaso-constrictors--pure - suppositions which have not only not been demonstrated by the - author, but which seem to me absolutely anti-physiological. - - “3. Even admitting these hypotheses as well founded, it is an - established fact that the complete paralysis of the vaso-motor - centres and of the vaso-constrictor nerves is never followed - by bleeding on the surface of the skin; the experience of all - physiologists agrees on this point. - - “4. This experience proves, on the contrary, that in such cases - there are sometimes produced suffusions of blood in the mucous - membranes; such suffusions never show themselves in Louise - Lateau. - - “5. A series of hypotheses still more complicated than those - laid down as premises by the distinguished reader of the report - might be conceded--to wit, the paralysis of the arteries and - the simultaneous constriction of the veins. Experiment again - proves that even under these conditions bleeding on the surface - of the skin is not produced. - - “6. M. Warlomont, in parting from the hypotheses which I - have just combated, admits that the bleeding produced by the - influence of the imagination is a bleeding by transudation. - But the characteristics of transudation, studied in the light - of modern physiology, are completely opposed to those of the - stigmatic bleeding of Louise Lateau. - - “7. Finally--and this argument alone will suffice to overthrow - the thesis of the distinguished reader of the report--clinical - observation, in accordance with physiological induction, proves - that in circumstances where the imagination exercises its - greatest violence it never produces bleeding on the surface of - the skin.” - -Regarding ecstasies, the orator, after having examined the different -states with which the reader of the report to the Academy compared the -ecstasies of Louise Lateau, concludes by saying: - - “I believe I have demonstrated that the analysis of second - conditions, brought out with so much skill by the distinguished - gentleman, does not give the key to the ecstasy of Louise - Lateau. But, setting aside these states of nervous disease, - should not the imagination be made to bear all the burden of - the ecstasy, as it does of the stigmatization?” - -After examining this question, the orator concludes in the negative. In -finishing his beautiful discourse he says: - - “Our honorable colleague, in studying the causes of the - stigmatization and ecstasy, has given to them a physiological - interpretation. On this ground I have separated from him, and - I believe I have demonstrated that that interpretation is not - only insufficient, but also erroneous. I believed for a moment - that M. Warlomont was about to offer an acceptable scientific - theory. I do not say a theory complete and adequate--I am - not so exacting; I know too well that we do not know the all - of anything. If our eminent colleague had proposed to us a - physiological interpretation, satisfying the most moderate - demands of science, I should have accepted it, not with - resignation, but with joy and eagerness; and believe me, - gentlemen, my religious convictions would have suffered no - shock thereby. - - “Our learned colleague, whom you have charged with examining - the events of Bois d’Haine, has not, then, in my opinion, - given to them their physiological interpretation. Other - physicians have attempted the same task; I name two of them, - because their works have been produced within these walls. - - “First of all, Dr. Boëns. In withdrawing his memoir from the - order of the day of the Academy, he has withdrawn it from - our discussion. Nevertheless, I believe I am not severe in - affirming that the considerations which claimed his attention, - and the irony of which he has been so prodigal in my own - regard, have thrown but little light on the events of Bois - d’Haine. Dr. Charbonnier has submitted to your appreciation a - work of a more scientific character. M. Warlomont has examined - it with the attention which it deserves, and has refuted it. I - am thus dispensed from returning to it. - - “I maintain, then, purely and simply, the conclusions of my - study: The stigmatization and the ecstasies of Louise Lateau - are real and true facts, and science has not furnished their - physiological interpretation.” - -M. Crocq spoke after M. Lefebvre. Like M. Warlomont, the learned Brussels -professor believes that the interpretation of the facts positively -established about Louise Lateau belongs to pathological physiology. The -theory of M. Crocq differs but little from that of M. Warlomont. He -attaches more importance to abstinence than the learned reader of the -report, and thus comes nearer to M. Charbonnier; he believes, also, that -the bleeding is altogether caused by a rupture of the capillaries. Apart -from these small distinctions, it may be said of him, as of M. Warlomont, -that he is of opinion that the imagination, by its influence on the -nervous system, is the principal cause of the ecstasies and stigmata. -Here are the rest of his conclusions: - - “I. The state of Louise Lateau is a complex pathological state, - characterized by the following facts: - - “1. Anæmia and weakness of constitution, arising from - privations endured since childhood. - - “2. Nervous exaltation produced by anæmia and directed in a - determined sense by the education and religious tendencies of - Louise. - - “3. Ecstasies constituting the supreme degree of this - exaltation. - - “4. Bleeding, having for its starting point anæmia and - exaltation of the vaso-motor nervous system. - - “5. Relative abstinence, considerably exaggerated by the sick - girl, conformably to what is observed among many persons who - suffer from nervous disorders. - - “II. This state offers nothing contrary to the laws of - pathological physiology; it is consequently useless to go - outside of that in search of explanation. - - “III. It has the same characteristics as all the analogous - cases related by physicians and historians; mysticism - altogether, save cases of jugglery and mystification, ought to - enter into the province of pathology, which is vast enough to - contain it; and all the phenomena explain themselves perfectly - by taking as starting point the principles which I have laid - down.” - -If we had to advance our own opinion on this important question, we -should say that, after the report in which M. Warlomont had treated his -subject with so much method and science, there remained few new arguments -which could be applied to the physiological theory of the phenomena of -mystics. It should be considered, however, no small advantage for the -latter physician to feel himself supported by M. Crocq, who had brought -to the debates the weight of his profound erudition and vast experience. - - -III. - -By all impartial judges the case might be regarded as understood. It -was so in effect. The different orators who succeeded each other in the -tribune of the Academy had brought to their respective discourses the -strongest possible array of facts and of arguments. I shall astonish no -one, then, by saying that M. Warlomont could not allow the victorious -discourse of his colleague of Louvain to pass without some observations. -It is impossible for us here to give a _résumé_ of his discourse. In the -main it added no new proof to the substance of the debate, and confined -itself to the criticism of certain details. - -It is enough for us to say that in this discourse the learned reader of -the report to the Academy gave new proof of the brilliancy of his mind -and the adroitness of his gifts. - -M. Lefebvre, on his side, felt himself to be too much master of the -situation to need emphasizing his triumph any further. This is what he -did in the session of October 9, 1875. Without precisely entering into -the heart of the debate, he brought out more strongly certain of the -arguments which he had already used; he employed them to refute some of -the assertions made in the discourses of his adversaries, held up certain -inaccuracies, and concluded, as he had the right to do, by the following -words, which give an exact idea of the state of the question: - - “Let us resume. M. Warlomont has studied with earnestness and - candor the events of Bois d’Haine. He has stated, as I have - done, the reality of the stigmatization and ecstasy; he has - demonstrated, as I have, that these phenomena are free from any - deception. M. Crocq, after having examined the facts on the - spot, has arrived at the same conclusions. The learned reader - of the committee’s report has built up a scientific theory of - the stigmatization and ecstasy; the eminent Brussels professor - has, in his turn, formulated an interpretation very nearly - approaching to that of M. Warlomont, but which differs from it, - nevertheless, on certain points. I have sought, on my side, a - physiological explanation of these extraordinary facts, and - I have arrived at the conclusion that science could furnish - no satisfactory interpretation of them. I have expounded at - length before the Academy the reasons which prevent me from - accepting the theories of my two honorable opponents; but my - position is perfectly correct. I confine myself to recognizing - my powerlessness to interpret the facts of Bois d’Haine. M. - Warlomont takes another attitude. He pretends that we have a - scientific explanation of these phenomena. We have not one--we - have had three or four; which is the true one? Is it that of M. - Boëns? Is it that of M. Charbonnier, to which, beyond doubt, - you attach some importance, since you have voted that it be - printed? Is it that of the learned reader of your report? Begin - by choosing. As for me, I hold fast to my first conclusions: - The facts of Bois d’Haine have not received a scientific - interpretation.” - -After certain remarks made at the same session by MM. Vleminckx, Crocq, -Lefebvre, Masoin, Boëns, the general discussion closed. The printing -of M. Charbonnier’s memoir was decided on and a vote of thanks to the -author passed. With this should have ended the task of the Academy; and -those who had hoped for a physiological interpretation of the facts of -Bois d’Haine, as the outcome of these discussions, were in a position -to felicitate themselves on the result; for by its absolute silence the -Academy allowed a certain freedom of choice. - -But during the session of July 10, 1875, which a family affliction -prevented M. Lefebvre from assisting at, two members proposed orders of -the day on the discussion of Bois d’Haine. Nevertheless, by a very proper -sentiment, which the distinguished president, M. Vleminckx, was the first -to advance, those orders of the day were not carried at that date. - -That of M. Kuborn was thus conceived: - - “The Academy, considering-- - - “That the phenomena really established about the young girl - of Bois d’Haine are not new and are explicable by the laws of - pathological physiology; - - “That the prolonged abstinence which has been argued about has - not been observed by the committee; - - “That no supervision, therefore, having been established, and - there having been no chance of establishing it, the proper - thing was not to pause on the consideration of this fact, but - to consider it as not having come up-- - - “The Academy follows its order of the day as far as concerns - the question of the stigmatization and exstasy.” - -Here is the order of the day proposed by M. Crocq: - - “The Academy, considering-- - - “That the phenomena established about Louise Lateau are not - beyond a physiological explanation; - - “That those which are not established ought no longer to occupy - our attention-- - - “Declares the discussion closed, and passes to the order of the - day.” - -The same resolutions, the small foundation for which, after the -discourses which had been made, every impartial mind ought to recognize, -were again brought up in the session of October 9. - -M. Vleminckx, having induced the authors of the orders of the day to -modify their wording in such a manner as to render them acceptable, M. -Fossion proposed the following form, more soothing than its predecessors: - - “The Royal Academy of Medicine declares that the case of Louise - Lateau has not been completely scrutinized and cannot serve - as a base for serious discussion; consequently, it closes the - discussion.” - -M. Laussedat, after some preliminary remarks, finally proposed the order -of the day pure and simple, which was adopted. - -The bearing of this vote will escape the mind of no one. In setting aside -the orders of the day which pretended that what had been positively -established in the question of Bois d’Haine might be solved by science, -the Academy has fully confirmed the conclusions of M. Lefebvre’s book. - -Meanwhile, in ending, let us return to Bois d’Haine, to that young girl -who has become more than ever the object of the veneration of some, the -study of others, and the wonder of all. - -Since 1868 Louise Lateau presents the phenomena weekly of the bloody -stigmata and the ecstasies, to which later on was added abstinence from -food. - -Her first and chief historian, M. Lefebvre, after having watched the -young girl, affirms since 1869: She, whom a certain portion of the public -considers as a cheat or an invalid, really presents the phenomena which -are reported of her. These phenomena are exempt from trickery, and it is -impossible to explain them by the laws of physiology and pathology. We -omit the question of fasting, which remains to be studied. - -Seven years after the appearance of the first phenomena, at the time when -the commotion which they produced had, so to say, reached its height, the -leading learned body in Belgium examined the mysterious scenes in the -humble house of Bois d’Haine, and, through MM. Crocq and Warlomont, made -an inquiry into the reality and sincerity of the facts, and brings in a -verdict that the facts are real and free from all fraud. - -Finally, this same Belgian Royal Academy of Medicine, by its vote, -avows in the face of the world that, if it ought not to recognize a -supernatural cause in the facts about Louise Lateau, as little can it -demonstrate their natural origin and physiological genesis. - -Such is the actual state of this extraordinary question. - - -ST. JEAN DE LUZ. - - “Il s’imagine voir, avec Louis le Grand, - Philip Quatre qui s’avance - Dans l’Ile de la Conférence.” - - --_La Fontaine._ - -Few towns are set in so lovely a frame as St. Jean de Luz, with its -incomparable variety of sea, mountain, river, and plain. In front is the -dark blue bay opening into the boundless sea. On the north are the cliffs -of Sainte Barbe. At the south are the Gothic donjon and massive jetty of -Socoa, behind which rises gradually a chain of mountains, one above the -other, from wooded or vine-covered hills, dotted here and there with the -red-and-white houses of the Basque peasantry and the summer residences -of the wealthy merchants of St. Jean de Luz, till we come to the outer -ramparts of La Rhune with its granite cliffs and sharp peaks, the Trois -Couronnes with their jagged outline, and still farther on a long, blue -line of mountains fading away into the azure sea. It is from La Rhune -you can best take in all the features of the country. To go to it you -use one of the modest barks that have replaced the sumptuous galleys of -Louis Quatorze, and ascend to Ascain, a pretty hamlet, from which the -summit of La Rhune is reached in two hours. It is not one of the highest -in the Pyrenean chain, being only three thousand feet above the sea, but -it is an isolated peak, and affords a diversified view of vast extent. To -the north are the green valleys of Labourd, with the steeples of thirty -parishes around; Bayonne, with the towers of its noble cathedral; and -the vast pine forests of the mysterious Landes. To the west is the coast -of Spain washed by the ocean. East and south are the mountains of Béarn -and Navarre, showing peak after peak, like a sea suddenly petrified in a -storm. - -Such is the magnificent frame in which is set the historic town of St. -Jean de Luz. It is built on a tongue of land washed by the encroaching -sea on one hand and the river Nivelle on the other. The situation is -picturesque, the sky brilliant, the climate mild. It seems to need -nothing to make it attractive. The very aspect of decay lends it an -additional charm which renewed prosperity would destroy. The houses run -in long lines parallel with the two shores, looking, when the tide is -high, like so many ships at anchor. At the sight of this floating town -we are not surprised at its past commercial importance, or that its -inhabitants are navigators _par excellence_. Its sailors were the first -to explore the unknown seas of the west, and to fish for the cod and -whale among the icebergs of the arctic zone. In the first half of the -XVIIth century thirty ships, each manned by thirty-five or forty sailors, -left St. Jean de Luz for the cod-fisheries of Newfoundland, and as many -for Spitzbergen in search of whales. The oaks of La Rhune were cut down -for vessels. The town was wealthy and full of activity. Those were -the best days of ancient Lohitzun. But though once so renowned for its -fleets, it has fallen from the rank it then occupied. Ruined by wars, and -greatly depopulated by the current of events, its houses have decayed -one after another, or totally disappeared before the encroachments of -the sea. Reduced to a few quiet streets, it is the mere shadow of what -it once was. Instead of hundreds of vessels, only a fishing-smack or two -enliven its harbor. And yet there is a certain air of grandeur about -the place which bespeaks its past importance, and several houses which -harmonize with its historic memories. For St. Jean de Luz was not only a -place of commercial importance, but was visited by several of the kings -of France, and is associated with some of the most important events of -their reigns. Louis XI. came here when mediating between the kings of -Aragon and Castile. The château of Urtubi, which he occupied, is some -distance beyond. Its fine park, watered by a beautiful stream, and the -picturesque environs, make it an attractive residence quite worthy of -royalty. The ivy-covered wall on the north side is a part of the old -manor-house of the XIIth century; the remainder is of the XVIIth. The -two towers have a feudal aspect, but are totally innocent of feudal -domination; for the Basque lords, even of the middle ages, never had -any other public power than was temporarily conferred on them by their -national assemblies. - -It was at St. Jean de Luz that Francis I., enthusiastically welcomed -by the people after his deliverance from captivity in Spain, joyfully -exclaimed: “_Je suis encore roi de France_--I am still King of France!” -It likewise witnessed the exchange of the beautiful Elizabeth of France -and Anne of Austria--one given in marriage to Louis XIII. and the other -to Philip of Spain amid the acclamations of the people. - -Cardinal Mazarin also visited St. Jean de Luz in 1659 to confer with -the astute Don Luis de Haro, prime minister of Philip IV., about the -interests of France and Spain. The house he inhabited beside the sea -still has his cipher on the walls, as it has also the old Gobelin -tapestry with which his apartments were hung. He was accompanied by -one hundred and fifty gentlemen, some of whom were the greatest lords -in France. With them were as many attendants, a guard of one hundred -horsemen and three hundred foot-soldiers, twenty-four mules covered with -rich housings, seven carriages for his personal use, and several horses -to ride. He remained here four months. His interviews with the Spanish -minister took place on the little island in the Bidassoa known ever since -as the Isle of Conference, which was never heard of till the treaty of -the Pyrenees. All national interviews and exchanges of princesses had -previously taken place in the middle of the river by means of _gabares_, -or a bridge of boats. - -It was this now famous isle which Bossuet apostrophized in his _oraison -funèbre_ at the burial of Queen Marie Thérèse: - -“Pacific isle, in which terminated the differences of the two great -empires of which you were the limit; in which were displayed all the -skill and diplomacy of different national policies; in which one -statesman secured preponderance by his deliberation, and the other -ascendency by means of his penetration! Memorable day, in which two -proud nations, so long at enmity, but now reconciled by Marie Thérèse, -advanced to their borders with their kings at their head, not to engage -in battle, but for a friendly embrace; in which two sovereigns with their -courts, each with its peculiar grandeur and magnificence, as well as -etiquette and manners, presented to each other and to the whole universe -so august a spectacle--how can I now mingle your pageants with these -funeral solemnities, or dwell on the height of all human grandeur in -sight of its end?” - -The marriage of Louis XIV. with the Spanish Infanta, to which the great -orator refers, is still the most glorious remembrance of St. Jean de -Luz. The visits of Louis XI., Francis I., and Charles IX. have left but -few traces in the town compared with that of the _Grand Monarque_. The -majestic presence of the young king surrounded by his gay, magnificent -following, here brought in contrast with the dignity, gloom, and splendor -of the Spanish court, impressed the imagination of the people, who have -never forgotten so glorious a memory. - -Louis XIV. arrived at St. Jean de Luz May 8, 1660, accompanied by Anne of -Austria, Cardinal Mazarin, and a vast number of lords and ladies, among -whom was the _Grande Mademoiselle_. They were enthusiastically welcomed -by the ringing of bells, firing of cannon, and shouts of joy. Garlands of -flowers arched the highway, the pavement was strewn with green leaves, -and Cantabrian dances were performed around the cortége. At the door of -the parish church stood the clergy in full canonicals, with the _curé_ -at their head to bless the king as he went past. He resided, while -there, in the château of Lohobiague, the fine towers of which are still -to be seen on the banks of the Nivelle. It is now known as the House of -Louis XIV. Here he was entertained by the widowed _châtelaine_ with the -sumptuous hospitality for which the family was noted. A light gallery was -put up to connect the château with that of Joanocnia, in which lodged -Anne of Austria and the Spanish Infanta. Here took place the first -interview between the king and his bride, described by Mme. de Motteville -in her piquant manner. From the gallery the Infanta, after her marriage, -took pleasure in throwing handfuls of silver coin to the people, called -_pièces de largesses_, struck by the town expressly for the occasion, -with the heads of the royal pair on one side and on the other St. Jean de -Luz in a shower of gold, with the motto: _Non lætior alter_. - -The château of Joanocnia, frequently called since that time the château -of the Infanta, was built by Joannot de Haraneder, a merchant of the -place, who was ennobled for his liberality when the island of Rhé was -besieged by the English in 1627, and about to surrender to the Duke -of Buckingham for want of supplies and reinforcements. The Comte de -Grammont, governor of Bayonne, being ordered by Richelieu to organize an -expedition at once for the relief of the besieged, issued a command for -every port to furnish its contingent. St. Jean de Luz eagerly responded -by sending a large flotilla, and Joannot de Haraneder voluntarily gave -the king two vessels, supplied with artillery, worthy of figuring in the -royal navy. For this and subsequent services he was ennobled. His arms -are graven in marble over the principal fire-place of the château--a -plum-tree on an anchor, with the motto: - - “Dans l’ancre le beau prunier - Est rendu un fort riche fructier.” - -This château, though somewhat devoid of symmetry, has a certain beauty -and originality of its own, with its alternate rows of brick and -cream-colored stone, after the Basque fashion, its Renaissance portico -between two square towers facing the harbor, and the light arches of the -two-story gallery in the Venetian style. Over the principal entrance is a -marble tablet with the following inscription in letters of gold: - - “L’Infante je reçus l’an mil six cent soixante. - On m’appelle depuis le chasteau de l’Infante.” - -The letter L and the _fleur-de-lis_ are to be seen as we ascend the grand -staircase, and two paintings by Gérôme after the style of the XVIIth -century, recalling the alliance of France and Spain and the well-known -_mot_ of Louis XIV.: - - “Il n’y a plus de Pyrénées!” - -All the details of the residence of the royal family here, as related -by Mme. de Motteville and Mlle. de Montpensier, are full of curious -interest. The former describes the beautiful Isle of Conference and the -superb pavilion for the reunion of the two courts, with two galleries -leading towards France and Spain. This building was erected by the -painter Velasquez, who, as _aposentador mayor_, accompanied Philip IV. -to the frontier. This fatiguing voyage had an unfavorable effect on the -already declining health of the great painter, and he died a few weeks -after his return. - -During the preliminary arrangements for the marriage Louis led a solemn, -uniform life. Like the queen-mother, who was always present at Mass, -Vespers, and Benediction, he daily attended public services, sometimes -at the Recollects’ and sometimes at the parish church. He always dined -in public at the château of Lohobiague, surrounded by crowds eager to -witness the process of royal mastication. In the afternoon there were -performances by comedians who had followed the court from Paris; and -sometimes Spanish mysteries, to which Queen Anne was partial, were -represented, in which the actors were dressed as hermits and nuns, and -sacred events were depicted, to the downright scandal of the great -mademoiselle. The day ended with a ball, in which the king did not -disdain to display the superior graces of his royal person in a _ballet -compliqué_. Everything, in short, was quite in the style of the _Grand -Cyrus_ itself. - -The marriage, which had taken place at Fontarabia by procuration, was -personally solemnized in the parish church of St. Jean de Luz by the -Bishop of Bayonne in the presence of an attentive crowd. The door by -which the royal couple entered was afterwards walled up, that it might -never serve for any one else--a not uncommon mark of respect in those -days. A joiner’s shop now stands against this Porta Regia. The king -presented the church on this occasion with a complete set of sacred -vessels and ecclesiastical vestments. - -The church in which Louis XIV. was married is exteriorly a noble building -with an octagonal tower, but of no architectural merit within. There are -no side aisles, but around the nave are ranges of galleries peculiar -to the Basque churches, where the separation of the men from the -women is still rigorously maintained. The only piece of sculpture is a -strange _Pietà_ in which the Virgin, veiled in a large cope, holds the -dead Christ on her knees. A rather diminutive angel, in a flowing robe -with pointed sleeves of the time of Charles VII., bears a scroll the -inscription of which has become illegible. - -Behind the organ, in the obscurity of the lower gallery of the church, -hangs a dark wooden frame--short but broad--with white corners, which -contains a curious painting of the XVIIth century representing Christ -before Pilate. It is by no means remarkable as a work of art; for it is -deficient in perspective, there is no grace in the drapery, no special -excellence of coloring. The figures are generally drawn with correctness, -but the faces seem rather taken from pictures than from real life. But -however poor the execution, this painting merits attention on account of -its dramatic character. The composition represents twenty-six persons. -At the left is Pontius Pilate, governor of Judea, seated in a large -arm-chair beneath a canopy, pointing with his left hand towards the -Saviour before him. In his right hand he holds a kind of sceptre; his -beard is trimmed in the style of Henri Quatre; he wears a large mantle -lined with ermine, and on his head a _toque_, such as the old presidents -of parliament used to wear in France. - -Below Pilate is the clerk recording the votes in a large register, and -before him is the urn in which they are deposited. - -In front of the clerk, but separated from him by a long white scroll on -which is inscribed the sentence pronounced by Pilate, is seated our -Saviour, his loins girded with a strip of scarlet cloth, his bowed head -encircled by luminous rays, his attitude expressive of humility and -submission, his bound hands extended on his knees. - -In the centre of the canvas, above this group, is the high-priest -Caiaphas standing under an arch, his head thrown back, and his hands -extended in an imposing attitude. He wears a cap something like a mitre, -a kind of stole is crossed on his breast, his long robe is adorned with -three flounces of lace. His face is that of a young man. The slight black -mustache he wears is turned up in a way that gives him a resemblance to -Louis XIII. It is evidently a portrait of that age. - -At the side of Pilate, and behind Christ, are ranged the members of the -Jewish Sanhedrim, standing or sitting, in various postures, with white -scrolls in their hands, which they hold like screens, bearing their names -and the expression of their sentiments respecting the divine Victim. -Their dress is black or white, but varied in form. Most of them wear a -_mosette_, or ermine cape, and the collar of some order of knighthood, as -of S. Michael and the S. Esprit. They are all young, have mustaches, and -look as if they belonged to the time of Louis Treize. On their heads are -turbans, or _toques_. - -Through the open window, at the end of the pretorium, may be seen the -mob, armed with spears, and expressing its sentiments by means of a -scroll at the side of the window: “If thou let this man go, thou art not -Cæsar’s friend. Crucify him! crucify him! His blood be on us and on our -children.” - -The chief interest of the picture centres in these inscriptions, which -are in queer old French of marvellous orthography. At the bottom of the -painting, to the left, is the following: - - “Sentence, or decree, of the sanguinary Jews against Jesus - Christ, the Saviour of the world.” - -Over Pilate we read: - - “PONTIUS PILATE JUDEX.” - -The sentiments of the high-priests and elders, whose names we give in the -original, are thus expressed: - - “1. SIMON LEPROS. For what cause or reason is he held for - mutiny or sedition? - - “2. RABAN. Wherefore are laws made, I pray, unless to be kept - and executed? - - “3. ACHIAS. No one should be condemned to death whose cause is - not known and weighed. - - “4. SABATH. There is no law or right by which one not proved - guilty is condemned; wherefore we would know in what way this - man hath offended. - - “5. ROSMOPHIN. For what doth the law serve, if not executed? - - “6. PUTÉPHARES. A stirrer-up of the people is a scourge to the - land; therefore he should be banished. - - “7. RIPHAR. The penalty of the law is prescribed only for - malefactors who should be made to confess their misdeeds and - then be condemned. - - “8. JOSEPH D’ARAMATHEA. Truly, it is a shameful thing, and - detestable, there be no one in this city who seeks to defend - the innocent. - - “9. JORAM. How can we condemn him to death who is just? - - “10. EHIERIS. Though he be just, yet shall he die, because by - his preaching he hath stirred up and excited the people to - sedition. - - “11. NICODEMUS. Our law condemns and sentences to death no man - for an unknown cause. - - “12. DIARABIAS. He hath perverted the people; therefore is he - guilty and worthy of death. - - “13. SAREAS. This seditious man should be banished as one born - for the destruction of the land. - - “14. RABINTH. Whether he be just or not, inasmuch as he will - neither obey nor submit to the precepts of our forefathers, he - should not be tolerated in the land. - - “15. JOSAPHAT. Let him be bound with chains and be perpetually - imprisoned. - - “16. PTOLOMÉE. Though it be not clear whether he is just or - unjust, why do we hesitate: why not at once condemn him to - death or banish him? - - “17. TERAS. It is right he should be banished or sent to the - emperor. - - “18. MESA. If he is a just man, why do we not yield to his - teachings: if wicked, why not send him away? - - “19. SAMECH. Let us weigh the case, so he have no cause to - contradict us. Whatever he does, let us chastise him. - - “20. CAÏPHAS PONTIFEX. Ye know not well what ye would have. It - is expedient for us that one man should die for the people, and - that the whole nation perish not. - - “21. THE PEOPLE TO PILATE. If thou let this man go, thou art - not the friend of Cæsar. Crucify him! crucify him! His blood be - on us and on our children!” - -On the large scroll in the centre of the picture is the sentence of -Pilate: - - “I, Pontius Pilate, pretor and judge in Jerusalem under the - thrice powerful Emperor Tiberius, whose reign be eternally - blessed and prospered, in this tribunal, or judicial chair, in - order to pronounce and declare sentence for the synagogue of - the Jewish nation with respect to Jesus Christ here present, by - them led and accused before me, that, being born of father and - mother of poor and base extraction, he made himself by lofty - and blasphemous words the Son of God and King of the Jews, and - boasted he could rebuild the temple of Solomon, having heard - and examined the case, do say and declare on my conscience he - shall be crucified between two thieves.” - -This picture is analogous to the old mysteries of the Passion once so -popular in this region, in which the author who respected the meaning of -the sacred text was at liberty to draw freely on his imagination. It was -especially in the dialogue that lay the field for his genius. However -naïve these sacred dramas, they greatly pleased the people. A painting -similar to this formerly existed in St. Roch’s Church at Paris, in which -figured the undecided Pilate in judicial array, Caiaphas the complacent -flatterer of the people, and the mob with its old _rôle_ of “Crucify him! -crucify him!” - -We must not forget a work of art, of very different character, associated -with the history of St. Jean de Luz. It is a curious piece of needle-work -commemorating the conferences of the two great statesmen, Cardinal -Mazarin and Don Luis de Haro, and evidently designed by an able artist, -perhaps by Velasquez himself. It is a kind of _courte-pointe_ (it would -never do to call it by the ignoble name of coverlet!) of linen of -remarkable fineness, on which are embroidered in purple silk the eminent -personages connected with the treaty of the Pyrenees, as well as various -allegorical figures and accessory ornaments, which make it a genuine -historic picture of lively and interesting character. This delicate piece -of Spanish needle-work was wrought by the order of Don Luis de Haro as a -mark of homage to his royal master. He presented it to the king on his -feast-day, May 1, 1661, and it probably adorned the royal couch. But the -better to comprehend this work of art--for such it is, in spite of its -name--let us recall briefly the events that suggested its details. - -Philip IV. ascended the Spanish throne in 1621, when barely sixteen years -of age. His reign lasted till 1665. He had successively two ministers of -state, both of great ability, but of very different political views. In -the first part of his reign the young monarch gave his whole confidence -to the Count of Olivares, whose authority was almost absolute till 1648. -But his ministry was far from fortunate. On the contrary, it brought -such humiliating calamities on the country that the king at length awoke -to the danger that menaced it. He dismissed Olivares and appointed the -count’s nephew and heir in his place, who proved one of the ablest -ministers ever known in Spain. He was a descendant of the brave Castilian -lord to whom Alfonso VII. was indebted for the capture of Zurita, but -who would accept no reward from the grateful prince but the privilege of -giving the name of Haro to a town he had built. It was another descendant -of this proud warrior who was made archbishop of Mexico in the latter -part of the XVIIIth century, and was so remarkable for his charity and -eloquence as a preacher. - -Don Luis not only had the military genius of his ancestor, but the -prudence of a real statesman, and he succeeded in partially repairing -the disasters of the preceding ministry. He raised an army and equipped -a powerful squadron, by which he repulsed the French, checked the -Portuguese, brought the rebellious provinces into subjection, and -effected the treaty of Munster; which energetic measures produced such an -effect on the French government as to lead to amicable relations between -the two great ministers who, at this time, held the destiny of Europe in -their hands, and to bring about a general peace in 1659. - -It was with this object Cardinal Mazarin and Don Luis de Haro agreed upon -a meeting on the _Ile des Faisans_--as the Isle of Conference was then -called--which led to the treaty of the Pyrenees. - -As a reward for Don Luis’ signal services, particularly the peace he had -cemented by an alliance so honorable to the nation, Philip IV., in the -following year, conferred on him the title of duke, and gave him the -surname _de la Paz_. - -It was at this time Don Luis had this curious _courte-pointe_ wrought as -a present to the king. He was the declared patron of the fine arts, and -had established weekly reunions to bring together the principal artists -of Spain, some of whom probably designed this memorial of his glory. -It was preserved with evident care, and handed down from one sovereign -to another, till it finally fell into the possession of the mother of -Ferdinand VII., who, wishing to express her sense of the fidelity of one -of her ladies of honor, gave her this valuable counterpane. In this way -it passed into the hands of its present owner at Bayonne. - -On the upper part of this covering the power of Spain is represented by -a woman holding a subdued lion at her feet. In the centre are Nuestra -Señora del Pilar and S. Ferdinand, patrons of the kingdom, around whom -are the eagles of Austria, so closely allied to Spain. And by way of -allusion to the _Ile des Faisans_, where the recent negotiations had -taken place, pheasants are to be seen in every direction. Cardinal -Mazarin and Don Luis de Haro are more than once represented. In one -place they are presenting an olive branch to the powers they serve; in -another they are advancing, side by side, towards Philip IV., to solicit -the hand of his daughter for Louis XIV. Here Philip gives his consent to -the marriage, and, lower down, Louis receives his bride in the presence -of two females who personify France and Spain. The intermediate spaces -are filled up with allusions to commerce with foreign lands and the -progress of civilization at home. Not only war, victory, and politics -have their emblems, but literature, beneficence, and wealth. But there -are many symbols the meaning of which it would require the sagacity of a -Champollion to fathom. - -This is, perhaps, the only known instance of a prime minister directing -his energies to the fabrication of a counterpane. Disraeli, to be sure, -has woven many an extravagant web of romance with Oriental profusion of -ornament, but not, to our knowledge, in purple and fine linen, like Don -Luis de Haro. We have seen one of the gorgeous coverlets of Louis XIV., -but it was wrought by the young ladies of St. Cyr under the direction -of Mme. de Maintenon; and there is another in the Hôtel de Cluny that -once belonged to Francis I. The grand-daughter of Don Luis de Haro, the -sole heiress of the house, married the Duke of Alba, carrying with her -as a dowry the vast possessions of Olivares, Guzman, and Del Carpio. The -brother-in-law of the ex-Empress Eugénie is a direct descendant of theirs. - -Opposite St. Jean de Luz, on the other side of the Nivelle, is Cibourre, -with its solemn, mysterious church, and its widowed houses built along -the quay and straggling up the hill of Bordagain. Prosperous once like -its neighbor, it also participated in its misfortunes, and now wears -the same touching air of melancholy. The men are all sailors--the -best sailors in Europe--but they are absent a great part of the year. -Fearless wreckers live along the shore, who brave the greatest dangers -to aid ships in distress. In more prosperous days its rivalry with St. -Jean de Luz often led to quarrels, and the islet which connects the two -places was frequently covered with the blood shed in these encounters. -The convent of Recollects, now a custom-house, which we pass on our way -to Cibourre, was founded in expiation of this mutual hatred, and very -appropriately dedicated to _Notre Dame de la Paix_--Our Lady of Peace. -The cloister, with its round arches, is still in good preservation, and -the cistern is to be seen in the court, constructed by Cardinal Mazarin, -that the friars might have a supply of soft water. - -The Basques are famed for their truthfulness and honesty, the result -perhaps of the severity of their ancient laws, one of which ordered -a tooth to be extracted every time a person was convicted of lying! -No wonder the love of truth took such deep _root_ among them. But had -this stringent law been handed down and extended to other lands, what -toothless communities there would now be in the world! - - -THE ETERNAL YEARS. - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE DIVINE SEQUENCE.” - -II. - -THE PULSATIONS OF TIME. - -The deduction we arrive at from the argument which we have laid down is -that the history of the world is a consistent one, and not a series of -loose incidents strung together. It is as much this morally, it is as -truly the evolution and unwinding of a high moral law and of a great -spiritual truth, as the life of the plant from the seed to the ripe fruit -is the development of a natural growth. This last is governed by laws -with which we are only partially acquainted; whereas the moral law and -the spiritual truth are revealed to us by the divine scheme of creation -and redemption. There is nothing existing, either in the natural or in -the spiritual law, and especially in this last, which is not more or -less, in one way or in another, by assertion or by negation, a revelation -of the divine Being. - -He reveals himself directly by his volitions and indirectly by his -permissions. And we can only be one with him when we have learnt to -accept both and to submit to both; not in the spirit of quietism or -fatalism, but as actively entering into his intentions, accepting what -he wills, and bearing what he permits. There is no harmony possible -between the soul and God until we have arrived at this; and the history -of the world is the history of man’s acquiescence in, or resistance to, -the supreme will of God. The first disruption of the will of man from -the will of God, in the fall of man, wove a dark woof into the web of -time; and every act of ours which is not according to the will of God -weaves the same into our own lives, because it is a rupture of the law -of harmony which God has instituted between himself as creator and us -as creatures. Were that harmony unbroken, man would rest in God as in -his centre; for, being finite, he has no sufficiency in himself, but -for ever seeks some good extrinsic to himself. The same applies to all -creation, whose ultimate end and highest good must always be some object -beyond, and above itself; and that object is none other than God, “quod -ignorantes colitis,”[270]--the finite striving after the Infinite. Thus -the whole divine government of the world is a gradual unfolding of the -divine Will, according as we are able to receive it. And the degree -of receptivity in mankind, at various periods of the world’s history, -and in different localities, accounts for the variety in the divine -dispensations, and for the imperfection of some as compared with others. -The “yet more excellent way”[271] could not be received by all at all -times. The promise was given to Abraham. But four hundred and thirty -years elapsed before its fulfilment, for the express purpose of being -occupied and spent in the institution of the law as a less perfect -dispensation, and which was given because of transgressions--“propter -transgressiones posita est”[272]--thus showing the adaptive government of -God: the gradual building up of the city of the Lord, whose stones are -the living souls of men, which are “hewed and made ready,”[273] but so -that there shall be “neither hammer, nor axe, nor tool of iron heard” -while it is building. For God does not force his creature. He pours not -“new wine into old bottles,” but waits in patience the growth of his -poor creatures, and the slow and gradual leavening of the great mass. -A time had been when God walked with man “at the afternoon air”;[274] -and whatever may be the full meaning of this exquisitely-expressed -intercourse, at least it must have been intimate and tender. But when -the black pall of evil fell on the face of creation, the light of God’s -intercourse with man was let in by slow degrees, like single stars coming -out in the dark firmament. The revelations, like the stars, varied in -magnitude and glory, lay wide apart from each other, rose at different -intervals of longer or shorter duration, and conveyed, like them, a -flickering and uncertain light, until the “Sun of Justice arose with -health in his wings,”[275] and “scattered the rear of darkness thin.” The -degree of light vouchsafed was limited by the capacity of the recipient; -and that capacity has not always been the same in all ages, any more than -in any one age it is the same in all the contemporary men, or in each man -the same at all periods of his life. It is thus that we arrive at the -explanation of an apparent difference of tone, color, and texture, so to -speak, in the various manifestations of God to man. The manifestation is -limited to the capacity of the recipient; and not only is it limited, -but to a certain extent it becomes, as it were, tinged by the properties -of the medium through which it is transmitted to others. It assumes -characteristics that are not essentially its own. For so marvellous is -the respect with which the Creator treats the freedom of his creature -that he suffers us to give a measure of our own color to what he reveals -to us, so that it may be more our own, more on our level, more within -our grasp; as though he poured the white waters of saving truth into -glasses of varied colors, and thus hid from us a pellucidity too perfect -for our nature. And thus it happens that to us who dwell in the light of -God’s church, with the seven lamps of the seven sacraments burning in -the sanctuary, the God of Abraham and of Isaac and of Jacob hardly seems -to us the same God as our God. We see him through the prism of the past, -amid surroundings that are strange to us, in the old patriarchal life -that seems so impossible a mode of existence to the denizens of great -cities in modern Europe. - -This is equally true throughout the history of the world. It is also true -of every individual soul; and it is true of the same soul at different -periods of its existence. He is the same God always and everywhere. But -there is a difference in the kind of reception which each soul gives -to that portion of divine knowledge and grace which it is capable of -receiving and which it actually does receive. For they are “divers kinds -of vessels, every little vessel, from the vessels of cups even to every -instrument of music.”[276] They differ in capacity and they differ in -material; and the great God, in revealing himself, does so by degrees. -He has deposited, as it were, the whole treasure of himself in the bosom -of his spouse, the church; but the births of new grace and further -developed truth only come to us as we can bear them and when we can bear -them. The body of truth is all there; but the dispensing of that truth -varies in degree as time goes on. God governs in his own world; but he -does so behind and through the human instruments whom he condescends -to employ. And as, in the exercise of his own free-will, man chose the -evil and refused the good, so has the Almighty accommodated himself to -the conditions which man has instituted. Were he to do otherwise, he -would force the will of his creature, which he never will do, because -the doing it would have for result to deprive that creature of all moral -status and reduce him to a machine. From the moment that we lose the -power of refusing the good and taking the evil, from the moment that any -force really superior to that which has been put into the arsenals of -our own being robs us of the faculty of selection, we lose all merit and -consequently all demerit. The Creator, when he made man, surrounded him -with the respect due to a being who had the power of disposing of his own -everlasting destiny. Nor has he ever done, nor will he do, anything which -can entrench on this prerogative. The whole system of grace is a system -divinely devised to afford man aid in the selection he has to make. There -lies an atmosphere of grace all around our souls, as there lies the -air we breathe around our senses. The one is as frequently unperceived -by us as the other.[277] We are without consciousness as regards its -presence, as we are without direct habitual consciousness of the act of -breathing and of our own existence, except as from time to time we make a -reflective modification in our own mind of the idea of the air and of the -fact of our inhaling it. We are unconscious that it is the divine Creator -who is for ever sustaining our physical existence. We are oblivious of -it for hours together, unless we stop and think. It is the same with the -presence of grace. - -And though “exciting” grace, as theology calls it, begins with the -illustration of the intellect, it does not follow that we are always by -any means conscious of this illustration. It is needless to carry out -the theological statement in these pages. What we have said is enough to -bring us round to our point, which is that the action of grace on the -individual soul, and the long line of direct and indirect revelations -of God’s will from the creation to the present hour, though always the -same grace and always the same revelation, receive different renderings -according to the vehicle in which they are held--much as a motive in -music remains the same air, though transposed from one key to another. -Not only, therefore, does man, as it were, give a color of his own to -the revelation of God, but he has the sad faculty of limiting its flow -and circumscribing its course, even where he cannot altogether arrest -it. We are “slow of heart to believe,” and therefore is the time delayed -when the still unfulfilled promises may take effect. Our Lord declares -that Moses _permitted_ the Hebrews to put away their wives, because -of the hardness of their hearts; “but from the beginning it was not -so.”[278] God’s law had never in itself been other than what the church -has declared it to be. The state of matrimony, as God had ordained it, -was always meant to be what the church has now defined. But man was not -in a condition to receive so perfect a law; and thus the condition of -man--that is, the hardness of his heart--had the effect of modifying -the apparent will of God, as revealed in what we now know to be one of -the seven sacraments. The Hebrews were incapable of anything more than -a mutilated, or rather a truncated, expression of the divine will, as -it was represented to them in the law of Moses on the married state. -Nor could we anywhere find a more perfect illustration of our argument. -In the first place, it is given us by our Lord himself; and, in the -second, it occurs on a subject which, taken in its larger sense, involves -almost every other, lies at the root of the whole world of matter, and -of being through matter, and may be called the representative idea of -the creation. Now, if on such a question as this mankind, at some period -of their existence, and that a period which includes ages of time, and -covers, at one interval or another, the whole vast globe, could only -_bear_ an imperfect and utterly defective rendering, how much more must -there exist to be still further developed out of the “things new and -old” which lie in the womb of time and in the treasures of the church, -but which are waiting for the era when we shall be in a condition to -receive them! The whole system of our Lord’s teaching was based on this -principle. He seems, if we may so express it, afraid of overburdening -his disciples by too great demands upon their capacity. He says with -reference to the mission of S. John the Baptist: “_If_ you will receive -it, he is Elias that is to come,”[279] and in the Sermon on the Mount he -points out to them the imperfection of the old moral code, as regarded -the taking of oaths and the law of talion. Now, the moral law, as it -existed in the mind of God, could never have varied. It must always -have been “perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect.” But it passed -through an imperfect medium--the one presented by the then condition of -mankind--and was modified accordingly. - -We hold, therefore, in what we have now stated, a distinct view of the -way in which God governs the world; not absolutely, not arbitrarily, -but _adaptively_. And where we see imperfection, and at times apparent -retrogression, it is the free will of man forcing the will of God to his -own destruction, “until he who hindereth now, and will hinder, be taken -out of the way.”[280] - -If this be true of God’s direct revelations of himself, and of his -moral law as given from time to time to mankind, according as, in -their fallen state, they could receive it--if, in short, it be true of -his direct volitions--it is also true of his permissions. If it hold -good of the revelations of his antecedent will, it holds good of the -instances (so far as we may trace them in the history of the world) of -his consequent will; that is, of his will which takes into consideration -the facts induced by man in the exercise of his own free will, which is -so constantly running counter to the antecedent will of God. The divine -permissions form the negative side of the revelation of God. They are -his permissive government of the world, not his direct government. The -direct government is the stream of revelation given to our first parents, -to the patriarchs and lawgivers of Israel, and now, in a more direct -and immediate way, through our Blessed Lord in his birth, death, and -resurrection, by the church in the sacraments, and through her temporal -head, the vicar of Christ. - -Even now, when he has consummated his union with his church, and that she -is the true organ of the Holy Ghost, and thus the one true and infallible -medium and interpreter of God’s direct government of the world, he also -governs it by the indirect way of his overruling providence. The events -which occur in history have ever a double character. They have their -mere human aspect, often apparently for evil alone; and they have their -ultimate result for good, which is simply the undercurrent of God’s will -working upwards, and through the actions of mankind. Events which, on -the face of them, bear the character of unmitigated evils, like war, -have a thousand ultimate beneficial results. War is the rude, cruel -pioneer of the armies of the Lord; for where the soldier has been the -priest will follow. Persecutions kindle new faith and awake fresh ardor. -Pestilence quickens charity and leads to improvements in the condition of -the poor. Nor do we believe that it is only in this large and general, -unsympathetic, and sweeping manner that God allows good to be worked out -of evil. We have faith in the intercession of the Mother of Mercy; and -as ultimate good may arise to whole races of mankind out of terrible -calamities, so, we are persuaded, there is a more intimate, minute, and -loving interference to individual souls wherever there is huge public -calamity. The field of battle, the burning city, the flood, and the -pestilence are Mary’s harvest fields, whither she sends her angels, over -whom she is queen, with special and extraordinary graces, to gather and -collect those who might otherwise have perished, and, in the supreme -moment which is doubtless so often God’s hour, to win trophies of mercy -to the honor and glory of the Precious Blood. - -Unless we believe in God’s essential, actual, and unintermittent -government of the world, we cannot solve the riddle of the Sphinx, and -her cruel, stony stare will freeze our blood as we traverse the deserts -of life. If we believe only in his direct government, we shall find it -chiefly, if not solely, in his church; and the area is sadly limited! If -we acknowledge his essential providence in his permissions, if we make -sure of his presence in what appears its very negation, then alone do -we arrive at the solution of life’s problems; and even this, not as an -obvious thing, but as a constant and ever-renewed act of faith in the -under-flowing gulf-stream of divine love, which melts the ice and softens -the rigor of the wintry epochs in the world’s history. If we admit of -this theory, which is new to none of us, though dim to some, we let in a -flood of light upon many of the incidents described in the Old Testament, -and specially spoken of as done by the will of God, but which, to our -farther-advanced revelation of God, read to us as unlike himself. The -light of the later interpretation has been thrown over the earlier fact; -but in the harmony of eternity, when we are freed from the broken chord -of time, there will be no dissonant notes. - -There can be no more wonderful proof of God’s unutterable love than the -way in which he has condescended to make the very sins of mankind work to -his own glory and to the farther revelation of himself. From the first -“_felix culpa_” of our first parents, as the church does not hesitate to -call it, down to the present hour--down even to the secret depths of our -own souls, where we are conscious of the harvests of grace sprung from -repentant tears--it is still the great alchemist turning base metal in -the crucible of divine love into pure gold. - -It is one of the most irrefragable proofs of the working of a perpetual -providence that can be adduced. - -Granted that there are no new creations, but that creation is one act, -evolving itself by its innate force into all the phenomena which we -see, and into countless possible others which future generations of -beings will see, nothing of this can prevent the fact that the moral -development of the status of mankind, the revelations of divine truth, -and consequently of the Deity, through the flow of ages, has ever -been a bringing of good out of evil which no blind, irresponsible law -could produce. There is no sort of reason why evil should work into -its contrary good, except the reason that God is the supreme good, -and directs all apparent evil into increments of his glory, thereby -converting it into an ultimate good. We must remember, however, that -this does not diminish our culpability, because it does not affect our -free-will. It does not make evil another form of good. It is no pact with -the devil. It is war and victory, opposition and conquest. It is justice -and retribution, and it behooves us to see whether we are among those -who are keeping ourselves in harmony with the eternal God in his direct -government of the world; in harmony (so far as we know it) with his -antecedent will; or whether we are allowing ourselves to drift away into -channels of our own, working out only the things that he permits, but -which he also condemns, and laying up for ourselves that swift devouring -flame which will “try every man’s work of what sort it is.” - - * * * * * - -We have thus arrived at two different views of God’s government of the -world--his direct government and his indirect or permissive government. -We now come to what we may call his inductive teaching of the world--the -way in which truths are partially revealed to us, and come to us -percolating through the sands of time, as mankind needs them and can -receive them. - -Our Lord himself gives us an example of this inductive process when he -speaks of “the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob” as being “not the -God of the dead, but of the living,” thus showing that the Jews held, and -were bound to hold, the doctrine of immortality by an inductive process. -The teaching of the old law was symbolic and inductive. The histories of -the Old Testament are of the same character. They are written with no -apparent design. They are the simple account of such incidents as the -historian thought himself bound to record; acting, as he did, under the -divine impulse, which underlay his statements without fettering his pen. -He was not himself half conscious of the unspeakable importance of his -work. Consequently, there is no effort, hardly even common precaution and -foresight, in his mode of chronicling events. He glances at incidents -without explaining them, because while he wrote they were present to his -own experience, and would be to that of his readers. A writer in our day -would allude to a person having performed a journey of fifty miles in an -hour’s time without thinking it necessary to explain that people travel -by steam. In another part he would advert to railroads, and the rapidity -of locomotion as their result, equally without a direct reference to -the individual who effected fifty miles in an hour. To the reader of -three thousand years hence the one incidental allusion will explain -and corroborate the other, and thus, by internal evidence, prove the -authenticity and consistency of the history. Unintentional coincidences -crop up as the pages grow beneath his hand, and to the careful student of -Scripture throw light unlooked for on the exactitude and veracity of the -narrative. And the substratum of the whole of the Old Testament history -is the gradual growth of one family out of all the families of mankind, -into which, as into a carefully prepared soil, the seed of divine truth -was to be sown. Through all the variety of the Old Testament writers -the same underlying design exists; and though this was a special stream -of revelation unlike any that now exists or that is now required (for -reasons which are obvious to every Catholic who knows what the church -is), yet they form an indication of the way in which the divine Creator -is for ever governing the world and preparing it with a divine foresight -for his ultimate purpose. The Holy Ghost speaks now through a direct -organ, which organ is the church. Formerly God spoke through historic -events and multitudinous incidents in connection with one race of people. -But this very fact authorizes us to believe that the same _character_ -of government exists throughout the whole universe in a greater or less -degree, and that God is preparing the way for the ultimate triumph of -the sacred Humanity and of his spouse the Church, on the far-off shores -of sultry Africa, in the inner recesses of silent China, among the huge -forests which skirt the Blue Mountains, or amid the glittering glories of -the kingdoms of ice. - -There is nothing more depressingly sad, more deeply to be regretted, and -more difficult to explain than the almost hopeless narrowness of most -people in their appreciation of divinely-ordained facts. We live like -moles. We throw up a mound of dusky earth above and around us, within -which we grope and are content. The treasures of sacred lore, the depths -of spiritual science, the infinite variety of Scriptural information, -with the divinely-pointed moral of every tale, are things which most -of us are content to know exist, and to think no more about. The very -lavishness with which God has given us all that we want for the salvation -of our souls seems to have stifled in our ungenerous natures the -longing to know and to do more. When the Evangelist said that the world -would not hold the books that might be written on the sacred Humanity -alone, he must have had an intuition, not so much of the material world -and material volumes, as of the world of narrowed minds and crippled -hearts who would be found stranded on the shores of our much-vaunted -civilization and progress. - -Few things are more remarkable in the tone and character of modern -Catholic writers than the small amount of use they make of Scripture: -so strangely in contrast with the old writers, and with even the great -French spiritual authors of a century and a half ago. Their pages are -rich with Scriptural lore. Their style is a constant recognition of the -government and designs of God as shown to us in our past and present, and -as we are bound to anticipate them in the future. In our time this has -given place to emotional devotion; a most excellent thing in its way, but -only likely to have much influence over our lives when it is grounded on -solid theology and directed by real knowledge. No doubt it is so in the -minds of the authors themselves; but we fear it is rare in those of their -ordinary readers, who thus drink the froth off the wine, but are not -benefited by the strengthening properties of the generous liquid itself. -Nor will they be until they have made up their minds to believe and -understand that conversion is not an isolated fact in their lives, but a -progressive act involving all the intellect, all the faculties, be they -great or small (for each one must be full up to his capacity), and all -the heart, mind, and soul. The whole man must work and be worked upon in -harmony; and we must remember that it _is_ work, and not merely feeling, -consolation, emotion, prettiness, and ornament, but an intellectual -growth, going on _pari passu_ with a spiritual growth, until the whole -vessel is fitted and prepared for the glory of God. - -We think we may venture to say that few things will conduce more to this -than the study of the divine Scriptures under the light and teaching -of the Catholic Church. In them we find a profound revelation of the -character of God. We are, as we read them interpreted to us by the lamp -of the sanctuary, let down into awful depths of the divine Eternal Mind. -We watch the whole world and all creation working up for the supreme -moment of the birth of Jesus; while in the life of our Blessed Lord -himself we find, condensed into those wonderful thirty-three years, -the whole system of the church--the spiritual fabric which is to fill -eternity, the one God-revealing system which is finally to supersede all -others. - -Unhappily many persons are under the delusion that narrowness and -ignorance are the same as Christian simplicity, and that innocence means -ignorance of everything else, as well as of evil. These are the people -who are afraid to look facts in the face, and to read them off as part -of the God-directed history of the world. These are they to whom science -is a bugbear. They hug their ignorance as being their great safeguard, -and wear blinkers lest they should be startled by the events which cross -their path. Grown men and women do it for themselves and attempt it for -their children, and meanwhile those to whom we ought to be superior are -rushing on with headlong daring, carrying intellectual eminence, and -originality, and investigation of science, all before them; while we, who -should be clad in the panoply of the faith, and afraid of nothing, are -putting out the candles and shading the lamps, that we may idly enjoy a -shadow too dense for real work. - -And yet is not the earth ours? Is not all that exists our heritage? To -whom does anything belong if not to us, the sons of the church, the -sole possessors of infallible truth, the only invulnerable ones, the -only ever-enduring and ever-increasing children of the light? The past -is ours; the present should be ours; the future is all our own. Our -triumph may be slow (and it is slower because we are cowards), but it -is certain. Are we not tenfold the children of the covenant, the sons -of the Father’s house, the heirs of all? We alone are in possession of -what all science and art must ultimately fall back upon and harmonize -with. There is no success possible but what is obtained, and shall in the -future be obtained, in union with the church of God. Have we forgotten, -are we ever for a moment permitted to forget, that the church of God -is not an accident, nor a cunningly-devised, tolerably able, partially -infirm organization, but that she is the spouse of the God-Man, the one -revelation of God, perfect and entire, though but gradually given forth; -that all the harmonies of science are fragments of the harmony of God -himself, of his pure being, of the _Qui Est_; and that the harmony of the -arts is simply the human expression of the harmony of the _Logos_, the -human utterances of the articulations of the divine Word, as they come to -us in our far-off life-like echoes from eternity? - -Even the great false religions of the past, and of the present in the -remote East, are but man’s discord breaking the harmony of truth while -retaining the key-note: the immortality of the soul and the perfection -of a future state in the deep thoughts of Egypt, the universality of -God’s providential government of the world in Greek mythology, the union -of the soul with God in Brahminism, and the One God of Mahometanism. -Each has its kernel of truth, its ideal nucleus of supernatural belief, -which it had caught from the great harmony of God in broken fragments, -and enshrined in mystic signs. Even now, as we look back upon them all, -we are bound to confess that they stand on a totally different ground -from the multitudinous sects of our day, which break off from the one -body of the church and drift off into negation or Protestantism. Far be -it from us to insinuate that any, the lowest form of Christianity, the -weakest utterance of the dear name of Jesus, is not ten thousand fold -better than the most abstruse of the old Indian or Egyptian religions. -Wherever the name of Jesus is uttered, no matter how imperfectly, there -is more hope of light and of salvation than in the deepest symbols of -heathen or pagan creeds. It may be but one ray of light, but still it is -light--the real warming, invigorating light of the sun, and not the cold -and deleterious light of the beautiful moon, who has poisoned what she -has borrowed.[281] Nevertheless, and maintaining this with all the energy -of which we are capable, it is still true that each one of the great -false religions, which at various times and in divers places have swayed -mankind, was rather the overgrowth of error on a substantial truth than -the breaking up of truth into fragmentary and illogical negation, which -is the characteristic of all forms of secession from the Catholic unity -of the church. The modern aberrations from the faith are a mere jangle -of sounds, while the old creeds were the petrifaction of truth. The -modern forms of faith outside the church are a negation of truth rather -than a distortion. Consequently, they are for ever drifting and taking -Protean shapes that defy classification. - -They have broken up into a hundred forms; they will break up into a -thousand more, till the whole fabric has crumbled into dust. They have -none of the strong hold on human nature which the old religions had, -because they are not the embodiment of a sacred mystery, but rather the -explaining away of all mystery. They are a perpetual drifting detritus, -without coherence as without consistency; and as they slip down the slant -of time, they fall into the abyss of oblivion, and will leave not a trace -behind, only in so far that, vanishing from sight, they make way for the -fuller establishment of the truth--the eternal, the divine, spherical -truth, absolute in its cohesion and perfect in all its parts. - -The hold which heathen and pagan creeds have had upon mankind conveys a -lesson to ourselves which superficial thinkers are apt to overlook. It is -certain they could not have held whole nations beneath their influence -had not each in its turn been an embodiment of some essential truth -which, though expressed through error, remains in itself essentially -a part of truth. They snatched at fragments of the natural law which -governs the universe, or they embodied in present expression the -inalienable hopes of mankind. They took the world of nature as the -utterance neither of a passing nor of an inexorable law, but of an -inscrutable Being, and believed that the mystical underlies the natural. -Untaught by the sweet revelations of Christianity, their religion could -assume no aspect but one of terror, silent dread, and deep horror. Their -only escape from this result was in the deterioration that necessarily -follows the popularization of all abstract ideas, unless protected by -a system at once consistent and elastic, like that which is exhibited -in the discipline of the Catholic Church. They wearied of the rarefied -atmosphere of unexplained mystery. They wanted the tangible and evident -in its place. Like the Israelites, they lusted after the flesh-pots of -Egypt; and their lower nature and evil passions rebelled against the -moral loftiness of abstract truth. The multitude could not be kept up -to the mark, and needed coarser food. The result was inevitable. But as -all religion involves mystery, instead of working upward through the -natural law to the spiritual and divine law, they inverted the process, -and grovelled down below the natural law, with its sacramentalistic -character, to the preternatural and diabolic. Mystery was retained, but -only in the profanation of themselves and of natural laws, until they had -passed outside all nature, and, making a hideous travesty of humanity, -had become more vile and hateful than the devils they served. - -Thus the Romans vulgarized the Greek mythology; and that which had -remained during a long period as a beautiful though purely human -expression of a divine mystery, among a people whose religion consisted -mainly in the worship of the beautiful, and who themselves transcended -all that humanity has ever since beheld in their own personal perfection -of beauty, became, when it passed through the coarser hands of the -Romans, a degenerate vulgarity, which infected their whole existence, in -art and in manners, quite as effectually as in religion. Then Rome flung -open her gates to all the creeds of all the world, and the time-honored -embodiments of fragmentary but intrinsic truth met together, and were all -equally tolerated and equally degenerated. All!--except the one whole and -perfect truth: the Gospel of Salvation. That was never tolerated. That -alone could not be endured, because the instinct of evil foresaw its own -impending ruin in the Gospel of peace. - -It was a new thing for mankind to be told that a part of the essence -of religion was elevated morality and the destruction of sin in the -individual. Whatever comparative purity of life had co-existed with the -old religions was hardly due to their influence among the multitude, -though it might be so with those whose educated superiority enabled them -to reason out the morality of creeds. While the rare philosopher was -reading the inmost secret of the abstract idea on which the religion -of his country was based, and the common pagan was practising the most -degraded sorcery and peering into obscene mysteries, without a single -elevation of thought, suddenly the life of the God-Man was put before the -world, and the whole face of creation was gradually changed. - -But as the shadows of the past in the old religions led up to the light, -so shall the light of the present lead up to the “perfect day.” - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -SEARCH FOR OLD LACE IN VENICE. - -One is almost ashamed to mention Venice now, or any other of those -thousand-and-one bournes of hackneyed travel and staples of hackneyed -books. There is probably no one claiming a place in a civilized community -who does not know Venice almost as well as do her own children, and -who could not discourse intelligently of the Bridge of Sighs, the -Doge’s Palace, and the Rialto Bridge, of St. Mark’s and the brazen -horses. Still, when one has read multitudinous poems about gondolas and -gondoliers, and any amount of descriptions of the Grand Canal, with its -palaces of various styles of architecture, and some few dramas about the -grand and gloomy, the secret and awful, doings of ancient Venetian life, -even then there are nooks in the place and incidents in the doings which -escape notice. A traveller arriving at Venice is hardly surprised at the -water-street, with which pictures have already made him familiar, but the -mode of entering a covered gondola--crab-fashion--is not so familiar, and -he generally butts his head against the low ceiling, eliciting a laugh -from his gondolier and the good-humored bystanders, before he learns the -native and proper way of backing into his seat. So, too, in rowing slowly -and dreamily about from church to church, full of artistic marvels or -wonderful historical monuments, he feels to a certain degree at home. He -has seen all this before; the present is but a dream realized. But there -are now and then unexpected sights--though, it must be confessed, not -many--and of course such are the most interesting, even if they are by -no means on a level with those more famous and more beautiful. - -From Venice to Vicenza is but a short distance by rail, and Vicenza -boasts of Roman ruins, and mediæval churches, and a Palladian theatre; -but on our day’s trip there, in early spring, we certainly dwelt more on -the aspect of the woods and plains, with their faint veil of yellow green -already beginning to appear, the few flowers in the _osteria_ garden, and -the box hedges and aloes in the cemetery. The beauty of the Venetian and -Lombard plains lies more in their mere freshness than in their diversity; -it is entirely a beauty of detail, a beauty fit for the minuteness of -Preraphaelite art rather than for the sweeping brush of the great masters -of conventional landscape painting. But coming from Venice every trace -of verdure was grateful to the eye, and we felt as one who, having been -confined in a beautiful, spacious room, filled with treasures and scented -with subtle perfume, might feel on coming suddenly into the fresh air of -a prairie. By contrast, the suggestion of fresh air and open space draws -us at once to our subject--a search after old lace in one of the cities -known to possess many treasures in that line. - -Like all other industries in Venice, the sale of lace thrives chiefly on -the fancy of the foreign visitors. The natives are generally too poor to -buy much of it, and, indeed, much of what is in the market is the product -of forced sacrifices made by noble but impoverished families of Venetian -origin. It is a sad thing to see the spoils of Italy still scattered -over the world, as if the same fate had pursued her, with a few glorious -intervals of triumph and possession, ever since the barbarian ancestors -of her _forestieri_ rifled her treasure-houses under the banners of -Celtic, Cimbrian, and Gothic chieftains. What Brennus, Alaric, and -Genseric began the Constable of Bourbon and the great Napoleon continued -by force; but what is still sadder is to see the daily disintegration -of other treasure-houses whose contents are unwillingly but necessarily -bartered away to rich Englishmen, Americans, and Russians. Pictures, -jewelry, lace, goldsmith’s work, artistic trifles--precious through -their material and history, but more so through the family associations -which have made them heirlooms--too often pass from the sleepy, denuded, -dilapidated, but still beautiful Italian palace to the cabinet or gallery -or museum of the lucky foreign connoisseur, or even--a worse fate--into -the hands of men to whom possession is much, but appreciation very little. - -While at Venice we were so lazy as never to go sight-seeing, which -accounts for the fact that we missed many a thing which visitors of a few -days see and talk learnedly about; and if the business activity of an old -lace-seller had not brought her to the hotel, our search after lace might -never have been made. She brought fine specimens with her, but her prices -were rather high, and, after admiring the lace, she was dismissed without -getting any orders. But she came again, and this time left her address. -We wanted some lace for a present, and fancied that the proverbial -facility for taking anything rather than nothing, which distinguishes -the Italian seller of curiosities, would induce her to strike some more -favorable bargain in her own house, where no other customer would be at -hand to treasure up her weakness as a precedent. - -It was not easy to find the house. Many intricate little canals had to be -traversed (for on foot we should probably have lost our way over and over -again); and as we passed, many a quaint court, many a delicate window, -many a sombre archway, and as often the objects which we, perhaps too -conventionally, call picturesque--such as the tattered clothes drying -on long lines stretched from window to window; heaps of refuse piled up -against princely gateways; rotten posts standing up out of the water, -with the remnants of the last coat of paint they ever had, a hundred -years ago; gaudy little shrines calculated to make a Venetian _popolana_ -feel very pious and an “unregenerate” artist well-nigh frantic--met our -sight. At last the house was reached, or at least the narrow quay from -which a _calle_, or tiny, dark street, plunged away into regions unknown -but inviting. Our gondolier was wise in the street-labyrinth lore of -his old city, and up some curious outside stairs, and then again by -innumerable inside ones, we reached the old woman’s rooms. Of these there -were two--at least, we saw no more. Both were poor and bare, and the old -lace seller was wrinkled, unclean, good-humored, and eager. She talked -volubly, not being obliged to use a foreign tongue to help herself out, -but going on with her soft, gliding, but quick Venetian tones. Travelling -in Italy and coming in contact with all classes of the people is apt -sadly to take down one’s scholarly conceit in knowing the language of -Dante and Petrarch; for all the classicism of one’s school-days goes for -very little in bargaining for lace, giving orders in a shop or market, -or trying not to let boat-and-donkey-men cheat you to your face. There -is this comfort: that if you often cannot understand the people, they -can almost invariably understand you (unless your accent be altogether -outrageous), which saves John Bull and his American cousin the ignominy -of being brought an umbrella when they have asked for mushrooms, and -actually taken the trouble to give a diagram of that vegetable. - -The prices were kept so obstinately above our means that all purchase of -lace was impossible; but the old woman was untiring in displaying her -stores of antique treasures, and we felt sufficiently rewarded for our -expedition. She herself was worth a visit; for, like many ancient Italian -matrons, and not a few nearer home, she was one of that generation of -models whom you would have sworn has endured from the days of Titian -and Vandyke, immortally old and unchangeably wrinkled. You see such -faces in the galleries, with the simple title “Head of an old man”--or -old woman, as the case may be--attributed to some famous painter; and -these weird portraits attract you far more than the youth, and beauty, -and health, and prosperity of the Duchess of Este, the baker’s handsome -daughter, or the gorgeous Eastern sibyl. Again, you do not care to have -any allegorical meaning tacked on to that intensely human face; you would -be disgusted if you found it set down in the catalogue as “a Parca,” -a magician, or a witch. You seem to know it, to remember one which -was like it, to connect it with many human vicissitudes and common, -though not the less pathetic, troubles. She is probably poor and has -been hard-working; wifehood and motherhood have been stern realities -to her, instead of poems lived in luxurious houses and earthly plenty; -her youth’s romance was probably short, fervid, passionate, but soon -lapsed into the dreary struggle of the poor for bare life. Chance and old -age have made her look hard, though in truth her heart would melt at a -tender love-tale like that of a girl of fifteen, and her brave, bright -nature belies the lines on her face. Just as women live this kind of life -nowadays, so they did three and five hundred years ago; so did probably -those very models immortalized by great painters; so did others long -before art had reached the possibility of truthful portraiture. - -Our old friend the lace-seller, though she has given occasion for this -rambling digression, did not, however, at the time, suggest all these -things to our mind. - -If she herself was a type of certain models of the old masters, her wares -were also a reminder of famous people, scenes, and places of Venice. -They were all of one kind, all of native manufacture, and, of course, -all made by hand. In a certain degenerate fashion this industry is still -continued, but the specimens of modern work which we saw were coarse -and valueless in comparison with those of the old. There were collars -and cuffs in abundance, such as both men and women wore--large, broad, -Vandyked collars like those one sees in Venetian pictures; flounces, -or rather straight bands of divers widths, from five to twenty inches, -which had more probably belonged to albs and cottas. They suggested -rich churches and gorgeous ceremonial in a time when nobles and people -were equally devoted to splendid shows, prosperity and loftiness, and a -picturesque blending of the religious and the imperial. Chasubles stiff -with gems and altars of precious stones seem to harmonize well with -these priceless veils, woven over with strange, hieroglyphic-looking, -conventional, yet beautiful forms; intricate with tracery which, put into -stone, would immortalize a sculptor; full of knots, each of which is a -miniature masterpiece of embroidery; and the whole the evident product -of an artist’s brain. This lace has not the gossamer-like beauty of -Brussels. It is thick and close in its texture, and is of that kind -which looks best on dark velvets and heavy, dusky cloths--just what one -would fancy the grave Venetian signiors wearing on state occasions. It -matches somehow with the antique XVth and XVIth century jewelry--the -magnificent, artistic, heavy collars of the great orders of chivalry; it -has something solid, substantial, and splendid about it. Such lace used -to be sold to kings and senators, not by a paltry yard measure, but by at -least twice its weight in gold; for the price was “as many gold pieces as -would cover the quantity of lace required.” Now, although this princely -mode of barter is out of fashion, old Venetian “point” is still one of -the costliest luxuries in the world, and the rich foreigners who visit -Venice usually carry away at least as much as will border a handkerchief -or trim a cap, as a memento of the beautiful and once imperial city of -the Adriatic. The modern lace--one can scarcely call it _imitation_, -any more than Salviati’s modern Venetian glass and mosaic can be so -called--seems to be deficient in the beauty and intricacy of design of -the old specimens; it is so little sought after that the industry stands -a chance of dying out, at least until after the old stock is exhausted -and necessity drives the lace-makers to ply their art more delicately. - -Some modern lace, the English Honiton and some of the Irish lace, is -quite as perfect and beautiful, and very nearly as costly, as the -undoubted specimens the history of which can be traced back for two or -three hundred years. But from what we saw of Venetian point, the new -has sadly degenerated from the old, and exact copying of a few antique -models would be no detriment to the modern productions. To the unlearned -eye there is no difference between Venetian glass three or four hundred -years old, carefully preserved in a national museum, and the manufactures -of last month, sold in Salviati’s warerooms in Venice and his shop in -London. Connoisseurs say they _do_ detect some inferiority in the modern -work; but as to the lace, even the veriest tyro in such lore can see the -rough, tasteless, coarse appearance of the new when contrasted with the -old. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - SUPPOSED MIRACLES: AN ARGUMENT FOR THE HONOR OF CHRISTIANITY - AGAINST SUPERSTITION, AND FOR ITS TRUTH AGAINST UNBELIEF. By - Rev. J. M. Buckley. New York: Hurd & Houghton. 1875. - -Mr. Buckley is a Methodist minister, who seems to be a sensible, -honest, and straightforward person, strong in his convictions, ardently -religious, and yet abhorring the excesses of credulity and irrational -enthusiasm. The substance of his pamphlet was delivered by him as an -address before a meeting of Methodist ministers, and is principally -directed against some pretences to miraculous powers and wonderful -cure-working within his own denomination. So far as this goes, his -effort is quite successful, particularly in regard to a certain Rev. Mr. -Platt, who professes to have been cured of an obstinate infirmity by the -prayers, accompanied by the imposition of hands, of a lady by the name -of Miss Mossman. His particular object led him, however, to advance some -general propositions respecting real and supposititious miracles, and -to sustain these by arguments and appeals to so-called facts, real or -assumed, having a much wider range and application than is embraced by -his special and immediate purpose. As an _argumentum ad hominem_, his -plea may have been quite sufficient and convincing to his particular -audience; but as addressed to a wider circle in the form of a published -pamphlet, it appears to be somewhat deficient in the quality and quantity -of the proofs alleged in support of its great amplitude and confidence of -assertion. It is also defective in respect to the definition and division -of the subject-matter. To begin with his definition of miracle: “A true -miracle is an event which involves the setting aside or contradiction of -the established and uniform relations of antecedents and consequents; -such event being produced at the will of an agent not working in the -way of physical cause and effect, for the purpose of demonstration, -or punishment, or deliverance.” This definition errs by excess and -defect--by excess, in including the scope or end as a part of the -essence; by defect, in excluding effects produced by an act of divine -power which is above all established and uniform relations of antecedents -and consequents. This last fault is not of much practical importance in -respect to the question of the miracles by which a divine revelation is -proved, or of ecclesiastical miracles; because those which are simply -above nature, called by S. Thomas miracles of the first order--as the -Incarnation and the glorification of the body of Christ--are very few in -number, and are more objects than evidences of faith. The first error, -however, confuses the subject, and opens the way to a summary rejection -of evidence for particular miracles on the _à priori_ ground that they -have not that scope which has been defined by the author as necessary to -a true miracle. It is evident that God cannot give supernatural power -to perform works whose end is bad or which are simply useless. But we -cannot determine precisely what end is sufficient, in the view of God, -for enabling a person to work a miracle, except so far as we learn this -by induction and the evidence of facts which are proved. Mr. Buckley -affirms positively that the end of miracles was solely the authentication -of the divine legation of Christ and his forerunners in the mission of -making known the divine revelation. Consequently from this assumption, he -asserts that miracles ceased very early in the history of Christianity. -He also professes to have “shown, by the proof of facts, that miracles -have ceased. If the great Reformation in Germany, Switzerland, and -Scotland, if Methodism, had no miracles; if the missionaries of the -Cross [_i.e._, Protestant] are powerless to work them; and if the best -men and women of all branches of the [Protestant] church are without -this power, then indeed must they have ceased.” No one will dispute -the logical sequence or material truth of this conclusion, so far as -it does not extend beyond its own premises. He has made it, however, -a general conclusion, and promises to prove it by “conclusive and -irresistible proof.” He is therefore bound to prove that miracles had -ceased from an early epoch in the universal church, including the whole -period before the XVIth century, and in respect to all Christian bodies -except Protestants from that time to the present. In respect to the -former period, his whole proof consists in a statement that no person of -candor and judgment who has read the ante-Nicene fathers will conclude -it probable that miracles continued much beyond the beginning of the IId -century, and in the assertion “that they have ceased we have proved to a -demonstration.” In respect to supposed miracles during the latter period -in the Catholic Church, the proof that none of them are true miracles is -contained in the statement that “the opinion of the Protestant world is -settled” on that head. Very good, Mr. Buckley! Such logical accuracy, -united with the intuitive insight of genius, is a conclusive proof that -the “assistances which our age enjoys” have amazingly shortened and -simplified the tedious processes by which “that indigested heap and -fry of authors which they call antiquity” were obliged to investigate -truth and acquire knowledge. The reverend gentleman tells us that “I -have for some years past been reading, as I have found leisure, that -magnificent translation of the ante-Nicene fathers published by T. & T. -Clark, of Edinburgh, in about twenty five volumes. To say that I have -been astonished is to speak feebly.” Probably the astonishment of Origen, -Justin Martyr, and Irenæus would be no less, and would be more forcibly -expressed, if they could resume their earthly life and peruse the -remarkable address before us. If its author will read the account of the -miracles of SS. Gervasius and Protasius given by S. Ambrose, the _City -of God_ of S. Augustine, the _Ecclesiastical History_ of Ven. Bede, and -Dr. Newman’s _Essay on Ecclesiastical Miracles_, we can promise him that -he will experience a still greater degree of astonishment than he did -on the perusal of the ante-Nicene fathers. Mr. Buckley appears to be in -_bona fide_, and is probably a much better man than many whose knowledge -is more extensive. The hallucination of mind which produces in him the -belief that he stands on a higher intellectual plane than Clement of -Alexandria and Cyprian in ancient times, or Petavius, Kleutgen, Bayma, -and “Jesuits” in general, is so simply astounding, and the credulity -requisite to a firm assent to his own statements as “demonstrations” is -so much beyond that which was, in the olden time, shown by believing -in the “phœnix,” that he must be sincere, though very much in need of -information. We cannot help feeling that he is worthy of knowing better, -and would be convinced of the truth if it were set before him fairly. -It is plain that he has no knowledge of the evidence which exists of -a series of miracles wrought in the Catholic Church continuously from -the times of the apostles to our own day, and which cannot be rejected -without subverting the evidence on which the truth of all miracles -whatsoever is based. The number of these which are considered by prudent -Catholic writers to be quite certain or probable is beyond reckoning, -though still very small in comparison with ordinary events and the -experiences of the whole number of Catholics in all ages. Those of the -most extraordinary magnitude are relatively much fewer in number than -those which are less wonderful, as, for instance, the raising of the -dead to life. Nevertheless, there are instances of this kind--_e.g._, -those related of S. Dominic, S. Bernard, S. Teresa, and S. Francis -Xavier--which, to say the least, have a _primâ facie_ probability. One -of another kind is the perpetually-recurring miracle of the liquefaction -of the blood of S. Januarius. The miraculous and complete cure of Mrs. -Mattingly, of Washington, is an instance which occurred in our own -country, and which, among many other intelligent Protestants, John C. -Calhoun considered as most undoubtedly effected by miraculous agency. We -mention one more only--the restoration of the destroyed vision of one eye -by the application of the water of Lourdes, in the case of Bourriette, -as related by M. Lasserre. We are rather more cautious in professing to -have demonstrated the continuance of miracles than our reverend friend -has been in respect to the contrary. We profess merely to show that his -demonstration requires a serious refutation of the arguments in favor of -the proposition he denies, and to bring forward some considerations in -proof of the title which these arguments have to a respectful and candid -examination. Moreover, though we cannot pretend to prove anything, _hic -et nunc_, by conclusive evidence and reasoning, we refer to the articles -on the miracle of S. Januarius, and to the translation of M. Lasserre’s -book, in our own pages, as containing evidence for two of the instances -alluded to, and to the works of Bishop England for the evidence in Mrs. -Mattingly’s case. - -Besides those supernatural effects or events which can only be produced -by a divine power acting immediately on the subject, there are other -marvellous effects which in themselves require only a supermundane -power, and are merely preternatural, using nature in the sense which -excludes all beyond our own world and our human nature. Other unusual -events, again, may appear to be preternatural, but may be proved, or -reasonably conjectured, to proceed from a merely natural cause. Here is -a debatable land, where the truth is attainable with more difficulty, -generally with less certainty, and where there is abundant chance for -unreasonable credulity and equally unreasonable scepticism to lose their -way in opposite directions. Mr. Buckley summarily refers all the strange -phenomena to be found among pagan religions to jugglery and fanaticism. -Spiritism he dismisses without a word of comment, implying that he -considers it to be in no sense preternatural. We differ from him in -opinion in respect to this point also. We have no doubt that many alleged -instances of preternatural events are to be explained by natural causes, -and many others by jugglery and imposture. We cannot, for ourselves, -find a reasonable explanation of a certain number of well-proved facts -in regard to both paganism and spiritism, except on the hypothesis of -preternatural agency. The nature of that agency cannot be determined -without recurring to theological science. Catholic theology determines -such cases by referring them to the agency of demons. Mr. Buckley is -afraid to admit that the alleged “miracles were real and wrought by -devils.” “If so,” he continues, “we may ask, in the language of Job, -Where and what is God?” We answer to this that God does not permit demons -to deceive men to such an extent as to cause the ruin of their souls, -except through their own wilful and culpable submission to these deceits. -It makes no difference whether the delusion produced is referred to -jugglery or demonology in respect to this particular question. - - THE FORMATION OF CHRISTENDOM. Part Third. By T. W. Allies. - London: Longmans & Co. 1875. - -Mr. Allies dedicates this volume, in very beautiful and appropriate -terms, to Dr. Newman, who, he says in classic and graceful phrase, -having once been “the Hector of a doomed Troy,” is now “the Achilles -of the city of God.” The particular topic of the book is the relation -of Greek philosophy to the Christian church. A remarkable chapter on -the foundation of the Roman Church, in which great use is made of the -discoveries of archæologists, precedes the treatment of the Neostoic, -Neopythagorean, and Neoplatonic schools, with cognate topics. One of -the most interesting and novel chapters is that on Apollonius of Tyana, -whose wonderful life, as related by Philostratus, the author regards as -a philosophic and anti-Christian myth invented by the above-mentioned -pagan writer, with only a slight basis of historical truth. Mr. Allies -has studied the deep, thoughtful works of those German authors who -give a truly intelligent and connected history of philosophy, and his -work is a valuable contribution to that branch of science, as well as -to the history of Christianity. One of the most irresistible proofs of -the divine mission and divine personality of Jesus Christ lies in the -blending of the elements of Hellenic genius and culture, Jewish faith, -and Roman law into a new composite, by a new form, when he founded his -universal kingdom. A mere man, by his own natural power, and under the -circumstances in which he lived, could not have conceived such an idea, -much less have carried it into execution. The most ineffably stupid, as -well as atrociously wicked, of all impostors and philosophical charlatans -are those apostate Christians who strive to drag Christianity down to -the level of the pagan systems of religion and philosophy, and reduce -it to a mere natural phenomenon. Mr. Allies shows this in a work which -combines erudition with a grace of style formed on classic models, and -an enlightened, fervent Catholic spirit, imbibed from the fathers and -doctors of the church. At a time when the popular philosophy is decked -in false hair and mock-jewels, as a stage-queen, it is cheering to find -here and there a votary of that genuine philosophy whose beauty is native -and real, and who willingly proclaims her own subjection and inferiority -by humbly saying, _Ecce ancilla Domini_. - - THE AMERICAN CATHOLIC QUARTERLY REVIEW. Vol. I. No. 1. January, - 1876. Philadelphia: Hardy & Mahony. - -A very large number of the most highly gifted and learned Catholics -throughout Christendom, both clergymen and laymen, are at present -employed in writing for the reviews of various classes which have existed -for a greater or lesser period of time within the present century. Much -of the very best literature of the age is to be found in their articles, -and a very considerable part of this is of permanent value. In solid -merit of matter and style, and in adaptation to the wants of the time, -the best of these periodicals have improved steadily, and we may say -of some of them that they hardly admit of any farther progress. The -advantage of such periodicals is not only very great for their readers, -but almost equally so for those who are engaged in contributing to their -contents. The effort and practice of writing constantly for the public -react upon the writers. Each one is encouraged and instructed in the -most useful and effective method of directing his studies and giving -verbal expression to their results, so as to attain the practical end -he has in view--that of disseminating and diffusing knowledge over as -wide an extent as possible. The combination of various writers, each -having one or more specialties, under a competent editorial direction -secures variety and versatility without prejudice to unity, and corrects -the excesses or defects of individuality without checking originality, -thus giving to the resulting work in some respects a superiority over -that which is the product of one single mind, unless that mind possesses -the gifts and acquisitions in _modo eminenti_ which are usually found -divided among a number of different persons. To conduct a review alone -is a herculean task, and Dr. Brownson has accomplished a work which is -really astonishing in maintaining, almost by unaided effort, through so -many years, a periodical of the high rank accorded by common consent to -the one which bore his name and will be his perpetual monument. That, at -the present juncture, a new review is necessary and has a fine field open -before it; that in its management ecclesiastical direction and episcopal -control are requisite for adequate security and weight with the Catholic -public; and that full opportunity for efficient co-operation on the part -of laymen of talent and education is most desirable, cannot admit of a -moment’s doubt. It is therefore a matter of heart-felt congratulation -that the favorable moment has been so promptly seized and the vacant -place so quickly occupied by the gentlemen who have undertaken the -editing and the publishing of the _American Catholic Quarterly_. It is -probably known to most, if not all, of our readers that the editors are -Dr. Corcoran, professor in the Ecclesiastical Seminary of Philadelphia; -Dr. O’Connor, the rector of that institution; and Mr. Wolff, who has -long and ably edited the Philadelphia _Catholic Standard_. It would be -difficult to find in the United States an equally competent triad. The -publishers, who have already the experience acquired by the management -of a literary magazine and a newspaper, will, we may reasonably hope, -be able to sustain the financial burden of this greater undertaking -in a successful manner, if they receive the support which they have a -right to expect, by means of their subscription list. The first number -of the new review presents a typographical face which is quite peculiar -to itself and decidedly attractive. Its contents, besides articles from -each of the editors, are composed of contributions from three clergymen -and two laymen, embracing a considerable variety of topics. The clerical -contributors are the Right Reverend Bishops Lynch and Becker, and the -Rev. Drs. Corcoran, O’Connor, and McGlynn. The lay contributors are Dr. -Brownson, John Gilmary Shea, and Mr. Wolff. The names of F. Thébaud, -Dr. Marshall, and General Gibbon are among those announced for the -next number. We extend a cordial greeting with our best wishes to the -_American Catholic Quarterly Review_. - - MANUAL OF CATHOLIC INDIAN MISSIONARY ASSOCIATIONS. - -The Indian question continues to be one of the most troublesome in our -national politics. Its only real solution--and we believe this to be -President Grant’s opinion--is to Christianize the Indians. The task is -undoubtedly a hard one, but it would be far less so if wolves in sheep’s -clothing had not been sent among them. The only successful attempt at -civilizing the Indians has been made by Catholic missionaries. But under -the administration of the Indian Bureau, the utter rottenness of which -has been so recently exposed, missions and reservations have been thrown -to this religious agency and that without the slightest regard for the -wishes of those who, it is to be supposed, were most to be benefited by -the operation--the Indians themselves. In this way flourishing Catholic -missions were turned over to the Methodist or other denominations, and -the representations of the missionaries, as well as of the chiefs and -tribes themselves, were of no avail whatever to alter so iniquitous -a proceeding. This little manual gives a brief sketch of the status -of Catholic Indians and working of the Bureau of Indian Missions. It -contains also an earnest appeal to the Catholic ladies of the United -States from the “Ladies’ Catholic Indian Missionary Association of -Washington, D. C.,” urging contributions and the formation of similar -associations throughout the country to aid in sustaining the Catholic -Indian missions. - - -A CORRECTION. - -TO THE EDITOR OF THE CATHOLIC WORLD: - -I have just received, through the Catholic Publication Society, the -following card from Mr. Gladstone: - - “Mr. Gladstone desires to send with his compliments his thanks - to the Society for a copy, which he has received, of Dr. - Clarke’s interesting paper on _Maryland Toleration_. Having - simply cited his authorities, and used them, as he thinks, - fairly, he will be glad to learn, if he can, the manner in - which they meet the challenge conveyed in the latter portion of - this paper. Mr. Gladstone’s present object is to say he would - be greatly obliged by a _reference_ to enable him to trace the - “irreverent words” imputed to him on page 6, as his _Vatican - Decrees_ have no page 83, and he is not aware of having penned - such a passage. - - “4 CARLTON GARDENS, LONDON, Jan. 24, 1856.” - -Mr. Gladstone is right in disclaiming the words imputed to him in this -instance. They are, on investigation, found to be the words of the -Rev. Dr. Schaff. The Messrs. Harper, the American publishers of Mr. -Gladstone’s tracts, are largely responsible for the mistake, by having -inserted in their publication a tract of Dr. Schaff, paged in common, and -all covered by the outside title of “_Rome and the Newest Fashions in -Religion. Gladstone_,” and by the title-page giving the authorship “By -the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone.” To a writer making selections as needed -from different portions of this book the mistake was easy and natural; -and though the authorship of Dr. Schaff’s _History of the Vatican -Decrees_ containing the passage in question is given, it is not so given -as easily to reach the eye, and is obscured by the introduction of Dr. -Schaff’s tract into a volume under Mr. Gladstone’s name, and by paging -Dr. Schaff’s _History_ in common with Mr. Gladstone’s _Vaticanism_. On -page 83 of _this_ publication of the Messrs. Harper the “irreverent -words” are found. I am only too much gratified at Mr. Gladstone’s -disowning them, and hasten, on my part, to make this correction through -your columns, in which my reply to Mr. Gladstone on _Maryland Toleration_ -first appeared, and to beg his acceptance of this _amende honorable_. - - RICH. H. CLARKE - -51 CHAMBERS STREET, NEW YORK, February 10, 1876. - - * * * * * - -In a notice, which appeared in last month’s CATHOLIC WORLD, of certain -works published by Herder, Freiburg, it was stated that the publications -of that house are imported by the firm of Benziger Bros. Mr. Herder has -a branch house in St. Louis, Missouri, where all his publications may be -procured. - - -PUBLICATIONS RECEIVED. - - The First Annual Report of the New York Society for the - Prevention of Cruelty to Children. - - Landreth’s Rural Register and Almanac, 1876. - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] _Queen Mary_: A Drama. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L. Boston: J. R. -Osgood & Co. 1875. - -[2] It is proper to state that the present criticism is not by the writer -of the article on Mr. Tennyson in THE CATHOLIC WORLD for May, 1868. - -[3] The preceding article was ready for the printers before a copy fell -into our hands of _Mary Stuart_--a drama by Sir Aubrey de Vere--a poem -which it had not been our good fortune to have read before. The public -would seem to have exhibited an appreciation of this work we should -scarcely have expected from them, for it is, we believe, out of print. -For ourselves, we must say that for poetical conception, appreciation and -development of the several personages of the drama, it appears to us to -be very much superior to _Queen Mary_. - -[4] The title of captal (from _capitalis_) was formerly a common one -among Aquitaine lords, but was gradually laid aside. The Captals de Buch -and Trente were the last to bear it. - -[5] In the Journal of the Sisters of Charity of that time we read: - -“Jan. 22.--M. Vincent arrived at eleven o’clock in the evening, bringing -us two children; one perhaps six days old, the other older. Both were -crying.…” - -“Jan. 25.--The streets are full of snow. We are expecting M. Vincent.” - -“Jan. 26.--Poor M. Vincent is chilled through. He has brought us an -infant.…” - -“Feb. 1.--The archbishop came to see us. We are in great need of public -charity! M. Vincent places no limit to his ardent love for poor children.” - -And when their resources are exhausted, the saint makes the following -pathetic appeal to the patronesses: “Compassion has led you to adopt -these little creatures as your own children. You are their mothers -according to grace, as their mothers by nature have abandoned them. -Will you also abandon them in your turn? Their life and death are in -your hands. I am going to take your vote on the point. The charity you -give or refuse is a terrible decision in your hands. It is time to -pronounce their sentence, and learn if you will no longer have pity on -them.”--_Sermon of S. Vincent to the Ladies of Charity_ in 1648. - -[6] _The Earl of Castlehaven’s Review_; or, His Memoirs of His Engagement -and Carriage in the Irish Wars. Enlarged and corrected. With an Appendix -and Postscript. London: Printed for Charles Brome at the Gun in St. -Paul’s Churchyard. 1684. - -[7] This was the title given at one time by the French courtiers to -Frederick I. - -[8] Their first condition for a suspension of arms was a payment to -them of £25,000 per month. These were in large part the same forces who -afterwards sold their fugitive king for so many pounds sterling to the -Parliament, violating the rights of sanctuary and hospitality, held -sacred by the most barbarous races. It is curious to observe the supreme -boldness with which Macaulay and the popular writers of the radical -school essay to gloss over the dishonorable transactions affecting the -parliamentary side in this contest between the King and Commons. The -veriest dastards become heroes; and the first canting cut-throat is safe -to be made a martyr of in their pages for conscience’ sake and the rights -of man. - -[9] _Apol. vii._ - -[10] _Fundam. Phil._ lib. vii. c. 7. - -[11] _Phil. Fundam._ lib. vii. c. 7. - -[12] Italian proverb: “If not true, it deserves to be true.” - -[13] Written during the Pope’s exile, 1848 - -[14] _The Secret Warfare of Freemasonry against the Church and State._ -Translated from the German, with an Introduction. London: Burns, Oates & -Co. 1875. (New York: The Catholic Publication Society.) - -[15] S. Mark xiii. 22. - -[16] “Vos ergo videte; ecce, prædixi vobis omnia.”--Ib. 23. - -[17] “Videte, vigilate, et orate: nescitis enim, quando tempus sit.”--Ib. -33. - -[18] “Vigilate ergo … ne, cum venerit repente, inveniat vos -dormientes.”--Ib. 35, 36. - -[19] “Quod autem vobis dico, omnibus dico: Vigilate!”--Ib. 37. - -[20] “Sine parabola autem non loquebatur eis; seorsum autem discipulis -suis disserebat omnia.”--S. Mark iv. 34. - -[21] “Vobis datum est nosse mysterium regni Dei: illis autem, qui foris -sunt, in parabolis omnia fiunt.”--Ib. 11. - -[22] “Nescitis parabolam hanc; et quomodo omnes parabolas -cognoscetis.”--Ib. 13. - -[23] “Nisi venerit discessio primum, et revelatus fuerit homo peccati, -filius perditionis, qui adversatur et extollitur supra omne, quod -dicitur Deus, aut quod colitur ita ut in templo Dei sedeat, ostendens -se, tamquam sit Deus.… Et nunc quid detineat, scitis, ut reveletur in -suo tempore. Nam mysterium jam operatur iniquitatis, tantum ut qui tenet -nunc, teneat, donec de medio fiat. Et tunc revelabitur ille iniquus (ὁ -άνομος), quem Dominus Jesus interficiet spiritu oris sui, et destruet -illustratione adventus sui cum; cujus est adventus secundum operationem -Satanæ in omni virtute, et signis et prodigiis mendacibus, et in omni -seductione iniquitatis iis, qui pereunt; eo quod caritatem veritatis non -receperunt, ut salvi fierent. Ideo mittet illis Deus operationem erroris, -ut credant mendacio, ut judicentur omnes, qui non crediderunt veritati, -sed consenserunt iniquitati.”--2 Thess. ii. 3-11. - -[24] “Spiritus autem manifeste dicit, quia in novissimis temporibus -discedent quidam a fide, attendentes spiritibus erroris et doctrinis -dæmoniorum; in hypocrisi loquentium mendacium, et cauteriatam habentium -suam conscientiam.”--1 Tim. iv. 1, 2. - -[25] “Hoc autem scito, quod in novissimis diebus instabunt tempora -periculosa: erunt homines seipsos amantes, cupidi, elati, superbi, -blasphemi, parentibus non obedientes, ingrati, scelesti, sine affectione, -sine pace, criminatores, incontinentes, immites sine benignitate, -proditores, protervi, timidi, et voluptatum amatores magis quam Dei, -habentes speciem quidem pietatis, virtutem autem ejus abnegantes.”--2 -Tim. iii. 1-5. - -[26] “Venient in novissimis diebus in deceptione illusores, juxta -proprias concupiscentias ambulantes.”--2 Peter iii. 3. - -[27] “In novissimo tempore venient illusores, secundum, desideria sua -ambulantes in impietatibus. Hi sunt, qui segregant semetipsos, animales, -Spiritum non habentes.”--S. Jud. 18, 19. - -[28] “Filioli, novissima hora est, et sicut audistis, quia Antichristus -venit, et nunc Antichristi multi facti sunt: unde scimus, quia novissima -hora est.… Hic est Antichristus qui negat Patrem et Filium.”--1 S. John -ii. 18, 22. - -[29] “Et omnis spiritus qui solvit Jesum, ex Deo non est; et hic est -Antichristus, de quo audistis, quoniam venit, et nunc jam in mundo -est.”--Ib. iv. 3. - -[30] “Si quis habet aurem, audiat.”--Apoc. xiii. 9. - -[31] “Hic sapientia est. Qui habet intellectum computet numerum -bestiæ.”--Ib. 18 - -[32] _Histoire de la Révolution Française_, v. ii. c. 3. - -[33] _The Secret Warfare of Freemasonry_, p. 123. - -[34] Ibid. 124. - -[35] Those in this country who respect religion, law, and the peace of -society should not be imposed upon by the aspect of Freemasonry here. -The principles and modes of acting of the society are those we have -described. The application of them depends wholly on time, place, and -circumstances. The ordinary observer sees nothing in the members of -the craft here but a number of inoffensive individuals, who belong to -a _soi-disant_ benevolent association which, by means of secret signs, -enables them to get out of the clutches of the law, procure employment -and office, and obtain other advantages not possessed by the rest of -their fellow-citizens. But then the innocent rank and file are the dead -weight which the society employs, on occasion, to aid in compassing its -ulterior designs. Here there are no civil or religious institutions -which stand in their way, and their mode of action is to sap and mine -the morals of the community, on which society rests, and with which it -must perish. Of what it is capable, if it seems needful to compassing its -ends, any one may understand by the fiendish murder of William Morgan. -This murder was decided on at a lodge-meeting directed by Freemason -officials, _in pursuance of the rules of the craft_, and was perpetrated -by Freemasons bearing a respectable character, who had never before been -guilty of a criminal action, who were known, yet were never punished -nor even tried, but died a natural death, and who do not appear to have -experienced any loss of reputation for their foul deed. (See Mr. Thurlow -Weed’s recent letter to the New York _Herald_.) - -[36] Before we proceed to expose the even yet more hideous loathsomeness -of this vile association, a few words of explanation are necessary. -In all we write we have in view an organization--its constitution and -motives--and that only. The individual responsibility of its several -members is a matter for their own conscience; it is no affair of ours. -We believe that the bulk of the association, all up to the thirtieth -degree, or “Knights of the White Eagle,” or “Kadosch,” are in complete -ignorance of the hellish criminality of its objects. Even the Rosicrucian -has something to learn; although to have become that he must have -stamped himself with the mark of Antichrist by the abandonment of his -belief in Christ and in all revealed religion. But the vast majority, -whose numbers, influence, and respectability the dark leaders use for -the furtherance of their monstrous designs, live and die in complete -ignorance of the real objects and principles of the craft. We ourselves -know an instance of an individual, now reconciled to the church, who was -once a Master Mason, and who to this moment is in utter ignorance of -them. They are sedulously concealed from all who have not dispossessed -themselves of the “prejudices of religion and morality.” The author -of the work to which we are indebted for almost all our documentary -evidence mentions the case of one who had advanced to the high grade -of Rosicrucian, but who, not until he was initiated into the grade -of Kadosch, was completely stunned and horrified by the demoniacal -disclosures poured into his ears. Most of the Freemasons, however, have -joined the body as a mere philanthropic institution, or on the lower -motive of self-interest. Nor is it possible to convince these people of -the fearful consequences to which they are contributing. Of course, but -few of these, it is to be hoped, are involved in the full guilt of the -“craft.” Every Catholic who belongs to it is in mortal sin. For the rest, -we cannot but hope and believe that an overwhelming majority are innocent -of any sinister motives. But it is impossible to exonerate them entirely. -For, first, the “craft” is now pursuing its operations with such -unblushing effrontery that it is difficult for any but illiterate people -to plead entire ignorance; and next, no one can, without moral guilt, -bind himself by terrible oaths, for the breaking of which he consents to -be assassinated, to keep inviolable secrets with the nature of which he -is previously unacquainted. It cannot but be to his everlasting peril -that any one permits himself to be branded with this “mark of the beast.” - -[37] _Secret Warfare of Freemasonry_, pp. 51, 52. - -[38] Ib. p. 65. - -[39] Ib. 207. - -[40] Ib. pp. 196-8. - -[41] This journal, at the time of the first initiation of the Prince of -Wales into the “craft,” in an article on that event, heaped contempt -and ridicule on the whole affair. A recent article on the young man’s -initiation as Master may satisfy the most exacting Mason. - -[42] The writer refers to the highest grades. - -[43] _Secret Warfare of Freemasonry_, pp. 232, 233. - -[44] _Utopia._ By Sir Thomas More. - -[45] A sort of divan, not unusual in the East at the present day. The -sultan, when receiving a visit of ceremony, sits on a sort of sofa or -post-bed. Traces of it were also found in the “palaces” of Ashantec. - -[46] “The new spirit made its appearance in the world about the XVIth -century. Its end is to substitute a new society for that of the Middle -Ages. Hence the necessity that the first modern revolution should be a -religious one.… It was Germany and Luther that produced it.”--Cousin, -_Cours d’hist. de la philos._, p. 7, Paris, 1841. - -[47] “Non a prætoris edicto, ut plerique nunc, neque a duo decim Tabulis, -ut superiores, sed penitus ex intima philosophia haurienda est juris -disciplina.”--Cic., _De legib._ lib. i. - -[48] Cic., _de fin. bon. et malor._ i. 11. - -[49] Plato, _Des lois_, liv. i. - -[50] “Illud stultissimum (est), existimare omnia justa esse, quæ scripta -sint in populorum institutis et legibus.”--_De legibus._ - -[51] “Neque opinione sed natura constitutum esse jus.”--Ibid. - -[52] “Sæculis omnibus ante nata est, (ante) quam scripta lex ulla, aut -quam omnino civitas constituta.”--Ibid. - -[53] “Quidam corum quædam magna, _quantum divinitus adjuti sunt_, -invenerunt.”--S. Aug., _Civit. Dei_, i. ii. c. 7. - -“Has scientias dederunt philosophi et illustrati sunt; Deus enim illis -_revelavit_.”--S. Bonavent., _Lum. Eccl._, Serm. 5. - -[54] The two following paragraphs are taken freely from the treatise _De -legibus_, passim. - -[55] The following paragraph is also taken from Cicero. - -[56] “Erat lux vera quæ illuminat omnem hominem venientem in hunc -mundum.”--S. Joan., i. 9. - -[57] “Et vita erat lux hominum … in tenebris lucet, et tenebræ eam non -comprehenderunt.”--Id. - -[58] _Cont. gent._ iv. 13. - -[59] V. Lassalle, _Das System der erworbenen Rechte_, i. 2, not. à la -pag. 70. - -[60] _Considerat. sur la France._ - -[61] _Arbeiter Programm._, v. Ferd. Lassalle. - -[62] _Du suffrage universel et de la manière de voter._ Par H. Taine. -Paris: Hachette, 1872. - -[63] Bergier, after Tertullian. - -[64] De Maistre, _Princip. générat._ - -[65] _Reflections on the Revolution in France._ - -[66] _Corresp. entre le Comte de Mirabeau et le Comte de la Marck._ -Paris: Le Normant. 1851. - -[67] _Politique._ l. i. c. - -[68] _De civit. Dei._ 19. - -[69] _De rebus publ. et princip. institut._, l. iii. c. 9. - -[70] _Reflections on the French Revolution._ - -[71] “Universa propter semetipsum operatus est Dominus.”--Proverbs xvi. 4. - -[72] _Polit._, vii. 2. - -[73] Id. ibid. c. 1. - -[74] Aristotle knew no other state than the city. - -[75] Isaias xxxiii. See also the words of Jesus to Pilate: “Tu dicis quia -Rex ego sum.” - -[76] “Dabo legem in visceribus eorum.”--Jer. xxxi. - -[77] _Viri protestantici ad summum Pontificem appellatio._--Londini, -Wyman et fil, 1869. - -[78] M. Em. Montaigut, in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_. - -[79] M. Le Play. - -[80] De Maistre, _Considerat. sur la France_. - -[81] _Fundam. Phil._, book vii. ch. 6. - -[82] Sicut punctum se habet ad lineam, ita se habet nunc ad tempus. -Si imaginemur punctum quiescere, non poterimus imaginari ipsum esse -causam lineæ: si vero imaginemur ipsum moveri, licet in ipso nulla sit -dimensio, nec aliqua divisio per consequens, per naturam tamen motus sui -relinquitur aliquid divisibile.… Illud tamen punctum non est de lineæ -essentia; quia nihil unum et idem realiter omnimodis indivisibile potest -simul in diversis partibus ejusdem continui permanentis esse.… Punctum -ergo mathematice imaginatum, quod motu suo causat lineam, necessario -nihil lineæ erit: sed erit unum secundum rem, et diversum secundum -rationem; et hæc diversitas, quæ consistit in motu suo, realiter est in -linea, non identitas sua secundum rem.… Eodem vero modo instans, quod est -mensura mobilis sequens ipsum, est unum secundum rem, quum nihil pereat -de substantia ipsius mobilis, cuius instans est mensura inseparabilis, -sed diversum et diversum secundum rationem. Et hæc ejus diversitas est -tempus essentialiter. - -[83] Quia motus primus unus est, tempus est unum, mensurans omnes motus -simul actos.--Opusc. 44, _De tempore_, c. 2. - -[84] Stans et movens se non videntur differre secundum substantiam, -sed solum secundum rationem. Nunc autem æternitatis est stans, et nunc -temporis fluens; quare non videntur differre nisi ratione sola--_De -tempore_, c. 4. - -[85] Ista non possunt habere veritatem secundum ea, quæ determinata sunt. -Visum est enim, quod æternitas et tempus essentialiter differunt. Item -quæcumque se habent ut causa et causatum, essentialiter differunt; nunc -autem æternitatis, quum non differat ab æternitate nisi sola ratione, -est causa temporis, et nunc ipsius, ut dictum est. Quare nunc temporis -et nunc æternitatis essentialiter differunt. Præterea nunc temporis -est continuativum præteriti cum futuro; nunc autem æternitatis non est -continuativum præteriti cum futuro, quia in æternitate non est prius -nec posterius, nec præteritum, nec futurum, sed tota æternitas est tota -simul. Nec valet ratio in oppositum, quum dicitur quod stans et fluens -non differunt per essentiam. Verum est in omni eo quod contingit stare -et fluens esse; tamen stans quod nullo modo contingit fluere, et fluens, -quod nullo modo contingit stare, differunt per essentiam. Talia autem -sunt nunc æternitatis, et nunc temporis.--Ibid. - -[86] _Summa Theol._, p. 1, q. 46, a. 2. - -[87] Novitas mundi non potest demonstrationem recipere ex parte ipsius -mundi. Demonstrationis enim principium est quod quid est. Unumquodque -autem secundum rationem suæ speciei abstrahit ab hic et nunc; propter -quod dicitur quod universalia sunt ubique et semper. Unde demonstrari non -potest quod homo, aut cœlum, aut lapis non semper fuit.--Ibid. - -[88] Sicut enim si pes ab æternitate semper fuisset in pulvere, semper -subesset vestigium, quod a calcante factum nemo dubitaret, sic et mundus -semper fuit, semper existente qui fecit.--Ibid. - -[89] Et hoc utile est ut consideretur, ne forte aliquis quod fidei est -demonstrare præsumens rationes non necessarias inducat, quæ præbeant -materiam irridendi infidelibus existimantibus nos propter eiusmodi -rationes credere quæ fidei sunt.--Ibid. - -[90] Uno modo dicitur æternitas mensura durationis rei semper similiter -se habentis, nihil acquirentis in futuro et nihil amittentis in præterito -et sic propriissime sumitur æternitas. Secundo modo dicitur æternitas -mensura durationis rei habentis esse fixum et stabile, recipientis -tamen vices in operationibus suis; et æternitas sic accepta propria -dicitur ævum: ævum enim est mensura eorum, quorum esse est stabile, -quæ tamen habent successionem in operibus suis, sicut intelligentiæ. -Tertio modo dicitur æternitas mensura durationis successivæ habentis -prius et posterius, carentis tamen principio et fine, vel carentis fine -et tamen habentis principium; et utroque modo ponitur mundus æternus, -licet secundum veritatem sit temporalis: et ista impropriissime dicitur -æternitas; rationi enim æternitatis repugnat prius et posterius.--Opusc., -_De tempore_, c. 4. - -[91] See THE CATHOLIC WORLD, May, 1875, page 234 et seq. - -[92] Deus aut prior est mundo natura tantum, aut et duratione. Si natura -tantum; ergo quum Deus sit ab æterno, et mundus est ab æterno. Si autem -est prior duratione, prius autem et posterius in duratione constituunt -tempus; ergo ante mundum fuit tempus: quod est impossibile.--_Summa -Theol._, p. 1, q. 46, a. 1. - -[93] Deus est prior mundo duratione: sed per prius non designat -prioritatem temporis, sed æternitatis. Vel dicendum, quod designat -prioritatem temporis imaginati, et non realiter existentis; sicut quum -dicitur: supra cœlum nihil est, per _supra_ designat locum imaginarium -tantum, secundum quod possibile est imaginari dimensionibus cælestis -corporis dimensiones alias superaddi.--Ibid. - -[94] _Fundam. Philos._, book vii. ch. 10. - -[95] See THE CATHOLIC WORLD, November, 1874, p. 272, and January, 1875, -p. 487. - -[96] A new interest attaches to this church, in the eyes of American -Catholics, since it has been made the Title of the Cardinal-Archbishop of -New York. - -[97] There is a vague tradition among the Penobscot Indians in Maine -that a Jesuit father crossed from the head-waters of the Kennebec to the -valley of the Passumpsic, east of the Green Mountains, at an earlier date. - -[98] _Hist. Maryland_, vol. ii. p. 352. - -[99] _History United States_, vol. i. p. 238. - -[100] Id. p. 241. - -[101] Id. p. 244. - -[102] Id. p. 247. - -[103] _History United States_, vol. i. p. 248. - -[104] Chalmers’ _Annals_, vol. i. pp. 207, 208. - -[105] Story, _Com. on the Constitution_, sec. 107. - -[106] _Sketches of the Early History of Maryland_ by Thomas W. Griffith, -pp. 3, 4. - -[107] Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._, vol. i. p. 238. - -[108] _The Brit. Emp. in America_, vol. i. pp. 4, 5. - -[109] _Hist. Md._, p. 232. - -[110] Father Andrew White’s _Narrative_, Md. Hist. Soc., 1874, p. 32. - -[111] _Sketches_, etc., p. 5. - -[112] Davis’ _Day-Star of Am. Freedom_, p. 149. - -[113] _History of Maryland_, p. 24. - -[114] Bozman’s _History of Maryland_, p. 109. - -[115] _History of United States_, vol. i. p. 241. - -[116] _History of Maryland_, p. 24. - -[117] _Maryland Toleration_, p. 36. - -[118] _History of Maryland_, p. 33. - -[119] _History of United States_, p. 257. - -[120] _Maryland Toleration_, p. 40. - -[121] _Day-Star of American Freedom_, p. 36. - -[122] _Day-Star of American Freedom_, p. 38. - -[123] _History of Maryland_, vol. ii. p. 85. - -[124] _History of the United States_, p. 252. - -[125] _Day-Star of American Freedom_, p. 138. - -[126] Rev. Ethan Allen says this continued until 1649, when Kent was -erected into a county.--_Maryland Toleration_, p. 36. - -[127] _Day-Star of American Freedom_, p. 143. - -[128] Id. p. 160. - -[129] The document at length, with the signatures, is given in numerous -histories of Maryland, and will be found in Davis’s _Day-Star of American -Freedom_, p. 71. - -[130] Kent’s _Commentaries on Am. Law_, vol. ii. pp. 36, 37. - -[131] Reprinted from advance sheets of _The Prose Works of William -Wordsworth_. Edited, with preface, notes, and illustrations, by the Rev. -Alex. B. Grosart; now for the first time published, by Moxon, Son & Co., -London. These works will fill three volumes, embracing respectively the -political and ethical, æsthetical and literary, critical and ethical, -writings of the author, and, what will interest American readers -especially, his Republican Defence. - -[132] Afterwards Father Faber of the Oratory. His “Sir Launcelot” abounds -in admirable descriptions. - -[133] “For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow,” (dedicatory stanzas -to “The White Doe of Rylstone”). - -[134] See his sonnet on the seat of Dante, close to the Duomo at Florence -(_Poems of Early and Late Years_). - -[135] “Evening Voluntary.” - -[136] _A Song of Faith, Devout Exercises, and Sonnets_ (Pickering). The -dedication closed thus: “I may at least hope to be named hereafter among -the friends of Wordsworth.” - -[137] It may be well to remark here that in this century the word -_domestic_ was familiarly used to designate one who was attached to the -house and fortunes of another. - -[138] Mme. Louise, Duchess of Angoulême, and mother of Francis I. - -[139] By the statutes of præmunire, all persons were forbidden to hold -from Rome any _provision_ or power to exercise any authority without -permission from the king, under penalty of placing themselves beyond his -protection and being severely punished. - -[140] Wolsey’s customary designation of Anne Boleyn. - -[141] This corresponded to the court of marshalsea in England. - -[142] During the memorable conclave at which Pius IX. was elected, this -office was held by Monsignor Pallavicino, who caused to be struck, -according to his right, a number of bronze and silver medals with -his family arms quartering those of Gregory XVI. Above his prelate’s -hat on the obverse were the words _Sede Vacante_, and on the reverse -the inscription _Alerames ex marchionibus Pallavicino sacri palatii -apostolici præfectus et conclavis gubernator_ 1846. - -[143] It dates from the year 1535, when Paul III. permitted his majordomo -Boccaferri to assume on his coat-of-arms, as an additament of honor (in -the language of blazonry), one of the lilies or _fleurs-de-lis_ of the -Farnese family. If the subject prefer to do so, he may bear the Pope’s -arms on a canton, carry them on an inescutcheon, or impale instead of -quartering them. - -[144] While writing this, we hear of the elevation to the purple of the -majordomo Monsignor Pacca, whom we have had the honor, when a private -chamberlain to the Pope, of knowing and of serving under. He was one of -the most popular prelates at the Vatican for his urbanity and attention -to business. He is a patrician of the bluest blood of Beneventum and -nephew to the celebrated Cardinal Pacca, so well known for his services -to Pope Pius VII. and for his interesting _Memoirs_. - -[145] The grated prison for such offenders was a chamber deep down among -the vaults of the Cellarium Majus of the Lateran. - -[146] This office still exists, and is one of the important charges at -the papal court which is always held by a layman. It was hereditary in -the famous Conti family until its extinction in the last century, when it -passed, after a considerable interval, on the same condition into that of -Ruspoli as the nearest representative of that ancient race. - -[147] Ambassadors and foreign ministers accredited to the Holy See claim -the right of presentation or of access through the Cardinal Secretary of -State. - -[148] It is well to observe that briefs are not sealed with the -_original_ ring, which does not go out of the keeper’s custody except -the Pope demand it, but with a fac-simile preserved in the _Secreteria -de Brevi_. Since June, 1842, red sealing-wax, because too brittle and -effaceable, is no longer used; but in its stead a thick red ink, or -rather pigment, is employed. - -[149] In England, by a similar fiction, the king (or queen) is imagined -to preside in the Court of King’s Bench. - -[150] The first convent of the Dominicans in Rome, at Santa Sabina on the -Aventine, was in part composed of a portion of the Savelli palace, in -which Honorius, who belonged to this family, generally resided, so that -their founder could not help remarking the misbehavior of the loungers -about the court. He did not go out of his way to find fault. - -[151] There was a somewhat similar office of very ancient institution -at the imperial court of Constantinople, the holder of which was called -_Epistomonarcha_. - -[152] Peter Filargo was a Greek from the island of Candia, which may -account for his love of what at a pontiff’s table corresponded to the -symposium of the ancients--a species of after-dinner enjoyment, when, -wine being introduced, philosophical or other agreeable subjects were -discussed. - -[153] The special significance of this title given to Cardinal McCloskey -is that his predecessor in the see of New York and its first bishop, Luke -Concanen, who was consecrated in Rome on April 24, 1808, was a Dominican, -and had been for a long time officially attached to the convent and -church of the _Minerva_, which was the headquarters of his order. - -[154] See THE CATHOLIC WORLD, August, 1875, p. 625. - -[155] See THE CATHOLIC WORLD, September, 1874, p. 729. - -[156] THE CATHOLIC WORLD, March, 1874, p. 766. - -[157] See the two articles on “Substantial Generations” in THE CATHOLIC -WORLD, April and May, 1875. - -[158] See THE CATHOLIC WORLD for February, 1874, pp, 584. 585. - -[159] See THE CATHOLIC WORLD, May, 1874, p. 178. - -[160] In the Aristotelic theory, a third kind of movement, _ratione -termini_, was admitted--that is, movement towards dimensive quantity, -as when an animal or a tree grows in bulk. But bodies acquire greater -bulk by accession of new particles, and this accession is carried on by -_local_ movement. Hence it seems to us that the _motus ad quantitatem_ is -not a new kind of movement. - -[161] S. Thomas explains this point in the following words: Quum -magnitudo sit divisibilis in infinitum, et puncta sint etiam infinita -in potentia in qualibet magnitudine, sequitur quod inter quælibet duo -loca sint infinita loca media. Mobile autem infinitatem mediorum locorum -non consumit nisi per continuitatem motus; quia sicut loca media sunt -infinita in potentia, ita et in motu continuo est accipere infinita -quædam in potentia.--_Sum. Theol._, p. 1, q. 53, a. 2. This explanation -is identical with our own, though S. Thomas does not explicitly mention -the infinitesimals of time. - -[162] _Music of Nature._ - -[163] This was an anachronism in costume which in our day would not be -pardonable, but it was common enough until within half a century ago. -The queen of James I., Anne of Denmark, insisted upon playing the part -of Thetis, goddess of the ocean, in a “monstrous farthingale” (in modern -speech, a very exaggerated crinoline.) - -[164] Puttenham, _Art of Poesie_, pub. in 1589, quoted in Ritson. - -[165] Probably some coarse lace or net - -[166] _The Complete Angler, or the Contemplative Man’s Recreation._ - -[167] Harmless - -[168] Agnes Strickland’s _Lives of the Queens of England_. - -[169] _Penny Magazine_, 1834. - -[170] This word has no English equivalent; it means the casting out of -the heart--a hyperbolical manner of expressing the most excessive nausea. - -[171] The Council of Trent decreed nothing on the subject of the -authority of the church: that of the Vatican had to supply the omission. -The struggle with Protestantism on this subject reached its last stage in -the definition of the dogma of Papal Infallibility decreed by the church -assembled at the Council of the Vatican. - -[172] In its numbers of April 22 and May 16 last the _Unità Cattolica_ -passed a high eulogium on the work of Father Hecker. “There is in this -work,” says the Abbé Margotti, “a great boldness of thought, but always -governed by the faith, and by the great principle of the infallible -authority of the Pope.” - -[173] “A Song of Faith.” 1842. Besides that poem, my father published -two dramatic works, viz. _Julian the Apostate_ (1823) and _The Duke of -Mercia_, 1823. In 1847, his last drama, _Mary Tudor_, was published. He -was born at Curragh Chase, Ireland, on the 28th of August, 1788, and died -there on the 28th of July, 1846.--A. DE VERE. - -[174] Dr. Schenck said: “It had been a maxim that the fool of the family -should go into the ministry, and he was sorry to say that there were many -of those who had groped their way into it. It had been stated that a -minister would often pay twice before he would be sued.… Rev. Dr. Newton -said that he would stand a suit before he would pay twice. The speaker -replied that he was glad there was some pluck in these matters” (_Report -in the Philadelphia Press_). - -[175] Short for Frederika. - -[176] From the German. - -[177] Father Faber’s _Bethlehem_. - -[178] London: Pickering, 1875. This pamphlet has been already translated -into German under the title _Anglicanismus, Altkatholicismus und die -Vereinigung der christlichen Episcopal-Kirchen_. Mainz: Kirchheim. 1875. - -[179] Father Schouvaloff (Barnabite), April 2, 1859. - -[180] Gladstone, _Vaticanism_, p. 110. - -[181] Second Edition, with a Letter of Mgr. Mermillod, a Special Preface, -and an Appendix. London: Washbourne. - -[182] Gladstone, _Vaticanism_, p. 94. - -[183] We are authorized by Father Tondini to remark that, for the purpose -of his argument, he has confined himself to speaking of the non-popular -election of _bishops_; but in case any one should say that Mr. Gladstone -referred not to bishops only, but also, and very largely, to clergy, -besides that Mr. Gladstone’s expressions do not naturally lead the reader -to make any exception for himself, Father Tondini is able to show that -even with respect to the inferior clergy Mr. Gladstone’s statement is -inaccurate. - -[184] In the appendix to the second edition of _The Pope of Rome_, etc., -will be found a prayer composed of texts taken from the Greco-Sclavonian -Liturgy, where are quoted some of the titles given by the Greco-Russian -Church to S. Peter, and, in the person of the great S. Leo, even to the -Pope. This appendix is also to be had separately, under the title of -_Some Documents Concerning the Association of Prayers_, etc., London, -Washbourne, 1875. - -[185] See “Future of the Russian Church” in THE CATHOLIC WORLD, 1875 -(amongst others). - -[186] _Expostulation_, p. 30. - -[187] “More than once,” says Father Tondini in a note on this -subject--“more than once, in reading defences of the Catholic Church, -written with the best intentions, we could not resist a desire that in -the ‘Litanies of the Saints,’ or other prayers of the church, there might -be inserted some such invocation as this: _A malis advocatis libera -nos, Domine_.’--‘From mischievous advocates, O Lord! deliver us.’ We -say this most earnestly, the more so that it applies also to ourselves. -Many a time, when preparing our writings, we have experienced a feeling -not unlike that of an advocate fully convinced of the innocence of the -accused, but dreading lest, by want of clearness or other defect in -putting forth his arguments, he might not only fail to carry conviction -to the mind of the judges, but also prejudice the cause he wishes to -defend. Never, perhaps, is the necessity of prayer more deeply felt.” - -[188] With regard to the powers of the sovereign over the episcopate we -quote the following from the London _Tablet_ for March 27, 1875: “Among -other tremendous stumbling-blocks against the claims for the Church (of -England) by the High Church party a candid writer in the _Church Herald_ -is ‘sorely staggered by the oath of allegiance, according to which we -have the chief pastors of the church declaring in the most solemn manner -that they receive the spiritualities of their office _only_ from the -queen, and are bishops by her grace only.’” - -In connection with the foregoing we cannot refrain from citing a passage -from Marshall, which is as follows: “Any bishops can only obtain -spiritual jurisdiction in one of two ways--either by receiving it from -those who already possess it, in which case their (the English bishops’) -search must extend beyond their own communion, or by imitating the two -lay travellers in China of whom we have somewhere read, who fancied they -should like to be missionaries, whereupon the one ordained the other, and -was then in turn ordained by _him_, to the great satisfaction of both.” - -[189] See _Contemporary Review_ for July. - -[190] Since writing the above we happened to see the following case in -point, in the _Church Times_ of September 10, 1875, in which a clergyman, -signing himself “a priest, _not_ of the Diocese of Exeter,” writes a -letter of remonstrance against the violent abuse heaped by “a priest -of the Diocese of Exeter” against the late learned and venerable Vicar -of Morwenstow, Mr. Hawker, who, on the day before his death, made his -submission to the Catholic Church. From this letter, which contains many -candid and interesting admissions, we quote the following: “In these -days, when we have among us so many dignitaries and popular preachers -of the Established Church who in their teaching deny all sacramental -truth, while others cannot repeat the Nicene and Athanasian Creeds -without a gloss, and others again boldly assert that ‘the old religious -ideas expressed in the Apostles’ Creed must be thrown into afresh form, -if they are to retain their hold on the educated minds of the present -generation, it appears monstrous that a clergyman whose faithful adhesion -to the Prayer Book during a ministry of forty years was notorious should -be denounced as a ‘blasphemous rogue and a scoundrel’ _because_ he held -opinions which are considered by some individual members of either church -as denoting ‘a Roman at heart,’ or, in the exercise of a liberty granted -to everyone, thought fit to correspond with influential members of the -Church of Rome.” - -[191] _Expostulation_, page 21; iv. “The third proposition.” - -[192] “Cooks and controversialists seem to have this in common: that they -nicely appreciate the standard of knowledge in those whose appetites they -supply. The cook is tempted to send up ill-dressed dishes to masters who -have slight skill in, or care for, cookery; and the controversialist -occasionally shows his contempt for the intelligence of his readers by -the quality of the arguments or statements which he presents for their -acceptance. But this, if it is to be done with safety, should be done in -measure.”--Gladstone, _Vaticanism_, pp. 82, 83. - -[193] In the German edition of Father Tondini’s pamphlet, the abstract of -this document is given in the original German, as it is to be seen in the -_Bonner Zeitung_ of June 15, 1871. - -[194] S. Cyprian (so confidently appealed to by the Old Catholics), -speaking of Novatian, and, as it were, of Dr. Reinkens’ consecration, -says: “He who holds neither the unity of spirit nor the communion -of peace, but separates himself from the bonds of the church and -the hierarchical body, cannot have either the power or the honor of -a bishop--he who would keep neither the unity nor the peace of the -episcopate.”--S. Cyprian, _Ep. 52_. Compare also _Ep. 76_, _Ad magnum de -baptizandis Novationis_, etc., sect. 3. - -[195] “Je suis entré dans une de ces lignées ininterrompues par -l’ordination que j’ai reçue des mains de Mgr. Heykamp, _évêque des vieux -Catholiques de Deventer_.”--_Lettre Pastorale de Mgr. l’Evêque Joseph -Hubert Reinkens, Docteur en Théologie._ Paris: Sandoz et Fischbacher, -1874, p. 11. - -[196] _Programma of Old-Catholic Literature_, libr. Sandoz et -Fischbacher. Paris. - -[197] “Pastoral Letter” (_Programma_, etc.), p. 7. - -[198] Silbernagl (Dr. Isidor), _Verfassung und gegenwärtiger Bestand -sämmtlicher Kirchen des Orients_. Landshut, 1865, pp. 10, 11. - -[199] See THE CATHOLIC WORLD, January-April, 1875. - -[200] See _The Pope of Rome and the Popes of the Orthodox Church_, 2d -ed., pp. 97, 98. Washbourne, London. - -[201] King, _The Rites_, etc., p. 295. Quoted in _The Pope of Rome_, -etc., p. 98. See also for what concerns the election of the Russian -bishops the _Règlement ecclésiastique de Pierre le Grand_, avec -introduction, notes, etc., par le R. P. Cæsarius Tondini. Paris: Libr. de -la Soc. bibliographique. - -[202] “The idea,” says Polevoi, “that spiritual matters do not appertain -to the authority of the sovereign was still so deeply rooted in men’s -minds that, in the very first session of the Spiritual College, some -members _dared_ (osmelilis) to ask the emperor: ‘Is then the Patriarchal -dignity suppressed, although nothing has been said about it?’ ‘I am your -Patriarch!’ (_Ya Vash Patriarkh!_) angrily (_gnevno_) exclaimed Peter, -striking his breast. The questioners were dumb.” - -“This account of Peter’s _coup d’état_,” adds Father Tondini, “was -printed at St. Petersburg in the year 1843, and, be it observed, not -without the approbation of the censors.” See _Pope of Rome_, etc., p. 107. - -[203] “These principles have, by the constant aggression of curialism, -been in the main effaced, or, where not effaced, reduced to the last -stage of practical inanition. We see before us the pope, the bishops, the -priesthood, and the people. The priests are _absolute_ over the people; -the bishops over both; the pope over all.…”--_Vaticanism_, p. 24. - -[204] See French manifesto. - -[205] See London _Tablet_, August 21. - -[206] See _Annales Catholiques_, September 25. - -[207] See London _Tablet_, Aug. 21. - -[208] We wonder that it does not occur to Dr. von Döllinger’s disciples -to make some calculation, from the number of changes his views have -undergone during the last five years, as to how many they had better be -prepared for, according to the ordinary _rule of proportion_, for the -remaining term of his probable existence--_e.g._, four changes in five -years should prepare them for eight in ten, and for a dozen should the -venerable professor live fifteen years more. They should, further, not -forget to ascertain, if possible, for how long _they themselves_ are -_afterwards_ to continue subject to similar variations in their opinions; -for one would suppose they hope to stop somewhere, some time. - -[209] _Echo Universel._ - -[210] See _Annales Catholiques_, 23 Septembre, 1873. Paris: Allard. - -[211] Ernest Naville (a Protestant), _Priesthood of the Christian Church_. - -[212] The bell of S. Louis’ Church, Buffalo, N. Y. - -[213] Among the Spanish subjects in the colonies, there was a class -corresponding to the Loyalists of the American Revolution. One of these -was Don Miguel Moreno, a magistrate belonging to a most respectable -colonial family, and the honored father of His Eminence the present -Archbishop of Valladolid, who was born in Guatemala on Nov. 24, 1817, and -is therefore, in a strict sense of the word, the first American who has -been made a cardinal. - -[214] Message of December 2, 1823. - -[215] It is curious to contrast the tedious trials that Rome endured -before being able to appoint bishops to independent Spanish America, -with her ease in establishing the hierarchy in the United States. -Yet the Spaniards and Loyalists, who sometimes forgot that political -differences should never interfere with religious unity, might have found -a precedent for this aversion in the case of their northern brethren. -In a sketch of the church in the United States, written by Bishop -Carroll in 1790, it is said that “during the whole war there was not the -least communication between the Catholics of America and their bishop, -who was the vicar-apostolic of the London district. To his spiritual -jurisdiction were subject the United States; but whether he would hold no -correspondence with a country which he, perhaps, considered in a state -of rebellion, or whether a natural indolence and irresolution restrained -him, the fact is he held no kind of intercourse with priest or layman in -this part of his charge.”--B. U. Campbell “Memoirs, etc. of the Most Rev. -John Carroll,” in the _U. S. Catholic Magazine_, 1845. - -[216] He was translated by Leo XII. in 1825 to the residential see of -Città di Castello. - -[217] Cardinal Wiseman has made a slip in saying (_Last Four Popes_, -p. 308) that the refusal to receive Mgr. Tiberi gave rise to “a little -episode in the life of the present pontiff.” Tiberi went as nuncio to -Madrid in 1827, consequently long after Canon Mastai had returned from -Chili. It was in the case of the previous nuncio, Giustiniani that a -“passing coolness,” occasioned the apostolic mission to South America. - -[218] Artand (_Vie de Léon XII._) indicates in a note to p. 129, vol. i., -the sources whence he obtained these views of the late Prime Minister, -which are given in full. - -[219] In 1836 Mgr.--afterwards Cardinal--Gaetano Baluffi, Bishop of -Bagnorea, was sent to this country as first internuncio and apostolic -delegate. He published an interesting work on his return to Italy, giving -an account of religion in South America from its colonization to his own -time: _L’America un tempo spagnuola riguardata sotto l’aspetto religioso -dall’ epoca del suo discoprimento, sino al 1843_. (Ancona, 1844.) - -[220] _Dublin Review_, vol. xxiv., June, 1848. The full title of this -rare work (of which there is no copy even in the Astor Library) is as -follows: _Storia delle Missioni Apostoliche dello stato del Chile, colla -descrizione del viaggio dal vecchio al nuovo monde fatto dall’ autore_. -Opera di Giuseppe Sallusti. Roma, 1827, pel Mauri. - -[221] This was Gen. Bernard O’Higgins, a gentleman of one of the -distinguished Irish families which took refuge in Spain from the -persecutions of the English government. He was born in Chili of a -Chilian mother. His father had been captain-general of what was called -the kingdom of Chili, and was afterwards Viceroy of Peru. The younger -O’Higgins was a very superior man, taking a principal part in asserting -the independence of his native land, of which he became the first -president; but unfortunately he died in 1823, a few months before the -arrival of the apostolic mission. - -[222] Palma boasts of its ancient title of _Muy insigne y leal ciudad_, -and that its habitants have been distinguished “_en todos tiempos por su -filantropia con los naufragos_”--a specimen of which we give. - -[223] In the southern hemisphere _January_ comes in summer. - -[224] Cordova was formerly the second city in the viceroyalty. It -had an university, erected by the Jesuits, which was once famous. An -ex-professor of this university wrote a book which has been called -“most erudite,” but which is extremely rare. There is no copy in the -Astor Library, although it is an important work for the information it -gives about religion in South America under Spanish rule. The title is -_Fasti Novi Orbis et ordinationum Apostolicarum ad Indias pertinentium -breviarium cum adnotationibus_. Opera D. Cyriaci Morelli presbyteri, olim -in universitate Neo-Cordubensi in Tucumania professoris. Venetiis, 1776. - -[225] _Pio IX._ Por D. Jaime Balmes, Presbitero, Madrid, 1847. - -[226] The _Annuario Pontificio_ of 1861 called it Americano -Ispano-Portoghese, but the name was since changed to the present one. - -[227] This clergyman came to the notice of the Pope from the fact that -an uncle of his, a very worthy man, had been one of Canon Mastai’s great -friends in Chili, and was named and confirmed Archbishop of Santiago, -but resigned the bulls. His nephew was made an apostolic prothonotary in -1859. It was reported that Mgr. Eyzaguirre gave eighty thousand scudi to -the South American College out of his own patrimony. We have enjoyed the -pleasure of a personal acquaintance with him. - -[228] _Protestantism and Catholicism in their bearing upon the Liberty -and Prosperity of Nations._ A study of social economy. By Emile de -Laveleye. With an introductory letter by the Rt. Hon. W. E. Gladstone, -M.P. London: 1875. - -[229] _The Old Faith and the New_, p. 86. - -[230] _Liberty, Equality, Fraternity_, p. 220. - -[231] _Minas_ in _Evangeline_, probably as a guide to the pronunciation. -Haliburton also gives this spelling, but it is now abandoned for the old -Acadian French form. - -[232] They even went so far as to deliberate whether these people could -be considered human beings or not; but the church, always the true and -faithful guardian of the rights of humanity, immediately raised her voice -in their favor, and was first to render, by the mouth of Pope Paul III., -a decision which conferred on them, or rather secured them, all their -rights. - -[233] Campeggio, before he became cardinal, had been married to -Françoise Vastavillani, by whom he had several children. We are more -than astonished at the ignorance or bad faith of Dr. Burnet, who takes -advantage of this fact to accuse the cardinal of licentiousness. - -[234] This young man carried also the letters from Henry VIII. to -Anne Boleyn, which had been referred to the cardinal during the -course of the trial. They are still to be seen in the library of the -Vatican.--Lingard’s _History of England_. - -[235] _Gentilism: Religion previous to Christianity._ By Rev. Aug. J. -Thébaud, S.J. New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1876. - -[236] It is, however, something more than a hypothesis. The confirmation -it receives from the fact that since the prevalence amongst so large -a portion of mankind of an uniformity of rite and dogma, and the -universality of brotherhood occasioned thereby, what seemed to be -obstacles have become means of intercommunion, to such an extent that the -whole World has become, as it were, one vast city, gives it the force of -a demonstration. - -[237] _Gentilism_, p. 67. - -[238] _Gentilism_, p. 65. - -[239] _Gentilism_, p. 110. - -[240] _Gentilism_, p. 124. - -[241] Ib. pp. 152, 153. - -[242] S. Matthew xvi. 4. - -[243] 3 Kings xix. 11, 12. - -[244] Deuteronomy xxxiii. 27. - -[245] In the _Cité Mystique_ of the Blessed Marie d’Agreda there are -one or two passages which indicate a belief that the Blessed Virgin was -more than once admitted to the Beatific Vision before her Assumption. Of -course the assertion is not of faith. Possibly it may admit of a more -modified explanation. On the other hand, Our Lady being equally free from -original as from actual sin, it is more rash to attempt to limit her -privileges than to suppose them absolutely exceptional. - -[246] Romans xi. 34. - -[247] In other words, theirs is a more imperfect being than ours; though -whether its imperfection is to exclude all idea of their having a fuller -development whereby and in which they will be indemnified for their -sinless share in fallen man’s punishment is still an open question. - -[248] We say liberalism, but we might say Freemasonry; for, as we all -know, Masonry is merely organized liberalism. - -[249] _The Idea of a University_, p. 469. - -[250] _Notes of a Traveller_, pp. 402, 403. - -[251] _Lay Sermons_, p. 61. - -[252] _The Social Condition_, etc., vol. i. p. 420. - -[253] The following language amply sustains our assertion: “Des Teufels -Braut, Ratio die schöne Metze, eine verfluchte Hure, eine schäbige -aussätzige Hure, die höchste Hure des Teufels, die man mit ihrer Weisheit -mit Füszen treten, die man todtschlagen, der man, auf dass sie hässlich -werde einen Dreck in’s Angesicht werfen solle, auf das heimliche Gemach -solle sie sich trollen, die verfluchte Hure, mit ihrem Dünkel, etc, etc.” - -[254] “Aber die Wiedertaufer machen aus der Vernunft ein Licht des -Glaubens, dass die Vernunft dem Glauben leuchten soll. Ja, ich meine, sie -leuchtet gleich wie ein Dreck in einer Laterne.” - -[255] _Der Culturkampf in Preussen und seine Bedenken_--“Considerations -on the Culture-Struggle in Prussia”--von J. H. von Kirchmann. Leipzig, -1875. - -[256] _Culturkampf_, pp. 5-7. For an account of the Falk Laws and -persecution of the church in Germany, see CATHOLIC WORLD for Dec., 1874, -and Jan., 1875. - -[257] Page 9. - -[258] Tacit. _Annal._, xv. 44. - -[259] _Culturkampf_, pp. 16-19. - -[260] The above article is a translation of one which appeared in the -_Revue Générale_ of Brussels, December, 1875, and was written by Dr. -Dosfel. In THE CATHOLIC WORLD, November, 1871, a complete analysis of Dr. -Lefebvre’s work on Louise Lateau, quoted so largely in the discussion -before the Academy, was given. The article now presented to our readers -gives a calm, impartial statement of the case of Louise Lateau as it -stands to-day before the scientific investigation of the Academy.--ED. -CATH. WORLD. - -[261] _Louise Lateau._ Etude médicale. Par Lefebvre. Louvain: Peeters. - -[262] Dr. Imbert-Gourbeyre, in his work, _Les Stigmatisées_. - -[263] _Bulletin of the Academy_ for the year 1875. Third series, Book -ix., No. 2, p. 145. - -[264] _Maladies et facultés diverses des mystiques._ Par le Dr. -Charbonnier, p. 10, et suiv. - -[265] The same work. - -[266] Report of M. Warlomont, _Mémoires de l’Académie de Médecine_, p. -212. - -[267] Professor Lefebvre had himself declared that, to invest the matter -with a rigorously scientific character, the question of abstinence ought -to be the object of an inquiry analogous to that which has established -the reality of the ecstasy and of the stigmatization. - -[268] Vascular tumors. - -[269] White blood corpuscles. - -[270] Acts xvii. 23. - -[271] 1 Cor. xii. 31. - -[272] Gal. iii. 19. - -[273] 3 Kings vi. 7. - -[274] Genesis iii. 8. - -[275] Malachias iv. 2. - -[276] Isaias xxii. 24; or, as it may be translated: “The vessels of small -quality, from vessels of basins even to all vessels of flagons.” - -[277] Suarez holds that grace is not always perceptible. There are -moments when we are conscious of the distinct action of grace, by the -direct perception of its effects in our soul. These are the exceptions, -which are multiplied with increasing holiness, until they become the -rule, and heroic sanctity is perfected in all its parts. - -[278] S. Matthew xix. 8. - -[279] S. Matthew xi. 14. - -[280] “Tantum ut qui tenet nunc, teneat, donec de medic fiat.”--2 -Thessalonians ii. 7. - -[281] It is injurious to sleep in the light of the moon; and it produces -rapid putrefaction in dead fish, etc. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Catholic World, Vol. 22, October, -1875, to March, 1876, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATHOLIC WORLD, OCT 1875-MAR 1876 *** - -***** This file should be named 54617-0.txt or 54617-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/6/1/54617/ - -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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